I . . . I’ve walked into a snare of some kind.
On one hand, this is encouraging. There’s intelligent life here, right? Which is exciting because it means we’re not alone.
But I can’t overlook the fact that I’m in a hunting snare and something could decide I’m dinner. I remember a scene in Star Wars where Luke found himself upside down in the snow creature’s cave. And I start panicking again, because I know how this sort of thing goes down. Luke’s able to free himself before the creature eats him because he’s a Jedi.
Me? I’m just a Floridian in a stolen space suit with no weapon and a busted wrist. I know how this is going to end.
I whimper and wriggle some more, working my feet and trying to free them from the noose that’s holding me fast, upside down.
I don’t want to be here when the owner of this trap comes back looking for dinner.
Wiggling my feet doesn’t work, so for the next minute or two, I concentrate on trying to stretch far enough to reach my gun. Not that I know how to fire it, but I’ll feel better if I have it. It’s getting harder to think, though, and the longer I hang here, the harder my head pounds.
It’s probably not good for me to hang upside down for a long time, I realize. How long can a human hang upside down before all the blood rushes to their head and they die?
I twist even harder, and as I do, I realize there’s something new on the edge of my vision. I stop moving and stare as a white, furry figure approaches.
Shit. It’s too late. I’m dinner.
“No,” I moan and struggle again. But my body can’t keep up with the demands I’m putting on it. My head throbs, and then I pass out cold just as the monster starts to move toward me.
At least I won’t be awake to feel it eat me.
VEKTAL
I don’t recognize the . . . thing . . . squirming in my trap.
This is new.
I approach it cautiously, my blade drawn. A moment ago it was dancing and writhing, and now it’s gone limp. The smell is sa-khui and yet . . . not. Curious. I poke it with the tip of my sword to see if it will jump once more, but it does not. The wind is picking up, the cold air preparing for the little moon’s arrival, the twin suns heading to their beds.
With the tip of my sword, I slice the cord binding its legs, and it flops to the ground, lying in the snow.
And then I am shocked anew as my khui resonates inside me. My inward being, which has lain dormant for so long, which recognizes no mate amongst my people? It vibrates and sings at the sight of this new creature. I stare at it.
My thoughts confused and whirling, I snatch it into my arms and sprint for the nearest hunting cave.
It is the bitter season, when hunters must be cautious when journeying out far from the home caves. There are a series of hunting caves that only see use on the coldest of nights, when a hunter is many sprints away from home. They are ingrained into my brain after turn upon countless turn of hunts, and I find the nearest one’s location easily. I push aside the leathery flap protecting the entrance and set my burden down on the floor. A quick shake of the furs does not reveal hidden occupants, so I move the she-creature—for it must be a she—to them. Her teeth clack together, making the cold sound that young sometimes make before they’re sa-khui, so I touch her eyelid and pry it open to see if she is lit from within.
The eye underneath is white, dull. There is no khui inside her, or if there is, it is dead. She will need to be treated as if a child, then. I make a fire quickly and wait for it to warm her. And because my curiosity has the best of me, I examine her. I tell myself it’s simply to determine if she is wounded, but my mind sings with curiosity, my khui vibrating within my chest with a song that’s growing greater with every possible moment.
She is making me resonate. She is mine.
I run a hand over her limbs. She is wearing some sort of clothing that stinks of old, bitter memories. I want to rip it off her, but if she is as helpless as a kit, she will need it. So I take time to find the fastenings and undo them, revealing the flesh underneath.
She’s smooth. Not like a sa-khui. Her flesh is almost completely hairless, save for the long, flowing locks on her crown and a small tuft between her thighs that’s revealed as I pull her leathers from her. I snort with amusement at that small tuft.
Adorable. Adorable and nonsensical.
She has no ridges under her skin to define her muscles, and the overwhelming sensation I have as I view her body is one of softness and weakness. Perhaps she has been sick, and that is why her khui is gone. I run my fingers over her strange face. It’s smooth too, her brow flat. She has no ridges anywhere. Just softness.