Page 4 of Captured By The Alien Barbarian
Curiosity sparks in me as we venture where I rarely go. The arrival of strange new beings in the area makes me cautious, and I don’t feel comfortable straying far from my cave or letting my drolvden out of sight.
In truth, I don’t even want to leave my home that day, but my furry companions won’t stop pestering me. They even snap their teeth at me, scolding me like I am one of their younglings. My increasingly cave-bound lifestyle makes them restless.
I reach the spot where the lead female has been sniffing and crouch down to examine it. The ground bears peculiar imprints, as if the creature has dozens of tiny toes forming a grid-like pattern. There is no denying that this is a track left by one of the strange beings who arrived from the skies in bizarre vehicles and never left. I’ve seen similar imprints near their village, but never this far out.
Are the strange beings the target of my drolvden’s pursuit?
What I see next makes my two hearts skip a beat before pounding erratically. A single paw-print in the muddy ground: a shreem. And judging by the size, a large adult female. This time of the cycle, shreem would be nesting and preparing to hibernate through the bitter season, making them highly territorial as they birth their young.
If I were alone, I’d hightail it out of there. But it seems the strange being has likely wandered into the shreem’s territory, completely oblivious to the perilous situation. It has happened to me before; often you don’t see the beast until it’s too late given the beast’s impeccable camouflage.
A wave of panic—an emotion I haven’t experienced in ages—surges through me. I can’t let the strange being get hurt; I know this deep in my core. And so, with a mix of curiosity, concern, and a dash of “why me?”, I set off on a rescue mission I hadn’t quite anticipated.
I sprint after my drolvden, determined not to be outrun by my four-legged friends. They may have the advantage in leg-count, but my two legs are longer and more adept at leaping over obstacles. Plus, my clawed toes are just as effective at digging into the ground as theirs. However, their head-start keeps them tantalizingly out of reach. I hear their howls echoing through the forest, signaling the thrill of the hunt. They are calling to their pack, beckoning me to join and wondering where I have scampered off to. I consider calling out, but doubt they would hear me from this distance. My body strains to go faster, my arms and legs pumping furiously. My leather satchel bounces against my thigh, and sweat dots my forehead as my two hearts race. Progress is slow since I often have to retrace my steps to find their tracks. Despite their enthusiasm, my drolvden are skilled hunters, adept at concealing their trail. I press on, determined to catch up.
When I hear the first panicked cries of the strange being, my desperation surges. That voice, filled with both rage and fear, stirs something deep within me. It has been ages since I have heard another being speak. This creature represents something I have been missing in my life, and I cannot let it down.
A chilling roar fills the air—the shreem, unmistakable and absolutely livid.
Ignoring the pain from needle trees pricking my skin, I barrel through the foliage at breakneck speed. I burst into a clearing bathed in the soft glow of the moon. I see with horror the shreem gripping the small being, its teeth tearing and tugging at limbs. Miraculously, the being moves, attempting—albeit unsuccessfully—to fight its way to freedom.
I roar at the shreem, who recoils in surprise, dropping the strange being. She is not prepared to let her prey go easily, though, and drapes her body protectively over the creature, growling menacingly at me.
With swift reflexes, my tail tosses my axe into the air and catches it, ready for battle. I lunge towards the shreem, feigning an attack, hoping to frighten her off rather than engage in a potentially gruesome showdown. Shreems can be quite the challenge, even for a seasoned hunter like myself. The safest bet is to scare her away, avoiding a grisly fight that could leave us both battered and bruised.
The shreem bares her teeth at me, trying to prove that she is more dominant and the rightful owner of her hunt. I move too slowly, and her teeth sink into my wrist.
I yelp at the sudden pain. In a flash, my drolvden encircle her, snapping at her legs with their sharp teeth. It is the distraction I need. With a heave, I throw the shreem across the clearing. She lands with a thud, quickly rolling to face me again.
I stand my ground, planting myself between her and the injured being.
“Mine,” I growl, guttural and rough. I barely recognize my own voice.
The shreem assesses the situation, eyeing me, the small being, and my pack of drolvden. She finally concedes, lowering her ears and head, and backs away. Apparently, she does not want her prey that badly.
My tension eases as the shreem slinks off, tail tucked between her legs. They are intelligent enough to know when they are outmatched. I turn my attention back to the vulnerable creature before me.
I am struck by the being’s tiny, delicate frame. Where has it come from? How can something so small survive in this world?
“Little one.” I drop to my knees, unsure how to help. My hands hover over its body. It is ironic, considering I had recently fantasized about scaring off these strange beings from my territory. Yet, now that I see one injured and helpless, something changes. Bile rises in my throat, fearing that I am too late. Worry claws at me as I gently touch the being. I find myself tenderly wiping blood from its oddly shaped face when a tingling sensation shoots through my hands. I yank them away as if stung, but the feeling intensifies, spreading up my wrists. Flipping my hands over, I gape in awe—and a touch of horror—as dark markings crawl up my arms like vines scaling a tree trunk.
It can’t be... I rub at the markings, bewildered that they don’t smudge or disappear. In shock, I stare at the swirling patterns adorning my arms. My eyes drift back to the small being, a realization dawning on me. Mate marks. This tiny creature is my mishara.
I am at a loss for how to care for her, for she must be female since my mate marks have activated. I can’t even tell if she is alive. For a heart-stopping moment, I just stare, fearing the worst. Have I found my soulmate, only to immediately lose her?
Then I see her tiny chest rise with a breath, only to fall all too quickly again. She is breathing! She is alive! But blood oozes from her wounds, and dread settles over me as I realize her life is quickly fading.
Gingerly, I cradle her in my arms. She feels impossibly small and fragile. I hold her close, vowing to protect her from everything.
I flee to the safety of my home like never before. My life has changed forever. There is no turning back.
* * *
As I sprint,I silently beg for this delicate creature to survive. I need her to make it, just as I need my next breath.
My journey is a blur, with the earth speeding by beneath my feet. I move over boulders, under trees, and splash through water. I am grateful that we are traveling down the mountainside for most of the distance and not up. Even though her weight is light, I travel much swifter without the world pushing down upon me when trying to assail a cliff.
With every jolt that my body isn’t able to absorb and deflect, she emits a faint moan. I glance at her from time to time, but she seems unconscious—at least, she isn’t lost to the pain.
