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Interesting.
I did not even know Sevvern had become the Xeniiv tribe’s medic. I find it hard to reconcile my memories of the cruel kitling Sevvern was with the compassion that is required of those who hold the position of medic. The thought of Sevvern spending hours bent over a sickbed or comforting the father of a departed warrior is not something I can envision.
“You mentioned your current chief has proof that my tribe drove off the game and poisoned your land?”
“After hunting began to become scarce, Chief Sevvern and his first warrior went to investigate. They came back and said they saw the Anuriix tribe herding the creatures from our lands with your chief leading the chase. Later, when some of our warriors sickened and died after eating fruit. . .” Sevix clears his throat and takes a deep breath.
His young voice wavers as he continues, “When they died, Chief Sevvern went on a mission of outreach to the Tussoll, and they told him that they witnessed the Anuriix scattering something foul-smelling on the food bearing plants on our land. So far this season, it is almost as if they lie dormant. Most of the trees and plants have failed to produce anything and the ones that have are not fit to ingest. We were surviving off of a small amount of grain that was left from last season, but that has now spoiled.”
“What about other food stores? Is there no food cache in the caves or underwater?” I do not mention that I have already seen the state of the tribe’s storage hut or that I have seen the baskets and pots in the chief’s hut which I suspect contain food that Sevvern is hoarding.
Sevix starts to shake his head, then pauses and says, “Chief Sevvern says all of our storage spots are empty. He ordered us to hunt for food among the hydra.” A shiver of revulsion wracks his frame when he mentions the foul-tasting, scaly creatures whose hides I saw in the Xeniiv village.
“You may have what you need for your tribe. I will discuss this with my own chief, but I am confident he will not want another tribe to suffer needlessly. Does your chief know that you have been hunting on Anuriix territory?”
Sevix spits out his response. “No. I didn’t think it would do the tribe any good to tell him. Chief Sevvern does not seem to lack for nourishment.” The young male’s face hardens with suppressed anger.
“For now, perhaps it would be best not to tell your chief of our conversation, as well.” The young male nods at my suggestion.
I help the young hunter position the dicro carcass back over his shoulders so that he has a secure hold on it, then I gesture towards it. “That does not look like enough to feed a whole tribe. . .”
Before I can continue, Sevix interrupts, his eyes downcast, “There are not many from my tribe left.” He shifts his slight frame before looking up and meeting my gaze. “The starvation has taken many males from us. This will be enough to feed those of us for a while. I have a small fire pit set up outside the village where I can dry the meat and hand it out to the other tribe members without Chief Sevvern knowing.”
Shame burns in my gut. For this to happen to anyone, but especially a tribe so close to our own is stupefying. We should have known the Xeniiv were starving long before now, and we should have offered our assistance. No one should starve when there is enough food for all of us.
Gesturing towards the path, I offer to accompany the young male as he journeys to the border that marks the beginning of his tribe’s land. After we have crossed the river that marks the transition to Xeniiv land, we stop for a moment for the young male to readjust the carcass over his shoulders. Something niggles in my thoughts, pushing itself to the forefront.
“What of the Tussoll? They border your tribe on one side. Are they without food, too?”
“No, I think they have an abundance. Chief Sevvern has travelled to meet with them many times. I have overheard him describe the feasts he has enjoyed with them.” The male’s voice is tight with bitterness.
“My gratitude, Sevix, for answering my questions.” I look down at the younger male, who reminds me so much of myself at that age. Eager to be a warrior and help my tribe in every way possible, but still too young to bear many responsibilities. It was a golden time, as it should be for any young hunter, except this hunter is burdened with the task of providing nourishment for his entire tribe because of circumstances beyond his control.
“Before you go on your way, will you promise to come find me if you need anything? If it is in my power to help you, I will.”
The male agrees, but his wary gaze indicates he is still suspicious of my motives. I wish him a good journey, and then I turn and continue on my way back to the clearing where the females are. I have much to think about on my trek there and plenty of time to do so.
This is my favorite time to be out in the jungle – the solitude and the peace just before the newly awakened day arrives always leaves me with a sense of tranquility, but my thoughts are anything but tranquil.
I expected to find the answers I was seeking during my scouting mission, and I did find some. I do not believe any of the rumors that the Xeniiv are planning to attack or that they would even be capable of an attack. They seem to be having a difficult enough time just surviving.
But I have come away from my mission with more questions. There is something very wrong about the recent events in the Xeniiv tribe, and I am sure it must all be connected somehow. But how? The sudden death of the tribe’s previous chief is suspicious, especially considering Sevvern’s role as medic at the time and his elevation to chief.
I can’t help but wonder if the females are connected to the events in any way? Sevvern was always a devious male. Could he have called the females here for some reason? It seems like too much of a coincidence for their arrival to be coincidental, but I want to believe the females – one female in particular – have no ulterior motive for being here.
I growl in frustration. There are too many unanswered questions remaining, and I do not like it.
Quickening my pace, I hurry through the dense foliage and rough terrain back to the area of the jungle where the females are. The strong urge to protect the female, to see her, and bask in her sweet scent buzzes in my blood carrying me along. I cannot get there fast enough, and before I know it, I near the clearing where the large vessel rests like a sleeping giant.
By now, the sun has begun to rise, peeking just over the treetops and spreading its warmth. Dew on the large leaves turns into a steamy mist that leaves a fine sheen on my skin. The hottest season is well and truly upon us, and it will only grow hotter over the coming days.
I settle in the same spot as before and begin my watch. Over the next few hours, I hear murmurs and voices from inside the large metal ship, but none of the beings emerge.
It’s not until later in the day when I finally see movement from the vessel. I have just tossed the last of the ripe, sweet berries picked from a nearby vine in my mouth, and I nearly swallow them whole as a pale figure appears in the opening of the ship.
It’s the female. Her wide, blue eyes peer out cautiously looking for any threats before she takes a step and gestures for someone to follow her.
The female kitling appears behind my female – wait, no not my female. . . ahem, the female. The alien female. I must remember that. No matter that my heart pounds at the sight of her and that slight flutter I noticed before has begun again in my chest. I must remember she is not mine.
