Alluvial. Valos of Sonhadra Book 1

Chapter 9

PRETA

I'm cold. Inside, and out. Drogan said I'd be practical, and despite the fact that I feel like a tundra chip has replaced the heart in my chest, my mind is giving me orders. The targets are dead, so I've been released from the killer sequence and I've been supplied with the next essential task; assess teammate condition, and immediately find food source.

Whoever wrote this program spent way too much time with computers and not enough time with loved ones. It's a bit of a relief that I am scared for Drogan, and although I feel like the old me would have been panicking right now, panicking about arteries, and infection, and the lack of supplies to prevent infection—I have a handle on myself. I don't want to be the old panicky me, but I'm relieved I'm not entirely unfeeling.

I'd take the food suggestion in a heartbeat though. Because starving.

Just before he cups me in his massive palms, the creature rakes his claws along the ground and picks up... a rock?

Some birds swallow stones to help them break down food in their gullets. What do dragons (!) made of trees (!!) do?

I don't know yet, but I do know it's real, it is alive, and it picked! me! up!

Air rushes over me as its wings flick open and slam down, launching us into the air.

My heart settles down a little when I see that Drogan is being carried by the biggest tree-dragon... not that this is a great thing, but leaving him lying in the dirt, wounded, prey for anything, sounds worse than... whatever is about to happen to us—at least we'll be together.

Not 'at least he won't be alone,' but an emphatic 'we'll be together.' I'd like to think that's the romantic side of me wanting to keep us tight, but I'm more afraid it's my programming attempting to salvage its unit.

Images flit in my mind; more sequences—for escape this time—it feels like my brain is shouting all sorts of commands at me. For instance, one command scenario involves the rock this dragon has with us, but I immediately reject the idea that I use it as a weapon because this behemoth plummeting out of the sky while he's clutching me is not a good play.

Movement has me chancing a look up at a GIANT eye. "Ahhh!"

Its head rears back, which changes its momentum which means I end up slamming against its opposite half-cupped finger. Its nose is suddenly against me, nudging. "Hey! Quit it! You're going to push me off!"

It brings its other hand around me though, so that I'd have to stand up and jump if I wanted out now—which I do not. The ground is currently far, far below us. I'm bathed in hot breath, and I cough, feeling like I've just opened the door on a car that's been baking over summer-heated asphalt. I shove at the nose, and I have to catch myself when it immediately moves away from the pressure of my hand. "Thanks," I gasp.

Its head tilts. "Keilmort'baan din."

My translator pushes, "Welcome."

I knew it! This—this!—is the source of the 'space squirrel' chatter Drogan was giving me crap about! I did hear alien creatures talking and my translator is learning! It's supposed to be able to teach itself any language. It's been learning tree-dragon!

I look at the thing—as much of its body as I can see—its massive face, and the thickness of its neck, and the expanse of its chest are so big, I can't see around it. In front of me though, it looks like it's made up of braided vines and moss. It has a head shield like a Triceratops, but made of branches. This thing is entirely made of various types of plant life, and it reminds me of terrarium art. Just on a way, way big scale.

I scoot forward on my knees, squinting at its shoulder. There's a bird nest on it. There's a bird in it.

The poor thing looks kind of freaked out, and I wonder if its mate is going to be looking from tree to tree, unable to find home, grass bits or night crawler worms dropping from its little beak when it shouts in bird, "WHAT THE HELL?!"

I shake my head—then just as quickly, I put a hand up to my temple. I'm starting to feel dizzy, something I've been fighting off and on for hours, but the crummy excuses for food I've been able to consume at least kept the worst of that at bay. My head is also starting to pound, and for now, with a daredevil skydive off this dragon's hands not looking like my best option just yet, I settle for closing my eyes, and hunkering down on his palm.