it.
Desh’s heart continued to race while they looked around for more creatures in hiding. Once they felt secure they had killed the last Prymin, the Torans landed on the ground, retrieving their arrows and returning them to their quivers. Desh looked down at his hands and clenched his fists, trying to control the shaking from the lingering adrenaline. He took a deep breath, but resisted the temptation to rest. Instead, he walked around, wanting to remain prepared in case another were to spring out of the snow and kill him.
Relax, Brother. We got them , Kia thought.
Desh couldn’t help but smile. Who needed telepathy when one could read friends’ minds by the expressions on their faces? Desh thought to himself.
The soldiers tended to the wounded and assessed the damage to their uniforms, flesh, and wings. Metal wands swiped across open wounds, cauterizing and creating healed scars within seconds. Soldiers mumbled obscenities when it was announced that they’d have to walk home due to the damage to some of the soldiers’ wings.
“We won’t make it back before dark if we walk,” Tig said to Desh. They looked up towards the departing sun and the clouds that looked ready to burst. “We’ll make camp here for the night and walk back in the morning.”
“We’ll freeze to death, Tig. What if it snows tonigh…” Desh stopped when he saw the image of a cave floating around Tig’s mind. Desh looked around, finding the mouth of the cave entrance, hidden behind a massive tree.
“The Prymin’s den,” Tig said. “For such vile creatures, they’re astoundingly hygienic. They don’t even eat where they sleep.”
Desh walked into the cave, with his palms illuminated. Despite the minimal space, there was a sufficient amount of room to shelter the soldiers. It was dry, clean, and would give them refuge from the snowfall.
They gathered the bodies of the Prymin, admiring the food that would feed the entire tribe, and fur that would not only keep them warm, but also camouflage them on hunting trips during winters to come. Nothing would be wasted, including the bones that would be used for arrowheads and knife handles. The soldiers finished binding the bodies together with vines and sat by a crackling fire. They roasted one of the Prymin, gulped down fresh water, and gathered their strength, while stories were told.
Out of the corner of his eye, Desh saw Tig tap on his thought blockers, initiating the silver shell to form around the outer lining of his ears. The Mindeerian smiled, trying not to take offense, knowing that intergalactic agents like Tig had secrets to keep, even from the most trusted.
“Our last hunting trip on Torres,” Kia said as he sat down on a stone beside Desh. “I’m going to miss it.”
“Come on,” Desh replied. “We’ve never lived in space before. Aren’t you the least bit excited?”
“Sure I am, but aren’t you going to miss this place?” he continued, gazing at the trees that vaulted high into the sky. “They say no other planet in the Federation has trees as big as ours. That none have branches thick enough to run on or build houses in. I’m going to miss the trees.”
“I’m sure I’ll miss this place too, but this has never been my home,” Desh replied. He thought about Mindeere, the planet of his birth, hoping that he would one day be able to return. He took a bite of meat and caught some of the men whispering and glancing at him. Desh listened to their thoughts for a moment, until Tig walked up.
“Will you give us a moment, Kia?” Tig asked.
“Yes, sir,” Kia said, then jumped off the stone and sat on the other side of the fire, never straying too far from Desh.
“What’s on your mind?” Tig finally asked.
“They’re angry with me,” Desh said, watching the men.
“I wouldn’t say ‘angry’,” Tig replied.
“I can hear their