Page 68 of Caveman Alien's Touch

I turn and look down. “You all right, Dexer?”

He’s lying down on his back, blind eyes staring up. “Not quite.”

Oh sweet stars… “Was it your back?”

“My back is fine. It was something else. Here.” He points.

“The collarbone. Did it break?”

“It made a noise. And it hurts.”

I think quickly. I can only help him if I get down there again, and any help I might render then will be somewhat?—

“Donotget back down here,” Dexer says, with unusual force. “Get to our clan and help fight the outcasts! Come back for me later, when our brothers are safe.”

He knows me well. “I will, Dexer. Whatever happens, I shall see you in the stars.”

“Yes, yes,” he says with an impatience that’s clearly fueled by the pain he’s in. “Why are you still here? Run, man! Run!”

I do as he says.

23

- Bronwen-

Being dragged through the jungle by outcasts and their unpleasant leader makes me mad. But it mostly makes me scared. Still I do my best to try to warn the Foundlings. I make sure to step on every dry twig I see and trip over every rock, kick at every tree, and swipe my leg into every bush to make a rustling noise. If I can at least get the Foundlings to be so suspicious that they pull the platforms to the treetops, out of reach of the outcasts and their swords, then it will be hard for these guys to get at them.

There’s maybe ten outcasts. They stare at me and make snide and suggestive comments, but they’re clearly scared of Unin’iz. And he does look stronger and more put together than them, although he has clearly let himself go since he took part in the game of penk.

The terrain starts sloping up and getting rocky. The camp can’t be far away. Unin’iz pulls me to him and makes sure I can’t make any sounds. He wants to surprise the Foundlings.

He pushes me down behind a bush and crouches there himself. When I spot the camp in between the trees, my heart sinks in my chest. All the platforms are down by the ground, and many of the Foundlings and the boys are down, walking around, playing and doing chores. I guess only Dexer has hearing that’s good enough to sense approaching danger. And probably the rest of the tribe are relying too much on him. Which is no good when he’s not around, like now.

The outcasts quickly spread themselves out around the camp.

I spot a twig on the ground and place my knee on it as hard as I can.

It snaps with a sharp sound, and I notice some of the boys stopping their play and turning their heads.

Come on, I urge them wordlessly.Get up in the trees!

And they do! All the boys and a good number of the men hurry to their platforms and hoist themselves up. A handful of Foundlings are left on the ground, grabbing spears and coming my way to investigate. To my horror, one of them is Trat, the boy with the misshapen foot. Damn, Noker and I made him too confident! Now he thinks he’s as good a warrior as the adults of his clan!

Unin’iz swears viciously and cuffs me on the ear so I fall sideways to the ground. “Damned female! Attack! Attack!” he yells to his friends.

There are spread war cries, but the outcasts aren’t organized enough to give a truly frightening roar in unison, so it doesn’t have the best effect.

The Foundlings still on the ground react quickly, sprinting back to the platforms as well as they can on the sharp rocks. But the outcasts from the other side of the camp get there before them. They block the way, swords drawn.

The Foundlings know they’ll either get on their platforms or die, and they fight the outcast with a desperation that forces the attackers back. But not without sacrifice — one platform zooms up, leaving an adult Foundling on the ground, dead or unconscious.

Unin’iz drags me with him over to the man and draws his own sword.

“Dirty Foundling,” he seethes and plunges his sword into the helpless clansbrother’s chest. Then he looks up at the platforms, most of them now hundreds of feet up.

“Follow the plan, men!”

The outcasts take the big pots they were carrying and open them, then pour the contents on the trunks and around the roots of the massive trees. One makes a fire on the ground, using embers that he fishes out from a smaller pot.

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