---Hole---

---Emiko’s perspective---

“It feels like it’s getting cooler.” I observe as Thran and I walk through the forest a few kilometres from the embassy compound.

“It’s still a bit too hot for me.” she answers.

I look at her and note that, indeed, there is a sheen of sweat on the tan skin of her bare legs, arms and face that I’m quite sure isn’t present on mine.

“It’s a shame we’ll be gone before Winter hits… sounds like it would be ideal for you(!) Nearly 9 months of continuous, subzero temperatures(!)” I tease.

“Ideal room temperature for Neanderthals is 16.7°C… I only prefer it a little chillier because of my condition.” she answers, not snubbing me, just having completely missed the humour.

“Maybe it will get down to a comfortable temperature for you before we leave then.” I smile.

“Maybe.” she responds, simply.

At this point, she climbs over a log that’s fallen across the path, presenting her well developed, bootyshorted buttocks in a way that makes it difficult to resist the temptation to give them a playful smack…

Don’t want to give an unprofessional impression to anyone who might be watching us from the bracken, even if I doubt the Twigg would actually care!

I’m about to follow her over when she turns around and holds a palm out, physically blocking me while frowning down at the obstacle she just surmounted.

I stop and watch as she bends and wraps her hands around two of the gnarled knobs that once were branches.

Her glistening, treetrunk arms go taut as she heaves the several hundred kilo log off of the ground.

Even for her, the strain of lifting such a heavy weight in this high gravity clearly shows on her face as she removes it from the path.

“Thank you, Thran…” I giggle as she turns back around to me “…but I would have been able to make it over that just fine.”

She shakes her head “Obstructed paths are dangerous… That’s why I cleared it.”

“Very conscientious.” I smile.

We continue walking through the forest, the late Summer sunlight dappled by the canopy.

Finally, we hit the edge of a wide clearing, dozens of Twigg busily moving about it and with a hill on the far side.

I see a familiar figure, resting in the shade to our left as we enter, surrounded by Twigg and their canine mounts, all taking a siesta out of the afternoon sun.

I divert from the path a little, treading between snoozing bodies, before crouching down to place a hand on top of the enormous head of shadow incarnate.

Her fur feels amazing as I scritch her.

Two amber eyes the size of dinnerplates open and silently swivel up to me, the dilated pupils contracting into slits as they focus.

“Hello Fluffy…” I smile “…didn’t mean to disturb your catnap but just couldn’t resist! Sorry girl.”

Rather than a reproachful yowl (which might spoil the sleep of all the resting Twigg and stallionhounds around and on top of her) she just closes her eyes and emits a deep, almost infrasonic purr of contentment.

I spend a minute or two restoring myself with the feel of the satin-sleek fur beneath my fingers before, reluctantly, standing up and turning to continue into the Twigg worksite.

Thankfully, Twigg (though they don’t generally have any sense of shame regarding exhibitionist activity) do have a fairly developed sense of the partition between worktime and playtime. I’m not able to see anything lewd occurring as I look out across the multivillage clay processing site (only possible due to the peace treaty removing the threat of Vrakhand raids.)

I make for Representative Viig, standing in the centre of the action, giving direction.

I’m able to spot a few of my fellow expeditionaries around, all talking with variously animated Twigg.

My route to the one I’m here for takes me past Dr Taan, the Aarba theologist, sat with his four legs straddling a boulder and interviewing a Twigg boy (whose name I don’t know) on the edge of an enormous, empty sedimentation pit, still being excavated.

“And… what does ‘one with the spirits’ mean to you?” asks the alien sheep man, his thick, curly, pale blue fur spilling from every gap in his clothing and with a demeanour of childlike curiosity that belies the fact that he was born during the reigns of Emperor Akihito, Queen Elizabeth II and George W. Bush!

“They’re… everywhere… and nowhere… They exist… and they don’t.” answers the boy, thinking hard.

“Are they aware? Do they think anything about their circumstances? Have opinions on your actions?” probes the ancient man with the youthful soul.

“How should I know?! I’ve never died, have I!” answers the Twigg, perplexed.

Taan throws back his head and lets out a high, genuine laugh, as if the answer he just received was the most delightfully refreshing take on the metaphysical he’s heard in his seven century long life!

“No, I suppose not…” he beams as Thran and I pass him “…Alright then, why don’t you tell me about any rituals you know surrounding…”

The conversation falls out of earshot at this point.

“Representative!” I shout over to the toddler height woman, raising my hand and smiling.

She breaks from the conversation she was having with a boy… another Twigg I don’t recognise.

She beckons to me before turning back to him and continuing her discussion.

“Yes…” I overhear as I draw closer “…having the Terrans here does mean we can build the kilns larger… but we should consider the reusability of larger kilns… They’re no good to us without taller guys around to get the pieces in and out, are they… And they might be a little dangerous to dismantle… I’d say build them a little taller than normal but still short enough that a Folk can reach in with a stepping stool or something.”

“Do klar tral.” answers the boy before scuttling away.

The hip height woman turns to me, her dominant left hand resting (idly, not threateningly) on the hilt of a dagger I’ve never once seen her without.

“How can I help you, Emiko?” she asks, simply.

“I wish you wouldn’t wear that thing, you know Viig?” I smile sombrely down at the thanatite blade “It’s not a little antagonistic to be wearing the foot of the current general and future regent of the Vrakhand around like a war trophy.”

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Flatly, she dismisses “Yes… almost as ‘antagonistic’ as that time she shot the man I loved better than anyone else through the neck with an arrow… It’s almost like losing a foot and gaining a few stabwounds was her getting off easy…” with a sneer.

“I know you probably have mixed feelings about Haorken becoming…”

“No, I don’t… I’d say I’m feeling a pretty consistent way about it(!)”

“Viig…” I plead “…you’re a diplomat now! The things you say, the things you do… they reflect on your people… You can’t just…”

“As a [diplomat], I made sure I paid close attention to everything agreed in the [treaty] negotiations… I believe the agreement was that you Terrans would exchange [durasteel] copies of bloodmetal tools and weapons for the originals… I don’t believe there was any agreement that, in the meantime, we had to not use them or hide them from view, now was there(?)”

“…There wasn’t…” I sigh.

“Do you have a [durasteel] copy of this one to exchange for it(?)” she asks, eyebrows flying up her forehead in petulance.

“…You know I don’t, Viig.”

“Hmm!… Then I think there’s nothing more to talk about there, is there!” she scoffs.

“Viig…!”

“Tell you what, Emiko… I’ll give this to you, right now…” with a deft motion, she draws the dagger like a medium length sword and extends it to me, handle first.

I raise an eyebrow at her but her only answer is a fierce, fixed, wide eyed smile and a wiggle of the weapon.

I roll my eyes and reach for the handle which is, predictably, snatched from my grasp the moment before my fingers close around it.

“Just bring Pod back for me… Do that and you can have this… Keep it… Give it back to his murderer… I won’t care anymore!” she declares.

Knowing her request is impossible, she doesn’t wait for an answer before sheathing the blade back at her hip.

“Viig… You know I’m your friend… As your friend, I’m warning you… If you behave this way on Citadel, you’re going to make enemies!”

Her face loses it’s defiance and she answers “Thank you for the warning, Emiko…” much more sincerely “…but I’m guessing you didn’t come here just for this… Was there something else?”

“There was, Viig… Empress Khr’kowan is putting together an advisory council and has requested to have a Twigg member to sit on it, to keep her and her regent in the know on matters pertaining to your people.”

Her eyebrow twitches upward “Guessing that was a suggestion from you or the ambassadors, was it?”

“Uh… No…” I answer, surprised by the realisation that “…she actually came to us with this idea!” which I hadn’t thought of as noteworthy before now.

Viig sneers “Well, whatever… I might ‘speak for the Folk’ but I can’t and won’t order them around! If you can find a Folk willing to go to the city for this, I won’t stop them.”

I smile “I’m glad to hear it! We were wondering if you might be able to suggest us anyone? Khr’kowan has expressed a preference for an older male Twigg but is willing to accept whomever she’s sent.”

“Only old man I can think of off the top of my head is Mek of Miw, the same village as me. I think it sounds like a bit much for him though! He generally likes to keep things chill… I can ask him but, if he says no, I’m not going to push the issue.” she says, nonchalantly.

“I appreciate it. If you think of anyone else, I’d very much like t-” I cut myself off here, overhearing a sound coming from an entrance in the hillside.

“Is… is Victor in there?” I ask Viig.

“Sure is! Never seen anyone move clay like that guy!” she answers, appreciatively.

“I’m sorry, Viig… I just need to go and have a word with him about something.”

“No problem.” she responds, casually.

I turn from the tiny woman and walk over to the doorway in the side of the hill, buttressed with a wooden frame. There is a stream of Twigg coming out with terracotta jars full of powdery orange soil and, another one, returning with empty jars.

Before entering, a thought occurs to me and I turn back to my claustrophobic bodyguard.

Thran’s face shows visible discomfort, looking into the confined space.

“You can wait out here, Thran.” I smile.

She begins to object “No, I…”

“Thran…” I say, slightly more firmly “…wait here.”

Reluctantly, she nods her head.

I turn back around and duck down below the doorframe.

The ceiling inside is slightly higher but I still need to keep my head dipped so as not to bang it.

The mine is a long chamber, lit by torches, ventilated by holes bored through the top, lined by pickaxe wielding Twigg along its walls and supported by periodic columns of unmined clay, reinforced with wooden framing.

At the far end of the hall, I’m able to see the bottom two thirds of the large Terran man.

f♫The sunlight will not reach this low!♫f

comes his booming voice.

fff♫Dih! Dih! In vah mainz!!!♫fff

answer a hundred translatorless Twigg.

f♫Never seen the blue moon’s glow!♫f

fff♫Dorfs woh vlai zo hai!!!fff

f♫ Fill a glass and down some mead

Stuff your bellies at the feast

Stumble home and fall asleep

Dreaming in our mountain keep!♫f

At this point, I’m able to stand fully up for having entered the much higher ceilinged pocket, excavated by the +2m miner in front of me.

His every swing cleaves a shockingly large chunk of dry clay from the mine’s back wall and his entire body is covered in a grimy mixture of clay and sweat.

Colourwise, it’s not a bad match for the medium length copper ponytail swinging about from the back of his head(!)

Proximity causes his voice to dominate those of the Twigg from my perspective as, in unison, they belt out

fff♫ Born underground!

Grown inside a rocky womb!

The earth is our cradle

The mountain shall become our tomb!

Face us on the battlefield, you WILL meet your doom!

We do not fear what lies beneath!

We can never dig too deep!♫fff

Rather than risking an accidental clonk to the top of the head with a pickaxe by trying to approach him to tap him on the shoulder, I opt to move around his side to put myself into his peripheral vision.

“I am a Dwarf and I’m digging a ho-Oh! Hey Emiko!” he says as he notices me and breaks his voice from the chorus, turning towards me to reveal his thick, curly bearded, smiling face.

“Could I have a word with you outside, Victor?” I say, trying not to give away my annoyance.

“Err… Sure?” he frowns, looking perplexed as he buries the 3kg tool into the still unmined clay (deep enough that its able to support itself hanging out of the wall) and lets go of its handle.

Where I have to bend slightly to not hit the ceiling with my head, Victor needs to nearly double over to pass through the parts of the mine that he himself was not responsible for excavating.

We exit and are rejoined by Thran.

I direct us up the hill, away from prying ears.

Having walked about 40m from the mine’s entrance and gained about 8m of elevation, we reach a blufftop clearing that overlooks the enormous clay processing worksite.

I bring us to a stop and turn to face him.

“Victor…” I grimace “…I really appreciate you volunteering to come and help out with heavy labour when that isn’t in your job description…”

He smiles and waves me off “Good exercise… Minin’s surprisin’ly therapeutic for me!”

“…but…” I continue “…do you remember Ẽ’s request that we don’t teach the Twigg any more Terran songs?”

“Oh… Yeah… Right… Sorry, I forgot about that… Just started singin’ that one to work to and, by the time I remembered, they was all singin’ along! Damage already done at that point…” he answers, looking abashed.

“*sigh*…I mean… I understand that sharing a song with those Twigg will certainly have been a nice bonding moment and, normally, I’d be very much in favour of that kind of thing!… You just need to remember that, not only do they have significantly better procedural memory than Humans (allowing them to pick up tunes and song lyrics faster than us), they also don’t have any sense of the difference between ‘their songs’ and ‘songs they know’… Ẽ is quite stressed out by the extent to which Twigg music has already been ‘contaminated’ (her word, not mine) by outside influence.”

Looking slightly ashamed, the bearded man says “Sorry again…” before frowning at something over my right shoulder.

Exasperatedly, I answer “It’s not the end of the world… I’ll let her know about this song… are there any other…?”

Suddenly, the man is not in front of me any more, having streaked past me on my right.

I wheel around only to see him almost halfway down the hill.

There’s a brief moment of insanity where I think he might have run off to avoid confessing to having taught the Twigg other songs besides that 21st Century meme one… then I see what he saw.

I hurry down the hill after him, Thran easily keeping pace with me despite her short legs.

There is a green and purple furred dog mount making for Victor at high speed.

On its back is a Twigg, looking half conscious and covered in red blood!

Victor manages to place his hands just right to cushion the high speed fall from the animal’s back onto the hard ground.

He cradles the tiny man to his chest as a crowd of Twigg begins to gather around them.

“What happened?!” Victor demands of the bloody boy in his arms.

“Dith village… was… attacked…” rasps the Twigg, weakly.

“WHO attacked you!?” snarls the Brit, a million miles from the man who was just bashfully apologising for having forgotten not to teach the Twigg songs!

“It… was… a monster!”