Page 26 of Caveman Alien's Heat
“She is smaller than the Prophecy says,” he murmurs.
Riley clears her throat. “I stand right here,” she says. “Name is Riley, but you know that. Use name, Chief. Have respect for visitors.”
Several of the nearby warriors blink in surprise. I cringe inwardly, because that is not the way I would have chosen to speak to a chief under his own totem pole.
Prak’ox speaks again. “The smaller one baited a stoka into a crevasse,” he explains. “We found the creature trapped there when we discovered them. These tusks come from that.” He points.
That statement produces a different reaction from the tribe. Interest replaces some of the disbelief, and a few hunters exchange impressed glances.
“A clever trap,” one of them mutters. “But dangerous for the bait.”
The chief stops in front of Riley again. “You understand our speech,” he says.
Riley nods. “I learn slowly,” she replies carefully. “Language difficult. Your words are strange to me.”
A faint rumble of amusement moves through the watching warriors.
The chief studies her for another moment. Then his gaze returns to me. “You traveled with this woman after the sky object fell?”
“I did.”
“You are her captor?”
“Captor? I am not. I have sworn to my chief to protect her.”
The chief’s brow lowers slightly. “She walks beside you willingly?”
“She does. But you can ask her, Chief. As she says, she stands right there.”
His eyes narrow a fraction, considering the answer. The silence stretches. “Do you walk with this man willingly, Riley?”
“Yes!” she says loudly with her thin voice. “He is sworn to protect me. Nator’ax is a close friend of Chief Korr’ax. Greatest warrior of tribe!”
The chief nods again, as if accepting the explanation for now. “He does look mighty. Since we are using names, this is the Gar tribe and I am Chief Hoker’iz. I will not wish you welcome, for I am not sure if you are. It may be some time before we can be sure about that.”
Prak’ox gestures toward the glacier once more. “The sky object remains where it fell,” he says. “The hunters did not approach it closely. They say it will not open if there are enemies nearby, and it thinks we are.”
Several warriors nearby speak at once. “Plood ships bring trouble.”
“It should be destroyed.”
The discussion grows louder for several moments before the chief raises one hand, and the village becomes silent again.
His gaze moves slowly across the gathered tribe. “We will examine it,” he says at last. “A small hunting group will travel to the site.” No one argues with the decision.
His attention returns to Riley and me.
“You claim the sky object carried you here by accident.”
“That is correct,” I reply. “It was not our intention to tread on Gar turf. I must now also state that we hunted and killed two Smalls on your hunting ice. This was also before we knew that any tribe lives here in the ice. Surely, we said, no men could live in this snow and this ice. Surely the nearest tribe is far away and this is wild turf. Only when we saw your hunting party and their thick furs did we realize the truth: the Gar tribe is hardy.” I am flattering them, but in this situation I think we should try everything.
The chief’s expression reveals nothing of his thoughts. “Until we decide what this means,” he says slowly, “you will remain in the Gar village.”
Several warriors shift their weight at that statement.
“You will not be harmed,” the chief continues. “But neither will you leave.”
The cords around our wrists are cut a moment later by one of the hunters.
