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But moments turned into minutes, and there was still no sign of our coveted supply crate.
Doubt was replaced by a creeping dread.
Had one of the others already found it?
Were we walking straight into a trap?
A sudden rustling, accompanied by the sound of something being torn apart, caught my attention.
Silencing Riley with a gesture, I tiptoed toward the noise, motioning for her to follow.
As we neared, the sounds became clearer — the unmistakable clinks and clatters of tools and weapons being tossed aside.
Peeking through a gap in the foliage, my fears were confirmed.
The clearing ahead showcased the supply crate, its contents strewn about carelessly.
And there, right in the middle of it all, was an alien male.
He tore the crate apart, his red scales shimmering in the dappled sunlight, eerily mirroring my own.
Riley leaned back, as if wishing to take off.
I pressed a finger to my lips for her to be quiet and she nodded grimly.
The alien male was a species known as the Ty’a’tim, known for their ruthlessness.
The sight of him rummaging through the supply crate made my blood boil.
He was searching for something, discarding items he deemed unworthy.
Every tossed object was a potential tool we could have used, a potential advantage lost.
The Ty’a’tim’s movements became more frantic, tossing aside weapons and supplies with growing impatience.
It was clear he was searching for something specific.
And then, he froze.
Whatever it was, he’d found it.
His hand closed around a small, glinting object.
A triumphant smirk spread across his face.
It was a plasma blaster, and his possessing it would tilt the balance of power overwhelmingly in his favor.
Riley’s fingers dug into my forearm, her fear palpable. “Talan,” she whispered, her voice shaky. “We need to act.Now.”
A bamboo-like plant nearby caught my attention.
It was straight, long, and had the right amount of flexibility.
Without hesitation, I snapped it from its base, quickly stripping it of any excess shoots or leaves.
With a few swift motions of my blade, I sharpened the tip, fashioning a makeshift arrow.
“It’s just one shot, Talan,” Riley murmured, her gaze fixed on the Ty’a’tim. “What if you miss?”
