Chapter 3

- Bronwen -

Noker is a giant, just as big as Brak and bigger than most of the cavemen in the Borok tribe. He's all muscle, with sky-blue tiger stripes all over him. His thighs and hips are immensely thick, looking like tree trunks that flex like many bundles of steel cables, each as thick as my own thighs.

His eyes are deeply set and shine like yellow searchlights. With his sharp, protruding jaw and fangs he will never be a model, but his face is full of character and lived life. As a Foundling, that life must have been tougher than most. And that on a planet where just surviving is a major challenge at the best of times. His scars speak volumes, and I wonder if he doesn't have some deeper scars that can't be seen so easily. I get a feeling he's someone who keeps secrets.

Even for a Foundling, he must stand out. A tall, thin, fan-like feature stretches across his head from ear to ear, like some dinosaurs had back on Earth. Its colors change, but it's mostly striped in blue and red. It must be the reason he doesn't have any head hair, but rather a network of thick, irregular scales. Like Brak, his Lifegiver must have been contaminated by a piece of a dinosaur. As a result, he's even more scary-looking than Brak, who is a half dactyl and has the teeth to prove it.

Of course, it's not as if that answers anything about how it's possible for someone to be part dinosaur and part caveman. Those Lifegivers are extremely strange and a bit creepy. But I guess it's the only way for babies to be born on a woman-less planet, so I won't judge.

Noker keeps looking behind him, as if to make sure I'm safe. And I'm sure I am. He doesn't have a sword on him, but he carries a long, heavy-looking spear and he looks deadly enough just by himself. With those bright yellow eyes, his half-dinosaur nature shines through and partly makes me want to run away in a panic, partly makes me want to get to know him a lot better.

That last thing must come from something ridiculously primal in me, something that's really concerned about me keeping my genetic line going into the future.

I stop by a bush and pick a small, arrowhead-shaped leaf off it. "Noker, what is?"

He stops and looks behind him. "That is the leaf of a peker bush."

I rip the leaf in half and ball the pieces up to sniff them. "They are used? For food?"

"I have never heard of anyone using the peker bush for food."

The leaf doesn't smell of much except vegetation. "Not boiled? Or dried?"

He shrugs his massive shoulders, making it look like an earthquake on a small planet. "We don't use them."

Still I put a couple of them in the pocket of my threadbare hoodie. Maybe the Borok tribe knows if those things can be used. Spotting another bush, I pick more leaves and ask the same question. Again Noker says he doesn't know any use for them.

"Sorry to annoy," I say as I pocket those leaves, too. "I not outside village for a many days. And I want to make food from Earth. Need things that tribe not have."

"Food that the tribe doesn't have? It looks to me like the Borok have great food."

"Yes, but I also want other food. We call it ‘bread'."

He frowns. "Bred? An alien dish?"

"Not a dish, but can be used for dishes," I tell him, turning to look at various bushes. "Good dishes. Maybe you like, Noker."

He sends a stolen glance down me, snagging on my butt. Well, I do fill out those old jeans okay. While they last, that is. I've had to cut the rotting bottom hems off a couple of times, and now they only reach to mid-calf. Soon they will be a patchwork only, much like Alba's sweatpants.

I look around at the many trees and bushes. The tree's crowns are high above us and impossible to reach. But right here, the trench dug by the skarp is all overgrown with saplings and shoots and grass and endless small bushes that are taking advantage of the sunlight. They have to hurry before the trees can grow tall and cast their deep shadows down on the ground. And they grow fast.

Wanting to use this rare chance to check out the various wild plants for my bakery project, I rip many leaves off the plants I see and pull up a handful of roots to check if they might be edible or useful.

"If you want plants that can be eaten, then there are many of them near our new campsite," he rumbles. "I can bring you some next time I come to the village."

"That be very kind," I enthuse. "I'm sure they're very nice."

I notice Noker impatiently looking around. He has a point — being out in the jungle is dangerous. But this was the real reason I wanted to come out here. The wall painting I spotted was just an excuse, and I never thought it would be interesting. Also, Piper did need some time with her husband, so someone had to entertain Noker. I'm fine with that being me.

More than fine, actually. I'm starting to really like this dinosaur guy. Where Brak is quick and active and can't stand still for a moment, Noker is more thoughtful and deliberate. Calmer, in a way, more in control. I liked him the moment I saw him, and while it was probably not too smart to immediately invite a caveman stranger out of the village and into the wilderness with the second woman he's ever been around, his first words to me when we met were strangely reassuring. He knows he looks dangerous, so he just wanted me to know I have nothing to fear from him. It was actually really sweet.

"What I need is sweet plant," I tell him. "You know of one?"

"Sweet?" He scratches his chin. "Our food is rarely sweet. Except fruit, of course."

I point over to the other side of the trench. "That? You know it?"

He shields his eyes with one hand. "That's not a common plant in the jungle."

The plant I spotted consists of thick stalks wrapped in leaves, and it kind of reminds me of sugarcane. "We can look?"

Noker lifts his long spear and scans the edge of the jungle around the trench. "If we're quick."

"Thank you." I walk down into the trench, swishing into the tall grass. Noker follows me at a distance that allows him room to strike with the spear.

Reaching the plants that looked interesting, I squat down and try to pull them up. But they're as tall as I am above the ground, and I suppose their roots may go just as deep underground.

"I'll cut them." Noker holds his spear near the blade, like a knife, and easily cuts one of the cane-like stalks an inch above the ground. Some juice comes out, and I stroke my finger along the cut to gather some. I bring it to my mouth and lick it. If it's sweet, it may well be a kind of alien sugarcane?—

But it isn't sweet at all. My mouth and tongue start to burn. "Oh…"

Noker looks at me. "Good?"

"No!" I spit and stick my tongue out and try to scrape the juice off it with the sleeve of my sweatshirt, but it doesn't help much. I purse my mouth and spit again, dribbling as much as I can, but I gave the cane a good lick and I feel the burn spreading to the back of my mouth. "Is terrible! Maybe poison!"

Noker gets something out of the packs on his belt. "Wait." It's a small pot the size of a soda can. He yanks the cork out and holds the pot out to me. "Drink this."

A strong, familiar smell mixed with fruit reaches my nose. "What ith?" It's getting hard to form words, because my tongue seems to be swelling.

"Strong frit. Piper calls it alkol. Drink it!"

I have no idea if this is smart, but I have nothing else right now. If nothing else, another fluid might dilute this terrible sap. I take a sip from the pot, and it makes me cough. Still I force myself to take another and swish it around in my mouth. If it's booze, at least it can't be that bad for me.

Spitting several times and wiping saliva off my chin, I notice that the burn gets weaker and doesn't spread further back.

"Better?" Noker asks, a concerned frown on his face.

"Better," I tell him, bending over to drip the excess of saliva to the ground. I guess my body had the same dilution idea. "Thanks."

"We try not to eat things we don't know," he tells me slowly. "The jungle wants to kill us, but we must not make that too easy for it."

It's clearly something the clan says to its youngest boys, and I should probably be embarrassed. "I not will try again," I promise.

He grabs the cane he cut off and smells the end of it, where juice is still seeping out. "Maybe it's a poison we can dip our spearheads in before a battle, so that even an enemy that's only grazed will have a bad time."

"Mhm." I wipe my mouth on my sleeve and take a couple of final gulps that I swallow so it can dilute and fix things inside me if I accidentally swallowed some of the poison. Then I hand back the pot. "This is good against it."

He puts the cork back. "We make it in the camp, the way Piper showed us. Perhaps the Borok tribe will want some."

"I sure they will," I tell him as I pick up the cane and toss it far away in revenge. "But not for drinking, Piper say. Only for injuries."

"She did say that," Noker agrees. "Still, we have tried to drink it. It burns the throat, but also makes us happy."

"Not do that, Noker," I implore. The last thing we want is to turn the Foundling clan into alcoholics. "Is very bad?—"

My sentence is cut off by a terrible screech from right above my head. Before I can look up, Noker gives me a hard push and I faceplant on the tall grass. Rolling around, I see a big dactyl coming right down at me, long beak first and wings tucked in.

Terror seizes me. I want to curl up in a ball, but I'm scared stiff and I can't move.

Noker stabs his spear into the ground and jumps into the air like a frog, shooting at least eight feet straight up. He curls up like a spring and grabs the dactyl around its neck with both arms.

The dactyl seems to freeze for a split second before it crashes to the ground, head first.

Noker lands lightly beside me and pulls his spear out of the ground. The dactyl takes off again, huge wings beating like crazy. But its wingbeats are messy and wrong, so it crashes a second time. This time Noker is ready with his weapon and thrusts the spear into the dinosaur with a mighty shove.

There's a meaty crack as the spear cuts into the dactyl's throat. It screeches again, but now it stays down, thrashing madly around on the ground and screeching as it sprays blood like a fountain.

I lose track of it from there on, because Noker grabs me and throws me across his shoulder. He runs easily over to the other side of the trench and into the jungle.

I can't see much except his rear end from very close up, which is not the worst thing to look at. I hang onto him as tightly as I can to not dangle too much. My face goes warm with the rush of blood to my head. Each jarring step sends a small shock through my spine, and the ground and Noker's legs flash past my eyes. Despite the uncomfortable situation, I notice his scent is fresh and exotic; a warm, herbal fragrance like sunbaked pine needles laced with something spicy and unknown.

When he puts me down, we're in front of the gate that looks like a bunch of tall reeds.

"That was too close," Noker growls. "I should have seen that irox long before it dived on us."

"You killed it," I tell him, steadying myself on him as I regain my balance and the blood drains from my face. My heart beats like crazy after that near-death experience. "We not harmed."

He looks me up and down. "But we're sprayed with irox blood."

It's true — we're both covered in hundreds of small red spots where the dactyl blood sprayed over us as the monster crashed to the ground. "We have to make clean, then. Just let me breathe for moment."

The gate swings open, and three Borok men with drawn swords come rushing over to us. "We heard an irox!"