1

It hurt like nothing else ever had. It burned. He had never known what it felt like to burn. Fire and heat had never been his enemies.

He dropped with a bone-jarring thud that could be felt for leagues around. The crust of the earth buckled and caved beneath him—beneath a body slighter and smaller than the size the crater deserved. Smaller and slighter than what he was used to: too thin skin and uselessly weak fingernails and blunted teeth in a jaw too narrow and short. The sound that escaped him was pitiful; a groan that wobbled and died moments after leaving his puny, soft throat. Aching and cold, so cold. His body curled tighter, his knobby elbows and knees worthless protection against the chill and wrenching pain.

Minutes? Hours? What felt like eons later, the sound of voices broke through the groggy fog in his mind. Shouts of shock and fear. The skidding of rocks and dirt down the sides of the crater to patter against his bare skin.

Skin? That’s right. Skin.

And fingers. His fingers twitched against dirt. Eyelids. Just one on each eye… I forgot how heavy and strange it felt. Eyelids squeezed shut and feathery hairs fluttered against his cheeks until finally his eyes opened. Everything looked dim and flat. Blank colors lifeless without a pulse of life inside them.

More dirt and pebbles clattered around him, a cascade that had him instinctively flinching away and closing his eyes again.

What have I done?

“Hey! Hey, you! Are you alive? Mamá! Get a rope or something, we need to get him outta here!”

“We don’t know what it is!”

“It’s just a boy! Get a rope, Mamá!”

There was a loud, irritated huff, but the sound of nearing footsteps pounded in his poor excuses for ears. He held back another pained groan, muscles cramping in every part of him. Everything was so dull. Is it supposed to feel like this? Surely it hadn’t been this bad before? A hand touched his skin, and he couldn’t help the quiet, feeble hiss that escaped through his teeth.

“What are ya, some kinda cat? At least you’re alive. C’mon now, wake up,” said that rough female voice in a oddly coaxing tone. It sounded like the stable hands soothing the spooked horses whenever he got too close to the fields.

“’m awagge,” he mumbled, the words muddied and twisted around his too inflexible tongue. A scratchy, croaking voice, but young and high despite it. Too young. Too high.

Too human.

“Thank the Sovereign’s luck. Let’s get you up, yeah? Before someone less nice than me finds you,” the woman suggested. Her hand returned; the roughness of her skin belied the gentleness of the touch.

“’oo?”

“What’s that?”

The hand snuck its way around his bare shoulders and made him flinch and moan at the touch to the quivering flesh. How did they live decades with such a sensitive outer membrane? Ah yes. They had clothing. He needed some. Soon. Unless he died from pain before he could find some. Why did it hurt this much?

“’oo rrr yoo?”

“Huh? Did the fall knock your brain right out?”

He frowned, nose scrunching—where was scent? Where was the smell of dirt and pollen in the air, the body odor and sweat that would tell him everything about the stranger with the coarse hands and insistent voice? Forcing his unfamiliar mouth and tongue to work properly, he used the rest of his strength to painstakingly open his eyes.

Wide black eyes under thick bushy brows and a riot of dark curls in a dark sun-weathered face that was much younger than he had expected gaped down at him.

“Who’re ‘oo?”

“Who’m I? Who’re you? You’re the one that just ruined half my field!”

“Hamasssa.” The name hissed between his teeth strangely. He licked his lips and tried again. “M-My n-name is Hamasa.”

The young woman stared and her mouth moved. Maybe she spoke a name? And then darkness fell completely. Hamasa was unconscious before he could figure out what the stranger had said or could speak again.