“If we build the wall just a bit more we should be able to fend off any attacks,” I say.

“Yes, but if the Zzlo come, it won’t be enough,” Drosdan grunts, crossing his arms across his massive chest.

“True,” I say. “We will need to continue constructing further defenses, but it is a start.”

Drosdan shrugs then nods agreement.

The work continues, but he’s right. It’s not enough. If the Zzlo find us, we are in trouble. Knowing that they have a station set up and are sending slaves off world… bile rises in my throat. Somehow I had thought that their presence was less established. That they were remnants looking for quick easy prey and that they would move on. How wrong I was.

“We should destroy them,” Drosdan says. “Go on the attack instead of waiting for them to find us, again.”

He looks pointedly at me when he says again. Drosdan isn’t subtle. He’s not just big, he’s blunt.

“We don’t have the force,” I say. “They are established. Ragnar scouted them and we would lose.”

“We’ll lose waiting here,” Drosdan replies with a huff.

Placing a hand on his bicep, I shake my head.

“Time, Drosdan. We will win when the time is right. First let’s make sure our people are safe. We have the females to care for,” I smile.

Drosdan nods, his gaze shifting to the garden where several of the human females are working. Which one is his treasure?

“Incoming!” Samil, the youngest surviving Zmaj in the Tribe cries out.

Drosdan and I turn as one and run for the wall. Samil is at the gate opening pointing out at the horizon. After I close my outer eyelids to adjust for the distance and brightness of the suns, dim forms become clear. It’s not Zzlo, there are Zmaj out there with humans.

“What is this?” Drosdan asks.

“I do not know,” I say, a sick foreboding coming over me.

What twist has the future thrown at us now? They must be from the City, but they only left a few days ago. What could drive them to return so soon? I grasp for possibilities but nothing good comes to mind. Kalessin’s prophecy drifts through my thoughts, but I don’t see how it fits with this. Ragnar walks up with Melchior and Bashir in tow.

“What’s happening?” he asks.

“The City is returning,” I answer.

“Already?” he asks, frowning.

“Yes,” I say.

“Let’s go,” he says to the other two hunters, breaking into a ground-eating run.

They fall in with him, their easy gait belying the speed at which they move across the red sand of Tajss.

“What now?” Drosdan asks.

“We should prepare for guests,” I say.

“We don’t have room for them—look how many of them there are! More than before!”

“I see that,” I say, meeting his glare.

Drosdan puffs his chest out and leans in. Patient, I wait for him to have his moment without backing down. When he can’t intimidate me, his chest deflates and his shoulders slump.

“They’re not staying with me,” he grouses, turning and walking away.

Word spreads quickly of the return of those from Ladon’s city. Several tribesmen come to me and complain. Our resources are thin, but right now I don’t know why they’re coming back so soon. I reassure those who come while I wait. Standing by the gate, I watch the distant figures come slowly closer.

“Samil, go and get water,” I order.

The small Zmaj runs off and soon returns with a jug full of water. Possibilities race through my mind as to why they are returning. Pacing back and forth in front of the opening in the wall becomes tiresome, so I pause and kneel, running my hands through the loose sand. I let it sift through my fingers until only a few pebbles remain. Rolling them against each other in my palm, I stand and look to see how close they are now.

Time crawls by as I wait. The distant figures come closer, but as they do, I see there are more than I expected. It’s a larger group than was with Rosalind when she was here last. As they come closer, I see her at the head of the column. Her white outfit stands out sharply against the red sand. They crest a dune and I see her stop, shielding her eyes as she looks towards me.

The pounding in my chest aches as my hearts go into double time. Is she returning for me? Has she decided to resign her position and embrace the Tribe?

The idea is ludicrous. I know her too well to allow myself such a belief, but no matter how I try to suppress the idea, it lingers, dancing at the edge of my thoughts. It would be nice. Nice, I snort. She is the one my being calls to. I want to treasure her, but I cannot allow myself to have such a luxury. My duty to my people overrides that biological imperative. It doesn’t matter that she triggers such feelings. I am myself. I cannot allow myself to give in to my desires.

“Visidion?” Samil cuts into my thoughts, breaking me out of their circling chain.

“Yes?” I ask, facing him.

His eyes shift around, not meeting mine. He swallows hard, kicks at the sand, then he meets my gaze at last.

“What’s it like? How do you… know?”

“Know?” I ask, trying to ascertain what he is asking me.

His eyes break away, he rolls his shoulders, kicks the sand then clears his throat. Suddenly it hits me what he’s asking. I forget how young he is, too young to have been mentored by his parents. He was a child when the devastation happened, and while now a man, in our male-only society that had no hope of a future… No one wanted to discuss things that could never be.

“Yeah…” he says, still looking anywhere but me.

Placing a hand on his shoulder, I grip tight, reassuring.

“You feel it,” I say. “An emptiness in your chest when she’s not there. A tightening in your core when you see her. An urge—to protect, to treasure, to never be separated. When you see her, your hearts speed up, your blood pressure rises, and you know, deep inside, that you will do anything for her.”

“Oh,” he nods, pursing his lips.

“Have you felt that?” I ask.

He shrugs, staring off across the empty sands at the approaching people of the City. I wait for him to answer but he doesn’t. Instead of pushing him, I let him have his privacy and pat him on the back.

“We’re going to need more water,” I say,

“Sure,” he says, setting down the one pitcher he brought and leaving to get more.

He’s small and a bit weak. He’s used to being abused by those around him, but even he deserves someone to love. I hope he does find his one. We need him to if we’re going to survive beyond this generation. The empty ache in my chest recurs as I realize how much Rosalind has influenced my thoughts. I know that their coming back early is not a good thing, but I can’t help but be at least a bit glad they’re here. I miss her. They come closer as I watch with anticipation building, tingling, running along my scales.

“What are we going to do with them?” Ormarr asks, coming up beside me.

Ormarr is our resident healer. Once he was a doctor, skilled in the use of machines and able to save lives in almost any situation. Now he’s a healer, medicine becoming more of an art than a science once technology was taken away.

“First I’ll find why they’ve returned,” I say.

“Send them packing,” Padraig says, joining us.

Padraig is covered in soot from his work at the forge. His deep voice echoes off the stone wall. Arawn, the leather worker and pain in Padraig’s tail, is beside him.

“Padraig the friendly, that’s what we call you,” Arawn teases.

“Humph,” Padraig says, crossing his arms. “You know I’m not the only one feeling that way.”

“So what?” Arawn asks. “We can’t turn them away without offering our help.”

“Sure we can, it’s easy, just say ‘bye’ and turn them away. See how easy it was?” Padraig argues.

“Together we are stronger,” Arawn answers.

Padraig’s mouth snaps shut, unable or unwilling to argue with the Edicts.

“He’s right,” I say, looking at both of them and the growing crowd of others coming to see what’s going on. “When have we turned away those in need? We are more than that. We are better. Protect the weak. Work together. The strong have responsibilities. We are the strong, so we must enable them to no longer be weak.”

“They’re not staying with me,” someone in the crowd says, but I miss who.

“We don’t have room,” Errol says.

Errol is our mason, crafter of stone. It is through the magic of his hands that the small caves of the cliff have become homes. He, more than any other, knows the capacity of our homes.

“We are jumping ahead of ourselves,” I say. “Go about your day, I will deal with this.”

“What if we—” Padraig starts.

I cut him off with an icy glare. The bijass throbs behind my eyes, ready to pounce and grab control. Wrestling it into submission, I redirect its rage and use it. Stepping forward, squaring my shoulders, I enter his personal space. My wings slightly open and my tail rises in challenge, willing him to submit.

It works. Padraig shrinks before me, shrugging his shoulders.

“Fine,” he agrees bitterness in his voice.

The crowd mutters, but no one is willing to challenge me for leadership. As they part and go their ways, Samil is left standing, holding another jar of water. His eyes are cast down, staring at the ground.

“Come Samil, you may join me in welcoming our guests,” I say.

His smile splits his face, and he bounces over to me.

“Thank you!” he exclaims.

No answer is necessary. I’m doing him no kindness and he knows it, for he may well pay for it later. The others will want to re-establish their dominance in our society. Still, he is grateful. No matter how far we’ve come, we still fight our primal need to dominate.

It’s not long before the approaching group from the city is at the wall. Rosalind walks at the lead. Ladon walks beside Calista with their child on her hip right behind her, followed by Sverre, Jolie, and Rverre. Another Zmaj and a female I don’t know, with a child, walk behind them.

My chest swells seeing the children. I can’t look at them and not feel hope. Rosalind marches right up to me with at least thirty people behind her, fanning out in a group. She meets my gaze, but her jaw is tight and her face grim.

“What happened?” I ask without preamble.

“I ran out of time,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m sorry to do this, but we need shelter.”

Ladon glares over Rosalind’s shoulder, anger coming off him in waves. Stepping past her, I walk up to him. As I approach he steps away from Calista and their child. His tail is down, his arms at his side, but still he meets my gaze in defiance.

“Ladon,” I say his name.

The group around him holds their breath, waiting to see what will happen. Everyone knows of Ladon’s temper, it seems. There are scorch marks on the scales of his chest. He’s been shot by Zzloo weapons. His chest rises and falls with his rapid breathing, hands clenching into fists.

“Yes,” he says.

“You will be our guest,” I say. “Do you understand?”

His hard gaze bores into me, wanting to issue his defiance, but after a moment, he lowers his eyes. He looks at Calista and Illadon, and I see his shoulders slump. The weight of the situation is crushing. Having lost my home recently, I sympathize with him, but I cannot and will not allow that to make me weak. At last he nods his head.

“Of course,” he says.

I clasp him by his shoulder before I turn back to Rosalind.

“The City is welcome here. Come, partake of water,” I say, motioning to Samil who rushes forward and offers the pitcher.

“Thank you,” Rosalind says, her face relaxing, but I see the pain in her eyes.

“Of course, we have much to discuss, but first let’s get your people settled.”