“I think, I’m actually enjoying this,” Diyrl says with an exaggerated yawn. She uses her spiked tail to bring a cup of liquid to her mouth. She smirks at Sotet from over the brim of the cup. “I rather like the idea of having a shrike nurse me back to health. After everything our two worlds have gone through together…It seems almost poetic. Don’t you think so, Sotet?”

Sotet shoots Diyrl a stern glare. “What are you talking about?”

Diyrl decides to play coy. She blinks rapidly and offers Sotet a wolfish smile. “Oh, nothing. Just that our worlds have been so ravished by turmoil and disease…By infighting and exile. That you and I, envoys of our respective worlds, should end up here…On the Wandering Sands? The universe must be playing quite a trick on us.”

Sotet does not alter his glare. Nor does he bother to give Diyrl a reply. The wyvern watches him with narrowed eyes.

“How old are you, Sotet?” Diyrl inquires with a hint of genuine curiosity. Sotet continues to work in silence. He lowers his gaze to the task before him—sorting the seed cultures into categories. Diyrl realizes he is ignoring her and prods him further. She is hoping to elicit a strong reaction. “Ten world cycles? Twenty? Forty? You can’t be much older than that? The feathers on your head haven’t even begun to dull in color. Come on, Sotet. No need to be ashamed. Adahlia told me her age. She’s not ashamed. Now where’s the harm in telling me? What could I possibly do with that kind of infor—“

“I’m guessing you don’t have an OFF switch!?” Sotet yells. He tosses down the seed culture he is holding and narrows his eyes at Diyrl.

“Ah. And I thought you’d gone mute,” Diyrl says with satisfaction. She lowers her cup to the ground. “Glad to see I was wrong.”

“Eighteen world cycles, okay? I’m eighteen world cycles. Almost nineteen,” Sotet replies.

Adahlia approaches from around the back of the stone building—carrying a steaming bowl of food. She giggles as she hands it to Sotet. “Eighteen? You’re not much older than me, Sotet.”

“I’ll have you know, shrikes reach adulthood around twelve world cycles in age. So, I am in fact much older than you…,” Sotet says with a wink. “Thank you very much.”

“So what?” Adahlia retorts. She looks over at Diyrl. “Sorry we don’t have any meat. The cryo packs take weeks to cultivate. Even then, the fish won’t be large enough to eat for at least another month after that. It would be like eating a cheez-it when you really want a grilled cheese sandwich.”

Diyrl crinkles her snout and shoots Adahlia a stare that says she is not real pleased. “A cheez-it? Grilled cheese? You mean the yellow squares fashioned from the milk of the creature humans call a cow? Why would I want to eat one of those? The cow, maybe. Hold the cheese.”

“It was just an example,” Adahlia replies shortly. “But you really will need to eat something. Your wing will never heal correctly if you don’t take in some nutrients.”

Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

“Nonsense. We lix have a special protein which aids in the regeneration of damaged cells. Although, if I were on Lixuwon, the ability would be multiplied by a significant factor. There are stones on Lixuwon which have healing properties. We consume them in powder form with a combination of Gorflinit and Spliflich—herbs found only on Shretonia. They make the powder digestible. Many lix became ill or lame when we were denied access to these herbs—after our defection from the Olotir Alliance. Mostly older lix; who were losing their ability to regenerate naturally. Or frequent travelers to other worlds; who came into contact with foreign contagion. I’m in the prime of my life. Despite my present situation. I only need a few days to recuperate. Plenty of time for us to all get to know each other.”

Diyrl crosses her wings in front of her and looks over the folds directly at Sotet. Even with her snout buried in her wings; Sotet knows Diyrl is smiling her usual sly smile. And he hates it.

_

_

“It’s been five days, and not a hint of rain,” Adahlia says with a sigh of displeasure. “Not a cloud in the sky. A couple on mini-suns turning us into barbecue. Maybe the Wandering Sands is exactly what it’s cracked up to be…A sweltering wasteland where we’re all gonna die!”

Adahlia collapses on the ground, outside the stone igloo, in dramatic fashion. She face plants into the sand, both arms straight out at her sides. Sotet prepares to go to her, but halts when Adahlia giggles and swiftly moves her arms up and down. The result is a very large sand angel. Adahlia’s laugh increases in volume and she flips over onto her back—staring up at the sky.

“So when do we move on and try to find some water? We’ve used about one-third of our water packets,” Adahlia directs her query at Diyrl. Diyrl is standing outside of her lean-to. Glancing at Adahlia; she tentatively flaps her wings and then shakes her entire body.

“I should be fit to fly by tomorrow,” Diyrl answers. “Although, if you plan to take along those hovering machines of yours…We might need to create some kind of harness or straps. There’s no way I can carry them and you. I move much faster than they can hover and I’ve only got…two legs. I’m not your average dragon, you know?”

Adahlia palms her forehead and looks over at Sotet. “Yes. A harness. We can use the supplies from the lean-to.”

“And only take what is absolutely necessary,” Diyrl adds.

Sotet scowls and points at the hover crafts—where the supplies are stacked. “We’re stranded on the Wandering Sands…With limited supplies and no clue as to when we will find more. I think everything is necessary.”

Diyrl flaps her wings for emphasis and gives Sotet a stern look. “And I’m still recovering from having a spear jutting out of my wing. Either you leave some of it. Or you leave all of it. Your choice.”

Sotet is unhappy abput leaving any of the supplies behind, but he nods agreement to her logic. Diyrl desperately tries to make amends.

“We could always bury the supplies and mark them for later. In case we ever end up back here again. Or…In case something happens to me and I am unable to carry you to where you need to go.”

Adahlia grows defensive at the suggestion. “Don’t ever say that, Diyrl! You’ll get us there. We’ll be fine.”

“Never leave anything to chance, Adahlia,” Diyrl says calmly. “And don’t take anything for granted. I was flying one moment…Not a care in the worlds…Next moment, I was reeling from a spear through my wing. I flew for many hours like that. I was close to death when I spotted the two of you. I had no idea if you would be kind or hostile. I took a chance. And I’m grateful it worked out. I’m obliged to have met you both. But we have to be realistic. This is a hostile world. Even with the occasional lush oasis. Anything can happen. We’re not the only exiles here—And not all of them are as friendly as you two are. I’d much rather lose a few supplies—then lose either of you.”

Sotet is touched by Diyrl’s show of vulnerability. He smiles inwardly and contemplates the supplies.

“I’ll see what we can narrow down.”