Page 128 of Tharn's Hunt
Mikaela's laughter is the first sign that things are finally looking up.
Three days ago, she was flushed with fever, her body wracked with chills. Now, she's sitting cross-legged near the central fire, sorting through the meager pile of Earth belongings we've managed to salvage—some tattered clothing and a handful of personal items that somehow survived the crash and our trek across the desert.
"Look what I found!" she exclaims, holding up a cracked but still faintly glowing smartwatch. "Useless now, but..." She taps the screen, making it flicker weakly.
"Keep it," Tina says, pausing from her work sorting through the last of the Xyma supplies they brought with them from the wreckage. "You never know when we might need tech from home."
The firebloom tea seems to be working. Now, we consume it even when not showing symptoms. It’s not a permanent fix,but enough to buy us time. Mikaela's fever broke first, and since then, the others have shown signs of improvement too.
Around us, the clan caves hum with activity. Near the eastern wall, several Drakav work with the massive hide of the dust serpent Tharn took down. The pale, glistening underbelly leather is stretched taut across massive stone frames. The warriors’ sharp stone knives scrape the last of the fat and sinew from the inner surface.
Rok kneels beside a freshly scraped section, his claws testing the texture of the hide. Nearby, Tharn is working with a smaller piece, cutting it into long, thin strips.
Mikaela glances over and wrinkles her nose. "Smells like old saddle leather."
Justine snorts. "Better than smelling likedeadleather."
In the mindspace, one Drakav’s focus sharpens as he watches me inspect the hide.
"She touches it like it might bite," he observes, amused.
"Because the last time she saw these, they were biting," Tharn deadpans.
Kol, overseeing the work, flicks his claws in a dismissive gesture. "We need more. One serpent is not enough for a clan our size, now." His gaze sweeps over the human women. "We need more hides. More meat. More of everything."
A ripple of agreement passes through the warriors, followed immediately by Haroth’s dry projection: "I volunteer to hunt more. Immediately." His gaze lingers just a beat too long on the women behind me.
Tharn’s lips curl in disapproval. "You just want to impress the small one."
"You shaped an entiregarment for your female," Haroth counters. "Do not deny me a single scale's worth of praise."
Rok exhales sharply through his nose. "Careful, brother. Human thoughts don't light up in the mindspace. You'llhave to interpret..."He gestures vaguely at Alex’s frown of concentration as she prods the hide."... that."
Haroth’s answering growl is pure theatrics. "Then I’ll hunt the largest serpent in the wastes. Surely that earns?—"
"A scolding for recklessness," Kol interrupts, though even his mental voice carries reluctant amusement.
My gaze shifts back to our little group, just in time to see Mikaela shudder and rub her temples.
“Ugh,” she mutters, shooting a glare toward the Drakav. “Are they doing that... mental chest-thumping again?”
Pam blinks. “Wait, you felt that too? I just got this weird urge to roll my eyes.”
Across the circle, Tina tilts her head. “Huh. I thought I imagined someone thinking about serpents.”
Justine and I exchange glances. Not full mindshare, not yet—just emotional echoes slipping through. They're not just surviving here anymore. They're becoming part of this place. Part of them. Like me and Justine.
The thought sends a shiver through me. The memory of the carvings in the Hall of Knowing flashes in my mind—the Giving Stones, Tharn’s confusion at the word "born," his story of how all life on this dust emerges. It all collides with the sickness, with the way our human bodies are fighting this world.
Everything here is... grown. Made.
Everything except us. We are the only things on this planet that know how to give birth.
It explains everything. The fevers. The dreams. The way the planet seems to be trying to either reject us or... remake us.
The thought stays with me as my eyes drift across the cavern where two warriors sharpen bone blades against smooth stones, the rhythmic scraping a counterpoint to the low conversations happening throughout the cavern.
Nearby, Erika has somehow convinced a stoic Drakav to show her how they cure meat, and she's watching intently as he demonstrates the precise cuts that allow the flesh to dry evenly in the hot, dry air.
