Page 93 of Folds
I spend a moment watching him struggle before I do exactly what I told myself I wasn't going to.
"I'm coming down there, don't make this weird," I yell as I grab the thick wool blanket I threw off the bed earlier. I tuck my feet back into my hiking boots and stomp out into the night.
I quickly find the opening where he pushed his way under the cabin—there's deep gouge in the mud. I drop to my knees and crawl, following his trail.
"Totally smart move, on your hands and knees in the mud into the crawlspace to help a giant snake man…totally normal Monday night," I mutter sarcastically.
But as I slide past the foundation walls and my eyes adjust to the dim light, my breath hitches as I take in the sight before me. The naga is big, so big it seems comical that he wedged his way under the tiny cabin.
His green scales are slicked with mud, the taper of his tail's tip expands into a broad, muscular tube that connects to his hips. His chest is basically a human one, albeit carved from stone and scale covered. The naga's neck is long and almost graceful. It supports his head, and honestly, despite his grimace of pain, he looks like a green K-pop idol.
The half-up man bun and delicate gold earrings that line his pointed ears only cement the comparison to an ethereal pop star.
The ground is cold and wet beneath me as I sit back on my heels, hunching in the short space. It smells like wet earth and wood.
"Honestly, I'm surprised you managed to fit in here…" I whisper, wrinkling my nose.
His slitted eyes watch me suspiciously, which is fair—I guess.
"Hi," I say, because it feels right in the moment. "My name is Sloane, what's yours?"
His demeanor doesn't become any less tense.
"I'm really just trying to help you. I'm not even sure why you thought coming under here would be a good idea?—"
"Cold, warmer under here," he grits out.
I suppose the fire does make it a bit warmer down here.
For the first time, I notice his hand covering a swatch of the scales along his hip. Both the edges of his palm and the flesh underneath are rimmed with something dried and dark.
"Oh."
He's not just cold, he's injured.
"You're hurt."
His jaw tightens, like he hates the fact that I'm pointing it out.
"What happened?" I lean closer carefully.
"A trap," he offers.
"That's fucked up—hate that for you," I sigh. I don't understand why anyone would want to trap a naga, and I'm not sure I want to get into the details of why. Right now, I just need this K-pop monster out from under what was supposed to be my sculpture retreat.
I glance at the pulled-up floorboard. In flows the faint light from the fireplace and the promise of warmth, just out of his reach.
"Alright, whatever your name is, let's get you upstairs and warm—then on your way." I switch to a firmer tone. "Because you're not dying under my cabin…do you understand?"
He shifts again, tail jolting as the muscles near his wound tense. "Can't move far…"
"Okay, well, let's do this slow…in steps. Step one, we get you warmer." I reach for the blanket tucked under my arm and throw it around his shoulders, gathering it in the best I can around the awkward shape of his half human, half snake body.
He stills at the contact but doesn't pull away.
"I'm going to try and help you out from under here. Then we can have some tea and sit by the fire until you feel okay."
"My name is Bahtam," he mutters.
