a great breath and spoke without turning around.
‘If you’re desperate to prove yourself as more than human,’ he rumbled, ‘prove it to someone lesser than yourself.’
The sea of humanity parted before him as he strode across the deck, sailors practically climbing over each other to get out of his way. The hulking dragonman seemed unperturbed by it, growing taller with each frightened gaze cast his way as he lumbered towards the far side of the ship.
It was with grudging envy that she watched him, for as Kataria stood at the other end of the deck, she was all too aware of the great wall of round-ears that separated her from the only other non-human aboard. Her ears twitched, picking up concerns she couldn’t understand, humour she couldn’t comprehend, whispers she wasn’t privy to.
In Gariath’s wake, the humans had re-formed into a great mass of their own race, leaving her sitting beside the railing, alone.
Stupid, stinking lizard. Her thoughts immediately turned to scorn. Acts like he’s so much better than everyone else. As if being large enough to strangle anyone who disagrees with you is reason enough to act as though you’re beyond reproach.
She bit her lower lip; that actually did make sense.
Regardless, she countered herself, he has no reason to treat me like that. He has no reason to look down on me like I’m some filthy . . . human!
Her anger shifted from the dragonman to the sailors bustling about the deck, each one occasionally glancing over his shoulder to see how close she was to them and make room accordingly.
Cowards.
Cowardice was the way of their race. Her father had said as much and now she knew it to be true. She recalled the aftermath of yesterday’s carnage. The crew of the Riptide, her humans had prevailed over the other, filthier humans with her help. While they screamed, she laughed. While they fumbled, she shot true. While they had soiled themselves, it was she who had pulled Lenk, one of her humans, away from danger.
She had deserved their respect from the very beginning as both a warrior and a shict. Now, her very presence demanded it.
And yet, they continued to prove their cowardice. She heard them even now, making envious, lewd remarks about her musculature. They skulked, casting shifty, wary glances her way. They hurried with the loading, undoubtedly eager to see her leave to chase some demon and die out at sea.
None of them had enough bravery to come forth and insult her to face.
‘Hey, moron.’
Her lips were curled in a snarl and her teeth bared as she whirled about. The blue eyes that met her fury were impassive and rolling in their sockets.
‘Yeah, you’re ferocious,’ Lenk said, half-yawning. ‘I’ll be sure to soil myself later.’ He extended a tin cup to her, a thick veil of steam rising from its lip. ‘Here.’
‘What is it?’ She took it and gave it a sniff, examining the thick, brown liquid sloshing about inside it curiously. ‘It smells awful.’
‘It’s coffee,’ he replied. ‘Tohanan brownbean, specifically; expensive stuff.’
‘Coffee,’ she murmured. She took a sip and blanched. ‘It tastes awful, too.’
‘That’s how you know it’s expensive.’
‘I guess that makes sense to a human.’
‘Not particularly,’ he said, shrugging. ‘It never made sense to me, at least.’ Taking a sip of his own brew, he forced a smile without much effort to convince behind it. ‘I suppose that makes me inhuman, then?’
Kataria should have smiled back, she knew, but her only responses were pursed lips and a heavy-lidded stare.
Inhuman.
The word hung in the air between them and she heard it every time she blinked. In the spaces where she should have seen darkness behind her eyes, she saw him instead. She saw him writhing, clutching his head, snarling at her in a voice that was not his own. In the moments between her breath and the beating of her own heart, she heard him as he shrieked at her.
STOP STARING AT US!
‘Stop,’ he said.
‘What?’ She blinked; the images were gone.
‘Stop looking at me that way,’ he muttered, taking a harsh sip, ‘it bothers me.’
‘Ah.’ She turned her gaze down to the brown brew in her hand and blinked. ‘Why are we drinking the expensive stuff, anyway?’
‘Argaol’s charity,’ he replied. ‘The good captain apparently wants us to depart in good spirits.’
‘Charity?’ She cocked a brow; that seemed an unlikely word to describe the man.
‘He said to think of it as a last meal for the soon-to-be-corpses. ’
‘Ah.’ She took a sip. ‘Thoughtful.’
‘Mm.’
The stillness of the morning