This is the first half of a two-part romance. Enjoy.
* * *
Bella laughed as she piloted the little flyer recklessly low over the forest of Aurelheart. It had always struck her that there was something fundamentally disappointing about flying: that however fast you were going, however furiously your engines thrust you forwards through the air, the actual experience inside the cockpit was paradoxically tranquil. The ground and sky were simply too far away to allow any impression of real speed. But down here with the treetops ripping past just below the plane's belly, proximity warnings shrieking in horror, she could really
feel
every metre per second.
This was her therapy. Whenever her glamorous, claustrophobic life became too much for her to bear - whenever she tired of Eddie and his passionless love - she'd borrow one of the company flyers and take it away from the light and noise of Davis, away from civilisation completely, out over the vast green wilderness of Aurelheart. Out where no-one but the lizardmen were likely to see when she broke every rule in the pilot's handbook.
The speed, the danger, it made her feel
alive
. And it was addictive.
Faster
, something shouted at the back of her brain.
Lower
.
She edged the plane lower, lower than she'd ever dared go before. Last night had been a really
bad
night. She heard the topmost leaves clatter and smack against the underbelly, her wake ploughing a v-shaped ripple behind her in the green sea of foliage. Her knuckles were white as they gripped the controls. A single sturdy branch would be enough to tear the lightweight flyer end to end. Her heart raced and she laughed until there were tears in her eyes.
She was just about to pull back up when something shuddered into the plane and she felt it lurch unhealthily to one side. New, more urgent sirens blared in her ears; reflexively she jabbed at a button just as the forest came up to meet her...
* * *
The first thing to intrude back into her awareness was sunlight stabbing at her eyelids. The second thing was pain.
'Uuuuuuurgh', she groaned almost out loud. Her skin screamed all over.
She forced her eyes open slowly, blinking in the harsh light. A gnarled tree root arched up from the mud just centimetres in front of her nose, heavy with green moss and a few brown-orange mushrooms. Her mind spinning incoherently, she struggled to piece together what it meant.
Root... tree root... tree... trees... forest... ... ...Aurelheart. I remember! I was flying. I crashed... but I survived. I'm in Aurelheart. I'm OK. I think I'm OK. Am I OK?
She risked a glance at her arm where it lay sprawled beside her head and almost fainted at the sight: gross, swollen, lurid pink...
Impact foam
, she remembered suddenly. Bright pink emergency impact foam. The cockpit would have cocooned her in the stuff moments before impact. It had probably saved her life.
Slowly, cautiously, she eased herself up into a sitting position. Fighting back nausea she started to run her hands methodically up and down her body, checking for real damage under the swaddling layer of foam. Nothing broken: just a few scratches and more bruises than she could count.
Something creaked above her. She looked up. Her flyer hung suspended in a great forest tree. Or rather, the
remains
of her flyer hung suspended in the
remains
of a great forest tree. Shattered silver metal had been ground so deeply into the splintered wood that it was hard to pick out the dividing line between the two. A gaping hole in the cockpit window showed the trajectory of her exit.
Wow. Impact foam or no impact foam, I'm lucky to get out of that alive, let alone practically uninjured. But if I'm going to make it home I need this newfound luck to hold out a while longer. Long enough to get me out of this forest before the lizardmen find me. OK. First thing's first: on your feet, girl...
Gingerly she staggered to her feet, feeling dizzy and unbalanced. For a moment she felt self-conscious, tottering drunkenly around under a ridiculous coat of thick pink foam like an uncoordinated and effeminate yeti, before remembering with relief that there was no-one around to witness the unfortunate spectacle. Now, which way led back home, towards Davis? She turned around...
...and for the first time saw the lizardman leaning casually against a tree, watching her. Her heart skidded; she tried to take a step backwards and landed hard on her bottom in the mud.
She'd seen lizardmen before. A few of them lived in Davis. Eddie had even invited a group to one of his parties once, as a novelty. They'd looked awkward and slightly ridiculous, standing rigidly in the middle of all the glitz and gowns and gossip, dressed in their simple animal-skin clothes, huddled closely together as though afraid of the strange world around them. Living anachronisms.
This one was different. He stood completely at his ease, his back against a tree trunk, his forest-green scales almost merging into the thick undergrowth around him. Two fiery orange eyes looked down at her with a hint of amusement, as though waiting to see what she was going to do next. Bella was acutely aware that it was she - not the lizardman - who was the anachronism here.
Struggling to stay calm, she forced herself to take a few deep breaths. She knew a very little of the lizardfolk's language, Rootsong, from books, but she'd never needed to actually
use
it before, and the right words were slow to surface in her turbulent mind. 'Please... don't... kill... me?' she said carefully, stumbling over each word, desperately hoping she'd be understood.
'If I wanted to kill you I'd have done it already,' the lizardman replied in perfect English. His voice was thick with the rich throaty rumble of Rootsong, but his words were crisp and clear.
She let out the breath she'd been holding, and took another look at the stranger. He was short, for a lizardman if not for a human, standing a little under two metres tall. His only clothing was a simple knee-length skirt of brown pelt knotted around his hips to protect his modesty, leaving the scales of his chest, arms, legs, tail and face on display: a rich mosaic of greens in subtle mottled patterns, giving him a kind of natural camouflage. The scales on his back and head were knobbly and rough, while those on his chest and face were smooth and soft-looking, like tight-fitting quiltwork, and paler green than the rest.
Everything about him suggested "warrior". His scales bore more than a few old scars of battle as well as one or two which weren't so old. Muscles lurked beneath those scales: not showy, bulging muscles like those of a dozen pampered gym boys she knew, but rather the lean, understated layer of raw animal strength which comes from a lifetime of hard living. And of course he was armed. A large bow and numerous arrows were strung over his shoulder, and a knife sat in a leather strap round his thigh. A long, slender spear was propped up against a tree within easy reach. Back in Davis, safely hidden behind the veneer of civilisation, she remembered thinking the lizardfolk's primitive weapons quaint and harmless. Here in the deep forest, she was painfully conscious that they could kill her just as easily as could a machine gun.
While she'd been eying him over, he'd also been studying her.
'You must be the single most preposterous-looking creature I've ever seen, human,' he said at last.
Bella glared up at him from the mud. 'It's impact foam. Maybe it looks preposterous to you, but it just saved my life. And it's this colour so that it stands out. To help people find me.'
'Ingenious!' The lizardman fell silent, leaving the last word hanging pointedly in the air, a slight smile curling the corners of his mouth.
'OK. Fine. Point taken.
You
found me. I'll tell them to make it camouflage green next time.'
'Next time? You're in Aurelheart. You're unarmed. You're alone. And here you are chatting to a big, bad, dangerous lizardman. Whatever makes you think you'll get a next time?'