Maverick dommer's Arc

Chapter 3 of 8

At dawn Maverick left the grove and walked into the valley. He wanted a mate. But he stopped at a still pool and saw himself in the water. Four arms. Thick chest hair. A loincloth that barely covered his thighs. Blood dried along his ribs. He looked wild. Any stranger would run before he spoke a word. He had to change how he met people, or he would meet no one at all. He followed a trail into a forest of giant mushrooms. Their caps flickered blue, then gold, then pink as the wind shifted. Small moths with frog feet drifted between the stems, trailing fine dust. Maverick moved slow. He kept his hands low and open. He wanted to look calm, not like a beast. A tall figure knelt among the herb rows at the forest edge. Its skin was pale teal. Its hair was braided vines that ended in green leaves. It wore a thin gown that stopped high on its hips. It hummed to a drooping plant, and Maverick watched the plant lift its leaves toward the sound. This was a Mycelonite, born of this world, one who spoke to living things. Its name was Mylonin. Maverick stepped forward. A twig cracked under his foot. Mylonin turned. Its eyes went wide. It saw the four arms, the blood, the size of him. It stumbled back and raised both hands. Maverick froze. Slow, he sank to one knee. He set all four palms flat on the ground. He lowered his head. He did not speak or move. Mylonin stared. Then it looked past Maverick, at a moth that had landed on his shoulder. The moth did not flee. It sat calm on his skin and fanned its wings. "The sporewing trusts you," Mylonin said. Its voice was soft. "They flee from cruel things." Maverick lifted his head. "I mean no harm. I came for help, not to fright you." Mylonin stepped closer. It reached out one slender hand and touched the dried blood at his ribs. "You are hurt." It studied his face, not his arms now. "You knelt. A wild thing does not kneel." "I have a home," Maverick said. "A grove with rooms and clean water. I look wild. I know it. But I am not." Mylonin was quiet a long moment. Then it plucked a broad leaf and pressed it to his wound. "Hold this. The sap will close it." It rose and looked him over once more. "Walk with me. My people trade herbs at the far grove. If you keep kneeling like that, they may not throw stones." Maverick stood. For the first time a stranger had not run. His wild look had failed to drive Mylonin away. But now Mylonin would take him to a whole village of watchful eyes, and one kneeling would not be enough for a crowd.