Out

Chapter 8

Wilds, 324 E.V., Centennial 20th - Present day

I wonder if this is how it is to be a newborn baby, so unfamiliar with how to interact with the world around me. Everything I have spent my meager existence trying to understand is gone, and now I have to become acquainted with the world again. I have to learn a new language. Each time one of the Cerani speaks to me, they accompany their discourse with touch. They shuffle their feet as they approach me, speak softly so they do not frighten me, and press their palms to my back to soothe me. I am an infant. They hunt food for me, cut it for me, and sometimes try to feed it to me when I am not strong enough to do it myself. We have been traveling for four days and they do not trust me to sit by the fire alone at night, in case I lean into the flames—as if I lost the ability to feel heat. I only feel heat.

All of my other senses are heightened, too; this is a noisy world. My healing bones are loud, creaking and whining as they repair themselves. The song of my body in pain is a marriage of a low hum and a high whine. Everything is much too loud, though Aron is sure that will cease once my head has healed.

The way other people move has become distinguishable to me, especially the noises their feet produce in the dirt. Riva's movements are precise and planned, while Aron's are erratic and short. Speaking of Aron, he smells like the air before a rainstorm, and sometimes sweat because it is so blisteringly hot. I force Aron to bathe each time we make camp. If I have to put up with him carrying me, I do not want to deal with him stinking like an animal. I smell like soap, if I can help it, but I am usually sweaty myself by mid-morning. Aron forces me to drink as much water as I can stand, to make up for how much I sweat out of my body. The moment he sets me down, my hands are occupied with a water pouch, and Aron refuses to move on until it is empty. It is tiring. I spent five years clawing to get out of a cell, and now that I am out, everything is overwhelming. It is less daunting with an ally, but I do not know how to know someone. I have not had any long-term acquaintances in my life. How do I get to know these people who have saved me? How do I trust people I do not know?

I am tired, on the whole. Tired of traveling, and of being carried places. I am not yet strong enough to stand by myself... will I recover if I do not practice? I must say something about this. I do not want to be ungrateful, but then again, it is thanks to Riva that I am sightless. I have not spoken to her in a few days. How do I speak to her about what happened on that plateau, or ask her what she did to me? How did she send me into the stars, and then to the deep pool beyond? What happened to me when the star exploded?

Strangest of all is my imaginary boy Aron, who is no longer imaginary, or boyish. I think about him constantly; who he was in my dreams, who he is now. I try so hard to form a picture of his face in my head, but I do not visualize anything anymore. I remember that his face is angular, and his eyes Cerani green, but I do not remember anything else. His appearance does not matter in the slightest, really. But not remembering bothers me. If I could remember how he looked in my second dream, the kindness in his features that reassured me, I might feel better on the whole. I know him as a being, but nothing about him as a person. It does not help that he is as changeable as the wind. Today, he is irritated. When we stopped for a rest about an hour ago, he deposited me on a rock and disappeared, as far as I know.

We have taken shelter beneath an overhanging outcropping of rocks; the heat exhausts us all, and many of the women are concerned about getting sick from it. If anyone else takes ill, it could push us back several days. I am enough of a burden for them. Aron has not said anything, but I know he tires of carrying me, and of hearing me whine when my injuries flare up. When he is gone, I am embarrassed to ask for assistance, but truly, I cannot untie the simple loops on my coat. I never realized how much I rely on my abdominal muscles to simply lift my arms. It is foolish. I wish I were not so helpless.