“To see?” Bash pauses his forking to look up at me as I push more vines in his direction. “You didn’t ride?’
I jerk my head to indicate the front of the wagon. “You gave me my very first ride. And thanks, because I’ve always wondered what it was like.”
Bash seems contemplative. That would be my official answer if I was tasked with categorizing the way his brows are resting a little close together but not angry-close or annoyed-close. “You wondered, but you never went? Why?”
“Too chicken, I guess.”
Bash frowns harder. “...Fowl?”
“Scared,” I explain.
He shakes his ears out. “I will never understand your human idioms.”
I shrug. “It always seemed like a lot could go wrong. Obviously, it’s as safe as riding in anything else, but I was always nervous that it was going to end badly.”
He stares up at me for so long, I shove two forkfuls of vines towards his chest before he snaps out of it. “Guess it was a good thing you got bossy and just hauled me along for the ride. This is kind of nice.”
Bash drops his gaze to the vines, his arm muscles popping up really prettily as he stabs up his next tinefull. As he stretches forward, his tail raises and straightens behind him, acting as a counterbalance to his movement.
When he’s not pointing it at people or using it to threaten someone (often these actions are not mutually exclusive) he tends to keep it close to his body. I guess a guy who works in a place crowded with people and heavy rocks would have to learn to protect such a limb.
I poke my tines in another stack of vines, lift a chunk, and a glittery-shelled beetle the size of my fist rolls out and lands on my foot. Two roach-like antennas swing out. Legs emerge, clamping onto my shoe before the antenna begin tapping at my pant leg, slipping under the cuff and touching me above my sock.
Naturally, I howl. And then I start kicking wildly.
The Narwaris react like there’s a screaming alien behind them, jostling mightily, and one of them tries to rear.
“Ukko, don’t you dare,” Bash warns, rounding the wagon and leaning over the side, peering at me in bafflement. “What is it, human?”
He sounds as stymied as a cat owner gets when they see the way their feline reacts to finding a harmless cucumber on the floor.
(Seriously, if you happen to be on Earth where you’ve got access to YouTube, check out the cat vs. cucumber compilations.)
I’m shaking my foot, stabbing my pitchfork all around me, hopping back from the vines. “It just scuttled off but something’s in this stuff! It touched me! Something HUGE is in this stuff! I think I saw pincers. I’m sure I felt pincers!”
Bash’s claw lifts a Medusa’s head of vines, or whatever you call vines when they tangle into a snake-like pile that contains giant insects, and out pops the beetle.
“AAAAHHH!” I shriek, startled even though I expected it.
Bash blows fire, almost like an automatic response.
When I hear him curse, “TEVEK,” and the Rakhii at the kiln shouts, “Crite!” and starts running for us, I realize it was an automatic response.
In reaction to my terror, Bash spit fire on a wooden wagon essentially holding dry straw. Not a little bit of fire; a lot.
Bash vaults into the wagon—a sight worth seeing with an alien his size—and starts stomping and slapping at the quickly igniting vines with his feet and tail. But it’s like he’s standing on roof thatching. Everything’s just going whoosh. I trip towards him to help but his tail switches directions and holds me back.
Our coworker quickly scrambles up to join Bash, and then he’s huffing in a way that sounds to me like he’s repressing laughter.
"Get her down,” Bash bites out.
The other Rakhii swiftly but gently hooks me under the armpits and leans over the side of the wagon to drop me on my feet.
I move to the front to stand near the Narwari and try to murmur comforting things to them, but they’ve all turned their heads, standing stunned and still, watching the happenings of the wagon like they can’t believe what they’re seeing.
The wagon is creaking and smoke is coming off of the beaten stack, looking pretty alarming.
I bite my lip and grip the handle of my pitchfork.
When the stomping stops, both Rakhii swivel to look at me. I cough.
“This,” Bash says scary-quietly, leaning down to snatch up the sparkly shell