- Trak'zor -

I think she wants to talk. Her speech is strange and reminds me of other tribes. It also has a melodic quality to it that I've heard from no other tribe. It's because she's a woman, of course.

I realized it as soon as I laid eyes on her. She's human, but at the same time not. Her hips are wide and round. She has a chest so meaty and soft-looking that it makes my crotch swell just thinking about it. Her hair is long and shiny in its darkness. Her skin is smooth and fine. Her face is delicate, her eyes large and dark, her ears small.

She's not as tiny as I'd thought she would be. But of course she is still small. Round and soft and small. Just like the Woman should be.

It is The Woman, of course. The Ancestors have given Her to me, just like I always knew they would. Am I not the only man who has dared enter the depths of sacred Bune?

But we were never told she would be dangerous. She has wounded me twice now, once in the chest and once in the rear. As if she was hunting me with that terrible weapon of hers.

I feel the warmth from her body on my shoulder, and I yearn to place her on the ground, rip her garments off her and just Worship her here and now. The man who finds The Woman is supposed to Worship her immediately. The shaman showed us in detail how that is to be done, using his wooden figure of a woman.

But he said nothing about her wounding that man. I'm not in the mood to Worship someone who's just injured me and made me bleed for hours.

I hear some noises from her that young boys will sometimes make if they hurt themselves. She's weeping silently on my back.

I stop and carefully place her on the ground. She looks up at me with immense, dark eyes that are now rimmed with red.

She tries to curl up. “Please don't hurt,” she pleads, and her soft, bright voice trembles.

I check the string. I tied it a little too tightly around her hands. I loosen the knot and retie it, making sure the string doesn't cut into her wrists. Her unspeakably delicate wrists with thin, sparse hair on them. On instinct I bring her forearms up to my nose and draw in the sweet, enticing smell.

She gasps and tries to pull her arms away, as if afraid I'm going to take a bite out of them.

She needn't worry. Something about her makes me want to be gentle with her, like with a young child. And at the same time I want to rip her clothes off and admire her form and inspect the slit she supposedly has at the join of her legs.

No. She injured me. I won't Worship her right now, no matter how much my crotch wants it.

I hoist her onto my shoulder again, holding her securely with my left hand so my right is free to use the sword if necessary.

“I Aurora,” she says thinly. “Au. Ro. Ra. You?”

Au. Ro. Ra. Is she telling me her name? It's a very strange one.

Whatever. She injured me with her infernal weapon. My chest aches and my rear stings as if there's a rekh pup constantly biting it. Each step I take sends a sharp barb down my leg and up my back. 

“I Au. Ro. Ra,” she repeats, louder now.

“Trak'zor,” I hiss, just to get her to shut up. Any sound could attract danger.

I think she gets it. She quiets down, anyway.

I have many hours to go before I'm home. Many dangerous hours of travel through the forest at night.

When I get there, I can decide what to do with her. I will be gentle with her, of course. She is the Woman. She requires Worship.

I wince as I trip over a rock and the angry stick still stuck in my behind cuts further into the flesh.

I clench my jaw. She's dangerous.

And she's obviously out to kill me.