Page 77 of Ruby
She could not have hurt me intentionally. I believe that much. She is trying her hardest to control her acid spit so she won’t hurt me again. That is the kind of person Ani is, or will be, once she continues her inward molt.
“So far, you have learned how to at least aim it. I would guess you cannot talk until you can control it,” Azoeul remarks casually, leaning against the remnants of the tree Ani hit several times. “That should be enough to keep you practicing.”
She makes a gesture with one of her fingers. A glance at the male lets me know he doesn’t know what it means either. Azoeul disappears in a flash, going out of earshot soon after.
She is mumbling and stomping the ground angrily, clearly filled with words to complain, but holding them in. She is managing rather well, especially compared to when we first met. If she were to start screaming again, we would have a lot more problems.
“Angry?” I ask her, even though it is obvious.
She stops stomping the ground and responds in a tired voice. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I know. And you just spoke without hurting me,” I point out.
Without responding, she sets off toward the stream.
She does not say anymore and moves into the water. She drinks from it, shaking her feathers as she does.
She is adapting well to her new features, better than I ever would. I cannot imagine losing all my feathers, my whole body completely replaced with smooth, hairless skin like hers. I cannot even imagine being a smaller size, navigating the world with fewer limbs.
She is gulping down water like she holds a pit in her stomach.
She catches me staring at her and beckons to me with a hand. I enter the water without a thought, the pain of my burnt plume all forgotten. Once I’m right in front of her, she pulls me forward by my upper limbs. I don’t resist, knowing now that the movement is to make me available for her touch.
I fold my much larger body down eagerly, heart pounding in anticipation. She traces her fingers over the burn, her eyes intently gazing at the place she hurt.
Then her hands roam farther. Over my eye ridges, across the sensitive skin of my drums, down the sides of my neck.
“Ani…”
Even the barest of her touch stokes an unbearable heat in me. Her hands wander to my face and I shiver at her touch. Every part of my body screams at me to pull her in close to me. To position her so I can spiral into her, but I hold myself back, not knowing what kind of signal this touch may or may not be.
Instead, I move my lower limbs to embrace her lightly, and my upper to trace her features as she is tracing mine. Her breathing quickens, making it harder for me to contain my coil.
The sound of rapid steps interrupts us and I move myself out of Ani’s touch just as Azoeul bursts through the trees.
“We need to move. A new group is nearby,” he says in a rush. “We need to follow that trail before we get cut off from it.”
We work quickly, dispersing our traces on another trail to lead them away according to Azoeul’s instructions. The path is thinner with higher grass and looser soil. I tower above grass while Azoeul and Ani blend in well. We continue walking until we can no longer hear the sound of water.
“Keep moving. They are close,” he says after going out to scout.
I am quick on my feet, grabbing Ani up in my arms.
She taps my hands and points to the ground. I know she wants to run but Azoeul shuts that idea down almost immediately.
“I have a plan,” Azoeul tells us.
***
Ani doesn’t hesitate.
She steps out from the brush and into the clearing we carved from the undergrowth, feet crunching over the disturbed soil. The pit sits ten paces behind her, thin lattice of branches disguising the drop. She stands in front of it, shoulders loose, arms lifted slightly away from her sides in false surrender.
I am already in the trees.
Thirty feet above her, pressed along a thick branch, I steady my breathing and shift the weight of the projectiles in my grip. Sharpened wood, dense stones, a coiled length of thorned vine. Azoeul waits on the opposite flank, hidden in shadow.
They are not subtle. The hunters break through the tree line in a staggered line, heavy, wet bodies shoving aside branches. Six of them. Armed.
