Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 44088 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 220(@200wpm)___ 176(@250wpm)___ 147(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44088 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 220(@200wpm)___ 176(@250wpm)___ 147(@300wpm)
Having cleaned and dressed her wounds, I turn my attention to washing her body. She has a soft and curvy frame, paler where the sun has not touched her. She is small, five foot six at the very most. Her hair is dark and curly and falls about her shoulders in a mass of ringlets. She is not very young, nor is she very old. Nothing about her is built to withstand heavy impacts or wild places, and yet until she met the mantid, she had done both.
I find myself admiring her strength of will, for that is all she has to protect her. She followed me doggedly, even when I was aggressive and hostile, having no sense of her as anything other than an animal among animals.
It might have been a greater kindness simply to put her out of her misery, but I have embarked on another course of action, and now it is too late to kill her. I’ve softened toward her enough to consider her more than an animal, and killing her now, even for mercy, would be murder. I am many things, but I am not a murderer.
I have a spare piece of clothing with me. It is too big for her, but I put it over her anyway, a shirt that fits like a dress, held in place with a belt corded from fibrous leaves.
She is insensate for days, entirely exhausted from her ordeal and also sedated with my herbal concoctions. The same leaves that stave off infection from her wounds send soothing sensations through her body.
In that time, I dress her like I would a doll, using the local flora and fauna to create shoes and a cloak. I fabricate leggings from remnants of my own supplies, and from what I reclaimed from what must have been her ship. I make sure she is covered and warm and fed, and I wait to see if she pulls through or if I have constructed a funerary outfit.
She is company, even though she is not conscious. I find myself telling her about the rigors of travel, the trials I have undergone to be here.
I feel a certain guilt as I do. She is of the same species as my enemies. She is one of them. My family is quiet inside my mind as I speak to her rather than them. Sometimes it feels as though I am dishonoring their memory, but then I remember talking to her is the same as talking to a rock.
“Hello.”
I nearly jump out of my skin when she suddenly speaks after days of being completely unconscious. I clutch my spear, which I had been in the process of sharpening, and look over at her. She has sat up, looking pale, but very grateful.
“Thank you for saving my life,” she says. “I’m Tarni.”
I do not know what to say in return. She is speaking my language, which means she was educated in the ways of my people. Only the colonists do that.
Saying nothing, I look at her. She fills the empty space with more words almost immediately.
“I was supposed to be an envoy to Colony Alpha,” she says. “But my ship crashed.”
Colony Alpha no longer exists. I do not tell her that. This animal is not only human. She is from an enemy faction. She is the enemy.
“I have no right to ask for your help. But will you take me there? I could make sure you are well compensated.”
“Yes,” I say. “I will take you.”
Colony Alpha is in ashes. Every person there has been slaughtered. They deserved it. If she was going there, she possibly deserves it too. If she wants to go there, I will take her there. Then we will see what fortune has in store, vengeance and fate being much the same thing.
“Thank you.” She smiles gratefully.
I am confused. She should recognize me as her enemy, but she seems to have absolutely no awareness of that. She speaks to me with a grateful tone.
“Why are you going to Colony Alpha?”
“Oh. I’m the envoy.” She smiles, bright and happy, as if that is a good thing.
“What does the envoy do?”
“I’m just generally fabulous.”
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.