Page 31 of Rok's Captive
Chapter8
WATER STORAGE: YOU’RE DOING IT WRONG
ROK
Night has deepened since I brought the male to this cave. The shadowmaws have moved on to easier prey, their clicking calls fading into the distance. Yet I remain vigilant, my senses alert for any threat that might return.
But the greatest puzzle is before me.
This male drinks foul water. Water that tastes of decay and artificial substances I cannot name. Water that should be rejected by any being with functioning senses. Yet he consumes this poison willingly, even eagerly.
It is no wonder he is so small. So weak. What other proper nourishment does he lack? No wonder he cannot perform mindspeak. He does not have the power to do so. The poor creature must have been surviving in these harsh conditions for many cycles.
The fact I found him breathing is a miracle in itself. He is not from this region. That is clear. A traveler then. From far away. One whose supplies probably dwindled and went stale as he made his way across the dust. His strange waterskin is proof enough.
I almost want to introduce him to one of our fresh pools, just so he can sate himself for possibly the first time in his existence, but I do not.
Instead, I watch as he settles against the cave wall, his eyes growing heavy. My instinct is to stay vigilant, to watch the cave entrance for shadowmaws, but I cannot help tracking his movements. The way he breathes. The strange hide on his body. The unusual dullness of his skin.
He is unlike any Drakav I have ever encountered. Too small, too soft, with strange rounded features and dull, flat teeth. How does he tear meat? How does he defend himself? If I had left him to the shadowmaws, he would have made an easy meal.
As the dark deepens, the shadowmaws’ clicks grow fainter as they move away to hunt easier prey. Still, I remain alert. They are clever hunters. I’ve seen them feign retreat only to circle back when their quarry believes itself safe.
So…I will wait. With this traveler…
Staring out into the dark beyond, I weigh his discovery in my mind. Kol would have known what to do from the first moment. That is why he is our leader.
Solmarks pass. The male rests…even in my presence. His lack of caution is concerning. But this is the first time since being in his presence where my ears are not ringing from his constant vocalizations. The silence is like a balm, but his breathing is shallow and quick. Too quick, perhaps?
I turn my gaze from the cave entrance to study him more carefully.
Something is not right.
The male’s skin has changed. Before, it was a pale color, almost like the belly of a sand-skimmer. Now there is an unnatural flush spreading across his face. The skin there is hot, the warmth reaching me even from where I crouch at the cave entrance. This is not right. No Drakav would allow their temperature to rise so dangerously unless they were prepared for skin-shedding. And this creature is in no condition to shed anything.
I remain at my post. The shadowmaws are still too close. But my eyes continually stray back to the small being.
He makes a sound—not like his earlier vocalizations, but something raw and pained. The sound brings me to my feet before I can consider whether this is wise. I move silently across the cave, every sense alert for danger, both from without and from the male himself.
Lowering my head, I sniff the air around him. Sweet. A strange sweetness that assaulted my senses as I carried him here. But there is a new scent now. Something sharper. More acrid.
Then I see it.
The moisture.
I lower myself, moving on all fours, slow and careful. My hands and feet find purchase on either side of the male as I hover over him, studying. The color change is alarming, but there’s something else wrong with his skin. There brim tiny droplets of…water?
I lean in closer, nostrils flaring. Yes. Salty like the east sands, but water nonetheless. It’s seeping from his skin, collecting in small beads on his brow and trailing down his neck.
Water. Precious water. Leaking out as if his skin is filled with holes.
The sight is so strange I am transfixed by horror.
Either this male is dying or he is from a place far away, where water flows freely enough to waste from one’sskin.
I growl low in my throat, disturbed by this offense against everything I know to be right. Water is life. Water is sacred. Water is never, ever wasted.
But as I stare at the male, something tells me this is not intentional. The rapid breathing, the flushed skin, the heat radiating from him?—
