something in the breeze. Kesbe watched and forgot herself completely.
Until the boy looked toward her. He beckoned her to approach. She went forward with both eagerness and trepidation, halting when Haewi Namij turned its head to challenge her with a disconcerting stare from both compound eyes.
She stood in front of the aronan, extending her hand so that Haewi could smell it, the usual animal-human introduction. It was not the creature’s nose that touched her palm, for Haewi Namij had no nostrils at the end of its narrow muzzle. Instead its antennae fluttered along her hand, gathering her scent.
A grumble of thunder overhead broke Kesbe out of the little universe of fascination into which she had been drawn with the boy and his creature. Rain began to patter down on the gravel. The boy suddenly squinted, then waved his hand toward the shape of the forgotten C-47. “Ba hanakomi?” he asked.
Kesbe felt a grin relax the tautness of her face. To him the aircraft must seem as much a living creature as the aronan. “Baqui hanakomi,” she retorted, correcting his assumption just as he had corrected her grammar. She flung her arm out at the aircraft. “Gooney Berg. Come and meet her. She won’t bite.”
“Gooni Bug,” the boy repeated. He sent a suspicious glance toward the aircraft.
The sky suddenly let loose in a sheeting deluge. Kesbe decided that continuing the conversation was not worth being drenched. She retreated under Gooney Berg’s wing, waving at the boy to come after.
It took him some time to decide. Kesbe managed to get several tarps out of the plane and hang them from the underside of the wing to form a makeshift shelter. A few plastic cargo pallets arranged about one wheel strut made a raised floor against rivulets invading the dry ground under the plane. She knew she could be cozier inside the aircraft, but there was no way the boy or his aronan could be coaxed into such a confined area. She didn’t want to leave them or have them leave her. Again she felt a strong wish to go with the boy to his village, but she knew the chances were remote for a stranger such as she.
She sighed, then got out her survival kit: a portable heater, battery light, blankets, rations and thermos. She lit the light, started the heater and sat down on the tire, staring up into the wheel-well. A dollop of grunge plopped onto her shoulder, reminding her that the C-47’s engines had a habit of dripping oil. She moved her tent to one side of the wheel strut.
The rain redoubled its assault, beating a frenzied tattoo on the metal airframe. Kesbe was on the point of retreating back inside her aircraft when the boy and his flier came straggling toward her shelter. Carefully she moved herself and her gear to the rear of the tarp-tent, giving them plenty of space. It wasn’t entirely generosity on her part. Both rider and mount left large puddles on the ground beneath the aircraft’s wing.
At the entrance to the tarp-tent, the boy wiped the water off himself with the edge of onehand. His aronan spread its wings briefly and vibrated them. For a brief minute it was enveloped in a fine cloud of raindrops and the loud pulsed drone it made sounded like a power station transformer going momentarily berserk. When the aronan closed its wings and settled demurely on the tarp, it was nearly dry.
Nice trick, Haewi Namij , Kesbe thought, shivering in her flightsuit, damp despite the heater. Do you give lessons ?
The boy settled next to his aronan. He eyed Kesbe, but didn’t seem inclined to talk. The little heater warmed the shelter, making her sleepy. She shook her head, trying to drive the drowsiness away. He was just a boy and he seemed friendly, but she’d be a fool to fall asleep with a stranger near, especially one who carried weapons.
After several attempts to stifle her yawns, Kesbe saw the boy watching her. A slow grin spread across his face. He rose from his seat, taking his bow, spear, arrows and knife and laying them down
Until the boy looked toward her. He beckoned her to approach. She went forward with both eagerness and trepidation, halting when Haewi Namij turned its head to challenge her with a disconcerting stare from both compound eyes.
She stood in front of the aronan, extending her hand so that Haewi could smell it, the usual animal-human introduction. It was not the creature’s nose that touched her palm, for Haewi Namij had no nostrils at the end of its narrow muzzle. Instead its antennae fluttered along her hand, gathering her scent.
A grumble of thunder overhead broke Kesbe out of the little universe of fascination into which she had been drawn with the boy and his creature. Rain began to patter down on the gravel. The boy suddenly squinted, then waved his hand toward the shape of the forgotten C-47. “Ba hanakomi?” he asked.
Kesbe felt a grin relax the tautness of her face. To him the aircraft must seem as much a living creature as the aronan. “Baqui hanakomi,” she retorted, correcting his assumption just as he had corrected her grammar. She flung her arm out at the aircraft. “Gooney Berg. Come and meet her. She won’t bite.”
“Gooni Bug,” the boy repeated. He sent a suspicious glance toward the aircraft.
The sky suddenly let loose in a sheeting deluge. Kesbe decided that continuing the conversation was not worth being drenched. She retreated under Gooney Berg’s wing, waving at the boy to come after.
It took him some time to decide. Kesbe managed to get several tarps out of the plane and hang them from the underside of the wing to form a makeshift shelter. A few plastic cargo pallets arranged about one wheel strut made a raised floor against rivulets invading the dry ground under the plane. She knew she could be cozier inside the aircraft, but there was no way the boy or his aronan could be coaxed into such a confined area. She didn’t want to leave them or have them leave her. Again she felt a strong wish to go with the boy to his village, but she knew the chances were remote for a stranger such as she.
She sighed, then got out her survival kit: a portable heater, battery light, blankets, rations and thermos. She lit the light, started the heater and sat down on the tire, staring up into the wheel-well. A dollop of grunge plopped onto her shoulder, reminding her that the C-47’s engines had a habit of dripping oil. She moved her tent to one side of the wheel strut.
The rain redoubled its assault, beating a frenzied tattoo on the metal airframe. Kesbe was on the point of retreating back inside her aircraft when the boy and his flier came straggling toward her shelter. Carefully she moved herself and her gear to the rear of the tarp-tent, giving them plenty of space. It wasn’t entirely generosity on her part. Both rider and mount left large puddles on the ground beneath the aircraft’s wing.
At the entrance to the tarp-tent, the boy wiped the water off himself with the edge of onehand. His aronan spread its wings briefly and vibrated them. For a brief minute it was enveloped in a fine cloud of raindrops and the loud pulsed drone it made sounded like a power station transformer going momentarily berserk. When the aronan closed its wings and settled demurely on the tarp, it was nearly dry.
Nice trick, Haewi Namij , Kesbe thought, shivering in her flightsuit, damp despite the heater. Do you give lessons ?
The boy settled next to his aronan. He eyed Kesbe, but didn’t seem inclined to talk. The little heater warmed the shelter, making her sleepy. She shook her head, trying to drive the drowsiness away. He was just a boy and he seemed friendly, but she’d be a fool to fall asleep with a stranger near, especially one who carried weapons.
After several attempts to stifle her yawns, Kesbe saw the boy watching her. A slow grin spread across his face. He rose from his seat, taking his bow, spear, arrows and knife and laying them down
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