Page 55 of Caveman Alien's Heat
Riley stops beside me, her eyes lighting up. “Oh, that’s perfect.”
I study the area first, scanning for movement, for tracks, and for anything that would turn this into a trap. There is nothing immediate. The place is quiet, the only sound the faint hiss of steam and the tinkling from the hot little stream.
Riley is speeding up. “Come on,” she says, picking her way down the slope. “Before some horrible Big comes and ruins the water.”
I follow, though my attention splits between her and the ground. Up close, the terrain is fractured by heat, with sand and gravel scattered in uneven layers. The red catches my eye immediately. I crouch, picking up a piece of stone, turning it in my hand. Thecolor is deep and brownish red, like a forgotten knife found after many moons. The stones are heavier than ordinary rock.
Riley notices. “What is it?”
“Iron,” I say. “We don’t often find it this easily in the jungle. We have to search. Here, it’s lying out in the open, unused.”
She tilts her head. “Maybe the Gar tribe doesn’t know.”
“They know, but they seem to think they don’t need it. They have fine stone tools, though, and bone.” I gather a heap of the iron stones.
She looks at the ground, then back at me. “Maybe they’ll be angry if you take that.”
“What are they going to do?” I ask as I examine a particularly nice iron rock. “Kill me twice?”
“Good point.”
We move further into the area. The ground softens into patches of red sand and fine gravel. Riley stops again, looking down at our footprints.
“Wait,” she says. “Stand still.”
I don’t move, curious about what she has in mind.
She steps beside one of my tracks, placing her foot carefully into it. It doesn’t fit.
“That’s ridiculous,” she says. “Your feet are far too big.”
“I think you’ll find it’s yours that are too small.” I show her by placing my foot over one of her small footprints and stepping onit. When I raise my foot again, her little print is completely gone. “See?”
She chuckles. “Nobody needs feet that big. Like a kronk. Are you a kronk, then?”
I scratch my chin. “Have you ever seen a kronk in the jungle?”
She looks away. “Maybe.”
“I think you have just heard someone talk about one. To show you the clawprint of a kronk, you’d have to lie down here and then get up. That’s about as long as they are.”
“Are youcrazy?I’m not lying down in the mud!”
“In the snow, then. Come on.” She squeals as I grab her, march over to the edge of the snow, and carefully place her in it, back first. Then I lift her back up while she kicks and screams in outrage. “Oh no! There’s been a kronk here!” I hold her with her face down so she can see her imprint in the snow bank.
“That’s not a kronk footprint!” she hisses. “That’s only a poor alien woman held by a brute! Those tracks show it very clearly. See how bravely she fights!”
“Very excellent kronk,” I say, touching the tip of my boot to the extra-deep imprint of her behind. “I like this part especially.”
“If you like that part,” Riley huffs, “this is not the way to show it.”
I set her down and brush some snow off the back of her fur. “Then what is the way to show it?”
She snorts. “You think I tell you now, when you put me in the snow like a… like a spront?” She bends down and gathers snow between both hands, packing it together.
“Spronts don’t live in the snow,” I tell her. “But apart from that, I see the likeness—ow!”
Riley throws the wad of packed snow at me, hitting me on the hip. “Ha. Take that, brute kronk.” She brushes the snow off her hands.
