In The Lair of the Draca (Book 2)

In the Lair of the Draca (Book 2) Chapter 67: Piteous Waru

A second and third day had passed without the opportunity for Ziuta to procure any more clothes. But in truth, traipsing about the trails in Hallow's Wood felt rather liberating; there was no one to see the delicate curves of her body, the spots where her budding breasts were like mosquito bites, and the tender place between her thighs where a smattering of red hair had begun to grow. She had started her monthly bleeding and knew instinctively what she must do-- when she reclined after a long day climbing trees for ripe fruits or poking moist sticks into ant hills so she could suck off the tiny, protein-rich morsels, she made sure there was plenty of clean moss beneath her to soak up the absorbency as she slept.

In the morning, she padded to the creek and washed herself, scrubbing thoroughly with handfuls of sand and grass until her skin flushed ruddy beneath the light of the star-spirits and Twin Moons. While the sight of Haven's Creek was beautiful and refreshing, she was only glad that she had not reached the bend in the creek where she would surely find Water Fly's decomposing body, which by now would be starting to stink and de-compose. Even now, she fought a hitch in her throat. Water Fly had been the best friend she'd ever had on this world...even the Draca, protectors and benevolent though they were, would not be able to come close to Water Fly's companionship.

But what was there to do about it now?

Determined never to go back (she'd long decided that she'd live as a wood nymph until the last days of her life), she stalked through the thicket, picking bolberries off of bushes and munching on their sweet tartness, or digging through holes made in old tree trunks by wood rats, who stored sweet treats there in the form of walnuts, almonds, or acorns with their rich center. Ziuta had learned how to bank a fire and surround it with twelve hearthstones-- a sacred number back on her home planet of Kiwa-- and how to hold skewers of these soft nuts into the flames, watching contentedly as they crackled and popped and absorbed the wonderful taste of the charred goodness.

But she still had no means of shelter. The weather had been good lately, so she was lucky, but she was beginning to grow even skinnier than she'd ever remembered. It did not take a genius to realize that she was malnourished.

Perhaps before I can even begin to build myself a shelter, I should set about to catching Creepers first. Ziuta sat at the bank with her toes resting in the water, chin cupped thoughtfully with one hand. Creepers, she knew (or 'fish', as they were called by the Evening folk), were awash with helpful oils that made fingernails less brittle and the hair shine with new health. Its vitamins and minerals would strengthen her own bones...but how would she do it?

She could not simply wade into the water and scoop one of the fast-moving Creepers out with her hands. That was out of the question, possible only for old men who had been fishing since their third years. She had no net, although she could try a sharpened digging stick to skewer fat specimens if she dared. It might be perilous but--

Almost as quickly as her mind formed the words, Ziuta had another idea.

I have proven that I can become one with the Draca. I can call the fruit-bird to me with one whistle and a strip of grass; I can skulk through the forest as naked as the day my mother bore me, and I can scale even the tallest trees for fruits. If I am to become 'One' with them further, I must prove myself and earn their respect: learn to fish, learn to hunt, learn to dress myself, and learn to build a shelter. Then, and only then, will the Draca become comfortable enough to withdraw from the shadows and act as my protectors.

Flashbacks of having been tossed into the creek with her wrists and ankles manacled elicited a strong shudder-- but this time would be different. There would be none of Malaraq's minions slinking about, ensuring that she would meet her death in Haven's Creek now that there was no Water Fly to save her. She would do this, no matter what kind of frightening feelings were dredged up, and when she convinced herself that she could safely stroke from one end of the Creek to the other bank, she would prepare a tool that she'd been turning over in her mind-- and feast. Green Wings would be able to have her share, as well.