Page 65 of Caveman Alien's Heat
I wrap my arms around myself and watch. “What’s happening?” I ask the nearest man. He’s younger than most, broad-shouldered, with a scar that pulls at one corner of his mouth.
He glances at me, then past me, as if looking for someone else to answer for him. “The air has changed. A storm is coming. From behind the mountains.”
“A storm? More snow?”
He nods once. “Much more snow, but mostly wind. And sometimes more.” He hurries on.
I frown. Sometimes more than wind and snow? Did he mean rain, hail, sleet, frogs?
I turn slowly, taking it all in. The tribe is preparing for something unusual, that’s obvious. It’s efficient and practiced, like they’ve done this many times before and know exactly what to do.
Near the center, a cluster of men gathers around the chief. He’s giving instructions in a low, steady voice. People move as soon as he speaks, with no hesitation. A few paces away, Crelt’ax stands with his followers, his posture loose, almost relaxed. He says something, and a couple of men laugh under their breath. I think I heard the word “dragon” in what he said. When he spots me, the whole group turns and stares.
It’s interesting. There are two groups in the tribe now, and I don’t remember having seen that before. It’s encouraging, in a way—I think the chief’s group are the level-headed ones, the ones that would prefer to get rid of Nator’ax and me before the dragon comes. I see Prak’ox among them, and he sends me a little smile when he sees me.
I walk over to him. “What’s going on? Everyone’s looking worried.”
“We think a storm is coming. The signs are all there. See the sky, with a thin layer of mist high up? And Mount Belek has a hood on.” He points.
Indeed, there is a white cloud obscuring the tallest peak that can be seen from the village, while the other mountains look much the same as always. “Is that all?” I ask.
“The air tastes of blood,” Prak’ox says. “I’ve never felt it as strongly as this morning.”
I spot Nator’ax across the open space. He’s moving with the others, carrying a bundle of something wrapped in hide. His steps are measured and unhurried. He looks like he belongs here. That still surprises me, even now. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t have his sword anymore.
He doesn’t look at me. Well, he’s busy. Everyone is. But he usually checks, just once, just enough to make sure I’m still there. Now his attention stays fixed on what he’s doing and on where he’s going next.
I take a few steps toward him anyway. “Nator’ax.”
He turns when I’m close enough, his expression settling into something calm and neutral. “You should stay inside,” he says. “The wind will rise soon, they say.”
“That’s it? The wind will rise?”
He shrugs. “I suppose we’ll see what they mean. But they wouldn’t do all this unless there was a good reason.”
I look casually around to check if there’s anyone within earshot. “Have you thought about what that means? A storm?”
His gaze flicks past me, already measuring something else. “If they fear this storm as much as this, then it would likely be deadly to be caught outside the village when it hits.”
So he sees it, too—a storm means chaos, bad visibility, probably a lot of noise, maybe a chance to get away. But it doesn’t fire him up, the way it does me.
“Do you think it would be just as deadly to stay with this tribe, which has already decided to kill you tomorrow?” I ask coldly.
He looks back at me then, properly this time, but whatever I’m searching for isn’t there. “We shall stay with the tribe.”
Something tightens in my chest. “You’re part of the tribe now?”
He looks away. “No. But we are in their hands.”
“Do you remember what you promised?” I ask, uneasy at how flat his voice sounds. “If this all goes badly? Your oath?”
“I don’t have my sword,” he points out.
I draw breath to answer that with something sharp, when a shout cuts across the village.
Nator’ax turns at once. “Go inside the cave. I will bring you food and drink.” He doesn’t wait for my answer, and he doesn’t even check if I move.
I frown as I watch him go. Something’s off. He moves like he’s already decided something, like the rest of this doesn’t matter in the same way anymore. He looks hunched over, and it looks like he’s taking orders from a regular hunter of the tribe.
