After maybe half an hour of walking, the tribal men in animal skins holding my arms stop. I peer around, seeing only more trees. But I can smell something—people, I realize. I look back to see that the rest of the men are slowly dragging Astralux along by ropes tied to her front legs. The beautiful dragon is still fast asleep from whatever strange paste they had spread on her and tipped their arrows with. I can feel the slight pain through our shared bonds of her wounds, but it isn’t enough to wake her.
Leading this tribal group is a tall and sturdy man who wears an elaborate bone and beaded necklace around his neck. He stands nearby, watching as the men continue to pull Astralux close. Then he gives a whistle that sounds like an owl hooting. I hear a similar owl’s hoot from ahead. It must be some sort of signal.
The tribal men’s leader steps around a tree, and the two men holding my arms push me forward. Ducking under vines, I peer around in surprise as we walk out into a small grassy opening in the forest. Tents made of deer and buffalo skins dot this area, and I spot a few men that are much younger and much older than the ones that had attacked Astralux and me, all of them dressed in similar animal skin outfits. They appear to be standing watch, stone-tipped spears in their hands. They raise their arms in greeting but pause, staring at me. Then their mouths drop open when they spot Astralux being pulled into the opening. They point and exclaim, but once again, I don’t understand a word they’re saying.
The few people awake at this late hour gather around, assisting in dragging Astralux into the opening. The dragon’s head rolls to the side as they push her the rest of the way in. Tears fill my eyes as the men pound stakes into the grass and leaf-covered ground around her, tying ropes overtop of her.
The tribe’s leader turns to me, looking me over. He points at my makeshift bag, made from strips of my own tattered white cotton shirt and gray slacks, slung over my shoulder. I unhook the bag from my arm and lay it down. The man squats, peering into the bag, and pulls out the bear bones I had cleaned and the tree bark rope I had started to make. It’s all I have. The rest of my belongings had been in my home, set aflame during the attack by Klevorian soldiers on Inizion.
The leader looks up at me with a frown. Standing again, he picks up my bag and hands it back to me. He says something to the two men guarding me, and then beckons to me. I glance at Astralux, still being tied down, but the leader motions to me again and I follow him. He leads me to a large tent and points at the furred blankets on the floor.
Suddenly, I feel anxious. Is this his tent? Surely these people are not so cruel or primitive that I’m considered the leader’s property? I clutch the backpack to my chest, my heart beginning to race, as I watch the leader.
The man points at the furs again. Without a different option except to attack, I slowly sit down. The leader nods once and then steps out of the tent, closing the flap behind him.
Breathing a sigh of relief, I set aside my leather boots and slip under the furred blankets. They’re warm and soft, and despite my worry for Astralux, I’m exhausted and quickly give in to sleep.
…
Hearing quiet whispers, I open my eyes. Surprised by the sight of the tent above me, I turn my head and blink.
The small, youthful faces of children are peering through the tent flap, sunshine filtering in from behind them. As soon as they see me watching them, their eyes widen. One of them whispers something to me, but I don’t understand what was said.
“Hello?” I say.
The children share a look with each other, whispering some more. There’s a sharp, maternal voice form outside, and the children scatter with giggles, the tent flap closing in their absence. A moment later the flap moves aside, and a woman peers in. She gives me a warm smile and steps in, holding animal skins in her arms. Setting the stack of animal skins down, she lifts one item to show that she has a dress made of animal skin, like what she is wearing. She’s brought me clothes.
I push myself to sit up, feeling a little relieved. Much to my surprise, the woman takes off my tattered white cotton shirt without hesitation—apparently, privacy isn’t expected. Maybe it’s because I’m a prisoner? I’m not sure. But I stand at her direction and shed my tattered pants.
Seeing the wounds on my legs from where Astralux’s scales had cut through on my knees, the kindly woman holds a finger out to me and steps outside. Nervous that someone is going to step in on me like this, I pick up one of the furred blankets and wrap it around me.
Moments later the woman returns, a wooden bowl of paste in her hands. I stare at it, afraid that she’s going to poison me like Astralux and put me back to sleep. But I really don’t know what purpose that would serve. So I hold still as she kneels and rubs the paste over my knees.
It has a cool, tingling feeling to it, and I watch, curious. Sniffing, I recognize the scent of aloe, honey, and peppermint. It’s a medicinal paste to promote faster healing. I relax, far more at ease, and hold out my arms when the woman looks me over for more wounds.
Sufficiently covering my wounds, the woman sets about taking small strips of very light cotton bandages and wrapping this over where she’s applied the paste. Once that is done, she picks up the sleeveless animal skin dress and slides it over my head. It is a little big on me, but it does rest on my shoulders. Then the woman picks up another piece from the stack of clothes, and I realize that this is a long-sleeved shirt that goes overtop the dress. The second clothing item is the equivalent of panties, and I draw this up under the dress. The kindly woman even brought me shoes, strange slippers, but they are far too large for my feet. I point at my boots, and she nods. Slipping my boots on, I stand, looking over my outfit. This style of clothing is strange to me, but quite comfortable.
I look at the woman. “Thank you,” I say. I bow my head a little to her, hoping that I’m able to convey my appreciation.
Whether or not she understands, my little show of gratitude doesn’t seem to offend her at least. She says something I don’t understand, gives me another smile, picks up the unused moccasins and her medicinal paste, and then leaves.
Unsure of whether I’m allowed to leave or not, I peer out. There is a man posted outside my tent, turned sideways so that he can see both the entrance and out a little. Noticing me, he tilts his head, looking at my outfit. But he doesn’t protest when I step out of my tent.
I look around, trying to spot Astralux. Feeling a presence toward the south, although I don’t understand what exactly I’m feeling, I turn to head that way. But the man steps in front of me, shaking his head. “Astralux,” I say.
The man points in the other direction. Sighing, I follow his finger, hoping that Astralux is being treated as well as I am.
It’s not clear to me where the man wants me to go, so I wander slowly among the tents. Many people are up and about, chatting excitedly. They stop and stare at me as I near, and I pause, uncertain of where to go.
Then I see the same man from last night, the leader with the bone and beaded necklace. The man looks my outfit over, nodding. Then he beckons to me, and I follow him over to a pile of sticks in the middle of the camp. He points at me, then at the sticks.
I tilt my head. Does he want me to cast fire on the sticks? I’m not sure why, since they clearly have fire, as evidenced by the firepit nearby. Maybe they want to see? I hold out my hand toward the sticks, and the leader nods. So I focus on the energy flowing through me and blast yellow flames over the sticks, setting them alight.
Everyone within sight exclaims in surprise and scurries away, except for the leader. He grins, looking excited. He walks away to a table made of tree stumps and then returns, a wooden bowl in his hands. I’m expecting him to ask me to set more things on fire, but then I see that there is something like a porridge in the bowl, with berries, and a wooden spoon set in it. He hands the bowl to me, and then takes his hand, mimics picking up the spoon, and exaggerates taking a bite.
I lift the spoon and take a small bite of the porridge. It’s amazing, far sweeter than I had expected, with honey mixed into it, and I scrape the bowl clean in seconds. The bear meat and small bit of vegetables I had found yesterday is all the food I’ve eaten, and this is welcome. The leader eyes me as I finish the bowl, and then holds out his hand. When I give him the bowl, he goes and refills it, returning it to my hands. I try to eat slower, but I’m so grateful for the food that I still work my way through pretty quick.
Just as I finish my second bowl, the leader hands me a wooden cup of water, which I guzzle. It takes a few more refills of water before I finally start to feel hydrated, and I sigh halfway through my fourth cup.
The leader points at himself. “Malik,” he says.
Is this his name? I wonder. I point at him. “Malik.”
The man nods.
I point at myself. “Estelle.”
“Estelle.”
I smile and nod. Then I look toward the south before looking back at the man. “Astralux?” I ask.
The man’s dark eyes flicker to the south. He stands, beckoning to me, and I follow him through the camp to the south. Reaching the edge of the tents, I breathe a sigh of relief when I spot Astralux. Although she’s tied down with ropes staked into the ground all around her, she’s sleeping soundly, her nose curled under her tail. A couple of the tribal men are posted around her, watching her.
“Astralux?” Malik says hesitantly.
I nod. I don’t know how to communicate more than that, but I point at her, watching Malik’s face. When he doesn’t say or do anything, I take a step closer to her and then stop, waiting for permission.
Malik gestures for me to go ahead. Gladness fills my heart, and I walk over to Astralux’s side, forcing myself not to run. Kneeling beside Astralux’s head, I stroke the side of her cheek. Astralux stirs and curls her head a little closer to me. A small, bright puff of glittering mist trickles from her nostrils briefly. But her eyes remained closed, her breathing slow.
I walk carefully around the stakes and go to her right wing, lifting it slightly to see how her wound is doing. And then I begin to cry.
Someone has rubbed Astralux’s wound with the same medicinal paste used on me, and a bandage has been wrapped around her wing. Even the small wounds she had sustained from the arrows last night have been treated.
Perhaps this tribe doesn’t trust us, but they’re a kind-hearted people, and that’s enough for me to feel relief and hope again.
Tamara Rivers 
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