Mene
Shouts of distress drew Mene outside into the cold. Fresh snow had fallen overnight, blanketing the ground in a plush layer.
Michael, the small Terran child, crouched behind a poorly constructed wall of snow. His nose was bright red and dripping. Lorran crouched next to him. They clutched crudely made weapons, snow packed tightly into a sphere, and whispered.
Seeran came up the walkway, unaware of the ambush.
Michael tittered with excitement.
Seeran paused, head cocked as he listened. He scooped up a handful of snow, but the cautious warrior was too late.
Lorran and Michael sprang up from behind their barricade, flinging their readymade supply of missiles. Seeran ducked and rolled to the ground, snowballs pelting his back. The battle was short but fierce. Outnumbered, the lone male admitted defeat and surrendered.
"Join us, brother," Lorran called from behind his barricade.
"I will not." Mene had outgrown snowball fights several years ago.
"Is the big, bad Enforcer afraid of getting his horns wet?"
"He does not wish to look foolish," Seeran added.
Lorran shoved a handful of snow into the back of his brother's head. "That is your smack talk? Your mate claimed that you have been practicing."
"I have."
"Practice more." Lorran turned his attention to the young Terran. "Convince Mene to play with us, Michael."
Michael stood, his blond head barely cresting the barricade. He wiped his dripping nose on a coat sleeve. "We have cookies."
Mene sniffed the air. He detected many things, but he did not detect cookies. "I fear my brothers have corrupted you, young warrior. There are no cookies."
"I'm not lying." He snickered. "Honest."
He moved toward the barricade, sensing a trap. "Present the cookie's credentials."
Michael sprang up and tossed a snowball. It hit Mene square in the chest and exploded in a brief flurry.
"Do you require another cookie?" Lorran asked sweetly, preparing a second missile.
"Fresh baked, just for you!" Michael tossed another snowball, hitting his mark.
"The cold is affecting your translator,” Mene said. “Those were not cookies."
"Well tough cookies!" The youth doubled over with laughter. When the other three Mahdfel stood perfectly still, watching him, he paused. "That's a really funny joke in my language."
Seeran nodded. "Idioms," he said in a knowing voice.
Rosemary rounded the corner, dragging behind her a wooden sled. The metal tracks cut a groove through the snow. "Guys, look what Oran found. I haven't been sledding since I was your age, Michael."
Michael abandoned the snow fort and ran to his mother. "Awesome! Can we go for a ride down the hill?"
Rosemary nodded, but Mene loudly said, "No."
She dropped the rope handle, and the sled fell to the ground. "Excuse me? We're going sledding."
"It is too cold," he said.
"It's supposed to be cold. Too warm and the snow melts."
"You are ill-suited for the cold. The layer of fat at your hips and midsection will provide some insulation, but is not enough."
Her mouth fell open. Lorran patted poor, simple-minded Mene on the back as he walked by to retrieve the sled. It was not a reassuring pat, but one given to a comrade about to face an impossible foe. Seeran mumbled that he would miss his eldest brother.
Perhaps he miscalculated.
"Did you just call me fat?"
"I referred to the layer of—"
"I heard you the first time!"
"Your nose is pink, and your lips have begun to discolor. You should return inside immediately until your core body temperature is at acceptable levels." He touched the tip of her nose to demonstrate. The flesh was cold.
Her eyes grew wide, and she took a step forward, right into his reach. With her head craned back, her gaze narrowed with displeasure. She did not fear him. "First, don't touch me. Ever. Second, you are not the boss of me."
"Clearly, you require supervision." He folded his arms over his chest. She mirrored his moves.
"And you're just the person to give it to me, I assume."
Heat inexplicably kindled in his gut at her words. Yes, he would give it to her. He frowned and increased the intensity of his stare. "If I must."
She held his gaze. "And what makes you so qualified?"
"I am an accomplished warrior. My deeds are known to many throughout the system."
"Well, sugar plum, I don't need your permission or supervision. Now get out of my way."
He widened his stance.
"How are you even serious right now?"
"I question your judgment, female. It is too cold for your soft form and too cold for your son. His nose is red and dripping." Alarmingly so.
"So now fat and a bad mom?"
"Those were not my words."
"Right, a bad, fat mom who requires supervision. I believe those were your words."
"You are being irrational."
"Because I'm talking to a great lavender wall of jackasses."
Michael ran up and tugged on her coat sleeve. "That's a credit for the Swear Jar, Mom. I heard you."
"Go with Lorran. I'll be there soon," she said. She zipped his coat closed and adjusted the knit cap on his head. Satisfied, she patted him on the back, and he took off at a breakneck pace.
When Michael reached Lorran, the older man clamped his hands over the boy’s ears. "Are you two done flirting? You can give it to each other all you want, later.” He uncovered Michael’s ears. “My balls are freezing over here."
"Swear jar!" Michael shouted.
Mene turned to point to his younger brother, currently making a fool of himself with exaggerated shivering. "See, it is too cold even for a warrior."
"I don't have balls," Rosemary said.
No, her form was entirely feminine.
Mene turned back around to say something to that effect when a snowball hit him in the center of his face.
She laughed and danced away, out of his reach.
Utterly fearless. His admiration increased.