Page 11 of Grumpy Alien Lumberjack
Lightly holding onto her arm to support her as she walked down the hall, he adjusted the furs on the floor before the fire and helped her sit. Her small smile of thanks was dull, as were her eyes.
His heart lurched. What was wrong?
"You are troubled."
She lowered her gaze. "How do you know?"
"I feel it here.” He put a hand over his heart. The admission felt too revealing, but he couldn't take it back. She looked at him for a long moment before looking at her hands as she wound her fingers together.
"I have to go back to the colony." The words rushed out of her. “I’ve had a little adventure but it’s over now.”
“Can you not petition to stay?”
She shrugged. “Maybe but it wouldn’t change anything. The residents of the human colonies are carefully curated to ensure the maximum chance of survival and growth. I don’t fit into that narrative. A part of me hoped that maybe when they found out that I was a stow-a-way, they’d let me stay. That didn’t work out.” She huffed a humorless laugh. “I’d give anything to go back to my former life.”
Methic covered her small hand with his. She gasped but didn’t pull away so he curled his fingers around hers and held on. It felt good to give her comfort.
"Show me," he said.
"What?"
"You said 'former life.' Show me who you were before."
Something shifted in her expression—surprise, maybe hope.
"My backpack," she looked around.
He retrieved the pack and sat next to her as she pulled out a well-used sketchbook. The pages revealed incredible botanical drawings—plants and flowers rendered in precise detail. Each drawing was annotated with notes in her small, neat script.
"You did these?"
She nodded, running her fingers over a page. "I am, was, a botanical artist." Her voice tripped over the last word. “It’s hard to hold a pencil now so things don’t come out quite right.”
Taking the book onto his own lap, he flipped through the slightly crinkled pages.
“How were you injured?”
He didn’t look at her, just kept pursuing the pages in hope she’d feel comfortable opening up.
“I was with my team on a two-week exploration. As usual, I saw a plant to look more closely at and ended up falling behind the others. I was crouched down when a rockslide came from the cliffs above. There was no warning, and I had no time to get out of the way. I was struck in the neck and fell onto my face. Afew more huge rocks took out the rest of my spine. The doctors fixed my bones, but they could only do so much with the spinal column and nerves, and they don’t work right anymore.”
A beat of silence passed between them. Methic flipped to another page hosting a large pink flower.
“The Nexxus forest came from my home planet. It started here with one seed. When it grew, the tree was different than those on my home planet. The branches grew differently, and the bioluminescence isn’t as bright. Each tree inserts a seedling into the ground beneath its roots, and when it dies, the seedling takes its place. Though they all come from the same origin, they grow differently, year after year. They evolve and little about them remains the same. Yet they thrive.”
Setting the book aside, Methic shifted to face her. "I was also injured in my former life. My back was sliced open in battle, nearly severing my spine. My superiors forced me to retire from the battle group early, well before I was ready to. I was lost for a long time until I came to Asemsa and took over the role as lumberjack of the Nexxus. And now my life has purpose again.”
Her eyes glittered with tears. “I’m glad.”
"What could give you new purpose, Jeneva?”
"I've never had the motivation to think about it. At the asylum, you a job, you do that job day after day and that’s your life. You don't plan, hope, or dream. You just... survive another day."
"You are not there now." He reached up, his fingers brushing a damp strand of hair from her face. "You are here. With me."
"Methic..." His name on her lips was part warning, part plea.
He rose to his knees, bringing himself level with her seated position. His hand curved around her jaw, thumb tracing the delicate line of her cheekbone. "Tell me to stop."
