"If you can't smell a rabbit practically until you see it,” Al said, a few days later as they walked through another pretty, yet unremarkable meadow, “how do you expect to find your way back to your home nest?"

Al was fascinated with what he saw as Morgan's complete lack of a sense of smell. It reminded her of a time in fifth grade when she and her best friend, Ashley, had learned that a male friend had colorblindness. They had spent an afternoon pointing out colorful objects and asking him to describe them. Looking back, it was cringey behavior, but they had been ten-years-old.

"People—humans," she corrected because she now knew better than anyone there was more than one kind of people. "We, um, leave a big footprint. We'll look for trash blown by the wind, broken branches, fire pits. That sort of thing. The ranges aren't that big, are they?” They’d been crossing the Earth-like range for days. They had to be close.

Al shrugged. "Big enough to support enough herds to feed all our nests, down to the chicks.”

Grinning, she reached over to tap lightly on his muzzle. "And all that fails, you can use your secret weapon."

"I'll probably smell them from half a day off." Al fluffed up his feathers in pride.

That brought up another point. Morgan's smile slipped. "Al, when we do find someone… let me do the talking."

He sighed. “I know. They won't understand me until we drag them to the border and find another Knowledge Transfer Device."

If anyone agrees to go at all. She winced. Humans did not have the best track record with other cultures, much less other species.

Part of the Yellow Crest's vocabulary was expressed through body language. Al easily read her hesitation.

“I know your people are warlike," he said matter-of-factly. "I saw your battles in the Stone Seeker's device."

"Those were war movies. Like, fiction and visual stories," she admitted. "I had to feed Mud Bubble and the others interesting stuff so I could keep getting access to their library."

Al made a 'burring' sound of approval. "Still, your fiction-stories are all about conflict. There were never any nice stories of a human going out on a hunt and and bringing a meal back to the nest."

"Well, no. I guess that wouldn't be very interesting."

"I would find it interesting.”

They walked as they spoke. The grass covering this meadow looked to be a type of wheat. The tops were heavy with ripe golden-brown grain. The band of trees ahead had the look of early autumn, too, with some of the leaves edging from green to yellow speckled with red. That meant some of the nut trees would be dropping. She made a mental note to check when they got there.

The Makers who designed the human range had… eclectic tastes. Though the temperature remained the same—more or less like a pleasant summer day—the seasons varied depending on the meadow. They were currently crossing one which looked like it was entering into early autumn, but the next meadow might be flowering bright in spring or growing green as if in the height of summer.

She hadn't yet come across bare winter trees, which didn't make sense. Did the plants skip winter and just swing right back to spring again? How?

When I finally meet one of the Makers, I'm going to have so many questions, she thought. After I make them take us home.

For now, once she and Al entered the tree-line she searched out the largest tree in the grove. There was usually at least one large oak.

Finding it, she walked around to scan around the trunk. On her way out from the village, she had carved slashes in the bark with her knife to mark her path.

This trunk had no cuts. None of them had so far. Either she hadn't come this direction the first time, or these weird trees healed faster than the ones on Earth.

With a sigh, she rejoined Al who was sniffing at a mushroom growing out of the base of a nearby hazelnut tree. Large as a bowling ball, it looked like squat coral.

"It smells… good?" It came out as more of a question than a statement. He used the tip of one claw to score a line over the surface as if to test the texture.

She hesitated. "It's a mushroom. I think that's Hen of the Woods." She bit her lip, considering. Every plant she’d been able to identify so far was either eatable or produced nuts and fruits that could be eaten. No nuisance plants like poison oak or star thistle. Nothing poisonous.

But what if the Makers had made a mistake? Or what if this mushroom fed a prey animal, but would make people sick? Not to mention, Al didn’t have a human digestive system.

"My dad always said never eat a wild mushroom unless you were willing to bet your life on it," she said.

Al sniffed at the tip of his claw. Then, with a raptor-ish shrug (which involved a weave of his neck) he stood. “I will find something else to eat.”

They walked on and Morgan pointed out a walnut tree not too far ahead, the branches drooping heavy with nuts. She started forward but was stopped by Al's warning squawk.

Morgan froze. Al had stopped several paces behind, his head up in an alert posture, his stiff tail waving back and forth. He seemed to be listening very intently.

She wanted to ask what was going on, but held her question back. He had the sharper senses. It wasn’t smart to distract him.

"There are creatures in the meadow ahead," he finally said.

Her heart leaped. “Humans?"

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"No, it smells of fur, and I hear many legs."

Morgan tried to translate that in her mind and came up with nothing.

Could be dinner. Could be an enemy. Could be a giant furry alien centipede which wondered over from another range.

Settling for a nod, she carefully slid the backpack from her shoulder and took out her multitool. Aside from Al, it was the best weapon she had.

Together, they advanced slowly through the forest, trying not to make noise. It wasn't easy. Leaves were dropping and some had already become dry and crunchy. The best they could do was to take it slow.

After what felt like an age, they came to a break in the trees.

Crouching low, Morgan gazed out to the meadow beyond. Her shoulders relaxed and she had to battle back a laugh. Poor Al. No wonder he'd been confused.

The next meadow contained what had to be a zookeeper's nightmare. A herd of at least a dozen different species grazed along side one another. Several species of deer stood near by a small cluster of zebra. A heavy American bison stood half sunk in a pond not too far away. Above them all, neck stretched to tear leaves the tall branches from the next stand of trees, stood a lone giraffe.

"Do they have venom?" Al asked quietly. "Good to eat?"

"No venom," she whispered back. "And those deer are good to eat. That moose at standing in the pond, too."

Al's tail thrashed as he looked on with renewed interest.

Suddenly, one of the zebra jerked its head upright and stamped, uttering an odd rippling call she'd only heard in the Lion King movies. Another animal—was that an elk or just a very large deer?—turned too, nostrils flared. One of the antelope bolted, leaping high in the air as if its thin legs were springs. Within seconds, the rest followed.

There were a lot more animals than Morgan had first realized. Their markings kept them well camouflaged in the tall grass: More types of deer than she could name along with other bison and a pair of camels.

The entire mixed, impossible herd was headed directly for them.

"What are they doing?" Morgan wondered. "What are they running from?"

“It doesn’t matter. Get out of their way!" Al took his own advice and leaped straight upward. His claws dug into the forked branch of an apple tree, and within seconds he was perched securely within a fork. He reached down as if to help her, but it was a young tree and already bowing under his weight. No way the tree could hold them both and she could not climb with her busted wrist.

Turning, Morgan sprinted deeper into the band of trees.

Al cried out after her—his words were lost in the oncoming beat of hooves.

She looked for some sort of shelter. Some place high, or low, or a barrier—there! A large gnarled tree not far ahead. She whipped around the other side and pressed her back to the trunk, trying to flatten herself as much as possible.

Not a moment too soon. The ground vibrated with the sound of hooves slamming into the dirt, and the panicked animals ran by, faster than she thought possible. It was like being in the middle of a freeway with cars passing her. Some of the animals passed by so close, she could have reached out and slapped one.

If she was starving, if her wrist weren't aching, she might have tried to jab a springbok or a small deer with the blade of her multi-tool. But there was a difference between seeing a cow far away in a farmer's field, instead of up close and very large and powerful with sharp hooves and horns.

Then, above the sounds of animal panting and the rumble came a sound that made her heart skip in her chest.

Human voices. Young, male, and familiar.

"That one! To your right—shit, it's running away!"

"You got it! Take the shot!"

"Yes… No. NO! Shit!"

“Seriously? You missed? It was right there!”

“Shut up!”

The stampede was ending. Morgan stepped out from behind the tree and the last of the animals parted around her as if she were a bulwark against a stream. However, the ground had been dry and now the air was stirred up with so much dust she couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of her.

Then, for the second time, she heard the cry of a dying animal—high and bleating.

Al? Where was Al?

Morgan stepped forward just as a metallic twang sang through the air. Something flew over her left shoulder and smacked the trunk of the tree she had just been hiding behind. She glanced up to see a thrumming metal bolt sticking halfway out of the bark.

Someone had just shot at her.

She fell to the ground, curling in on her side to protect her arm. “Don't shoot! Don't shoot!"

There was a confused pause and someone yelled out. "Who's there?"

Cautiously, she climbed back to her knees. Then, when no more bolts were fired, she regained her feet. "It's me! Morgan Hennessey!"

Two figures walked out of the dust.

"Morgan? Prepper-girl, Morgan?” The taller of the two broke into a jog. As he came close, Morgan was finally able to recognize him. It was Max, Timberly's boyfriend. He was dirty, sweaty, and carried T-shaped device made out of PVC pipe with metal cabling hooked to the frame by springs. That had to be the crossbow.

“You shot at me!” Her voice came out higher than she expected. Frantically, she looked around for Al. She hadn’t run that far into the forest. He had to be close.

“Don’t worry,” said the second guy. Shorter than Max, and barrel chested, he looked like he came from a latino background. His face was familiar, but she couldn’t place his name. “He hasn’t managed to hit anything left.”

Max stopped a few paces away, staring at Morgan as if he were looking at a ghost. “We thought you were dead. What happened to you?”

“Could you put that thing down?” she said instead of answering. The dust in the air had settled enough to make out the furthest trees. She spotted Al at last, only a few trees away, mantling over the body of a deer like a bird of prey over a prize. That explained the squealing sound. He must have dropped down on it from his perch.

Following her gaze, Max turned. He swore and backed a few hasty steps to point his crossbow at Al. One hand fumbled to twist to a little handle on the side—it seemed he had to wind it up first.

"No!" Morgan rushed to put herself between the two. "Don't shoot! He's okay. He's with me!"

Hearing them, Al stood to his full height, looking bemused, not understanding the danger.

"Holy crap!” The second guy’s eyes were bugged out. "Is that a dinosaur?"

"No, he's an alien. From another range." Only after the words were out did it occur to her that Max and his friend didn't know what a ‘range’ was. "His people were dropped on this planet, like us."

"Are these friends or enemies?" Al asked.

That was the real question, and Morgan didn't have an answer.

Ignoring him, she focused on Max. He had stopped winding the crossbow but hadn't lowered it. “He’s my friend. His name is Alphonsic, but I call him Al.“ She turned slightly as if to include Al in the conversation though she didn’t take her eyes off of Max’s crossbow. "Al, this is Max and, uh…”

"I'm Zeke." Luckily, Zeke seemed too amazed by Al to be offended. He turned to Max. “Look at that. It took down one of our deer, no wind-up toy needed.“

“Al is a great hunter, and he can understand everything you're saying," Morgan said emphasizing the words. "You guys started that stampede?"

"Yeah," Zeke admitted. “We’ve been trying to bag something for weeks. I lost my spear trying for one of those zebra. I wasn't even close.”

Give credit to Al, he sensed a way to ingratiate himself with the two alarmed boys. He stepped deliberately to the side of the carcass. "They may partake of my kill, since they flushed the herd my way," he said with stiff formality along with a slow head bob. It had the air of a ritual.

She sent him a grateful look. "He's willing to share if you guys help us butcher the deer." She picked her words carefully, lumping herself along with Al. She wanted them to see her and Al as a team.

"Sure," Zeke said easily. Then, “He’s really an alien? There are more like that out there?”

“Trust me,” she said. “Al is one of the normal looking ones.”

Max hadn’t said much, but finally lowered his crossbow. "Well, you have had a fun few weeks."

Morgan tried to smile but knew it came out sickly. "You have no idea." Then she asked the question that had been eating an acid hole in her stomach. "Max, how is Lucas?"

Finally, Max dragged his eyes from Al to look at her. "No idea."

"What? Why?"

He shrugged. "Things changed since you left. The village split. Colton on one side, Donuts and his groupies on the other. Lucas is with them."