Page 36 of Caveman Alien's Terror

“You are already helping me find gold,” he says. “That’s the only cure. Ah. This is a much larger space.”

It’s not outside, the way I thought. We’re still underground, but this is more of a hall that stretches to the bare rock on every side. It’s many times bigger than the levels we just came from.

I can see that because it’s almost as bright as day down here. The light comes from above, from dozens of three-foot-wide circles in the ceiling, blindingly bright.

The air smells of dirt and plants, but it’s not the suffocating half-rotting scent in the jungle. This is cleaner, somehow. I recognize the spicy scents of some of the plants that we use a lot in the tribe.

I walk over to one of the light spots and look up, shielding my eyes. “It’s sunlight,” I report. “There are holes in the ceiling that must lead all the way up to the surface. And then all the way to the treetops.”

“How?” Praxigor asks, reasonably enough.

“Through pipes,” I take a guess, realizing that it doesn’t explain anything. “So, some time ago I lived underground, too, with some other girls. And we talked about how we could make our tunnel brighter. Just a hole going up to the surface wouldn’t be enough. Because you know how dark the jungle is. The canopy of treetops doesn’t let any direct sunlight reach the ground. But if you had a really long pipe or tube, you could stick it up along a tree to the very top and have it gather sunlight up there. It wouldn’t work unless the tube was shiny on the inside, which seems like it would be difficult. We certainly never even tried. But I think that’s how this must be done. Because this goes high up. The hole at the top looks tiny from here.”

“Ah. At least we can guesswhythey did it,” Praxigor rumbles.

That part is pretty obvious. We’re surrounded by plants everywhere, growing all the way to the ceiling, clustered thickly around the light spots.

I check some of the plants. “Yes, because these plants need light to grow. They're all food plants. Look, there’s berries and nuts and fruits and roots. Nothing else. No weeds or straw or grass.”

Praxigor looks down on a bush, its limbs heavy with pale white bulbs. “Are you about to tell me that you want toeatthis vegetation?”

“Those are actually not my favorite,” I tell him as I pick a laurel-like leaf from a bush. “But some of the other ones are good. Want to try?”

“I donot.”

I carefully push the lower end of the now unneeded torch into the soft dirt so it stands by itself while I examine the plants. “This is not random. Someone put thick dirt here. There’s water trickling down from above. This was someone’s kitchen garden. They grew food here.”

“And there’s no way to get further down,” he growls. “No stairs that I can see.”

“Then this must be the lowest floor. I’m sorry, Praxigor. It doesn’t look like there’s gold down here.” I take a cautious couple of steps back, waiting for his explosion of rage.

He kicks up a cascade of wet dirt. “It was always unlikely.”

No rage, then. Maybe he just needed to vent before. He's just a little bit complex, this dragon dude.

“There’s still Cora,” I remind him. “If we find her.”

“Now we have to,” he says calmly. “If there’s something you like here, eat it. Those lackeys won’t be back for a long time. You can rest if you want.”

“That would be nice,” I reply and pick some ripe berries. “I need to eat more often than you think.”

“All the time,” Praxigor growls. “So many needs!”

“I have many small needs,” I tell him as I chew the tart berries. “I need food, and air, and water and many other things. You have one big need instead.”

“One overpowering need,” he agrees. “So strong it causes pain when not satisfied.”

I munch on the berries. “So you don't need to breathe?”

“Not the way you do. If I did, I wouldn't be here.”

“There's also another need I have,” I tell him. “Or more of a preference. I like to know things. To understand them.”

“Such a terrible affliction,” he says coldly. “I have heard of it. It's called 'being nosy', and it’s dangerous to be nosy around dragons. We always think you’re trying to find out where we keep our hoard.”

“Well, I don’t care about that,” I state. “Do you mind if I try to satisfy my need? It's not an interrogation. I have no interest in your hoard, as I think you know. I ask from pure curiosity.”

“From purenosiness,” he says drily.

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