“Come with me.” Archos said bluntly, his thought of gathering her tribe, abandoned as disgust for the mob ran through him.

She could feel the anger radiating from his body as she followed behind him. His footfalls were persistent in their steadiness, evenness, and that even when sure of purpose, he had a casual air as if nothing could touch him. ‘I have seen flashes of anger, but now he seethes.’ She hung her head as she followed him back to the ugly lake that was going to kill her crops, where the chunk of obsidian sat waiting for them.

When they were well away from the lot of them, he finally broke the tension, “My anger is not against you, Ayente.” He said quietly, “I have told you that mine is a warrior race, we prize discipline as stable as a mountain. Though our passions may run hot, we strive not to lose ourselves, and to do so in... that manner, is considered a deep shame for any dragon.”

“I-I see. We are not dragons though.” Ayente said, ‘But how I wish...’ She thought, but did not add.

“The outcasting of the thief is a death sentence, but it also weakens you, and the manner in which it was done, causes me to question how much work truly lies ahead of me.” Archos said as they reached the enormous chunk that had sunk several inches into the muck beneath their feet.

Ayente hung her head still as Archos raised his massive fist up, and brought it smashing down against the obsidian, shattering it in half, but scattering many smaller pieces aside, sending them flying into the water and the mud of the brackish waters.

“Take your pieces, and begin to work them, you know how to shape stone, this is a little different, I will watch first.” He said and moved to stand beside her as she took up several longer pieces and began to work. She found the flat easily enough, and taking a small, smooth stone in hand, she rapped it sharply against the edge, and her eyes went wide as it fractured easily and gave her a long surface to work with.

“Kos eyma!” [Stone good!] She exclaimed as the flakes broke off along the ridge, and slowly flattened the wide portions until it began to take on the shape of a turtle shell, before slowly shaping it into a longer, thinner shape, and a deadly edge began to form. From her hands, blood sprang from several small cuts along her flesh, making the stone slick with small amounts of blood. It was no deterrent to her progress, she bit her lip and focused intensely on the little stone in her hand.

The focus, the obsessive look, the absolute certainty when her wrist snapped down to strike the chosen point. ‘Tascaros, it’s like him on the battlefield.’ He thought to himself as he saw the spirit of his companion in the small fleshy body.

She set her small hammer stone aside and took up an antler, she took it to the base of the long, sharp stone, creating an inner curve that would serve for the binding twine she would later make. She pressed the tip of the antler down very slowly, in incremental pressures to ensure she did not break too much, less than the circumference of her smallest finger, and it was enough.

With her head low, she cupped the new weapon head in her now bloody hands, and held it up for his inspection. He took it between his talon tips and brought it up to his large eye. She had used the antler to create tiny serrations along the edge that would act as miniature saws. Briefly he pictured it being dragged over an unwary neck. ‘Yes, this can kill.’ He held it back down to her. “Excellent, Ayente, this will end the life of any unfortunate to find it dragged over their throat or forced into their flesh.” He said with forceful confidence as she took it back.

“Now, we need wood.” He said, and she took up her other spear, and, ironically, using the obsidian edge she’d just made, cut the binding and removed the previous stone from its place and cast it aside. She then gently wedged the new obsidian tip into the smooth cut gap at the end. She looked at it and twisted her lips as she swing it a bit to test its security, and seemingly satisfied, laid the spear down and built a small fire, over which she held a lump of sap, the two waited in silent expectation until the sap began to melt and she held the end of the spear at the wedge into place, and let the sap drip over the edge. She moved with the swiftness of one practiced in her arts, and Archos watched in faint admiration as if he were witnessing a professional of his homeland at their craft.

‘Crude but... still, she knows how to do what she’s doing.’ He thought to himself, she’d zoned out, oblivious to his presence as she lost herself in her task, she did not even notice how often she’d cut herself on the sharp obsidian, not even when taking the wet strands of nettle skin plants, she braided them with nimble fingers, then wrapped it around the spear at the wedge gap, put another faint coating of sap over the insertion point, and then jabbed the spear butt first into the mud at an angle so that it was over the flame and the smoke could rise up to hasten the drying.

When she was done, she turned to Archos and grinned. “My people may not know all that yours know, but we know our spears. Though we prefer axes for fighting, they are not good for hunting, and I personally have always favored the spear.”

She looked down at her blood slickened hands, and then up at him in confusion. “What...?” She looked up at him, quiet questioning in her eyes.

“The obsidian, I told you, is incredibly sharp. You will cut yourself often with it, even when you are skilled, if you do not wear protection, you do not have claws, talons, or scales to protect your flesh.” He said bluntly.

“Oh, but... still.” She trailed off as he reached for his nearby pack and removed a soft cloth, and wrapped it around her skin. “I could heal such a minor wound with my magic but... it is better this way, your fingers will learn better, your flesh will toughen, the easy way often deprives you of strength. Be careful about taking the easy way.” He said firmly as his scale covered fingers moved with shocking dexterity, his talons, filed as they were, proved their precision as she mutely watched him work on her bloody hands.

“Sos hap.” She said with a shiver and a smile.

“What?” He asked as he tucked the tip of the bandage under itself at the wrist and tied it off, then took her other hand to repeat the process.

“Ah, means... like how you call my flesh?” She scratched her head as she looked up at him while he worked on the other wrap.

“Squishy.” He said roughly.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

“Yes, that, but not, is like, but fur.” She struggled as she thought it over.

“I think you mean ‘soft’, so you were saying it is soft?” He asked her patiently as he finished her other hand.

“I think, yes. I find some other thing, and ask the word you use for it.” She struggled through his language with a red faced expression that he’d come to understand meant she was either flustered or angry, and he didn’t think she was angry.

She went on to make a knife, shaping several pieces into a minor edge, and repurposing one of her old shafts in the same way, but this time, Archos interjected before she was finished.

“It is good, but the edge is, as I say, very sharp, you need a way to protect your hands if the knife slips. He pointed to a stick. “Hand me that.” He said, and she brought the short stick over to where he sat, and he began to shave at the wood with his talons.

Ayente watched in fascination as his talons, carefully controlled, peeled away at the solid wood with absurd ease. Again she was reminded of just how predatory he seemed. His firm but steady tenor of voice was so easy to be comfortable with, that she often forgot how dangerous he must truly be. But seeing the ease with which he shaved at the wood like a knife would skin a beast, was a clear reminder. It set her at ease, allowing her to smile as he worked, and then pressed the partially hollowed area against the grip of the weapon just below the obsidian edge. “Bring me another.” He commanded, and she swiftly obeyed.

That one was a little long, so he sliced it at the tips, measured their distance to ensure they were equal, and shaved the center away to a curve that fit the same way. “Sap.” He said bluntly, and she watched as he let the sap drip and coat the inner curve of each piece. He then used his talon to spread it further, and fitted both together. “Do you use a cross bind?” He asked.

She looked at him blankly. “Give me the strands you have left, braid them first.” He ordered her brusquely, and she did as she was bade. When she handed them to him, she watched him wrap one over the edge, pull it taut to one side, then down at an angle at the lower right, then back up, over, around to the upper right, then down to the lower left. Over and over he looped the braids until it was secure, then he tucked it under the edge and with shocking dexterity, bound a tiny knot at the lateral crossing place at the bottom braid, and then dripped additional sap over the spot for additional security.

“Take it.” He said, and handed it to her. She held the unusual weapon in one hand, noting that it looked like a child’s version of the thing he called a sword.

She held it out far in front of her, and looked at him quizzically. “Hold it tight.” He said, she clenched her little fingers, and he spread his two large fingers open, so that they were each atop the bound sticks, and then he pressed down very lightly.

Ayente’s narrow eyes did a double take. ‘Without this thing he put there, that could take off my fingers if it slid down to my hand... what a wise solution.’ She thought to herself and smiled gratefully up at him.

“We have some time it seems, until these dry.” Archos remarked as she brought a rock over closer to the fire and sat on it, holding the obsidian knife handle above the flames, too high to be burned, but where the warmth would speed the drying process.

“Seyet.” [Yes] She remarked. As she stared into the fire she asked her next question quickly, "Eybe'ti lope unikoslof reg oos sto?" [You will protect my life from the bear?]

“You ask if I will protect you?” Archos stared at the weapons they’d made. She nodded.

She slowed down considerably in her words as she stumbled through his language, “On the hunt, my companions cared for me, but I little needed protection, somehow despite my curse, I was not harmed. My companions? I told you, often lost. Alive, I. But why? To watch die, they who love me? My curse...” She pointed in the direction of the huts, “theirs. My curse, yours maybe.” She gestured over to him. “Unikoslof big. You big. They big more. They roar... ground shakes. Not die for me. If danger death comes,” she tapped her chest, “run, come back for meat later. Bargain then kept. Ya’ me lope.” [Help my people]

It took some effort to grasp the fullness of her meaning, and for a moment he wondered why she was using his language, and then it hit him. ‘She alone speaks my tongue, if others hear, they won’t know what she says.’

Archos answered by curling back his lips, opening his massive maw, revealing the enormous teeth, jagged, deadly, and the deep throat beyond, then he lifted his head toward the sky, and let loose a roar that made the thunder sound like a mewling kitten. Her blood ran cold as winter snow as it echoed over the great wide plains as if to tell the world that he was walking it. When his battle roar faded, he lowered his face and stared at her, hard, she felt smaller than ever.

“They roar like a breeze, I like a storm. You will come back alive. I will make it so. Unikoslof, will be my food today. No matter their roar, I have my sword, I have my teeth and talons.” He said sharply as his teeth. “I will not abandon you. This I swear.” Archos replied with a low, rumbling growl, and pounded his tail hard into the mud behind him, shaking the ground around them with the force of the impact from the club tip.

She looked at him with shining eyes, adoring, almost worshipful, “Even they did not say such a thing. But... they fear the gods... you do not. But not fear them, will not change their curse. Please... I do not want you die for me.” She managed the words as best she could, her worshipful eyes did not leave him, and her hands clasped briefly together, “Too many, too many already.”

“I will not be one.” He said calmly, “I have too much to do, to die by some mere beast, no matter how big.”

She looked at him with gentle eyes, “You spoke of him, this one whose sword you have. Can you speak more?”

Archos lowered his head so that he was now looking into the flames, “Tascaros was my prince... would have been my king. You have no words like those, but they are, to us, our rulers. Wise, strong, far thinking. He was more than those to me though. I loved him, as if he were my own brother. We fought together in war, watched one another’s backs, I was his bodyguard, we grew up together. He had... the best sense of humor. I knew him like no other in life.”

Archos’s voice grew distant, and for a moment, he forgot that Ayente was there. “He played pranks, often at my expense, but if he saw I was saddened, the laughter stopped and he was quick to listen. He went hungry when we did, and could laugh so long and so loud over the smallest meal that it was as if we were at a feast befitting the kings of old in their greatest glories. We forgot our hunger when his laughter came. But he was also fierce, a deadly fighter who would risk himself for any of his band.” Archos’s face lifted, and met Ayente’s eyes.

“I saw his light in you when first I surfaced from the waters of this world, you reminded me of him. Were they not in such numbers, and were you properly taught to fight, I have no doubt that you would have prevailed. And when you jumped in front of me with that ridiculous stick,” Archos let a low rumble of laughter slip out, “and put your body in between me and one of your wounded, I saw your resolve to die rather than lose one of your own.” Archos sighed heavily and poked his finger into the burning flame, stirring the burning material without any hint of pain at doing so.

As she saw the tiny subtle tics of his scaled lips, the inhumanity of his nature was suddenly brought into sharp focus. Yet for all that, beneath it lay a very clear, humanlike quality, one she recognized in herself and in others who lose loved ones. Sadness. ‘Were he human, he would be weeping for his friend.’ Ayente thought as she quietly listened to him speak.

“Years ago, when we were off on our first battle, we got separated from our people, and a group of a hundred... many of your manies, chased us. We found a cave, and ran inside. They knew we were there, and they tried to follow, but we took up the whole front, so that they could not surround us. We killed and cut, and with nothing to do but win or die, we seemed to win, until an elder with wings and fire spitting skill descended to the front. Tascaros had many white scales, and so was more vulnerable to flame, so I got in the way. I am strong... but against the liquid flame that stuck to my scales, even I am not invulnerable. My arm and body were badly burned, he dragged me into the cave, and protected me until we were rescued hours later by more of our soldiers. When he stood in front of me, I saw the hero’s light.”

He glanced at her eyes, “I spoke to you of this. That resolve to protect what is loved at any cost, to win, to triumph, not for glory, not for wealth or fame, not for vanity and not even fighting against fear! To protect those cherished, and fear nothing at all, even among my kind who are born to war and bloodshed, to see such a thing is a rare wonder. Even in the deepest darkness, he shone like the sun. His loss pains me greatly, so... Ayente, I will not die today, or tomorrow, or any day until I have left this world, gone back to my own, and sheathed this blade into the heart of his brother, even if I must fight my way through my whole country to do it!”

Ayente met his look when it fell to her and answered in kind, “I understand. It is a heavy thing to lose one well loved. Our chief, well, I will take Makine’s life for what he has done. Our people may not appear to you as ones who fight, but here, we are. I cannot ask you to stay beyond your promise, but when you go, I will think of you often in the beyond, and pray at the feet of the gods that you are kept safe.”

She drew the knife back to herself and touched it, then she stood, reached out, and touched the spear. “The weapons are dry. We may use them.” She said with quiet resolve and yanked the spear from out of the ground.

Archos drew his scales away from his teeth in a battle hungry smile, “Then we go, and when we come back, we come back with the body and fur of an unikoslof, and it will be delicious.” He licked his lips hungrily, and within a few minutes, the huts were well behind them. There wasn’t a human in sight, and that was something neither Archos nor Ayente minded even a little.