Once again he could guess what she was saying, although the actual words escaped him, and he knew she was right. The pain was bad enough when he was still; it was excruciating when he tried to move.
He lay back, surrendering to her logic, and watched as she withdrew her hands. The brief contact left his scales tingling in a way that had nothing to do with pain, and he wanted to demand that she replace them. Instead he studied her.
She returned to her watching posture, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. He could see the tension in her body and the way she held herself slightly off-balance, ready to move quickly if necessary. The way her fingers tapped against her upper arm, a nervous gesture she probably wasn’t even aware of.
He looked down at himself. Something about the shape of his body was wrong, unfamiliar, but he pushed the knowledge aside to consider later. His side had been bandaged with some kind of white material, stained now with his blood. The metal fragment that had injured him was gone. His scales had been cleaned of blood, and the wound had been dressed. His wing had been splinted and bound to his back, limiting movement but providing support.
She had tended to his injuries.Why?He was clearly not of her kind. She had no reason to help him and every reason to fear him.
He was about to ask the question when another wave of pain hit him, forcing another hiss from his lips. The world tilted, and he closed his eyes against the nausea that followed.
When he opened them again, the female had moved closer. She was holding a small device with a glowing screen and she was frowning at it.
“Your temperature is rising. The wound might be infected.”
He didn’t understand all the words, but he understood enough. The pain, the heat spreading through his body, the way his muscles were beginning to ache beyond what could be explained by his injuries alone. He was sick. Sick in a way he couldn’t remember ever being before.
The female made a frustrated sound and put the device aside. She looked at him, her expression unreadable, then seemed to make a decision.
“I’m going to give you something for the pain and the infection. I think it will work on you, but I can’t be sure. If you have any kind of adverse reaction, try to let me know.”
She moved to a cabinet and came back with a small vial of clear liquid and a device that looked like it was meant to pierce scales. He watched, intrigued despite the pain, as she filled the device with the liquid and approached him again.
“This will help. Please don’t fight me.”
She held up the device for him to see and he realized she was asking for his permission. He knew that just because something was small didn’t mean it wasn’t dangerous, but he believed she was actually trying to help him. He dipped his head to indicate his consent.
She gave him a relieved smile, then placed her hand firmly on his arm and positioned the device against the thinner scales on the inside of his arm. The slight pinch was followed almost immediately by a soothing warmth and his body relaxed slightly. She nodded, a satisfied look on her face.
“It looks like it’s helping.”She tilted her head, studying him again.“I’m Jaz. Do you have a name?”
When he didn’t respond, she patted her chest as if he might be too stupid to understand the concept of names and repeated the word. “Jaz.”
Then she tapped his chest and gave him an inquisitive look. He was well aware that she was asking for his name, but it hovered just out of reach.
Who am I?
The question brought a cascade of others, and with them came the memories—fractured, painful, refusing to coalesce into anything coherent.
Ice. Darkness. Seeds to be scattered beneath the surface. The Elders speaking of a future that might never come.
The atmosphere is failing. The water is gone. We cannot sustain ourselves above the ice.
Then we go below. We sleep. We wait.
For what?
For whatever comes next.
The memories fractured further, becoming images rather than narrative. Cold that went beyond cold, sinking into his bones,into his blood, into the very core of his being. Darkness. Silence. Time stretching into eternity.
And then pressure. Pain. Being thrown upward through ice that had been solid for?—
How long? How many centuries? How many millennia?
He didn’t know.
“What’s your name?”she asked, tapping his chest again.