Spectator

Chapter Five: Now

He was younger than she thought when she had seen him by the river, late teens, middle twenties at the most. She supposed it was also a consolation that he was surprisingly handsome; he had a few scars running along his cheek and one on the bridge of his nose, but it only served to make him more rugged. And a little inscrutable. His cheekbones were high and pronounced, his chin wide, but his jaw sharp. His brows were dark and thick and set in a frown, and his mouth, a limned 'v' on top, and fuller on the bottom, was in a flat line. His muscles were even more defined this close up, more physically fit than she would expect from someone who didn't have top of the line exercise machines.

He had his spear in one hand, his knife in the other, and she flattened her hands out to show she had no weapon. Nothing at all. He looked at her, judging in silence, then spoke aloud, something in a guttural sounding language.

Hazan, right. It had been part of the modules on the Hazanti, and there had been a few quizzes testing the language. Which she hadn't done very well on. Spoken aloud, it seemed even more harsher and incomprehensible. Perhaps she could ask him to write it down? Reading it had been easier.

He repeated himself again, angrier, drawing his knife towards her. She'd already broken so many laws that had been set to protect the Hazanti Tribe, she knew she should at least try to minimize the damage by pretending she was from a neighbouring tribe. There were at least a dozen different tribes within this dome, he couldn't have met all of them, could he? Not that any would be dressed as strangely as her.

He said something else, and this time caught a word. Villain/enemy/opposition, something.

"No," she said quickly, in a poor rendition of his dialect. Then, realising he might be asking her if she wasn't an enemy, distantly recalled a word that might help her. "Friend."

He frowned. His face was a serious one, with nearly onyx-black eyes that looked at her so intensely she had the urge to drop her own gaze, but didn't. Then, he spoke again, plunging the edge of his spear into the ground, where it stayed upright. The knife was still in his hand, a fact she was very, very aware of as he stepped closer to her, so close she could smell the hint of sweat and pine and water. There was a thickness to the air, one that exploded in a quick display of rain drops, some splattering her hair, her clothes. She didn't dare flinch at the strange sensation, not while the man was talking.

This sentence, thankfully, was short enough for her to understand every word.

"You are beautiful," he rumbled to her as his fingers caught her face. She didn't dare move. It would only get her stabbed quicker.

Beautiful. Her mom would be happy; the general had always preached how important appearances were. So fat had been sucked out from Kali's face because while round faces were considered fashion, a double chin was not. Sharp jaw to accentuate a strong chin. The skin around her eyes had been tightened to make her large brown eyes larger, and with a hint of gold in the irises for extra allure. Her mouth plumped up, but her nose was untouched. It was wide and round but strong features meant strong visage, and plus it was her mother's nose. Soothing follicles added to her hair so it was always full, tamed, and rarely limp or frizzy.

Not much had been changed about her body at least, although she was shorter than standard, and not at all thin. But a strict fitness regimen even before she had started the program had turned a chubby child into a muscular-curvy teenager. Her mom had always told her she needed to pull off a dress just as much as a uniform, and at least so far she had escaped surgery to do so. For the moment, breast augmentation and fat sucking was off the table. And so was everything else, since she was in the jungle with a savage touching her, holding a weapon nearly as tall as her, carved from some animal that must have been much, much bigger.