I place the triangular piece of meteorite glass between two others, then press down the smooth edges to ensure it is secure. I catch myself holding my breath, as if breathing could break the glass. The starburst patterns I've been slowly working into the nearly finished wall take some time to design and a good amount of concentration to execute properly, but I do not mind. In fact, I enjoy it.

Adding the ornate decoration is soothing, in a way. I can lose myself in selecting just the right piece of the shimmering glass to harmonize well with the pieces around it. My focus sinks into the patterns and shapes and I think only about the visual appeal of it all. It does not leave much room to worry or dwell on things that do not yield productive results.

Stepping back to survey what I have accomplished so far, I’m surprised to see that it is quite a bit. When I am working so close to the design, it is difficult to picture the whole. The light from the suns plays over the ripple of glass. The lovely dance of the rays catches the eye and holds the attention. Just as I had hoped. Not only can it be spotted from afar, acting as a beacon to guide us home, I also hope it will brighten everyone's spirits.

Casting another critical eye over my progress, I nod to myself. It looks straight and even, but not too perfect because the glass shards are not regularly sized or shaped. I like that it is not too uniform. The appearance is pretty and accessible rather than perfect and untouchable.

I pick up a large piece of the meteorite glass that we have all been gathering, and I hold it so the two suns’ light streams through it. Wavy ripples of strong sunlight appear on the sand below. Setting the piece into place, I think about how something so beautiful could come from something so destructive.

It is almost a metaphor for life itself, really. Even the most terrible events could yield something unexpectedly beautiful in the end. I like that idea. It is a thought that I hold onto in day-to-day life. After all, hope is a fragile thing. It must be protected and fostered to survive, so I must do my part. In terms of our community, the meteorite glass is one of my contributions towards improving our home.

Recently, there has been an increased focus on making life in in our new caves more comfortable, with little luxuries to add enjoyment to the hard life on Tajss. I like to see that effort. I like the optimism about the future that it suggests. It has been some time since I have felt that soft emotion. I want it to stay, want it to linger and grow.

It quiets the ghosts of the past that haunt me. I would rather forget them entirely. I wonder if any of the others feel the cold touch of those memories during their weaker moments.

I step back and slide the back of my hand over my forehead to wipe away the sweat, straightening to ease the ache in the small of my back from bending over for a long time.

Just as I do, Penelope appears next to me with water. She is a welcome sight.

"How was your trip?" I ask, taking the water gratefully. "Thank you."

Her eyes twinkle and her cheeks flush at the question.

Ah.

Bashir must have ensured that lovers' trip was splendid indeed. I can see the glow in her that was missing before she let Bashir come closer. I am glad that it is there now. She was always a bright female, but she was lonely—and largely unaware of that fact. I may have been the only one who noticed that dullness in her, that lack of shine that indicated she was not entirely happy.

I was paying attention because I have yet to lay eyes on my own true mate.

It leaves me constantly searching the females around me, looking for that spark that joins lovers. That spark that I so desire. Unfortunately, though there are plenty of beauties, there are none whom I look at and feel the cry in my soul, you! you belong to me. I have been searching for so long that in my most bleak moments, I begin to wonder if there is even a mate for me at all among the shipwrecked. That burst of hope I felt at our first contact with the humans has faded greatly in the years since.

But Penelope does not know that. She simply smiles brightly at my question.

"It was wonderful," she says sincerely, stepping back with the now-empty water vessel. Her eye wanders over to the wall itself and brightens even more. "Your work is looking gorgeous, Errol. The wall looks a whole lot less like a prison enclosure."

I smile back at her, chuckling, trying not to reveal the ache in my own heart at not having that connection to another that she has found.

"My thanks," I murmur.

She nods, still smiling as she turns around to continue passing out water from more vessels to the others still building the structure of the wall. It nearly spans the entire entrance to the valley now, erected to prevent any dangerous threats from making it in too close to our home caves.

I sigh, turning back to the glass. It is no matter. Life is much better than it has been for decades. Even if I do not have a mate.

Pushing the thought aside firmly, I focus on the wall again, sink back into that mindset that allows the unpleasant thoughts and emotions to drift away.

I settle back into my rhythm, the smooth glass slipping through my fingertips. Creating something beautiful. I am so absorbed in the work that I do not break until the grumbling in my stomach calls the time to my attention. It’s past dinner already.

Gazing over the work I’ve done, a sense of satisfaction swells. It’s good. The design itself, in a way, is one of hope. All these years past, resigned to our fate, none of us created art. We were going through the motions of life without actually living. The human arrival changed everything.

Walking out of the cave, Tajss’ two suns sit on the horizon, casting long shadows over the rolling sand dunes, creating the unique beauty that is my home. The striated colors of the dunes, shades of red to white, shift with the winds. It’s beautiful and breathtaking. I find it joyful that I notice it again.

My protective lenses close making it easy to stare out to the setting suns. Inhaling the crisp, dry air I let it out in a slow exhale. This is good. Everything is better.

“Let it be,” Padraig yells in his deep bass voice.

Glancing to where he’s working with the others on the protective wall, which is almost done, Padraig stands with his massive arms crossed glaring. That’s not surprising since he’s always glowering at someone.

“I’m almost done,” Samil calls down from the top of the wall.

“It’s dinner,” Padraig barks.

Samil has grown bolder, which is good, he’s standing up to Padraig. Ignoring the two males, I inspect the wall from here. It’s solid, well built, and should be enough to keep the wandering animals out of our area. Padraig’s gate made of metal salvaged from the human’s wrecked ship is an excellent addition.

Turning from the wall towards the common cave, the females’ garden is in full bloom. It’s stunning to see so much color growing in one place. Almost as if they’ve created their own oasis, which in a way they have.

Tall stalks shift as something causes them to move. My scales itch as I rush over, suspecting some creature has invaded. Pushing the stalks to one side, sparkling blue eyes stare up at me and Zoe points, laughing.

“Zoe!” I exclaim, crouching down in front of her.

She’s a beautiful baby. Her perfect scales reflect the setting suns in glinting rainbows. Her cheeks, always full, seem to be fuller than normal and she doesn’t answer with words, only smiles. Shaking my head, I tsk at her.

“Zoe?” I ask, tilting my head. She nods her head acknowledging that’s her name. “Open your mouth.”

She shakes her head side to side then swallows with great difficulty. Only then does she open her mouth.

“Me good,” she says, her soft voice music to my ears.

“You know your mother doesn’t want you eating before dinner,” I admonish.

She looks sheepishly around then grins. “Okay,” she says, shrugging, obviously undeterred.

“Come, let’s eat,” I say, holding out my hand and extending a finger.

She takes my finger in her tiny hand and we walk together to the communal meal table. Her tiny tail swishes behind her as she bounds step to step, determined to keep up with my much longer stride.

“Trouble, Err-yll?” she asks, glancing up.

“No, Zoe, I won’t say anything,” I smile. “But you eat your dinner, okay?”

“Yes!” she exclaims, dropping my finger and running ahead.

Olivia sees her running and intercepts, scooping her up into her arms and kissing her on both cheeks. Zoe giggles loudly and everyone, no matter what they’re doing, stops to watch for a moment.

Hope. Such a beautiful thing.

Grabbing a plate, I fill it then take a seat at the table with the others.

"Come on!" Arawn says.

"That was not fair!" Bashir responds.

I laugh along with the others as I take another bite of the meat dish drenched with Delilah's special sauce and watch the checkers match. Right now, Bashir and Arawn are playing against each other. Everyone else crowds around while we eat. We have come to truly enjoy the games our new additions brought along with them. They engage our minds with something a little more frivolous than our normal day-to-day activities, and bring out our competitive spirits in a safe manner.

I take another bite of the food, savoring the flavors as they burst across my tongue. Delilah's special sauce really is second to none. Like the others, I am grateful she has found a way to replicate her old recipe here. Though I am also sad for her at the same time.

The humans must make their home on Tajss now. There is no choice, not with their ship, their only means of transportation off the planet, completely destroyed. I sense that reality is not an easy one for the humans to stomach. It wouldn’t be for anyone.

Tajss is a hard place to live, but I cannot imagine living elsewhere. This is home, all I've ever known. It wasn’t always this bad, before the Devastation, Tajss was a thriving planet. The only source of epis for the galaxy, it was an important place. Still dangerous, yes, but bustling with life.

I can sense the restlessness in the females’ spirits over having to accept life here. I understand it. This is not their home. This was not the future they imagined for themselves.

Even their bodies are not meant to be in such a harsh climate, let alone their minds. They are soft, not created for a place with predators who can so easily overwhelm them. Their tender skin can be easily burned by our suns or scratched by the sand that Tajss is made of.

That is why the little things are so important. Partaking in comforts like the sauce that reminds them of their past and these games that engage our minds—it eases my spirit because I know it brings the humans joy.

I want them to be happy here. And these small things do help. I know because they also help me, help subdue my natural inclination for worry, quiet the memories of my past that plague me.

It is as if all of us agree we need to have more play, more frivolity in our lives, so we continue with the games even after dinner is over, playfully calling out insults and teasing the losers. I smile to myself, content with the happy, relaxed mood. This is a life worth working hard for, so much better than the quiet melancholy, waiting for our race to end.

Unfortunately, that mood does not last.

A harsh grinding sound quiets everyone and we all listen in the silence. I immediately reach for my lochaber as soon as I hear it. It came from the wall. I and the other males run out and swiftly down the valley, worried what we will find. My heart picks up speed as I see the top of the wall lurch, a small amount of dust falling from it.

I take a step towards it just as the creature behind the wall rears its head. The short muzzle, the leathery gray skin, the mane of thick white hair just under its massive head...

Chatteron. It is a chatteron. Well outside its natural habitat. Bashir had mentioned seeing one and killing it at the New Village, another area a chatteron should not have been. It is huge, walking on all fours, its feet a mixture of paws and a birdlike foot with long sharp claws. If we do not stop it now, it could damage the incomplete wall. Almost before the thought even forms, I am sprinting towards the creature.

My heart pounds, pumping adrenaline through me. Tightening my grip on my lochaber, I glance at the others running beside me. The bijass rises, pushing itself into my thoughts, a primal need to fight.

The ground trembles beneath my feet as it hits the wall again, roaring as it opens its mouth to reveal razor-sharp teeth, it's deep red tongue slim and pointed as it flicks out to taste the air.

The wall cannot take much more. It is battering a newer section, one not set quite as firmly as the sections that have had more time to cure.

Flaring my wings, I leap into the air, my lochaber pulled back, the grip I have on the shaft tight. Slashing downwards with the blade, I touch down briefly on its broad back and leap onto the ground behind it. It is bad luck that I missed the eyes, but a cut opens just above them.

The creature roars, its head turning towards me. I barely dodge its teeth as it lunges at me, slashing with my lochaber at its softer underbelly.

Behind it, I see the shadows of my fellow Zmaj leaping over the wall, but I cannot stop and watch. I roll between the thing's legs to avoid its whipping tail, just as Padraig stabs at the vulnerable area below its jaw. Melchior follows up with another slash at its underbelly.

Distracted by the others and attempting to blink away the blood flowing freely from my cut above its eyes, the chatteron does not see Bashir as he launches off the wall and onto its back. He slashes just under the thing’s jaw, before the protective mane.

The creature tries to buck Bashir off, and I take my opportunity at the distraction. Stabbing upwards from underneath, I bury my lochaber into its body, shoving with so much force that I bury it almost halfway up the handle.

I feel the tip cut into its heart.

This time, the roar it emits is more of a gurgle. It is bleeding both outside and in. There is no recovering from a heart blow. With a hard jerk to pull out my weapon, I roll out from underneath it.

Bashir leaps off its back, the others also moving back to a safe distance as the creature falters. It is in its death throes. It stumbles towards us, but it is bleeding much too badly, its heart too wounded for it to survive for more than a few steps. With a whistling whine, it finally stops. It slowly lists to the side before it finally succumbs and hits the ground.

I brace my feet and bend my knees, using my wings to stabilize myself as the ground reverberates under the full weight of the creature.

Silence as we all stare at it.

If the wall had not been there, we wouldn't have had that warning. People would likely have been hurt or worse. Some of the females have now made it to our position, their excited voices reaching me past the haze of violence.

"What the hell is that thing?"

"The wall was almost a goner!"

I look up at the wall reflexively, noticing the slight imperfections in the newly laid bricks at the top of the wall. They will survive. We can repair any minor cracks.

I look over as someone slaps me on the back.

"Good kill," Bashir praises me.

"I had help," I murmur.

He nods, looking back at the creature. "Together we are stronger."

And that is the truth is it not? We need to stay together to survive.

The talk quickly turns over from identifying the beast to what to do with the carcass itself.

"This is not meat that we should waste," Melchior points out.

I nod, murmuring my agreement along with everyone else. It is most definitely not meat to waste. It will keep us fed for a significant amount of time.

"At least there's some silver lining to this," Penelope murmurs next to me.

I have heard this phrase multiple times now. And it is very appropriate for this incident. Our course of action decided, all of us band together and start working on the carcass with our knives. Even with so many hands at work, it takes a significant amount of time to harvest all the meat.

"I've never seen anything this massive," Delilah murmurs next to me. "What is it called again?"

"Chatteron," I explain. "They should not be in this area. But it is the same creature Bashir spoke about from the New Village. The meteorite showers have likely disturbed many creatures, pushing them out of their natural homes." At least, that is what the evidence is currently pointing towards.

"I hope there aren't too many more of these nearby," she says as she continues to work. "The wall is strong, but a couple more of those things before it's finished and the mortar..."

"Yes," I agree. "The creatures are too massive for the wall to hold long if we have weak points that are still unfinished."

But the rest of the wall still looks completely intact. We did a good job of building it to withstand such force. If it is too weak to keep a creature out, what would be the point of it in the first place? Eventually, we do finish the butchering. By that point, many are exhausted and decide to go to bed for the night.

I attempt to do the same. It has been a long day with much excitement. I feel exhaustion dragging me down.

But as soon as my eyes are closed, I open them again. My thoughts are not quiet enough to drop into a slumber, no matter how much I may want to. I find myself wandering outside, not wanting to lie there when sleep will not claim me. Insomnia always brings thoughts I do not want to dwell upon.

Outside, I find Arawn is also awake, sitting in front of a checkerboard. He brightens when he sees me.

"Would you like to play?" he asks hopefully.

It is something to do, so I agree to a short game.

"The wall should be done soon," he comments after he makes his move. "I will feel much safer when it is sturdy and finished."

"Yes," I say, rubbing at my lip before I decide on my own move. "However, even though it is not yet done, it did stall the chatteron long enough that we were able to kill it before it could get to any of us."

He nods, studying the board.

"Almost as good as Delilah's sauce," he adds with a grin.

I chuckle as we move on to less serious topics. We play for some time before Arawn finally decides it is time for him to sleep. And then I am left alone.

With nothing else to distract me, I also go back to my own bed. It is later, but sleep still does not come easily, and when it finally does come, it is fitful at best and not at all restful. My dreams are vivid and confusing, a jumbled mixture of the beast's attack and of the unwanted memories I do not want to recall.

When the sun rises the next morning, I leave the bed with a sigh of relief, feeling almost more tired than when I first laid down. Not long after I am up, a messenger arrives with a fresh batch of orders from the city and a request that they arrive as quickly as possible. I let Ormarr know and he immediately starts working on fulfilling the order requests, measuring out each medicinal tonic.

Pushing back my body's call for sleep, I volunteer to be the one to travel to the city with the supplies and Ormarr accepts my offer. I do not want the wrong dreams to consume me, I do not want them penetrating my present or my future. Ever. I do not want them to be a part of my life. I intend to continue silencing my memories by staying as busy as possible.

Once Ormarr has the various mixtures of herbs steeping, I leave the room dedicated for the creation of medicines and travel towards the wall. I sink back into the meteorite glass design, keeping all my thoughts on the detailed work, but as I pick out the next perfect piece, I have another flash of the dreams from last night.

I come to a realization. What occurred last night triggered this. The felling of the beast that attempted to breach the wall and make meals of some of my people jolted these unwanted memories free. The violence and stress of the event broke through the wall I have been building inside me. Perhaps my subconscious equated that wall to the one that was almost damaged last night.

I do not know. Whatever the reason, the result is not a comfortable one.

After finishing off that section of the wall, I walk back to Ormarr’s work room, trying not to think about the haunted thoughts that plague me. I need to find a way to corral these memories again. A trip across the sands should keep me sufficiently distracted.

The healer has finished packing and he hands the order over. I acknowledge that I have reached a point where I am literally running away from my past. If it helps...I’m willing.