their tool away from the dragon-ship, as if they were weapons. I had seen archers move thus, when patrolling ahead of a column of troops. The objects were likely weapons, though I could not discern what sort.
The figures knelt in the sand, beside the dragon-ship's ramp. They looked about the area, their baring obviously soldierly. I could sense it in their movements. They were watching the area, securing it. After a few moments, a third figure emerged from the rear of the beast-vessel. This was a man, dressed much the same as the two others, the two soldiers, except that he had no armor, nor a mask. In the blinding sun, I could not make out his features, though he walked as though he were somewhat older. This one was not a soldier.
This third man looked toward the hut, toward me, and nodded. Both soldiers stood, and began to make their way across the beach to me. They moved methodically, each step carefully chosen, heads turning in all directions. They moved as a pair, staggered, fully aware of the other. It was a trained movement, and the sand did not kick up at all at their passing. Their path to me was not straight, as though they expected an ambush. Through their entire slow assault on the hut, for an aggressive move it was, despite its careful, slow pace, they never once pointed their weapons in my direction.
Surely they could see me now, as the great dragon ship grew silent and stopped blowing sand in the air. I was silhouetted by the fireflies and lit squares of the hut. Or perhaps they could not. They wore something over their eyes, darkened glass, it seemed. Even the older, third man, wore the sorts of eye protectors mages used, though these lenses were also darkened. Perhaps these men, if they truly were men at all, could not see in the bright light. That would certainly explain the darkness of the hut, and how the fireflies and lit squares glowed, yet did not seem to glare the way a flame would.
I considered what to do. The soldiers were too close for me to flee, and there was nowhere to hide in the hut. I felt the moments tick away, each heartbeat an eternity in which the soldiers in their bizarre tan-colored armor slowly approached, followed by the older, third man. Each moment brought me closer to a panic, as the countless unknowns of the situation combined with the exhaustion of my body's state.
I felt my body begin to shake. My hands were first, and then my knees. I broke into a cold sweat, as though every drop of water taken from the white vat outside was forcing its way through my pours. I took hold of a chair for support, but it rolled out from under me, and I felt myself fall to my right. I caught myself on the ledge of the table, but it was not enough. I sat down hard, my rear striking the metal floor. I grunted in slight pain, though I was so swollen and parched, it was more from the knowledge of having fallen, than from real pain.
As soon as I fell, the soldiers hurried their pace. One stopped at the bottom of the stairs leading up into the hut. The weapon in his hands turned to me. I looked down the length of it, into the dark nothingness of those eye coverings. The other took his weapon and pressed it against his chest armor. Without a strap to hold it, or clasps to grasp it, the weapon seemed to hold to the chest of its own accord, crossing the soldier's chest from right shoulder to left hip. That soldier reached out to me with open, gloved hands.
I withdrew slightly, the facelessness of the soldier making me wary. The soldier did not advance further, instead holding his hands outward, palms up. The third man came up the steps, but did not cross in front of that first soldier, weapon still ready.
The older man removed his eye protectors. His eyes were a striking green, wrinkled and kindly. He smiled, though his expression was mostly surprise. His hair was a darker brown, almost black, with gray scattered about his head. He was taller than me, perhaps by half a head, and clean shaven. His smile was perfect and white, something rarely seem outside the royal court. Soldiers often had such good teeth, but only because we were taught to keep healthy. Far too many peasants were not so well educated or clean, and their health suffered.
"Oya?" he said carefully, his voice deep and calm. "Oya Eissa?"
I shook my head. He grimaced, obviously disappointed that I could not understand him. He looked at me, right into my eyes. I could see him thinking. After a moment, he nodded.
"Eerta?" he asked.
Again, I shook my head.
"Hmm," he muttered. That, at least, I understood!
I echoed his perplexed grumbling, nodding my agreement. The man smiled and returned the nod.
A wave of nausea swept over me, and the desperate need for food came back to the forefront. I raised my hand to my mouth, and the soldier on the steps moved his weapon aggressively.
"Anral!" the soldier screamed from behind his mask. The voice, male, was deep and snarling, with a slight echoing quality to it. "Anral, egoe!"
I froze, but the older man held out his hand to steady the solider. He shook his head at him. He mouthed words to the solider, and in a moment, the echo-voiced warrior lowered his weapon and stepped back, rising to a less aggressive posture. The old man turned back to me. He mimicked my aborted movement.
I repeated it, making the motions of putting food in my mouth.
"Food," I said. "Please, I need food. I am very sick. I need help." It was a plea, but they did not understand me. Where was that little girl, who seemed to know the words?
As if to answer my inner-prayer, the girl's voice announced itself. Again, I could not see the girl. Was she hiding from me? Was I that fearful to the eyes, in my current state?
"Food," the girl spoke from thin air. "Grama."
"Grama?" the old man repeated, looking into the air, as if addressing some god. "Food?"
There was an odd chirp from somewhere in the hut. Then, another word from the formless girl echoed in the air. "Help. Srelik."
The old man nodded, and turned back to me. "Food?" he said, repeating my hand motion.
I nodded. He smiled, and nodded enthusiastically. Obviously, he was trying to help. The second soldier, the one who had set aside his weapon and approached first, reached into a pouch sewn into his armor. He took out some small thing, wrapped in what seemed like, oddly enough, shiny metal cloth. He tore it. It was a wrapper, and inside, though looking more like a small brick about the length of two fingers, and about as thick as one, was food. I could smell it. It had a fruity scent to it. My eyes focused on it as though it were the greatest treasure on all of Theris.
The soldier handed it to me. I took it with a nodded thank you, and shedding its metal-cloth wrapping, which was smooth and light, I bit into it. It had an odd texture, and was slightly sticky. It had oats of some sort, and what seemed like berries. I worked away at it. It was tough to chew, but that was mostly my exhaustion. I sighed in relief, and slowly ate the entire morsel. As I ate, the soldiers watched silently. The old man smiled.
When I was finished I handed back the metal-cloth to the solider. He set it aside carelessly, as though it were of no value. He nodded to me curtly. I needed more, and pointing to his pouch, gestured for more. Certainly, I could think of better behavior for a guest in this bizarre place, but I needed food. At the old man's agreement, I was given another morsel of food. It disappeared down my throat quicker than the first.
After a moment, the old man looked to the soldier, and gestured to a chair. He pointed to it, and I nodded. With their help, both of them, each one with a hand under an arm, I was lifted from the floor and set into a wheeled chair. The old man reached down
