Page 22 of Alien Barbarian's Little Human

“Yes, I agree. You are wonderful.”

He kisses me, and we snuggle up together. Outside, the sounds of revelry continue. Dinner has turned into an impromptu party.

We have our own party in the hut, spending the time between heated encounters talking about nothing and everything. I never dreamed Gog would be such a beast. I guess he really is the best in his village…best warrior of course.

CHAPTER 7

GOG

“So,” Micah says. “Are you going to ask me to marry you or what?”

I glance up from the spear tip I am mending. Micah works her tanning needle into my new loincloth with care, only glancing up when she’s between stitches.

“Marry you? I’m afraid that word doesn’t quite translate.”

Micah purses her lips and sets the loincloth down.

“It’s an Earth ceremony. You stand up in front of your family and friends and formally declare that you’re going to be together forever. You exchange vows, and rings, and…none of this makes any sense to you, does it?”

“On the contrary, it makes a lot of sense. We have some traditions as well, but they do not involve rings. The vows, however, are quite similar.”

She arches an eyebrow as a braid of hair falls into her face. She brushes it back over her shoulder. Even braided, her hair reaches the small of her back now. Has she been here that long?

“Come on, Gog. It’s been years. Or turns of the seasons, as your folk say. Aren’t you going to make an honest woman out of me?”

“But you are an honest woman. Everyone knows it.”

She slaps a hand over her face and sighs.

“Oh god, what am I going to do with you? I want the ceremony, damn it. All the pomp and circumstance. Everyone knows we’re together--Kul keeps asking me if I’m pregnant yet--but it’s not the same.”

“Very well. I see how much this means to you. I will speak with Chief Ral and see if we cannot arrange something. Perhaps a blending of our two traditions?”

“I would like that very much. Only, I can’t imagine wearing a full wedding dress in this heat, unless we did it at night. Night weddings can be elegant.”

A heavy drumbeat thunders over the village. My eyes widen and my heart skips a beat. This is not a good sound.

“What’s that?” she asks, eyes full of fear. “Oh no, this isn’t another Skuyr raid, is it?

“No. This is the sound of incoming wounded.”

She rises to her feet. I put on my old loincloth. When people are injured, the whole community comes together.

Sentries race along the walls, keeping watch out in the deepening sunset. I glance out over the plains and rolling hills, but see nothing out of the ordinary. It’s been almost a year since the Skuyr last sent a raiding party. We inflicted grave losses on them without losing a single warrior, and they have not been back since.

Near the gate, we discover that our aid will not be needed. There is only one survivor from the hunting party. Dalra, a young warrior, lays on his back while a half dozen Drokan attend to him. My stomach churns at his grisly injuries. It looks almost as if some of his wounds came from the inside out.

“What manner of weapons could cause injuries such as these?” Chief Ral says, his face grave as I’ve ever seen it.

“I have no idea, my chief.”

“I do.”

We turn toward Micah, whose blue eyes are haunted.

“Those kinds of wounds look like explosive rounds.”

When Ral and I look more confused, she tries to elaborate.

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