Unnatural Instinct: Amazon

2.

'Keep an eye on him. I don't trust him,' you say to your sisters.

The two women nearest to you nod. One adjusts her grip on her spear, the powerful muscles in her shoulders bulging.

Only an hour left and you should be home, but you refuse to lose focus. Your prisoner might seem weak and mild on the outside but it's easy to tell that he's hiding secrets within.

You pull out the strange contraption from your pocket. The size of your hand, it's smooth and hard with a shiny surface. There are two parts: an inside and an outside. You flick it open, revealing a strange surface that reflects the forest around it. What it's used for, you cannot say. It could be a weapon.

He had been carrying it when you'd caught him as he was wandering around the northern edge of your tribe's territory. What he had been doing there, he wouldn't say. Where he'd come from, he wouldn't answer. He tried to seem like he couldn't understand you, but you know better. He is no fool—you saw the understanding in his eyes. He might only be a man—and a beautiful one—but some are smarter than what's good for them.

You shut the contraption and slide it back into your pocket. The elders can take a look at it upon your return. Maybe they'll find something.

You gaze at his back as he struggles through the bracken. He's a strange one and no mistake: the odd clothes he wears, how he carries himself, the wild hair on his face, the fact that he apparently can't understand you. He looks healthy and youthful and yet he can barely walk a few hours without staggering and clutching his chest. What was he doing alone in the dangerous forest without a protector? Without a woman to defend him?

A mystery.

Strange. Very strange. It makes you tighten your grip on your spear.

Picking up the pace, you level with him. He pretends he doesn't notice, keeping his eyes to his strange-looking shoes. His long brown hair hangs limp around his face, shielding his eyes and what he might be thinking. The sweat on his back has soaked his top. He keeps pushing up the thing on his nose, the thing that makes his bright, green eyes seem bigger.

Green. Such a rare colour—and lovely against his rather too-pale complexion. He's going to make pretty sons one day—as long as he doesn't get himself killed before he does.

Your arm brushes against his. He jerks away but keeps his eyes lowered. Your heavy footsteps thud through the decaying leaves and rotting wood of the forest floor. The man looks up with a start as a bird suddenly shrieks from the branches high above.

'You would do well to tell us what you were doing so close to our borders,' you warn him.

He quickly drops his eyes with no answer.

'Who are you? What tribe are you from?'

Nothing.

You shake your head. 'Don't answer me and we'll only discover the truth back at camp. And I can't guarantee it's going to be nice for you.'

Stubborn as ever, he doesn't respond. Leaning over, you smell his hair. Again, he jerks away. Laughing, you walk on ahead.

You can smell the camp before you see it. Smoke. Meat. Lunch! Your mouth waters. You haven't eaten for over a day and you're famished. You pull a water skin from your pack and take a deep drink. You see the man glance at you, then away again.

You hold it out to him. 'Here.'

He glances at you again, hesitating, those bright green eyes briefly looking you over, before taking it.

Next, come the noises to join the smell: babies wailing, men shouting for their children, women laughing. You nod your greetings to those sisters standing guard within the trees. They nod back before turning their curious eyes upon your captive.

Minutes later, the trees pull away and you step into camp. You can't help but smile as several young girls rush over, demanding what happened during your travels. Then they see your captive and fall quiet. Heads turn from all directions. A sudden hush falls over the camp. Your captive seems to shrink into himself, tucking his head more tightly to his chest as he avoids the attention.

Moments later, they all turn away again and go back to what they were doing. The young girls follow in his stumbling wake, laughing at his strange clothes and odd appearance.

One by one, the sisters who have journeyed with you fall away, returning to their children and menfolk. As for you, you continue to the edge of camp where the elder women dwell, carrying your spear in one hand and hauling your prisoner along by his bindings with the other. If anybody has an answer to the strangeness of your captive, they will.

Four of them are sitting around a fire as they watch your approach, white-haired, weathered faces, bare breasts sagging into their laps. Your captive stumbles, then falls to his knees, gasping for breath, still clutching at the water skin you gave him like he's clutching onto life.

'Come. On your feet,' you say.

With a defeated nod, he obeys, staggering to his feet. You grab onto his arm to steady him. Several of your sisters watch on wearily, their spears close to hand as you pull out your machete from your boot and saw through his bindings.

The old women watch him curiously. Once you reach the fire, you halt, one hand firmly around his slippery wrist. He's sweating profusely. His hair is damp with it.

'Drink some water,' you command.

He does so, his eyes drifting to the old women, then away again.

'What have you brought us, young warrior?' asks the oldest of the elders, her blind, milky eyes fixing directly on your prisoner.

'I found him wandering around the edge of our territory. He had this on him.' You reach into your pocket and show them the strange contraption.

'What is it?' a second elder with a bald head asks, squinting.

'I don't know. And he won't tell me. He won't answer any of my questions.' You throw it over.

The bald elder catches it, then studies it warily as she turns it about in her hands. 'Is it some kind of weapon?'

'He won't tell me.'

A third elder with thinning hair and a fat belly leans over her lap, staring at him with narrowed eyes. 'Then we make him.'

'A stranger such of this cannot be trusted.' The bald elder looks him up and down with a frown. 'He doesn't look like he comes from any tribe I know.' She purses her lips. 'How can we know anything about him when he covers his secrets so?'

'Indeed!' The fat elder leans back and slaps her big thighs. 'We must unearth any secrets he might be hiding. Strip him!'