of saltwater and is somehow hallucinating. That makes sense to me in a weird sort of way. More sense than resonance, anyhow.)
The stranger says something to me in a low voice, and even though I can't understand his words, the timbre of his voice is oddly soothing. He sounds calm. Collected. Easy. As if this resonance humming between us is no big deal. Strangely enough, his confidence eases some of the tension out of me. I relax in his arms, and when he heads toward one of the huts, I look at it with interest. Maybe Lauren's in here?
But when we enter, it's empty. It's stuffy inside, and there's a woven flap over the door that's supposed to provide privacy, I guess. The roof is thatched and blocks out most of the sunlight, but gaps trickle in here and there. Overall, the hut is…small. I like the small, though. Small feels comforting. There's a woven mat on the floor to protect from sand, a “nest” of leaves that must surely be bedding, and a few baskets of belongings. A net is hung on one of the stone walls and there's a large, platter-sized seashell filled with water that must be used for bathing.
My new friend—my mate—sets me down gently on the bedding, murmuring more soft words at me. He continues to speak as I sit up, looking around, and then he moves to my feet and examines one of my leather boots. He says something, then pulls out a skinny, sharp knife and begins to cut the bloated, sodden leather away.
"I might need that," I whisper in protest.
He glances up at me, says something, pointing at my foot, and then goes back to cutting. Okay, then. I bite back my protests, wishing I could be brave like Lauren. What would Lauren do if she were confronted with a stranger she resonated to and who started to cut off her boots? She'd probably make him stop. She'd probably learn his name, teach him a few words of our language, and take control of the situation.
God, I wish I was like Lauren. She's always brave and in control, even when she's scared. In a way, she's a lot like Velma from the Scooby-Doo cartoons I loved as a kid. She always has a plan, and nothing rattles her.
Me, I'm unfortunately less of a Daphne and more of a Shaggy. Everything scares the shit out of me and then I hide.
"So you might not know this," I confess to my mate as he pulls my second boot off and examines my now-wrinkled toes. "But when it comes to the whole 'fight or flight,' I should definitely tell you that I am very much a 'flight' kind of girl. Or rather, I'm a hider."
He glances up at me and says something that sounds like a question.
I shrug at him.
The alien grunts and goes back to cutting, this time working up my sodden leather pant leg. I should probably stop him but…the leather does feel gross and it's so damn hot here. The air is positively sweltering with humidity, which is so bizarre given that I thought this entire planet was nothing but snow.
The guy says something again, glancing up at me as he continues to cut.
"If you're asking if I want to keep my pants on, the answer is yes. But somehow, I don't think that's what you're asking." I notice he keeps cutting higher, revealing more of my leg, and I have to admit that the cooler air feels pretty good. "If you're asking me about Lauren, I'm afraid I can't answer you. I don't know where she is, and I wish I did." I give a wistful look around me. "She's the brave one. I'm the chicken. She's the only one that's really befriended me since I got here. Everyone else just thinks I'm some massive coward because I'm constantly hiding. And maybe, okay, sure, it IS a little cowardly, but it's not because I'm trying to hide from my destiny or anything stupid like that. I'm not an ostrich putting its head in the sand. It's just…" I sigh, leaning back on my hands as he continues to work on my leggings. "I've always felt better in a confined space. I used to be scared of thunderstorms when I was a kid, and I'd get into my closet and hide at the bottom of it, underneath all the hanging clothes. It felt like a little fort, you know? And because it