Leah's Hero - Miranda Martin Page 0,12
to the kitchen and pick up two large blades I use for harvesting meat. I slip each one into its sheath before sliding them into the rope of my pants. These are an appropriate weapon for a half-male like me. I can wield them without worry, and they should be enough to protect me if anything does happen outside. I can also use them to harvest the talik.
Satisfied, I walk out the door, pausing for only a moment by the lochabers. They taunt me as I pass. I stare straight ahead and ignore their taunts. It is best to accept what is. It’s the best way to survive.
Outside the rain is light and refreshing, though it makes it cold. Keeping my head down, I make my way along the trail toward where I saw the talik growing. When I get there, the area has been rooted up and there is no talik.
Kneeling, I touch the tracks, recognizing the marks of a vier, which is not something I want to run into on my own, armed with kitchen knives if I can avoid it. If I don’t scare it or interrupt its meal, it shouldn’t bother me.
The patter of the rain on the leaves overhead is soothing. Water drips down onto my head, and I wipe it away from my eyes. Staring through the thick trees and vegetation I sigh. Moisture glistens in the soft light that manages to filter through the overhead clouds and the tree canopy overhead.
I’ve never liked this continent. It’s barely big enough to be called one. I came here years ago now, and while I’ve adjusted to it, that’s a far cry from enjoying it. I miss the warmth of home. It’s damp and cold here too much of the time.
Shaking my head, I push aside a lifetime of regrets and make my way through the jungle. There’s another spot where I know talik grows. I’ve come this far, I might as well get what I came out here for. My brothers will appreciate it—they always do—and it’s the least I can do in return for their care.
The path I’m following is barely enough to be called that. It’s more of a game trail where some of the larger creatures make their way through, breaking branches and pushing aside the brush. I pick my way carefully along. It’s too easy to lose my balance. I’m always slightly off without my wing and the missing end of my tail. I’m not sure which makes it worse.
As I climb around the bole of a tree, there’s a strange noise deeper in the jungle. Stopping with one hand on the rough bark of the tree, I tilt my head and listen. It comes again. A high-pitched sound, one I’ve never heard.
Some dim memory tugs at my attention but there’s a note to this sound that calls to my dragon. Desperation and fear. It doesn’t sound like an animal but no Zmaj could make such a sound. Whatever it is, I have to know.
I make my way as quickly as I can towards the sound. I’m not fast normally but I move as fast as I can. The sound keeps coming and now it’s echoing off the trees. It’s definitely high-pitched and most assuredly a sound of fear.
It comes again and my blood chills, tingles running across my scales. The dragon roars and I abandon caution, running through the jungle towards it. I slip and slide, barely keeping myself upright as I move. Each step is treacherous with loose mud or slick leaves that have fallen from overhead.
I ricochet off of trees as I crash towards the sound. It’s louder and louder, echoing in my ears. My hearts pound as I rush, muscles tingling with a life they haven’t felt in years. Almost I’m a male. Almost.
As I round a tree I break into a clearing and skid to a stop in the mud.
Two… creatures? One of them holds a large branch and is wielding it wildly, desperate to hold off a harimauz. The harimauz is a big one, not the biggest I’ve seen, but no less dangerous for that. To be holding it at bay with a stick?
The creatures holding it back, they’re similar to a Zmaj but tiny. Half or quarter the size of a Zmaj, like children but they have no scales, no wings, and no tails. Something about their features screams female to me. Maybe it’s their scent on the air or their eyes.
They are female.