Page 43 of Xara and the Xenobeast

The wound had healed well, leaving only two faint silver lines across his side where the predator’s claws had marked him. Ash traced them with one finger, satisfied with her handiwork. The moss poultices she’d applied had drawn out infection and accelerated his natural regeneration.

He flexed experimentally, feeling strength return to his muscles. The weakness had frustrated him, but now energy surged through his body again. Time to put it to use.

Their cave shelter was functional but inadequate. He’d chosen it for strategic reasons—defensible position, hidden entrance, proximity to water—not for comfort. Now, with Xara and the Graxlin pups sharing his space, he saw its shortcomings through new eyes.

The uneven floor where she stumbled in the dark. The narrow sleeping area where they pressed together by necessity rather than choice. The drafts that made the pups huddle for warmth. The lack of privacy for bathing.

Unacceptable.

He moved silently through the tunnels, assessing what could be improved. The cave system had once been part of an outpost—abandoned long before his exile, its technology scavenged or decayed. But structural elements remained, buried beneath soil and vegetation.

In the light of early morning, he began to excavate. His claws made quick work of packed earth, revealing metal plating that had once formed walls. The alloy was scratched but intact, designed to withstand centuries of corrosion. Perfect.

He carried sections back to their main chamber, positioning them against the roughest walls. The metal was cool against his palms as he fitted pieces together, sealing gaps with a resin he’d collected from some of the jungle trees. Each panel locked into place with satisfying precision.

By midday, the cave’s transformation had begun. Smooth walls replaced jagged stone. Drafts disappeared. The space felt more contained, more deliberate.

But it wasn’t enough.

He returned to the ruins, digging deeper. Beneath collapsed corridors and twisted support beams, he found treasures: intact power conduits, filtration components, thermal regulators. His fingers remembered their configurations despite years of disuse. These weren’t weapons—they were tools for survival, for comfort.

For her.

The sleeping area needed attention next. Their current arrangement—a pile of salvaged cushioning materials on stone—was inadequate. She deserved better.

He dismantled an abandoned storage unit, repurposing its frame into a platform raised above the cold floor. Flexible panels from a decommissioned shuttle formed a supportive surface. He covered it with layers of the softest materials he could find—processed fiber from the heart of certain plants, treated hides from his hunts, even the downy undercoating shed by forest creatures during seasonal changes.

The result was large enough not only for the two of them but the pups as well. He ran a hand across the surface, imagining her reaction.

The water system presented a greater challenge. The underground spring they’d discovered was perfect for bathing, but required a journey through side tunnels. Inconvenient. Potentially dangerous if predators breached their perimeter.

He spent hours tracing the spring’s path, calculating pressure and flow. Then, using salvaged piping and a repurposed pump mechanism, he began the painstaking work of redirection. His hands moved with remembered expertise, splicing connections, sealing joints. When he activated the system, water flowed exactly where he’d intended—into a natural depression in the rock he’d modified into a shower area.

He adjusted the final connection, pleased with the results. The thermal spring’s natural heat would make the water comfortable. The drainage system would prevent flooding. It was efficient. Practical.

And if he imagined her standing there, water cascading over her curves, that was no one’s concern but his own.

He’d just finished installing the last wall panel when his sensory tendrils detected familiar vibrations. She was returning with thepups. He’d sent them to gather fruit while he worked, wanting to surprise her with the changes. Hearing her approach, he straightened, surveying his work with critical eyes.

The metal walls gleamed dully in the filtered light. The new bed dominated one side of the chamber. The shower area waited, ready for use. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better. Safer. More worthy of her.

She appeared in the entrance, the three Graxlin pups tumbling around her ankles, their mouths stained with fruit juice. She carried a woven basket filled with their harvest—plump purple berries, star-shaped yellow fruits, and the red spike-fruits the pups favored.

She froze at the threshold, eyes widening as she took in the transformed space. The basket slipped from her fingers, spilling fruit across the now-smooth floor.

“What—” She looked around in amazement, stepping further inside. “How did you?—”

He watched her reaction closely, uncertain. Had he overstepped? Changed too much without consultation? The thought hadn’t occurred to him until this moment.

But then she smiled, that brilliant expression that still caught him off-guard, and something tight in his chest loosened.

“This is amazing,” she breathed, running her fingers along one metal wall. “You did all this today?”

He inclined his head slightly, pleased by her approval.

She explored the space with growing excitement, exclaiming over each discovery. When she reached the bed, her stepsslowed. She pressed a hand against the surface, testing its give, then looked back at him with a question in her eyes.

Heat flickered through his body at her expression. He remained where he stood, unwilling to crowd her, to pressure her decision.

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