- Aurora -

I open the pouch of medical supplies and show him. “Look? Many kinds of medicine. Help against ... umm ... infection,” I say in English. “Also in chest.”

Trak'zor puts his head to the side. “Aurora hunted me with her angry little stick. Now she wants to take it out?”

“Yes! I mean, I not hunt Trak'zor. Hunt other. Mistake shooting Trak'zor! Regret much. Now want to repair.” I point. “You show Aurora.”

Yep, I'm pretty much asking him to show me his ass. He might think I'm being very forward. But I'll try to think like a doctor, detached and clinically.

Trak'zor thinks for a moment, then shrugs, turns around and lifts his loincloth on the side where the arrow is.

I immediately fail at being detached and clinical. Because that has to be the manliest, most muscled butt cheek I've ever seen. It's round and immensely firm and sexy, and at the same time unspeakably cute, with its sprinkling of light downy hairs and the much paler skin because it hasn't been exposed to the sun.

I kneel down behind him for a closer look. The injury isn't anywhere near as bad as I'd thought. The iron tip hasn't even penetrated fully, and the barbs haven't taken hold at all.

It's weird. My bow wasn't too powerful, but still I shot him with pretty good force at close range. I would have thought this arrow would have gone further in. He has no stripes there, and his loincloth isn't that tough.

I take the shaft between two fingers and pull the last quarter inch of the tip out of him. He doesn't even flinch, and there's hardly any blood.

“That was easy,” I mumble to myself.

“Much difficult!” I say aloud. “But Aurora good at repair man. Now repair hole. Trak'zor wait.”

I get some of the paste we think is antibacterial and apply it to the little wound that remains on his butt. I don't even think it's necessary, because there's hardly any redness around the injury.

I innocently put the arrow back in my quiver, which I'm still wearing. I have no bow, but those aren't too hard to make. An arrow with an iron tip is a very valuable object here on planet Xren.

“Finish,” I state with some satisfaction and get to my feet. “Now chest.”

He turns around, and my face is exactly at the right height with his other wound. I untie the dirty bandage he's tied around it.

The wound here is also surprisingly small. The arrow hit just between two of his stripes, with a force that would certainly have killed a not-sheep, so I would have expected that the tip would have been totally buried in his flesh, barbs and all. The blood he shed back there would also seem to indicate that he was more badly injured than this. But this doesn't look bad at all.

I apply some of the green paste even so, just so that I'm doing something. The old myth about the guy who pulls the thorn out of the lion's paw and who is then not eaten by the lion is at the back of my mind. I want Trak'zor to think that I'm valuable and that I'm not his enemy. Hey, maybe he won't kill me then. Total win for me.

“There,” I state and give his chest wound a final tap with one finger. “Much difficult also. But now repair. Good like new.”

“Like new,” Trak'zor agrees and gives me an amused look. “Aurora is good at healing injuries that are already healing. Even takes out mysterious infection.”

I feel my cheeks warming up. Shit. He knew all along that I didn't do much.

“Well,” I state with as much conviction as I can. “Better safe than ... regret. Trak'zor now untie Aurora wrist.”

I hold my hand out to him, and to my relief he easily unties the complicated knot.

“Aurora needs not be tied,” he says calmly. “The jungle around this yog are full of Bigs. Very dangerous for Aurora.”

I unnecessarily massage my wrist. “Aurora will not attempt escape.”

Not right now, anyway. I'm too curious about this guy, and I'm sure that raptor is still close.

Trak'zor walks ahead and I follow, because there's not much else to do.

The island is pretty barren and consists mostly of gently rounded rocks. There are cracks where delicate, carnation-looking little pink flowers are growing, and between the highest slopes there are little valleys with a shallow layer of soil, covered by a fine grass and long-stemmed flowers. It's the most pleasant place I've seen since I came to this damn planet. I don't see any living things here except us, and that's good news. Still, Trak'zor often looks up to the sky, because of course dactyls can fly over lakes with no problem.

We walk up and down smooth, dark gray rock, and then Trak'zor turns to the left between two ridges. And there's his cave.

Except, it's not really a cave. A gigantic, flat piece of rock sticks out of the ground on a gentle angle and forms a huge, sloping roof, and under it someone has arranged rocks and wood to form little walls and separations. Right at the opening there's a ring of rocks, just like the fireplace we girls have back at our cave.

At the opening Trak'zor can walk in without bending his neck, and he does so.

I remain standing outside, trying to spot other caves like this one. But I can't see any, so this is probably not a village. That's good news. I think.

Trak'zor lights up the fire and starts preparing food. As if on cue, my stomach starts growling. And I notice that I'm kind of exhausted. Being carried caveman style through a jungle can take its toll, I guess.

I sit down by the fire across from Trak'zor. “You alone? Not tribe?”

He shoots me an angry blue flash, and even from across the fire I reflexively pull my legs in.

Okay, I won't ask about that. If he lives alone, he's probably an outcast from his tribe. It's really hard to survive on this lethal planet without the support of a whole village, so being cast out is something these guys really try to avoid. I wonder what his crime was.

I give him a little smile to defuse my little tactlessness. I want him to know that I don't at all mind that I don't have to deal with a whole village. The cavemen have weird ideas about women. Sophia and Emilia had some troubles with those tribes they met.

“Food looks good,” I try. Because it does. It actually both looks and smells like filets of some kind of fish that he's grilling. “Trak'zor hunt Smalls?”

He turns the filets over. “Sometimes. These are Water Smalls. I must hunt them with a spear.” He nods into the cave.

Yep, there's a long, thin spear leaned against the wall.

I nod in recognition. My brother does some diving, and I've seen things like that before. “That is harpoon.”

“Arpu?” Trak'zor says.

“Hhhhar-poon,” I repeat, very clearly. “Spear for hunting Water Smalls called harpoon.”

“Harpoon,” he says thoughtfully. “Aurora hunts Water Smalls? When not hunting Trak'zor?”

“No,” I begin, then think better of it. I want him to think I can contribute something here. “Yes. Sometimes.”

He takes a grilled slice of the fish filet between two green twigs, places it on a thick, green leaf and hands it over to me.

It looks and smells totally delicious, but I still don't know what exactly this is. I mean, a fish is an animal from Earth. It would be pretty weird if they have the exact same thing here on an alien planet.

I use my fingers to pick off a little piece of the hot slice, then put it in my mouth, ready to spit it out if it's vile.

It crunches slightly when I chew it, like properly grilled fish should.

“Fish,” I state and take another, bigger bite, then chew it energetically. I'm really hungry. “Water Small is called fish.”

“Fish,” Trak'zor says with something that looks like satisfaction. “Aurora likes eating fish.”

I nod with my mouth full. “She does. Trak'zor has plants to eat? Vegetables?”

He hands me a plate full of green and reddish stuff, and I load it over on my leaf. Some of it tastes like kale, and some of it tastes like celery. Some more citrusy things would go well with the fish, but I'll take what I can get.

“Trak'zor good at making food,” I offer. I haven't eaten for many hours, and finally getting something in me makes me upbeat.

He pours a liquid from a thin wooden vessel into a cup made from a hollowed-out stone. “I like making food for women,” he says when he hands me the cup.

It takes me a moment to realize what he said.

“You make food for women?”

“Yes.”

My head spins. Where does he find other women on this woman-less planet? Are there more abductees here? Or has he somehow met some of the other girls from my cave?

“Where are women?”

He frowns and points at me. “Aurora is The Woman.”

“Okay. But. Trak'zor make food for other women?”

“If they want.”

I'm very confused. “Where are other women?”

He shrugs. “When Aurora is here, then soon other women will follow.”

No, I don't follow. “How many women Trak'zor knows?”

Again he points at me.

Ah. This might have something to do with that religion they have here. What is it, now? Their women were taken from them. They will return one day. But first, one Woman comes and is found by a warrior. Then the warrior Worships that woman and gives her a Gift, and then all the other lost women return to his tribe. Or something like that. It seems some of the details vary from one tribe to the next.

“Trak'zor means, he will make food for women when they return.”

He chews his own food and looks out over the field in front of the cave. “When they arrive, I will make it for them. Like I've made it for The Woman now. Women like food.”

“Tell me about it.” I take a sip from the cup. It's a tart juice with a fruity sweetness to it, and I suspect there's some alcohol in it. “I mean, yes. Yes, they do. Trak'zor very smart.”

“When The Woman comes,” Trak'zor says calmly, “She will want food. Good food. I always knew it. I would find her. I prepared this for her.”

He sweeps his arm to indicate the whole island.

“You always knew you'd find woman in jungle?”

“Yes. The tribe doesn't understand. But the Prophecy states it. One warrior will find The Woman in the woods. Still, the tribesmen prefer to stay in the village and not enter the woods unless they have to hunt. But of course The Woman would never come to the village. That would serve no purpose as a test. I spent a lot of time walking around looking for her. And I knew that I had to be prepared.” He touches his chest and frowns. “I did not realize that The Woman would hunt me first. The Prophecy does not mention it.”

Huh. That got him talking. He's been thinking a lot about this. A lt of it seems to fit with we've pieced together about the prophecy here. At least it doesn't sound like he intends to roast me.

“The shoot was mistake,” I remind him for good measure. “Aurora much regret. But Trak'zor not badly injured. Little only. How you prepare for woman?”

He wipes his mouth on a piece of leather and gets to his feet. “I will show you.”

He walks further into the cave, and I follow. The roof gets lower the further back we go, and Trak'zor has to duck. But I have ample headroom all the way in.

“The shaman told us that women are smaller than men. So I have made this.”

It's a table and a chair, clearly well crafted from an attractive wood that reminds me of birch. The back of the chair reaches me to my knees, and the tabletop is at about mid-calf. They would be the right size for a two-year-old, maybe. Or a large doll.

“Uh-huh.”

Trak'zor looks me up and down and scratches his chin, frowning. “I realize now that perhaps these are not quite the right size. Women are maybe bigger than we were told. Or perhaps Aurora is unusually large?”

Only around the hips. “No, usual size for woman. Trak'zor maybe based size on wooden doll used by shaman to show woman's body?”

He raises his eyebrows. “Aurora knows? Truly she is The Woman. Yes. The shaman showed us how to Worship The Woman, using the doll. It did puzzle me that it was so tiny. How would a baby grow inside that small woman? But I thought, maybe The Woman will grow after I give her food. So I practiced making food for women.”

I put my hand to my mouth to hide my smile. He's so serious and mystified about this, it's really cute. “Chair and table much nice. Like you say, perhaps not exact right size. Keep for later, maybe good size for child. Trak'zor give to tribe?”

Again his eyes flash so brightly I involuntarily take a step back. “I mean, for babies from Lifegivers ...”

“No baby,” he seethes with a clenched jaw.

“Yes, good,” I say quickly to change the topic. “I understand. What else you prepare?”

He opens a wooden chest. “I made these so The Woman would feel comfortable.”

He takes out a small heap of nicely folded fabrics in various colors and unfolds one piece of it, holding it up. It's a skirt-like thing that I'm sure would fit the shaman's wooden doll just fine, or a toddler, but not me.

“I had forgotten how small these were,” Trak'zor ponders and holds the skirt up to my hips, frowning.

I rub the fabric between my fingers. It's very finely woven and must be quite valuable.

There's more of the small skirts, and also a sleeveless, tunic-like top of a crude design, but well crafted. These would probably make fine clothing for Sophia's baby after a year or two. If it's a girl. And if she survives the birth.

“But I made more. For after The Woman was fed and larger.”

Trak'zor takes out another heap of fabric, and these skirts should be a better fit for me. Certainly they'd be more comfortable than the dinosaur skin outfit I'm rocking, but also more fragile in the rough woods.

“Much nice garments,” I say and hold a green skirt up to my waist. It could provide some camouflage in the jungle. But it's almost too nice to wear in the woods. They'd get stained and ripped right away.

I fold it nicely back up. “Trak'zor make himself?”