Page 25 of Caveman Alien's Heat
The hunters continue walking as if nothing unusual has happened, but the effect spreads through the tribe like ripples through still water.
A man near the cave entrances whispers something. Another warrior squints at Riley, studying her smaller frame, the shape of her face.
Someone breathes a single word. “A woman.” The whisper carries far. Several others repeat it quietly.
“Awoman?”
“Impossible.”
“She is too small.”
“She looks very soft! See how she walks.”
Riley glances back at me, clearly aware that something unusual is happening even if she does not understand every word. “Everyone staring,” she mutters. “I have blood on face?”
“They have never seen a woman before,” I tell her tightly, because this tension will need an outlet somehow.
The hunters guide us deeper into the village. More tribe members emerge from the caves, drawn by the silence and the growing cluster of warriors. Some stand very still, watching Riley with open astonishment. Others circle slowly as if afraid that the strange creature might vanish if they blink. Curious boys draw close and stare with open-mouthed smiles.
One of the older warriors suddenly drops to one knee. “Holy Ancestors!” The movement is instinctive, almost unconscious.
A murmur passes through the watching crowd. Another elder quickly grips the kneeling man’s shoulder and pulls him back to his feet, whispering something sharply in his ear.
Riley notices the movement. “That man… praying?” she asks quietly.
“That is not how it is done,” I growl. “There is a time and a place. He should show more respect to his Ancestors.”
Without thinking about it, I shift my position as we walk, placing myself closer to Riley’s side. The movement is subtle, just enough that anyone watching will see that I stand near her. If they want her, they have to go through me. Despite the cords around my wrists.
The hunters lead us toward the center of the village. A wide fire pit burns there, surrounded by heavy stones darkened by years of smoke. The heat from the flames pushes back the cold air, creating a small island of warmth in the middle of the settlement.
A tall totem pole stands there, carved from a tree that must have been very tall, judging from the thickness. I wonder where they got that.
A large figure stands beside the fire. Even among warriors of our size, the Gar chief is impressive. He is taller than most of the hunters who brought us here, his shoulders broad and heavy with muscle that age has not yet taken from him. Thick scars cross his arms, pale lines against the darker tone of his skin and his even whiter stripes. He wears a fine, thin fur that hangs down his back and leaves some of his chest bare. Several massive fangs curve upward from the fine bone frame resting across hisshoulders, their polished surfaces catching the light and looking deadly.
He watches our approach without speaking. The hunters stop several paces from him, and only Prak’ox steps forward. He plants the butt of his spear against the ice and bows his head slightly toward the chief.
“What have you brought to our village?” the chief asks, his voice deep and calm.
“We bring two strangers found upon Gar ice,” Prak’ox says. “They claim to have fallen from the sky.”
A ripple of wonder moves through the watching warriors at those words.
Prak’ox gestures toward the glacier behind us. “A strange metal object lies not far from here, on the ice where the stoka pass in spring. This Borok warrior was inside as well when it fell, he claims. He gives the name of Nator’ax. The woman was also inside. She comes from a planet called Earth and is named Riley. She is a member of the Borok tribe also. The metal object appears to be a Plood saucer.”
The chief’s gaze shifts to me. The assessment between warriors lasts several seconds. His eyes move over my stance, my shoulders, and the relaxed way I hold my bound hands. He is weighing strength and experience, searching for weakness or deception. Finally he nods once.
“You are Borok,” he says.
“I am.”
“You are not dressed for the cold, Borok man.”
“The Borok tribe is a jungle tribe, Chief. And Riley and I had no intention of coming to your ice. The flying ship crashed here against our will.”
“Hmm.” His gaze slides past me, and for the first time he studies Riley directly. The entire village seems to lean forward.
Riley stands very still under the chief’s attention. Her shoulders are straight, though I can see the tension in her posture. The chief circles us slowly, his heavy footsteps crunching softly against the ice.
