myself doing it a time or two thousand and infinity.)
He shoves one handle at my hand.
Surprised, I take it and peer up at him. “You want my help?”
“I didn’t bring you with me so you could stun me with conversation, despite your incredible ability to do just that.” He strides for the kiln house, his own pitchfork clamped in his hand. I expect him to knock on one of the doors, but instead, he brings up the end of his fist to bang on what looks like a round rubber bump attached to the stone wall. It’s… it looks like a doorbell.
I exclaim, “You have doorbells?”
Ears shooting straight back, Bash grits his teeth.
After a moment—where I don’t say anything to him or myself, for the record—another Rakhii appears, but he arrives by circling the outside of the structure. He’s attired similarly to Bash, in a long-sleeved work shirt and rugged pants, with the addition of a clay-stained leather smock. He’s less dust-covered than us, not coated in a full-body red-yellow-purple of the quarry rock. Which leads me to believe his pleasant Boysenberry color is his natural one, as far as his scales go. His eyes are a surprising shade of amaranth, and you wouldn’t think it, but because of his manner or non-threatening color, the overall effect of him is… Calming. Approachable. So is his easy-going expression even as he approaches the glowering Bash. I crane to check out the direction he came from and spy a second, smaller building. Rather than being covered in a series of doors, this one is more normal, with a number of windows that allow me to see inside. It looks like there are rows and rows of tables with clay squares on them. Tiles. There are a couple of Rakhii standing behind each table—tilemakers—but none of the aliens are moving.
Because they’re staring through the glass at me.
I wave at them.
I turn back to Bash and the new Rakhii, only to find they’re also staring at me.
Like I’m the strange alien among the aliens, pfft. I wave at them too. Then I bat my lashes up at Bash, which makes him twitch. “Am I allowed to speak a greeting out loud,” I tip my head to indicate the new guy, “or does the no-talking rule extend to salutations? What are the parameters? If you spell them out for me, I’ll follow them to the letter. Then you won’t have anything to get all bent out of shape about.”
“That’d be the day,” the new Rakhii chuckles. Unlike my pal Bash, he doesn’t wear permanently carved scowl lines on his face and he’s not actively frowning. His eyes are bright as they gaze down at me. He looks friendly.
“H—” I start.
Bash growls over me, “No.”
The other Rakhii’s eyes pop wide and his ears swing back.
“No, I can’t say hi?” I ask, giving Bash a very clear Are you crazy? face.
“Or ‘no, I’m not allowed to speak to your female?’” the new Rakhii inquires—and he smiles, and it’s pretty.
I smile back.
And very suddenly, Bash is wearing the exact opposite expression of the nice Rakhii. Bash is SCOWLING.
“That mud pit you’re going to bury me in,” I say with a radiant smile. “Want to point me in the right direction so I can start sinking?”
“What?” asks the Rakhii I still haven’t been introduced to. But he must know Bash pretty well because he doesn’t wait for an answer. He shakes himself—and bows. To me.
Bash’s tail balls up like a fist and socks him. “You don’t have to bow to her, she’s not a real princess.”
“I can see that, idtrek—I wanted to show her courtesy,” the nice male protests.
“Well, don’t,” Bash grouses. “She’s not yours to show anything to.”
Electricity seems to sizzle in the air, with all the heaviness that comes with a lightning strike. It’s so strong I can almost smell the ozone. Then I realize it’s because Bash is starting to smoke from his mouth and nostrils.
The other Rakhii’s face is open and looking pretty thrilled. He asks silkily, “Oh? And who’s is she then?” His voice is leaping with playfulness. “Any reason why you didn’t take the wagon to the regular fueling and filling stations? Lots of extra hands there to help. And loading brick is boring work. I’m sure the others would love to meet whoever this lovely creature is.”
“I like you,” I tell the Rakhii, breaking my silence, making Bash send me a dirty look that I pretend I can’t see. “I’m Isla.”
Bash is