Green Comet

Announcement

Continuing the serial release of The Plainsrunner under a Creative Commons license – Creative Commons Attribution Share-Alike (CC-BY-SA).

Please let me know in the comments whether you’re enjoying this. It will help me to decide whether to do it again.

rjb

Chapter Twelve – The Sentinel Tree

It was after the sentinel tree that she met up with the traders. She was walking in the morning, about the time she would begin to worry about day fliers if she hadn’t just dealt with one yesterday, when she saw a tree growing away from the river. It surprised her because she hadn’t seen that before. All the trees grew right close to it in a ribbon about fifteen meters on either side, and this one appeared to be about a hundred meters, allowing for the bends in the river.

“What do you think of that?” she asked her glider. “What do you suppose it’s doing over there?”

As she walked, the tree got taller, until she realized it must be a sentinel tree. By the time she got close enough to see the bottom, she could see that it must be a good hundred meters tall and twenty meters wide. It came to a rounded point at the top and ran nearly straight down at the sides, until the branches flared outward a little at the bottom. The land around the trunk rose up toward it, as if the tree was trying to pull it up into the sky along with it.

She had never seen a sentinel tree this close before. There were none close enough to her village for her to have visited while she was growing up. All she had was the stories of the hunting and foraging and trading parties, who used the trees to mark their way. Then there were the people who had come to the village from across the plains, like Tallgrass’s grandmother. They used them as guides on their months-long journeys.

Sage had seen a few on her own journey this past month. Her path had paralleled a long escarpment far to the west of her for over a week. It was far enough away to be below the curvature of the land in between, and she could only see the top of it coming in and out of view. On top of the escarpment, spaced well apart, she had seen three trees looking like their namesake. She felt as if they could see her, a tiny bug in the distance, following the river.

Now here was one up close – her first one – and she couldn’t take her eyes off it. It was almost alien here; completely unlike everything around it. It stood apart, as if it were a world unto itself. She knew from the stories that many animals lived in and on these trees. That there were many different habitats in their different parts. From a distance, as she approached, she could see the occasional glimmer pop out of the upper branches, and plunge right back in. Fliers that never knew any other life than their own tree. Even when a sentinel tree dies, she was told, it goes on standing for many years, still providing a home for many of its inhabitants.

This one was nowhere near dying, as far as she could see. It looked lush and vigorous and strong, and it was hard to imagine that it could ever die. As she got closer she could smell it. She inhaled the redolence of it. She smelled the fecundity of the life it harbored, and along with it, the spicy pungency of its own odor. This tree dominated its landscape in every way.

She had drifted away from the river and toward the tree as she approached it. There was something about it that drew her, and she unconsciously let it. But she wasn’t so fascinated that she forgot to be alert, so she wasn’t caught off guard when the day runner came out from under the tree and down the hill toward her.

She gave an exasperated sigh and, led by her spear, moved toward the runner. That surprised it and caused it to hesitate. She kept moving, thrusting and rattling her spear. “Go away!” she said. “I don’t want to eat you. You taste awful.”

It finally broke and ran for cover as fast as its six scuttling legs could carry it. She trotted after it, shaking her spear and saying, “Hah! Hah!” It tucked in its rear end and ducked out of sight.

She backed downhill away from the tree, keeping an eye out for any sneak attacks, and was just turning to be on her way when she heard the voice. It said, “You don’t have to eat it, girly. You could just kill it and leave it for the others.”

Sage jumped and turned in one motion. She planted her feet and faced the new arrivals, her spear up and her knife in her right hand. She saw six people approaching from the direction of the river, cantering up in a group. She moved downhill toward them, stopping just before she reached level ground.

They pulled up about five meters short, two of them in front and the other four in a shallow arc behind. One of the two in front was big – possibly the biggest person she had ever seen – and he did the talking. He said, “Whoa, little girl. You don’t need to be pointing that spear at us.”

Sage didn’t say anything, nor did she lower her spear. By now she had guessed that these were traders, and she was remembering the careful suspicion her village always had when they visited. She remembered being scared of them, but she also remembered a kind of excitement. The traders represented strangeness and mystery. Something different from the boring familiarity of the village. She allowed the point of her spear to drop a little.

“That’s more like it,” said the big one, moving forward. He stopped and frowned when she rattled the spear at him. “Come on, now. There’s no need for that,” he said. When she didn’t move he said, “Put down that spear now, before I come and take it away from you.”

Sage didn’t know why she did it. At one against six, she would have been a lot better off trying to be nice. But after what she’d been through in the last month, she didn’t feel like being nice. Especially to this big lout who thought he could treat her like a child. Still, she couldn’t believe it was happening when she heard herself say, “Maybe you’d like to try it, Fatso.”

While his face showed surprise and the beginnings of outrage, the four traders in back laughed, and one of them said, “Fatso.” He was reaching for his weapons and coming toward her when the other one in front said quietly, “Hold on,” and stepped forward. With his hand on the big one’s shoulder, he said, “There’s no need for that.”

Sage automatically adjusted her stance so she could cover both of them, but now she watched the new one. She could tell that he was the leader, rather than the big one. She could tell by how he carried himself, and by how the others all kept one eye on him. He wasn’t big or scary looking, and he didn’t strike any poses, but he was well put together and carried himself with calm assurance. He looked her in the eyes and said, “I think I know you. What’s your village?”

When she grudgingly told him, he said, “I’ve traded there. That’s where I’ve seen you.” He looked at her, thinking, then said, “I think I know your father. He’s a good man.”

Sage agreed with him, although with some conflict due to his inability to prevent her banishment. She lowered her spear a little, but kept it pointed in the general direction of the big one. He glowered at her, but she kept her attention on the leader. He had a good face, with a strong brow and boldly defined nostrils. He glanced at her spear, and at her neck.

He said, “Are those day flier talons?”

Before she could answer, the big one said, “Where’d you find those? Some old skeleton?”

She ignored him and said to the leader, “Yes.”

He said, “They’re obviously important to you. How did you get them?”

She looked at the talons on her spear before speaking. She saw the big one sneering, while the four in back were beginning to look bored. Finally she said, “I killed a flier.”

The big one snorted and said, “Liar.” There was some murmuring in the back now, and they moved to get a better look at her trophies. The leader just said, “I’d like to hear that story.”

So she reluctantly told them how she killed the flier. And how she dealt with the other ones. And why she ate a bit of each day runner. It was good to have someone to tell it to, other than her glider, but she kept it brief and to the point. Boasting was something else she’d been brought up to avoid.

The leader nodded and listened and asked questions to encourage her. The four in back looked impressed, and told each other about it. Even the big one showed a little grudging respect by the time she was finished. By then her knife was back in its sheath, and her spear had made the rounds, each one shaking it and complimenting her on the repairs.

“Sage,” the leader said, handing her the spear, “it’s an honor to meet you. I don’t know if any of us could have done what you did. It’s hard enough in a group, and you did it alone.” Even the big one was nodding now. “We’ll tell your story at every village we stop at. People are going to remember you.”

Sage didn’t care about that, but there were some people she hoped would remember her. She said, her throat suddenly aching, “Would you tell my father you saw me?”

“Of course,” he said.

“And Tallgrass,” she said. “Tallgrass, too.”

“Yes,” he said, and he never asked about the glider lashed to her right pannier, or why she was out here alone. He didn’t ask and she didn’t say.

They told her how to find the trailhead, and their leader walked over with her. “It’s hard to find if you don’t know where it is,” he said. He seemed to sense her discomfort and didn’t walk too close to her. “We use this sentinel tree as a landmark. You can see it from down below, too.”

“Down below?”

“Yes,” he said. “The trail runs down to the river valley, and the delta. Once you’re down there, there’s a road that takes you to the city.”

Delta? Road? Once she thought about it, of course it made sense that you’d have to climb down to the river. She’d been doing that anyway for the last week or so. When she wanted to catch a fish, the distance down to the river was increasing every day. It stood to reason that a trail would have to drop down to get to it. But when they went through the trees, which were sparser than she was used to, she was shocked to see how high above the river they were, and how wide the valley had become.

He noticed and said, “We’re about ten meters up. There’s a waterfall a ways upstream. That’s why it’s higher than you expected.” He pointed to the right, where the land rose sharply. “It gets higher. This is the last good place to use.” He pointed down the trail. “There’s the road, see?”

She did see. It looked like the trail, only going across flat land. So now she knew what a road was, but she still didn’t understand why they needed one. She had never needed one on the plains. She shrugged. Maybe city people needed something to follow so they didn’t get lost. Now, what was that other thing? Delta? She couldn’t see anything, so she asked him.

“The delta,” he said. He pointed at the broadening valley. “You can’t really see it, but it’s where the river widens out before it enters the sea. Before the city was here, the river broke up into many streams that meandered all over the place. Now it’s in channels. Controlled.”

His answers only provoked more questions. Controlling rivers? It was obvious to her that she had a lot to learn, and she wouldn’t learn it all standing here. She turned to thank him, and realized that she didn’t know his name.

“Street,” he said. He shrugged and said, “My mother was living on the street when she had me.” He saw her blank look and said, “A street is a road in the city.”

She frowned and said, “Why don’t they call it a road, then?”

He laughed and said, “Sometimes they do.” Seeing her frown deepen, he said, “You’ll figure all that out. Don’t worry about it.”

Her frown held for a moment, then smoothed out. She would figure it out. She had to, therefore she would. “Well,” she said, “thank you. I’d better be on my way.” She turned to start down the trail.

He stopped her and said, “There’s a shelter at the bottom here. It’s secure. A good place to stay.” He pointed in the distance. “It’s most of a day’s walk to the city, and this is the last good place to stop.” She thanked him again, but he had one more thing to say. “Be careful, Sage. There are bad people in the city.” He saw her face harden, so he added, “But there are good people, too.” One last look and he turned and headed back to his mates.

She watched him trot away, admiring his confident grace, then she turned and started down the trail.

Announcement

Continuing the serial release of The Plainsrunner under a Creative Commons license – Creative Commons Attribution Share-Alike (CC-BY-SA).

Please let me know in the comments whether you’re enjoying this. It will help me to decide whether to do it again.

rjb

Chapter Eleven – The Savage

Sage found a suitable piece of wood on the second day. She started the first day in a hurry. She wanted to get the spear fixed and be on her way. By noon, though, and having traveled more than a kilometer in each direction from her campsite, she got over it. No longer in a hurry, she settled into a methodical search for just the right piece. She couldn’t compromise on this. Her spear would be the difference between life and death. It had already shown that and she was sure it would do so many more times before she reached the city. So when she found the piece she wanted by noon of the second day, she added it to the ones she already had, and she continued searching for the rest of the day.

She had seven pieces to choose from. She peeled the bark off of them and set them up by the fire to dry. Five of them either twisted, bowed or cracked almost right away. That left the one she favored and one other, so she left them both to dry for another day. The other one developed a very slight bow, while her favorite stayed almost perfectly straight. She started working on the good one right away, and left the second one to dry some more. By the time she had the good one ready for mounting, she had decided to keep the second one as a spare. If she broke her spear again she could repair it right away instead of having to waste two days on it. She nodded and set about removing the blade from the broken spear.

Standing back at a comfortable distance from the carcass, holding her new spear in her left hand, Sage looked at the remains of the big flier. After several days of noise and activity, during which time nothing bothered her at her campsite, things had calmed down out here. She decided it was time to come out and look.

The site covered a larger area than she’d imagined. It was now a trampled and torn area more than fifty meters across, littered with the scattered bones of the flier. It also smelled of putrefaction and feces. Wrinkling her nose, she walked around assessing the damage. All that remained were the indigestible bits. There was the skull, stripped of meat but still with the great beak attached. She saw some shreds of skin, the small scales still glimmering dully in the morning light. There was one of the feet, its deadly talons looking sadly ineffectual.

That gave her an idea. She searched the whole area, and when she headed back to camp she was carrying the skull and all four forelimbs.

She stayed in camp for a few more days, working. While she worked she talked to her glider. Her hands were busy so she wasn’t often touching it as she talked, but she imagined that she could hear it vibrating in response. She was able to look at it while her hands did their work automatically. She looked at the pointed wedge, just over a meter long, with its rounded bottom and flat top. Its metallic-looking surface was unmarked. It didn’t even seem to get dirty. On its flat top was the three-lobed design. By now she was getting used to it, but she still really wanted to know what the symbol meant. Actually, she really wanted to know about the whole thing. What the design stood for. Where the glider had come from, what it was, and why it was here.

“You’re not going to tell me, are you?” she said, while she slowly drilled a hole in one of the flier’s talons. She had removed the talons from their limbs, and the beak from the skull. After retrieving the tendons that remained attached to the talons, she threw the bones into the river. “Might as well let the swimmers have some,” she said.

After washing the slippery grease off her hands, and thoroughly cleaning the beak and talons, she got to work. “You won’t tell me,” she said to her companion, the glider, “so I’m going to have to find out for myself.” She laughed. “Right,” she said, “all I need to do is find someone to ask.” She lifted her head and looked around, then laughed again.

“Okay,” she said to it, “so I have to figure it out without any help.” She drilled silently for a while, then looked at it and said, “So, what do I know so far?”

She thought for a while longer, then said, “I know that you came down out of the sky. And you must have started from somewhere really high.” She finished drilling the hole in the talon she was working on, blew on it and looked closely at it before putting it aside and picking up the next one. “And I know that you got me banished from my village, and that’s why I’m out here killing day fliers on my way to the city.” She stopped talking and had to swallow a few times before she could continue. “And it all has something to do with the old legends.”

She thought about that. According to the legends, long ago, too long to seem real, death and destruction had fallen on the land, and on the people. Most of the people had been killed, and their grand civilization utterly destroyed. It had been so grand that it sounded magical. Huge, shining cities with towers reaching for the sky. Huge machines flying through the sky, higher than any flier ever flew. There were even stories of leaving this world and flying to other worlds that shone like stars in the night sky.

When that was all destroyed and most of those grand people were killed, it was taken as a sign to the others that they should give up their prideful ways. They were struck down for their hubris. For thinking they were greater than they were. So they must turn their backs on such vanity and try to live in quiet humility. It was said that, for a long time, they had even hidden themselves underground. They were too ashamed, or too afraid, to put themselves on display upon the land. They returned to simpler ways, not using any of the fancier tools and methods that got them in trouble in the first place. Most especially, they swore that they would never again use that most dangerous of vanities: radio.

“Whatever that is,” she said to her glider. “Do you know what radio is?” When it didn’t answer, she said, “I didn’t think so. No one does. All anyone knows is that we’re not supposed to use it.” She stopped drilling and flexed a cramp out of her hand. “So, how are we supposed to not use something if we don’t know what it is?”

She put down her work and fed the fire, then walked around her encampment, checking the integrity of the barrier and looking for intruders. Coming back to the fire, she picked up a piece of fish left over from dinner. She chewed slowly and swallowed. “So we were once a grand people, with great deeds and accomplishments. Maybe we could even have made something as mysterious and …” She put her hand on the glider, stroking its smooth, unblemished surface. She thought about the wonder of making this strange metal, so light and yet so strong. “Maybe even something as mysterious and perfect as you.”

She felt a thrill of fear at the audacity. Perfection? Was it not such pride that brought them down before? Did she risk retribution for even thinking that way? She shook her head and laughed at herself, but it wasn’t a comfortable laugh. She wasn’t going to allow herself to be ruled by superstition, but she wasn’t entirely free of it either. She’d been brought up with the stories, and had their messages planted deep inside her. It wasn’t easy to completely discount them, even when she was at her most rational.

She patted the glider. “So,” she said, “at one time we may have been able to make something like you. And we supposedly could have flown you up high and dropped you.” She felt it vibrate, and asked, “Is that a yes?” She laughed out loud. “So, does that mean that some of us, somewhere, are doing it again?” She had a chill. “Maybe even in the city we’re heading for?” Then she had a colder chill. “Or were you made by the same … thing … that destroyed us before? It’s supposed to have come from the sky, too.” She had to fight down a powerful surge of fear. The urge was strong to get rid of this thing before anything bad happened. She was able to subdue her fear. “Nothing bad has happened yet,” she said. “Well, other than banishment, of course. But that’s just me. Nothing bad has happened to the people, has it?”

She immediately knew what was wrong with that. “Of course, they did banish me and get rid of you, so maybe they just saved themselves.” She had another surge of fear, which she suppressed. “Anyway, whichever place you came from – us or our nemesis – the elders had a reason to fear you. Either we were getting beyond ourselves again and risking punishment, or the actual punishment was back.” The glider’s vibrations did nothing to reassure her. She had one more terrible thought. What if this was all part of a plan? What if she was supposed to take this artifact to the city for some reason? What if she was the ignorant carrier of an instrument of destruction?

Sage spent another day there, finishing her work with the flier’s beak and talons. By that time the flier’s carcass was almost gone, with nothing remaining to interest anything larger than the smallest of animals. This meant that the day runners and night stalkers were coming around and showing more interest in her again. So, with her work done, she packed up and left.

Walking again in the sunshine, she rattled her spear and did one of her regular scans of the sky and the grass. The spear rattled because it had eight of the smaller talons attached to it. She liked the sound of it. She liked the way it looked. Mostly she liked what it stood for. The flier had tried to kill her, but she killed it instead. The flier had broken her spear, but now she had a new one and it was decorated with the flier’s talons. She adorned it with the symbols of the flier’s power, and she carried it as a warning to any other flier that might think she’d make an easy meal.

She looked down where the beak and the eight larger talons were hanging around her neck. She’d made the cord they were hanging on, and the one on the spear, from the tendons that were attached to the talons when she brought them to her camp. She liked the way the necklace looked, too. Those sharp, deadly things now hanging safely there for all to see. Maybe it was a little primitive. Maybe it made her look like a savage, but she didn’t mind. Out here, alone against all the things trying to kill her, she didn’t mind looking like a savage. In fact, looking like a savage might just be a good start. If she was going to survive this, maybe she was going to have to become a savage.

The necklace rattled softly as she walked. She shook the spear again, and smiled.

She wasn’t bothered by a day flier again for many days of walking. She scanned the sky regularly, but never saw one. She wondered if she was still in the territory of the one she killed, and if its mate was reluctant to bother her. Whatever it was, she knew it wouldn’t last much longer. Either another flier would come in to fill the vacuum, or she would walk into the territory of another pair, and they would have no reason to avoid her. She didn’t relax her vigilance.

It wasn’t so peaceful on the ground. She felt as if she had to kill a day runner every couple of days. It got so she knew just what kind of cover they’d come from. She could predict, almost to the second, when the attack would come. Her reaction became almost automatic. She’d point the spear and the animal would run into it, no matter if it was young and inexperienced like the first one, or older and more wily. It became repetitious, but she didn’t relax.

After killing it, she would cut off a part of its haunch to cook at that night’s fire. It was the least vile part of a runner to eat, but it was still vile. She always ate that bit, though, to avoid the sin of waste.

The day fliers were another matter. Each time she entered a new one’s territory, it would have a go at her. She did the same thing every time. When it attacked, she dropped down and put up her spear. Now, though, she put it straight up instead of angled back. This would slash its skin, but it wouldn’t kill it. It was enough to frighten it off and send it after easier prey, which was good enough for her. She already had a good set of talons, and she didn’t want to break another spear. Each time, she would jump back to her feet with a yell, and rattle her spear at the flier as it labored to gain altitude.

This all became almost routine. She’d walk, she’d sleep, and she’d walk again. Maybe she’d kill a runner or scare off a flier, then sleep, then walk again the next day. Her bandages were off long ago, cleaned and stowed in her medicine bag. She was beginning to think that she must be getting close to the city by now, and was wondering what it was going to look like, when she met the band of traders heading north.

Announcement

Continuing the serial release of The Plainsrunner under a Creative Commons license – Creative Commons Attribution Share-Alike (CC-BY-SA).

Please let me know in the comments whether you’re enjoying this. It will help me to decide whether to do it again.

rjb

Chapter Ten – Oh, My Ancestors

Sage opened her eyes in time to see the flier still tumbling away from her. She shook the dirt off of her face and jumped to her feet. Her right pannier slid down her ribs and hung there at an angle. Its top was broken and some of her stuff was strewn in the grass. Her eyes darted and found her glider, and she was surprised by the relief she felt. She glanced at the downed flier, which had come to a stop, then she did a quick scan of the sky in case it had a partner. She saw it straight above her, high up and turning in a slow circle.

She undid the ropes and removed her panniers, getting a quick look at the damage as she did. Nothing too serious. Nothing she couldn’t fix. She stood them on the ground and shucked the blanket she wore under them. A quick look told her that she didn’t have any serious injuries under there, so she turned her full attention to the shrieking, thrashing flier and its partner high above.

With her hand on the hilt of her knife, she moved forward. Brushing grass and dirt off of her neck and chest, she approached the injured animal, careful to stay out of reach of its long neck. Even like this it could still seriously injure her with that savage, hooked beak, and that would not be an amusing irony. As it moved and rolled about, its talons and its beak slashing at the spear where it protruded from its body, she could see that it looked wrong. The whole blade was showing where it stuck out of the top of the body, but there wasn’t any shaft showing at the entry point in the flier’s breast.

“Oh, my ancestors,” she said out loud. “My spear.”

She might have said something obscene, if she had known anything, but she didn’t. She hadn’t learned any obscene language. Not from her parents. Not from her friends. If she had been allowed near the traders she might have learned a few things, but she hadn’t been. So now, when she found the broken part of her spear shaft on the ground, she didn’t have a reservoir of obscenities to draw from.

“Oh, my blessed ancestors,” she said, but her ancestors wouldn’t have liked her tone, which would have been more suited to traders’ language than to theirs. Her spear was broken, so now the only protection she had was her knife, and she knew its twenty centimeters wouldn’t keep her safe. At the very least she had to get the remnants of her spear back. It looked as if it might be as much as a meter from tip to broken haft, and that would at least improve her odds. But at present her weapon was stuck in a possibly dying, but still dangerous, animal.

A quick glance showed her that the other flier was still circling high above them. She was safe there for the moment, at least. She scanned the grass in all directions, looking for signs of the scavengers moving in. They wouldn’t wait for the flier to die before they came. All they needed was the possibility and they would be on their way. But first would be the flying scavengers. The smaller fliers that would never pass up the opportunity to supplement their diet with some protein.

“There you are,” she said, as she saw a few fly in and land just out of reach. They paced, their eyes on their future meal, squabbling and fighting for position. The flier wasn’t dead yet and they were already fighting over it.

She looked all around again. She didn’t have to worry about these little fliers, nor about most of the scavengers that would be approaching by land. They were all too small to be a danger to her, and would be afraid of her anyway. What she did have to worry about was the day runners, who wouldn’t pass up a meal just because they hadn’t killed it themselves. They would be here soon. And after dark, the night stalkers.

The healing wound on her rump twinged at the thought. She needed to get her spear. She needed to pick up her stuff and repack her panniers before she lost anything. And she needed to be away from here, safely encamped by the river, before this place was swarming with hungry animals.

It was still high noon, which surprised Sage. It was only a few minutes since the attack, but it seemed as if it should be more. Everything was changed. Moments ago she was walking alone across the grassy stretch of land between bends in the river, and now she was anything but alone. Animals were converging on this spot from all directions as if called here by a gigantic dying flier. At least, she hoped it was dying.

“Of course it’s dying,” she told herself. “It can’t survive that. A spear right through it.”

The problem was how long it was going to take. She needed to get her spear back. What was left of it, anyway. She didn’t want to be retrieving her spear while surrounded by every predator and carrion-eater from farther than the eyes could see. But she couldn’t be pulling on it while the flier was alive, snapping and clawing at her. For now she was going to have to be like the small scavenger fliers, waiting impatiently just out of reach.

She stared at the flier, which was trying to get to its feet. It couldn’t quite stand all the way up, nor could it stand for long. It would rise on trembling legs, then slump forward. Then it would struggle up and fall again, making painful and pitiable progress in the direction of its distant aerie. Was it thinking of home? Possibly its mate?

Sage shrugged. She could see it wasn’t going to get far, and she didn’t have any feelings to waste on this thing. It was here because it was trying to kill her. She shrugged again and turned to the task of fixing her panniers and putting her stuff back in them. She might as well be doing something useful while she waited for the flier to die.

The pannier wasn’t too badly damaged. One of the ropes holding them on had broken, as had the hinge on the lid of the right one. Maybe the flier’s talons had struck her glider, which was lashed on there. It had certainly hit her hard enough to break things. She lightly touched the abrasions on her chin and neck, remembering.

By the time she had the pannier fixed and repacked, the flier had stopped moving. It was sprawled on the ground with its long neck stretched out. Its head was on one side with the two top eyes seeming to stare up at its mate circling high above. The only movement was its weak breathing and the occasional twitch in a limb. It didn’t even seem to react to the few small fliers brave enough to land on it near the protruding spear point. They were helping themselves to the blood there. Something to tide them over while they waited.

Sage took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Now was as good a time as any. She walked forward, scaring the little fliers, who screeched angrily at her as they jumped off and flew down to join the others. The big flier watched her with its two exposed eyes, but made no move to stop her as she took hold of her spear just below its gleaming point. She didn’t know what she was expecting, but she was surprised by how easily it came out. The flier gave a shudder and a cloud of insects rose, then resettled on its body. Sage held the one meter of remaining shaft, turning it so she could examine the blade. She nodded with relief to see that it was still intact.

By the river, in the shade of the trees, Sage put another piece of wood on the fire. A hundred meters away, out in the late afternoon sunlight, the flier’s body was a welter of noisy activity. It died while she was putting on her panniers, and she had glanced up to see its mate wheeling away toward home. She had cleaned up her spear point and ensured it was firmly attached to its broken shaft. Tomorrow she would begin the search for a suitable piece of wood to replace it.

With her hand on her glider, she said, “Well, what do you think of that?”

She couldn’t tell from how it vibrated what it thought.