Paragaea by Chris Roberson Page B

general Massena's fallen hussars.” He held up his pistol, looking it over admiringly, and then slid it back in its holster. “So I take it you're familiar with this brand of weapon?”
    â€œFirst saw one, Battle of Stalingrad.” Leena's face darkened, and she drew up straight. “First firearm I shoot. Then, I only five years old.”
    Hieronymus's face took on a quizzical expression, and he made as though to speak, but anything he'd been about to say was interrupted by the rumbling death rattle of the giant sloth. Although its brain had stilled a few moments past, it seemed as though it had taken the rest of the body a short while to catch up.
    With Balam in the lead, and Leena bringing up the rear, the trio drew near the felled beast to investigate.
    â€œYou were right,” the jaguar man called back to Leena, over his shoulder. “The great beasts typically eat only plants and leaves, scavenging meat from carrion rarely if ever, but they will not attack if they do not feel threatened.”
    â€œAny animal will fight to defend itself,” Hieronymus said, pointing to the sloth's shaggy back. During most of the encounter, the bulk of the great beast had hidden its rear quarters, and only now as the trio approached its prone form were they able to see the knives and spears bristling in its hide. The wounds were somewhat fresh, from the looks of them, no more than a day or two old.
    â€œThose are the hunting implements of the Sinaa,” Balam said, disgusted.
    â€œBalam's own people,” Hieronymus said in an aside to Leena.
    â€œI remember,” she answered, shuddering.
    â€œThese Sinaa were foolish indeed,” Hieronymus said. “Everyone knows that a full-grown giant sloth is virtually indestructible.”
    â€œThese the same Sinaa who capture Leena?”
    Balam nodded. “Most likely.”
    â€œWhy, then?” Leena looked from the countless spears and knives in the beast's hide, to the jaguar man at her side. “Why males of your kind hunt beast, if it cannot be killed?”
    Hieronymus and Balam both turned to her and, after a long second's pause, burst into laughter.
    â€œThe hunting party would not be flattered to hear you say that,” Balam said, leonine laughter rumbling deep in his chest, a somewhat unsettling sound.
    â€œOr perhaps, my friend,” Hieronymus said, clapping the jaguar man on the shoulder, “it is you who should be offended.”
    Balam looked at him, and for a moment Leena thought they might come to blows, but then their peals of laughter rippled out again, even more boisterous.
    â€œWhat?” Leena said, looking from one to the other. “What is funny?”
    â€œLittle sister,” Hieronymus said, laying a companionable hand on Leena's shoulder. “I'm afraid to say that Balam is the only male of his kind that you have seen.”
    Leena, confused, crossed her arms over her chest, scowling.
    â€œIn my culture,” Balam said, trying to control his laughter, “it is the females who are the principal hunters, with the role of warrior falling to the males.”
    Leena's eyes widened with understanding.
    â€œBut if we should happen upon any of your captors again,” Hieronymus said, unsuccessfully trying to stifle his chuckling, “I should be obliged if you pointed out to them that, in your eyes, any one of them could pass for a male.”
    â€œIt would serve the bitches right,” Balam said, and exploded into laughter again.

    Not wasting the opportunity at fresh meat, Balam and Hieronymus worked half the night to hack hunks from the giant sloth's fleshy tail, and then cleaned and dressed it. Hieronymus pointed out to Leena that in perfect circumstances he'd have preferred to smoke the meat, but that in view of the need to reach their destination in short order, salts and spices would have to serve as the necessary preservatives.
    When morning came, Balam had treated several