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I stare at her, assuming it is some kind of joke. The smile remains on her face, a light of genuine response. She is either stupid or toying with me — or both, or more terrifyingly, neither.
“Colony Alpha needed someone generally fabulous?”
“For morale. I sing and I dance, and I tell stories. The men there need entertaining.”
That makes sense. They’ve sent this pretty young thing off to be used by the feral, brutal soldier males. I doubt they would have listened to her stories, and the only singing she would have done would have been more like screaming.
She is lost. A stray. I have no use for her, and I cannot take her home with me, for I no longer have a home. But I can let her stay for the moment, and I can show her the ashes of her colony, and I can tell her why they are ashes.
“What are you doing out here?” She turns her curiosity on me.
“I am surviving.”
Those three words tell her all she needs to know. Unlike this human, I do not blather my business to the first enemy I meet in the forest.
“Well,” she says, after a brief moment of awkwardness has extended between us. “I guess I am surviving too. Only just, though. I never took any courses or read any books about making it in the wild. I’m more of a civilized girl, you know? Baths, and perfumes, and make up. Thank you, by the way, for making me these clothes.”
I inspect her features. They appear different now she is awake and speaking. She has a round face, dark eyes and lashes, a cascade of curling brown hair into which golden streaks have been woven. I believe her when she says she knows nothing about making it in the wild.
“You don’t talk much,” she observes. “I probably talk too much. I tried to talk to you, but you growled at me, so I’ve been keeping my distance, do you want me to keep keeping my distance? I can stay back. Away from you.”
Tarni
He looks at me with that intimidating golden gaze. He is very hard to read. Very taciturn, very self-contained. The jutting teeth of his lower jaw and the sharp of the upper visible when he curls his upper lip or opens his mouth tell me that he was crafted by nature to be a predator. I should be afraid, but I am so used to not being afraid when I should be that I think I might have forgotten how.
“Staying away from me is a good idea,” he says. “But if you are going to survive, you need to stay close. You were almost consumed by a mantid. You are small enough and soft enough to be prey for most of this planet.”
I nod hurriedly, having experienced that firsthand.
“Colony Alpha is a bastion of civilization in the alien wild,” I tell him. “I was never meant to be out here.”
His upper lip curls with distaste when I mention Colony Alpha. As he is native to this planet, he sees me as an invader. I’m not a very good invader, but still.
I have to make him like me. If he decides he is tired of me, or if I annoy him, or worse, anger him, he could leave me here to die. I have to work out how to ingratiate myself to him.
“Stay close,” he says. “Do as you are told.”
“Yes, sir.” I nod quickly, and glance away, making a show of submission. I get the vibe that is what he is into. I cannot risk annoying him in any way. My survival literally depends on his ability to tolerate me.
* * *
The next day, we move. My wounds are healed enough to allow me to walk, but it is hard to pretend every step does not hurt. I do my best to hide that fact. I do not want him becoming impatient with me, or worse, angry.
But he stops less than an hour into our march, and he turns to me. He is so much taller than I am, and when he looks down at me with those savage golden eyes, I feel a primal quiver run through every part of me.
“There is something wrong with you.”
“No,” I lie through my teeth, not wanting him to think me any weaker and inconvenient than he already does.
“Yes,” he replies, taking hold of me. One of his big hands closes around my upper arm. The other goes to work on my attire. He strips me out of my clothing as if I am a doll or a toy, not a creature with sentience, preference, or any kinds of rights at all.
I blush furiously as my naked body comes into his view. I know he must have seen me nude before. When I woke up in his camp, I had been washed, bandaged, and dressed. But it is different to find myself fully conscious, stripped, and being handled like a troublesome pet.
“Your wound is bleeding,” he growls.
“I’m sorry!”
The look he shoots me has a brief note of confusion in it, like he doesn’t know why I just apologized. Do I know why I just apologized? I feel like I have done something wrong. I feel small and insecure, and afraid.
