Den’s boots thudded against the pristine grass, leaving behind the crushed stems of human presence with every careless step. How far away had the scream been? She thought she heard someone thrashing through the woods towards her, but that could have been the sound of her own footsteps. It could’ve been anything, honestly.

The amount of pure noise coming out of the woods now was terrifying. Birds were probably the loudest, as was to be expected, but there was much more going on underneath all that.

Flip-flopping on the source of fellow footsteps wasn’t going to get her anywhere, especially when she considered- hold on, were those hooves?

Dens was falling, falling, falling forward.

“Lady? Please wake up. Hello? Oh, please,” someone was saying, far away.

“Um… um… there’s a- a boar. Please, miss.”

Dens’ eyes fluttered open. “A boar? No, that doesn’t sound r-”

There was another shriek, and then a wet ripping noise. There was another, final yell, and then the sound of a brick being dropped onto a steak.

Dens looked around. The forest was very pretty. It must’ve been the middle of spring: all the things that were going to grow and turn beautiful were well on their way, if not there already. There was a warm trickle on the outside of her thigh. That was unusual. Maybe it was summer, and she had been caught in the stream of a final thaw? No, that didn’t seem right. She didn’t hear a river. And that probably wouldn’t have only been on her thigh.

“Miss are you…”

Oh, that’s right. There was someone else here. That was interesting. Maybe she was back home? But this lady didn’t speak any kind of English the crown so enjoyed. Maybe from one of the colonies? Or one of those far-off American places. Alaska…that was the new one those Americans had. Cold and full of gold. Or something. Should’ve left it Russian. Or maybe shake hands and give it to Canada? Now the border is going to look all weird. That would make for a good story. Maybe if they find something interesting up there. For now, it just seemed like a patch of ice. She laughed to herself. Just gold and cold. Maybe if they found unusual boxes that turned wood to tinder effortlessly there would be something worth taking.

“Miss, I don't know what to do here. Your- your leg.”

Mmm? Her leg? It felt fine to her. She looked down slowly. What the hell?

Buried a few centimeters into her leg was a boar tusk. Propped up against her leg, but not attached to the tusk were the remnants of a boar head, crushed by a large rock, tossed aside.

She thought she should have a stronger opinion about this than she did. One didn’t come to mind beyond her evident hunger. There was certainly a point of sadness here, for the boar’s lost life. There was another one, but her mind pushed it away. Not yet, no.

“Oh, this is bad?” her voice went high at the end of the sentence. That sounded like a question, to which the other… person looked horrified.

Dens looked up at her new friend. She even remembered to make eye contact, which seemed like an important thing in this moment. Her friend’s eyes were horizontal slits, wasn’t that unusual? No wait, it wasn’t the whole eye. Just the dark part on the inside. What was that called? It was right on the tip of her tongue.

“Yes, this is bad. Do you… um… h-here,” her friend said. She took her scarf off (it was a very nice, maroon scarf) and knelt down to Dens’ leg.

“Can you move your hands please?”

Oh, yeah, sure. Dens moved her hands wordlessly. The thing in the middle of the eye. Hmm.

“Can you tell me your name?”

Oh, yeah. “Dens Liberman,” she said. “What’s yours?”

Her companion was silent. “Who’s the president?”

The president? Who was the president? Hm. That was a thinker. Oh, right. “Trick question, I think. We have a prime minister, not a president.”

She said nothing again. “Here, I’m going to say a bunch of colors, and I want you to say them back. Orange Blue Yellow Yellow Blue Purple Orange White.”

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“Yeah, yeah sure. Orange, blue, yellow twice, blue again, purple, orange, and then white,” Dens replied proudly.

She finished her work on Dens’ leg and sat back. “Well… you check out all normal enough to me. But I never like, graduated,” she said.

“Iris! It’s called the iris. In your eye,” Dens said.

“Irish! That was it. My name is Irish. Wait. No. Yeah. Irish,” Irish said.

“You look weird,” Dens said.

“Like, so do you. And you have a deep voice,” Irish responded.

“It’s genetic,” Dens replied. “Why are you here?”

“Hmm. I don’t know. Maybe the same reason you are?”

Dens frowned. “Don’t have a hold on that one yet. I built a campfire,” she said.

“Woah there hot shot! A whole campfire?” Irish asked.

“Um… yeah. By myself, mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“Yeah. Completely. Tinder, a bit of friction. You know,” Dens said.

“Alright… can I like, see it?”

“Oh, yeah. Let me…” Dens moved to get up.

Irish moved to help her. The two of them got up, and Dens took a few steps.

“How do you walk with legs like that?” Irish asked. “They bend the weird way.”

Dens shrugged. “Just how I’ve always done it,” she replied.

They walked back through the woods, Dens’ trail still clearly visible. She made a mental note to go back for the boar. It wouldn’t be right to just leave it there, even if she didn’t eat it. That would be begging for some unsanitary stuff right next to where she would be staying.

She didn’t like that thought. Sure, she was just staying there. But that was supposed to be it. And now this woman is here. Was going forward just going to bring more people to this place? That didn’t seem right. She certainly didn’t want to be here. Two people might make some things easier for now, but now another person has to worry about surviving.

A moral dilemma that’s probably best saved for after some rest. And some water. God, she could use some water.

“It looks like it didn’t hit your femoral vein, so that's good,” Irish commented. “If you have one of those, I don’t know,” she added after a moment.

Dens thought for a second. “I think I do,” she said. God, she had a headache, too.

“Can we lay down for a moment?” she asked. She felt a little silly asking, but clearly she was in the presence of a doctor or something.

“Let’s get to your campfire first, I think,” Irish responded. “Oh, is that it?” she said, pointing. “Who’s that?”

“Who’s who?” Dens asked.

“That uh… gray guy?”

“A gray guy?”

Irish pointed ahead of her, to a person standing completely still by the still-burning flame. The two approached slowly.

“Hello? Sir?” Dens offered. No response.

“He’s not moving,” Irish said.

“Odd,” Dens said. She moved to wave a hand in front of the things f-

“By the king, it doesn’t have a face,” Dens said.

Irish laughed nervously. “What? Like, a mannequin?”

Dens didn’t answer. She was focused on a blue text box in front of her.

DRONE X Talk View Needs Assign Function

“Do you know what a drone is?” she asked.

“Like, a bug? I think?” Irish responded.

Dens made a noise in agreement. “I think that’s this guy’s name.”

“How can you tell?”

“Oh, it says as much right here,” Dens said, attempting to grab the panel and move it towards her companion.

“Says what right where?” Irish asked, looking at Den’s moving hands.

“On this blue page,” Dens said.

Irish cocked her head. “There’s no blue page in your hand.”

Dens frowned. She tapped on Talk.

FIRST TIME SETUP Calibrating Spoken Language... OVERRIDE - Set Spoken Language to English CONFIRM

Dens swiped the message away and looked expectantly at the gray humanoid in front of her. “Hello?” she asked.

“Hello,” it said in a smooth monotone.

Irish jumped. “He can talk?”

Dens nodded. “What are your pronouns?”

Irish whispered, “That’s the first thing you ask?”

Dens shrugged in response.

“My identifiers have not been assigned yet,” it said. “All population defaults to the name ‘Drone.’”

“So we get to name them!” Irish said. “Dibs.”

“Dibs?” Dens asked.

“Name set: Dibs,” Dibs said.

“Dibs and Dens?” Dens asked.

“No! Fuck!” Irish said.