24. Drasuk

24

Drasuk

My gaze flickers between Kira and the newly diminished length of her hair, the scent of genali blood heavy in the air. Each swipe of the blade sends a shower of vibrant pink cascading down to the forest floor.

It is an undeniably strange sight, this ritualistic shedding of what humans called hair. Threads, perhaps, would be a more accurate term from my perspective. Long, fibrous strands that seem to serve no real purpose other than perhaps rudimentary temperature regulation.

Or maybe mere ornament?

An illogical pang of something akin to disappointment flashes within me as I watch the vibrant pink diminish. It is an illogical sentiment, I know. Why should I care about the color of her hair?

Yet, the sight of it, so different from my leathery hide, holds a certain intrigue I cannot deny.

Curiosity gnaws at the edges of my notoriously overthinking brain.

In one regard, the practicality of her actions is undeniable. Unrestrained, the hair would become a tangled mess, a hindrance in any potential struggle for survival. Yet, a small, illogical part of me mourns the loss of the softness it brought to her otherwise sharp features.

Her tongue is sharp enough. She needs something soft to counterbalance it.

I reach out a clawed hand and pluck a few strands from the ground. The texture is unlike anything I'd ever felt—smooth, almost silky, with a surprising strength despite its delicate appearance.

I bring it closer to my snout, inhaling deeply.

The scent that hits me is unexpected, a subtle sweetness tinged with something faintly floral. It is a pleasant surprise, a stark contrast to the earthy, metallic smells that dominate my world.

Compelled by an urge I don't understand, I lift the strands to my mouth and take a tentative bite.

The taste is... interesting.

Not unpleasant, but unfamiliar. A fibrous texture with a hint of the same sweetness I smelled earlier. Before I can fully process the sensation, a sharp voice cuts through the air.

"What the fiery pit in the ground do you think you're doing, Drasuk?"

I blink, startled, the offending pink strands dangling limply from my maw. I must look utterly ridiculous, a mighty Maj'Ra chewing on a human's hair.

"I... I..." is all I manage to stammer, my voice uncharacteristically thick.

I clear my throat and try to recover my lost dignity

"I was just... examining it."

The lie tastes as foreign in my mouth as the hair, though decidedly less pleasant.

Kira stares at me, her expression a mixture of disgust and amusement.

"Examining it by eating it?" she deadpans.

Heat creeps over my chest and I don't know how to get her to focus elsewhere, let alone explain what I was doing and why.

"It... smelled pleasant," I mumble, feeling a small prickle of unpleasant emotion, but becoming more confident.

I've decided it was definitely an excellent idea all along by the time Kira snatches the remaining strands of hair from my grasp.

She scowls with an intensity that could curdle a vat of energon sludge, using the tip of her knife to dig a shallow hole in the earth. The implement isn't designed for such ill use, the metal groaning in protest as she pries loose clumps of dirt.

Finally, with a triumphant grunt, she deposits the hair into the makeshift grave and buries it with a flurry of displaced soil.

"That was a perfectly good snack you're wasting there," I rumble.

She doesn't seem to be fooled by yet another one of my foul-tasting lies.

Kira's face contorts in a look of disgust that threatens to curdle my insides.

"Good snack?" she chokes out, the single word punctuated by a series of dry heaves.

Her glare is sharp enough to pierce through my thick hide, making me instinctively shrink back.

I clear my throat. "All the best snacks are stolen ones."

"Stolen hair snacks?"

The silence stretches, thick and uncomfortable.

My attempt at humor backfires spectacularly, leaving us both floundering. Kira seems to be wrestling with herself, her mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air. Finally, she gives up the fight with a frustrated sigh that sends a stray strand of her newly shorn hair fluttering from her cheek.

"I don't have a response for that."

Then she simply gets up, stalking toward where the dead genali is lying in its own blood. I move to join her, coming close just as she finishes stripping the puddle of anything useful.

Then she walks off, continuing in the direction we were headed before, I hurry to catch up. When I get to her, she takes a long breath, clearly ready to speak.

Hopefully not about hair snacks.

"Look," she begins, her voice laced with weariness, "There's something you need to know..."

Her words trail off, and she squeezes her eyes shut, rubbing at them with her small hands for a moment as she moves.

The awkwardness presses down on me, suffocating. Part of me, a basic, drak instinct, urges me to break the silence with some witty retort, some display of dominance. Another, quieter part urges caution.

This human, this Kira, is different. There's a vulnerability beneath her bravado, a flicker of fear that resonates deep within me.

Finally, after what feels like an age, Kira speaks again, her gaze settling on the forest floor. "We don't know where this 'drop zone' is," she says, her voice barely a whisper. "And until we do, we need to..." She trails off again, searching for the right words.

"Need to do what?" I prompt gently, the rumble in my chest softer than usual.

She lets out a tired huff. "Look, Drasuk," she starts, then stops again, her frustration evident. "We need to find others. More women like me."

So she does have more information she's been keeping to herself. I had suspected as much, considering how guarded she always is.

"More pets?" I ask, the question slipping out before I can stop it.

Her head snaps over to me, and her eyes narrow into slits. "Pets?" she spits, the word dripping with venom. "No. I knew it was a bad idea to bring it up. You are disgusting."

Now that we are back to flinging insults, I feel much more in my element. I let out a rumble of relief.

"So, they're bigger and less squishy?" I prod, unable to resist.

The look on her face could launch a spaceship. For a moment, I think she might actually lunge at me, new little pink claws bared.

"No," she mutters between clenched teeth, her voice strained with a mixture of anger and something else, something I can't quite decipher.

My amusement bubbles over, erupting in a series of guttural guffaws that echo through the trees. The sound, a rasping rumble that falls somewhere between a boulder crashing and a volcano bellowing, surprises me with its power.

Kira, however, simply stares at me, a look of bewildered exasperation etched on her face.

The sight only fuels my laughter, the sound resonating through my chest.

With a final, earth-shaking tremor, I manage to get my laughter under control. Kira, however, isn't quite so forgiving. She snatches the hilt of her knife from an odd little pocket, the one she hadn't used for the hair-burial ceremony, stands up, and with a practiced flick of her wrist, sends it flying through the air.

The dagger, a dull, utilitarian blade more suited for survival than combat, finds its mark with a satisfying thud, landing squarely on the top of my foot.

I stop walking, staring at it.

The pain is negligible, a mere pinprick compared to the battles I faced on Maln'Kril. But the sheer audacity of the attack is enough to silence my laughter.

At least for now. I feel it lurking right at the edges.

Kira stands there, arms crossed, her chest heaving with a mixture of anger and something else, perhaps a flicker of amusement mirroring my own.

"See if you find that funny now, lizard brain," she says, her voice laced with venom.

I stare at her in silence for a moment before I resume laughing.

"You're impossible," she mutters, but there's an answering mirth in her tone that lets me know she isn't immune to my charm.