Page 92 of Citrine

I can see the outline of the cave now. There's some kind of smeared marking on the edge. I focus on it, and then understand why it's there. It's a marking from him. That's why none of those crocodile-looking things ever approach the cave.

There are more things I can learn if I just lean in, observe, and ask.

I don't know if I should hold hope that I can somehow become human again. Being human on this planet seems dangerous. I'll have to survive and learn to be like him, whatever species he is.

He's being smothering now, but like the time I was climbing down the tree, he won't always help me. I have to learn to survive on my own.

With quick movements, he pulls us into the cave.

He's wrapped around me now, keeping me down, probably assuming I'll bolt at the first sign of freedom, and he's probably right.

How do I copy how he speaks under the water? Reflect the sounds through the water? Or perhaps its refraction. I can't really tell.

I open my mouth and think of what I want to say. There's plenty of thoughts running rampant through my head, but I can't say them all at once. I just have to send a specific thought through the water.

"Hello."

It doesn't work. I can't hear my own voice outside my own head and all that comes out is air bubbles. I have to try again.

"Hello."

An echo. A whisper sent through the water, like a forgotten voice. It's a strange feeling, like I'm speaking through a microphone and a speaker at the same time. My vocal cords feel like they're expanding. Still, I don't know if I've succeeded because he isn't responding.

"Can you hear me, Wroahk?"

He still doesn't respond. I can't tell if he's ignoring me, or I really can't reach him. My voice might as well be an echo scattered through the water, reaching everything else but him.

I try several more times, but eventually grow too tired. My eyelids slowly grow heavy, and I slip into slumber.

40

Wroahk

Overwhelmed.

That's how I feel right now. I shouldn't feel anything, I shouldn't think so much, but I do. For the first time, my… head is… opened?

Not the one on my shoulders, exactly, but the one currently swirling around like I'm riding an ocean current.

I don't like it.

I've only ever needed my head for hunting. Observing prey, watching it, calculating when I need to make my next move, and enjoying the chase. I never needed to understand how the prey felt, never have I ever needed to make the prey feel better.

This is not my way.

'What would happen if you lost your gills?' she asked.

What else? I am a hunter who has lived his entire life in the water.

She hates the changes. She almost screams every time she sees her reflection in the water.

Every day, she changes into a new creature. She is frightened, and she is confused. Those emotions are common in prey. But… she isn't prey to me.

I want to keep her.

Her question still makes my head hurt. What will I be without what makes me myself? What would I do if I find myself stranded on land with just two lower limbs like her, no gills and no fins?

Would I still cling to the water, even if I could no longer have it?

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