Page 76 of Emerald

The other humans can just walk away. Why won’t they?

Pointless questions with no answers, utterly impractical, yet for some inane reason my mind chooses to agonize over them.

… was it possible that the human must have infected me with something?

The anger I feel at myself for the perfectly rational suspicion is aggravating.

None of this is the way of the zhasie. The hoard must always be my priority, just like it has always been. Zha will have to decide.

My middle segment aches. Zha will not choose the hoard. Zha will choose freedom, zha’s own most desired treasure.

I realize my error in letting the thoughts whirl when I hear the battle cry. I whip around, certain I’m about to meet my end, but instead of striking me, the large black and green figure deflects its sharp blade to the side at the last moment.

Zha yells out again, a harsh coughing sound of a language and attacks before I have a chance to start making sense of it.

Except when I try to swipe back, I can’t make contact and zha’s knife misses again. Long braids of thick black hair whirl as the figure tries to strike again, once again changing the angle of the blow at the last moment.

I take an experimental swipe and find myself doing the same. We can’t hit each other for some inexplicable reason. Now that I’m not facing imminent death, I take a closer look at the figure. Zha is tall, and vaguely human shaped, but the similarities end there. Zha’s glowing green eyes are narrowed at me, hatred clear in them.

This time I don’t make the mistake of assuming the green means signaling to mate. If it was, zha would be from a very violent culture indeed. The marks are familiar…

They were on the white-haired human, I realize. I was uncomfortable with zha’s green signaling as I took zha to Olivia, but I need to keep reminding myself that other species don’t signal this way.

I rarely dealt with traders on my home planet, but now I am wondering how anyone was able to trade with outsiders without knowing their emotions. It’s incredibly annoying.

When this one flings zha’s arms to the side and yells out its rage, though, I have to concede that there are other ways to figure out emotions.

I grind my tusks together, then hold out my arms in a placating gesture, then wave zha toward me, take a few steps back the way I came, then wave again. I don’t know the words yet, but I don’t need to, to know zha is cursing me, but zha follows.

My skin has time to transition back from purple and red to pink by the time we wind our way back to my hoard. My zhann would be horrified to know just how many are there right now… and me bringing another.

Lunacy.

But I keep trudging along, my chest tighter and tighter with each step, the pink all but blinding at this point.

When I enter my hoard, I take dull note that it has been rearranged. I seek out Olivia, but then take my eyes back away before I look closely.

The dark one lets out a shout, then the white-haired one shouts back and they are running to each other and embracing in the most odd manner, both speaking that low, harsh language in a torrent.

I turn to my hoard, but my vision blurs and it brings me no comfort.

I hear Olivia padding up to me, the pattern of zha’s footfalls seared in my mind.

“Will you come, Kroaicho?” zha asks, voice hesitant.

My skin flares orange for a long moment, then reality reasserts itself. “A zhasie does not leave the hoard,” I grit out, tusks grinding.

“Right. I can see now that it is beautiful, and I get the desire to have more… but it is still just things. They are replaceable. People aren’t, Kroaicho,” zha tells me.

Zha’s words strike deep and my skin lights up red. Zha is right and it scares me. Nothing should be as terrifying as this. No one part of your hoard should cause so much fear and anxiety.

I don’t respond and instead sink into the mound, hoping it will help center my confused, racing thoughts.

“Alright,” zha says, with an odd click to zha’s voice.

Those familiar footfalls walk away, there’s a moment of splashing and grunting and then all of them move down the passage. I open my mouth to say something, but don’t know what to say, then close it again, tusks snapping together.

I hear zha’s footsteps behind me again and a long intake of breath, then exhale. My middle segment aches as the footsteps recede. I know my zhann would be proud of my choice, but I feel miserable.

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