Téttares didn’t know how long she’d been on [this] world, [this] world had no name. She’d come here through her race’s portal technology, which the child didn’t have access to in order to duplicate, track, or summon.
The stars were different, she didn’t see any of the constellations she knew. They weren’t here and that was the only comfort Téttares had. They didn’t exist in those stars, finally, she was alone.
But she would make those stars hers. Hers.
The air was clean, after it rained and became cool the air smelled like pine but the child hadn’t been able to find what produced the scent. She had done a typical thing, found a cave because it felt safer and began to collect things she deemed useful, a flat stone that acted as a place to set food or small pulp beetles would appear quickly and crawl all over her findings, picking at it. The beetles tasted like sour dirt. She gathered wood and had a modest pile in the corner of her cave. Being outside constantly… was the pits to a child who had been inside almost her entire life and the magic of the experience had long ago faded into frustration and daily survival.
She thought, still, this was better than where she’d been before. This world was kinder and it played no tricks. It was honest and severe, instead of severe and insane.
But she’d shed weight, days ago she’d stripped out of her filthy tunic and armor pieces and bathed in the crystal cold water, it took her breath but she’d committed to it and noted how small her wrists looked, bony knees, and stringy muscle. She thought she’d been doing well out here but she seemed to be dissolving. She knew the last time her father had measured her she’d been four feet and inches tall. A runt.
Hyper vigilance paid off, no longer consuming her mind with shadows on walls, it was set free in this forested world. She’d begun to keep a mental list of familiar noises. This world was full of creatures and some shook the earth when they walked (Téttares stayed in the cave when she felt any vibrations in the ground) but nothing had come around the cave, though she wasn’t afraid. A part of her hoped an animal would dare because she’d kill it and eat it and try to do something with its hide, maybe she could figure it out. Days rolled into each other. Became days she wasn’t hungry and days she was very hungry.
Téttares knew it was important to remain healthy, no injuries, and consume as much of this world as possible like a black hole, she’d taken to trying to eat anything she could catch and did so with a blank utilitarian commitment that would have left most gagging to observe. So far, she hadn’t made herself ill. The thought didn’t cross her mind, that she could eat a bug or berry and poison herself.
She heard a new sound, it stilled her. Something sentient. Someone.
Her private world broke. It was no longer safe. The stars had been taken back.
Téttares snarled, a feral disconnect clouded her single amethyst eye and a lack of care if she was heard on the approach. She was a warrior. A warrior! If this alien wanted to fight. She was blank in her head. Transfixed the child went after the sound, stalking low, she tried to keep her fields from flaring but had difficulty controlling it. Adults could control their fields and usually adults controlled and monitored their children’s fields.
But you are your own now, Téttares thought harshly.
The child came into view first and with aggressive, low body language, stalking. Her dark skin had deep olive tones but was marred by an old injury that claimed one whole side of her face. Repeated clawing and pulling left her skin ruined from above the brown to beneath her jawline, below her eye and over her cheek was thick as bark with scars, textured by confused skin. The eye had been lost, skin healed over the hollow socket like a natural eyepatch. She had weapons. Two firearms of alien-make, a sword in scabbard against her side, and a large dagger in its holster mounted against a black boot. The child’s outfit was entirely black and without symbol or sign of faction, not a single scribble of alien words, plain. A tunic covered by light armor pieces, the thickest a hunk of black metal fitted over her chest. Aside from her face she was covered head-to-toe by tall boots, long sleeves, pants, gloves. Her hair was lavender, near pastel, cut short but with two severe straight daggers which hung like tassels before each ear. She’d been cutting it with her dagger on her own with no mirror to keep it from being long, she hated long hair, and had no idea it was so choppy and scruffy looking.
Small immature fangs revealed in her searching snarl, she was looking for [him] but had turned the ruined side of her face towards him, looking in the opposite direction.
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