I wake up to the smell of burning meat.

The pale light shining into the hollowed-out tree makes me think it’s morning, but then I remember there is no day, night, or morning here. I realize that without a day and night cycle, I have no real idea how long I slept for. I’m one of those people who always feels tired in the morning, no matter how long I sleep. Now is no exception, and the urge to just roll back onto the moss and pass out again is strong, but I decide to pop out of the tree and figure out how much time has passed.

I duck down and crawl through the hole that Proximus smashed into the tree, and when I exit, I see the smallest of fires–little more than burning embers–with some strange thing spit-roasted above it. It’s impaled on a stick, which is resting atop rocks stacked on top of each other. I don’t see Proximus anywhere.

Then he drops down out of a tree, and though he’s larger than a lion, he hits the ground just as quietly.

“I can stand guard better from above,” he says, hoisting his skullspear over his broad shoulder.

“How long did I sleep?” I ask.

“The river ebbed and flowed four times while you slept,” he says.

“Oh,” I say. “Okay.”

“Surely that is enough sleep for now,” he says. “Now we will eat. This beast is rich in protein.”

He grabs the thing off the flames and holds it up like a charred popsicle. He shoves it into my face. I force a smile and grab it delicately by the stick. I can still see the poor creature’s eyes, and its little mouth is hanging open as if it screamed during its death. It looks like a mix between a hedgehog and a rat.

“Thanks,” I say, rotating the stick around and examining it from all sides.

I have no idea how I’m supposed to eat it, but it does smell good, and I’m starving. Judging by the overall level of civilization and manners I’ve experienced from Proximus and this world, I assume I should just tear into it with my teeth, letting juices and whatever else stain my lips and cheeks. I was always the kind of girl who was grossed out when people chewed with their mouths open, or slurped soup, or even used the wrong fork for the wrong dish. But I’m hungry. Maybe hungrier than I’ve ever been, and Proximus is watching me with raised brows, waiting for me to bite into his prized catch.

“What about you?” I ask.

“I ate several of these before you woke,” he says.

“The smell woke me up,” I say, “I didn’t smell anything earlier.”

“I prefer them raw,” he says, licking his lips and grinning at me.

I realize then that cooking this for me was probably something he did as an extreme courtesy. It’s something he’d never do for himself, but he learned enough about humans from the Emperor Clan and from serving on the ship as our jailor to know that we don’t eat raw meat.

“Thank you,” I say, and I bite into the animal.

There’s no hint of spice or salt or anything on it, but the smoky flavor from the flames mixes with the fatty juices, and I feel myself drooling even as I chew. I want more. At first I try to eat politely, but I can tell by Proximus’ expression that eating politely actually offends him. I try to woof it down harder, not caring if I get it all over my face, and only then does he smile in satisfaction.

“Good,” he says. “I’ve never cooked this.”

“What is it called in your language?” I ask, realizing he won’t have a word for it in English.

I point to the earpiece, reminding him that I might understand.

He lips a word, and what pops into my ear is: “Ratskunk.”

“Yes,” he says, “Ratskunk is the most delicious and fragrant animal in the forests of this area.”

I stifle a laugh, worried I’ll offend him if I actually laugh. “It really does taste wonderful. It’s the perfect first meal to have on your planet.”

I work at it more, picking all the little bits of meat off the bones. It tastes less and less good after I eat the best parts, and I draw the line at eating the ratskunk’s balls.

“Saving the best part for later?” Proximus asks me, pointing at the dangling testicles.

“Don’t we need to get moving again?” I ask. “I’m fully rested and ready to walk.”

I sigh relief when he forgets about the testicles, and we begin again down the forest path.

I try to make small talk with him over the next few hours, but he seems distracted. It’s almost as if he doesn’t want to talk to me, but I try to write it off as him being on edge. I’ve worked out that his senses–especially smell–are much more honed than human senses. For all I know he is hyper focused on all the smells as we walk through the path, and making conversation with me distracts him from noticing something–or someone–that might be coming to kill us. I give up talking to him, and we continue on in silence for at least a full hour.

The silence ends with Proximus stopping and turning toward me. “The forest ends here. We will be in the city shortly, so you must disguise yourself.”

I pop a hand out of my mantle, which reminds me just how cold the air is, and I gesture toward the mantle. “Isn’t this enough?”

He shakes his head. “Your language was gifted to me by the Emperor. Don’t mistake my mastery of the language for real experience with humans. I know very little about you, but I’ve learned a thing or two now. Your smell is a problem.”

“Excuse me?” I ask. “It’s not like there’s showers or soap around here, and I slept on the dirt floor covered in dead leaves.”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Not even a shower would be enough.”

I snort and laugh. “Well sorry that I don’t smell like perfume and roses, I should have prepared myself better for when you abducted me out of my car in the dead of night.”

He cocks his head at me. “No...you do not understand. Your scent is...it’s why the Ice Cliff clansmen lost all control. Have you not wondered why I strive to keep you downwind of me?”

“Humans can barely smell anything, Proximus. I’ve never noticed anything being upwind or downwind of anything. I’m not a dog.”

“We notice,” he says. “And you cannot go into the city without applying the blood of the ratskunk.”