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I can’t go to that dark place again. If I let the misery consume me, then I will simply cry and cry until there’s nothing left. Instead of ruminating on everything I’ve lost, I lean my head back against the bars and close my eyes, trying to enjoy the fresh air as much as I can as we bump and jolt along the road. Beyond the edge of the path the jungle is dense and dark, overflowing with ferns so big they look prehistoric, and hanging vines that blot out the sun. It’s very much unlike my homeland of big valleys and lakes. The foliage is dense and the air is so thick it’s almost wet. Occasionally, I can make out the shapes of square rocks deep in the trees. Are there buildings out there? Ruins of some kind?
A few hours into our journey I hear distant voices, and suddenly the big, mean trollkin with the bright green skin is draping something over the top of my cage to hide me.
Wherever I am now seems to be inhabited only by these monsters. If I scream and raise the alarm, will these other travelers help me? Or will I simply make my situation worse? They could always put me back in the crate.
The thought makes me gag, so I keep quiet while the light disappears and the voices come closer.
My captors and the visitors share a quick exchange, then we’re on our way again, bumping along the road. After a while the cloth is removed, and it’s the trollkin who gave me the blankets pulling it down. He takes the big green guy’s spot next to my cage.
I don’t speak or make a sound, not wanting to earn the crate. I won’t forget that he shoved me in there, forcing the lid closed on top of me. If I ever got the chance, I would drive a dagger through him the same way I would the green female who let me rot and fester.
After what feels like an hour or two of silence, my jailer leans towards the cage bars and starts to talk to me. It takes me by surprise, someone speaking directly to me and without hatred. I wish I knew what he was saying—in fact, I wish I understood anything that was happening to me. I feel like a marionette a child bashes against the walls of a toy theater.
After a while of him chatting amiably, as if we were old buddies, I realize he’s been looking at me intently, waiting for some kind of response.
I shake my head. I have no idea what he’s saying. Not that it matters.
He gestures at himself. “Lo’zar,” he says. He taps his chest again. “Arg gakLo’zar.”
Is he trying to tell me his name? What does he care if I know his name? Still, a submerged desire to communicate, to be heard, flares to life as he pays attention to me. I didn’t realize how much I’ve missed simply speaking with another living creature.
So I decide to indulge him, because even if I can’t understand a word he’s saying, at least it’s something. I repeat the word back to him quietly. “Lo’zar?”
This earns a smile, and he has a rather big one. His wide mouth takes up most of his face, raising his tusks almost up to his eyes, and it’s strangely charming.
I shake my head. He is a monster. My captor.
“Yag gak?” He points at me this time. “Yag gak?”
He wants to know my name now. For a moment, I can’t even remember it. It’s been so long since I felt human, since I felt likeme, that my own name is something I have to search for.
“Rimi,” I answer finally, pointing at myself. “I’m Rimi.”
He tests the word. “Ree-mee?”
Sure. Good enough. I nod my head, and he smiles again. Why is he always smiling at me?
But nothing about this trollkin makes sense. He talks some more at me, occasionally dropping my name to keep me paying attention. He sure likes to talk—and I can’t say that I mind the company. After a while he pulls out a bag and fishes for something in it, finally withdrawing a big piece of red fruit I’ve never seen before.
My mouth waters. Fresh fruit. It would taste incredible. Not that I haven’t had fruit before, but now it seems like a lifetime ago. I would give anything for some kind of fresh food. Lo’zar continues talking, occasionally taking a bite. After a while, though, he notices I’m watching his hands with keen interest, and he looks down at the fruit.
He asks me a question, and holds it up. If he’s offering me some, my answer is a vehement yes.
“Please,” I say, nodding my head and reaching out to it. “Please?”
There’s a look of pity in his eyes as he reaches through the bars and hands me the rest of the fruit. It’s bigger than my whole hand, and I bite into it with a deep, profound joy. It tastes like everything I could have hoped for and more. It’s sweet and tart and perfect, and the cool juice runs down my throat in the most soothing way. It’s also dripping down the side of my face, but I’m too engrossed in this incredible meal to pay attention to it. I suck down the fruit almost as fast as my stomach can bear, and soon all that’s left is the big pit.
When I finally look up at Lo’zar again, he’s staring at me with his mouth ajar. Embarrassment sweeps through me thinking of how quickly I ate his food. It just tasted so good. I don’t have a napkin, so I wipe my face with one of my filthy sleeves, then I toss the pit through the bars of the cage.
Lo’zar chuckles at this and removes another piece of fruit from his bag. He leans back as he eats this one, propping himself up on his elbow on a box of goods while he watches me. There’s a mischievous look in his eyes, and he seems a little full of himself. I don’t ask for another piece of the fruit, but when he’s almost finished with half, a look of guilt crosses the trollkin’s face. He hands me the other half, and I wolf it down a little less vigorously this time.
“Thank you,” I say. He just tilts his head—clearly he doesn’t understand what I’m saying—so I smile and nod, gesturing at the fruit pit.
Lo’zar’s face lights up, and he smiles back. “Grunag zig.” That must mean,you’re welcome.
He’s being so kind to me, and I’m latching onto it like a plant starved for light.
But why? Why is this one treating me this way, like a person, when the others have tossed their used trash into my cage? Suspicion creeps up my neck.
