Going Feet First Ch. 02

"What's a troll?" he asked, hoping the word for the creature was universal across languages.

"The giant creature you saved me from, love," she answered.

With a quick nod and a firm smile, the Private patted his rifle as he answered, "Yeah, that was me. It was trying to kill my elvish friend here before I blew out its knee."

The two Neko warriors smiled a moment, "So it was you. You welcome here, human. You find your friend with Mila in her tent. Walk straight on main path, her tent on the left after the third wooden home. If not found there, may be at the grand fire in center of village."

"Thank you kindly, sirs," the young soldier responded, habitually giving a quick salute and carrying on into the village.

As the couple passed them by, the two guards went back to speaking in their native tongue. Hushed words were exchanged as they eyed the human in silent wonder, both Galen and Celia failing to hear as Nekos shared several lewd comments about the elf.

Celia found herself snug against Galen's bicep as Nekonians all around buzzed about the paths cutting a maze through the settlement. The village's infrastructure was made up of single room shacks of varying sizes or large canvas tents. The majority of Nekos and their families were moving toward the main plume of smoke rising from the center of the village. Each one carried out their own conversations and routines like normal until they noticed the new additions to their village. Upon seeing the human and his elven companion, the feline humanoids stared awkwardly at the visitors.

Many odd looks were passed Galen's way, as well as many glares and curious glances. It was a daunting task, figuring out whether or not he was truly welcome in this place. He received so many mixed signals that he couldn't figure out if they held him in contempt or curiosity. On top of all that, he had to force down the terrible premonition coursing through his gut, the inexplicable feeling that told him, screamed at him, to escape while he had the chance. To take Celia, get away from their eyes, and flee from their lands.

This urge was growing greater with every step forward, but he had come for Michael and Mila, to get a grasp on the area and try and find a quick route to human territory.

A choking feeling slowly clamped down on Celia's throat as she moved with Galen toward the village center. It felt as if a layer of rust was forming on the inside of her lungs, her heart pumping ash into her arteries. Crippling pains tore through her chest, yet the elf held her composure. Whatever was doing this to her had to be environmental, and when they reached whatever home Galen searched for, it was sure to cease. Hopefully.

Suddenly a gust of wind whipped through the crowd, carrying a thick plume of black smoke from the village center and blowing it right into Celia's face. In that second, every nerve in her nose felt as if they had been lit ablaze under her skin. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she buried herself in the folds of Galen's sleeve, emptying her seared lungs with a muffled scream.

"Celia?!" Galen clamored.

"Galen? Is that you?" a female voice called.

The elf would have looked but her nose, eyes, every other sense and nerve in her face screamed with agony. A torch seemed to slowly scald the inside of her skull as thousands of tortured screams filled her ears. Her knees buckled under her own weight, the golden aura about her body flickering like a dying bulb as she screeched with pain.

"Celia? Celia, what's wrong?!" Galen panicked, his arms wrapped protectively around her as her legs gave out.

The commotion drew the attention of many Nekos, all wondering why a human was suddenly in a panic or the elf couldn't support her own frail body. And why was the club on his back beginning to groan?

Galen hoisted Celia back up to her feet and pressed her body close against his own and her mouth close to his ear. The elf struggled to assist any way she could, but Galen only grimaced as her nails dug into his shoulder and she attempted to lift herself up.

With her eyes clenched shut, Celia whimpered, "I have to leave... I hear their screams in this smoke... they are in pain... and their pain hurts me."

Panic pounded in Galen's ears as he swept his arm swept up under her knees to lift her right off the ground. He held the elf close against his chest as he began to run through the crowd of Nekos, who had taken notice of her collapse.

Once again, Celia heard that same female voice call out, "Michael, Galen returned!"

"Mila!" Galen called back. "Help me! There's somethin' wrong with Celia!"

"Who's Celia?"

"I'll explain after! I need t'get her outta the smoke!"

"Here, come to my home!"

As Celia vaguely wondered what he had just said, Galen charged through the crowds of Willhers, the elf fading fast in his arms. He nearly smacked a Neko female in the back of the head with Celia's boots as he made a beeline for Mila's tent. It was not until Mila began yelling at the people in Nekonian that the crowd finally began to open up for Galen to cut through.

Not a moment too soon. The second he was at her doorstep, Mila jerked open the canvas door so the Private wouldn't have to slow down as he rushed inside.

The spacious, circular tent was much the same as any other in the village, perhaps even smaller than some seen near the gate. From wall to wall, Mila's quarters were easily ten feet wide and seven feet high, with a small flap opened up in the roof of the tent to allow the full moon to light up the inside. A central post supported the roof, and Galen saw combat webbing hanging there with Michael's crutch leaning against it.

Every crate from the crashed Hercules C-130 was stacked beside the grassy bed on the far side of the tent, and a US Army issue reserve chute had been spread out beside it with a familiar Sergeant lying on it. Michael propped himself up on his side as the Private came through the door. His greeting was on the tip of his tongue only to freeze the instant he saw the elf that lay limp in the young soldier's arms.

"Who the Hell is that?" he asked.

"I ain't got no time to explain!" Galen shot back. The second he got Celia's cleared of the smoke, she took a sudden, sharp inhale as though a clamp just released from her throat.

"Water," she gasped, fighting with her next breath.

"Right away!" he answered as he placed her on the grassy bed beside Michael.

He dropped his pack and threw his rifle aside to remove the weight off his back. With fumbling hands he managed to pull his canteen off his combat webbing, spin off the lid, and bring it to her cracking lips, "Here, drink."

The elf desperately lapped up the water as it drained into her mouth. When Galen tilted the canteen down to slow the stream, she pushed it back up to get as much as she could before she choked. A sudden cough sent a surge of water spraying from her mouth and into Galen's face.

As Galen retracted the canteen and wiped a couple drops from his eyes. Strength returning to her body, Celia managed to sit up and swipe back the container. In seconds she gulped down the last of its contents; break out into a coughing fit before handing it back to the awed Galen. Her record time in downing an entire quart made him wonder what had happened to make her so parched.

Though she settled her cough, the elf couldn't calm her heavy breathing any more than she could quench her thirst. Sweat rolled with the tears running her cheeks as she threw herself around Galen, burying her face into his shoulder as she wept.

"What was that? What's wrong?" he asked, one hand rubbing her back and the other pressed against the back of her head.

"You cannot feel it, but the trees... Their pain... They are suffering, suffering most terribly."

"The trees? I don't understand, I thought you lost your forest connection," He glanced out the door into the smoky street.

"I was born with this bond. No magic can completely server it. I can still feel a tree's spirit when it burns with its spirit trapped inside," she whimpered, arms tightening up around Galen. "Their agony comes out in the smoke."

"What the Hell are you two saying, Private?"

Both soldier and elf turned toward Michael, Celia sniffling as she mumbled something to Galen, who answered back in the same foreign tongue. Then Galen's M14 began to groan in the corner. Michael's brows raised as he stared at the two across the tent and the possessed rifle beside them, utterly confused.

"Michael, this is Celia. A Tree Elf," Galen finally said in English before speaking with his new friend in her tongue.

The Sergeant's eyes bounced back and forth between the two, a hint of suspicion locked within them as he focused on Celia. There was something about that glowing aura coming from her core making him leery of her presence. She suddenly appears with Galen after he goes missing for a day and the Private, a small town boy who never bothered with a second language a day in his life, now spoke so fluently in a tongue the Sergeant never even heard before.

Michaels thoughts were interrupted by a soft hand placed upon his shoulder. Mila knelt down beside him.

"You have any idea what they're saying?" she whispered.

"Not a clue, and I'm getting awful tired of being left in the dark," he grumbled before snapping, "Galen!!"

Both the Private and his new friend turned back to Michael at once, the elf breathing steadily as she wiped away a tear. She muttered a few words, to which Galen replied before swapping back to English, "What?"

The elf fearfully drew her cloak over her face as the Sergeant growled, "You got a lot of explaining to do, right fucking now."

..........................................................

Two Nekos prowled along the ground in the clearing around the wreckage of the C-130, their black, furry bodies moving though the grass like snakes on glass in the moonlight. Their glowing eyes scanned over the fuselage of the plane, checking for any sign of movement amongst the twisted metal and dangling cables. One of the Nekos even dared to throw a stone against the hollow shell of aluminum, a loud clang sounding before the pebble landed in the dirt. The only reaction she stirred up was a pair of small winged creatures fleeing out the other side.

"It is clear, the humans are gone," one of the Nekos whispered before they both stood up.

"Damn," one cursed as she gritted her teeth. She whipped her head in a circle to swing her long, thick braid of black hair behind her. Her tail flicked as the dark steel band holding her intricate braid together batted softly against her lower back.

The Neko blended perfectly with any nighttime environment, as both her hair and fur matched the color of shadows. Pitch black, with a dark, grey undercoat. It was a requirement to become a Shadow Stalker; to be born the color of darkness, as to become one with the shadows when stalking the kill; thus the name.

Brandishing an annoyed sneer upon her face, the lead Stalker crossed her arms over the cloth wrap that kept her breasts pressed firm and motionless against her chest. The cloth wrap wound around her pelvic region caused her a bit of discomfort as she shifted her hips, the rough linen rubbing uncomfortably against her sex.

She narrowed her dark brown eyes to focus on the area before her, scanning to lock the images in her mind and stored it away in her memory. If even a pebble were to be moved, she would notice. If prey were to so much as shift a blade of grass, even if initially undetected, she would notice when she looked upon this sight again. Her memory was impeccable, her eye for detail impossible to beat.

"Check for a trail. The humans must have left something to track them with."

"Yes, Petra," the other Shadow Stalker answered, setting down her satchel as she headed straight for the plane.

With her partner checking the ruins, Petra began to go over the clearing to search for clues. She inspected the fresh graves and the crosses that marked them. Characters on the silver tags were foreign, as was the metal. However, she would perhaps find the human's technique with tying knots before she killed him; his skills with a rope seemed quite impressive. Over at the firepit, she ran a hand over the ashes, finding them to have long gone cold, and there were no stores gathered for another night. It confirmed her theory that they would have moved on.

A few yards away from the metal beast a red patch in the grass dulled the moon's shine off the dew. Upon approach, Petra could tell the patch was a large volume of dried blood. The smell confirmed that it was human blood, which meant these humans had lost many of their own in some conflict. Possibly with the metal beast. It would explain the fresh graves.

Moving away from the crimson stain, the elder Shadow Stalker turned toward the downed craft. She stopped a moment when she spotted the words 'death awaits trespassers' scratched out in Nekonian script on the side of the plane.

Petra cocked her head at this, wondering for a moment if she should proceed. It didn't take more than a second's thought for her to shrug it off with a bit of an amused smirk. She stepped past the warning and began to climb up into the craft, only to stop when a new smell caught her nose.

Her smirk growing to a smile, she leapt out from the craft and wandered over to the brush line in front of the glass face of the beast. Parting several bushes, she discovered a blood-soaked cloth partially buried in the dirt, right beside a spot where a male had urinated. One did not need a Lycan to tell that the two scents matched.

The Shadow Stalker grabbed the cloth and took a deep inhale, planting this unique smell into her mind. When she pulled the cloth away, she tilted her head back and began to sniff the air above her, finding that same scent coming in on the breeze.

"I'm tracking you now, human." she purred.

"Petra!" the other Stalker called. "I have found something!"

The lead Shadow Stalker turned to her underling inside the metal beast, spotting her through a hole in the side. In her hands she held a curved plate-like object at least a two thumb-widths thick and wrapped in cloth. A glint of moonlight came off a thin length of loose wire coming out of the top. Teirie looked at the wire, mumbling something before grabbing hold of it.

I warn you of these humans' new weapons, Farok's words repeated in Petra's head as she eyed the object, they seem innocent, like children's toys. But one wrong move or false judgement, and the next journey you shall take will be to Yariid for judgement.

"Teirie! Put that down! Teirie!" Petra ordered, right before the young Shadow Stalker pulled the loose wire out from the claymore, setting it off.

.........................................

"So, as long as you're with Celia, you can speak her language," Michael asked, a question to which Galen nodded.

For the past hour, the Private had recounted what happened since the morning. The troll, the trials, the feast. Though, when he got to the point in the story about his experience with Tanza and the four other elves, he fibbed, saying that Celia herself was his gift for his success, to guide him and love him as he settles into a new world. This version would be less embarrassing than retelling the other ceremonies that had been performed, as Michael would no-doubt grill him for the steamy details.

The rifle, however, was one of the more disturbing topics of the conversation as it grumbled when Galen explained how the moss brought it to life. The rifle became lighter, comfier, and guarded itself from falling into the wrong hands, but also made it a sucker for attention. Again, all part of his "reward", if one could use the word for such an insufferable thing, and to help protect Celia.

Any time Galen wasn't holding the rifle, it groaned. Whenever he did hold it, it groaned. Unless Galen was stroking it or holding it in a battle-ready position, it groaned. It wasn't very loud, barely audible if one was speaking in a normal voice, but it was still distracting. The whole rifle had a personality of its own, and it didn't like being ignored.

Celia herself had ended up laying her head upon his lap mid-story, wrapped up in her cloak as she listened to him speak. She didn't understand a word, but she still listened intently.

"It'd be better if she knew what we were sayin'," Galen commented. "But her magic only is one way. I don' think she got a clue 'bout anythin' we just said."

Mila, with her knees tucked up underneath her chin and pupils expanded to their full, kept her full focus fixed upon Celia. How innocent the elf seemed, with her warm smile that never faded from her golden features, the playfulness in her expression as her ears twitched in reaction to Galen nestling his fingers in behind them. Despite her earlier ordeal, she now seemed perfectly at peace with her love, as Galen seemed with her.

How coincidental it was for Galen to intercept a Tree Elf at the beginning of the mating season. The pure luck of the situation he had stumbled upon. Astounding how he was strong enough to pass their trials and be granted companionship with a creature that others have died pursuing. It was a companionship he clearly enjoyed, as he smiled every time his eyes fell upon her. Never were his hands idle on her skin; they constantly explored, stroked, caressed, or held onto her as though he could not let go.

Legend had stated the Tree Elves were as open and affectionate as they were beautiful; Mila could see now that those old tales were indeed true. This one had him wrapped completely around her finger, or perhaps they were wrapped around each other's fingers, as the Neko found herself with Michael.

A few silent moments passed after Galen concluded his tale, with only the crackling of the Great Fire in the background filling the void. Even Galen's rifle was silent. Finally, Mila cleared her throat, bringing everyone's attention to her as she said, "Celia."

The elf looked up at the cat girl, "Hmmm?"

"Do you speak Nekonian?"

After a moment, and much to the Neko's surprise, Celia nodded.

"More than I speak Human. Much more. I've studied it for the past ten years after learning others. There are few Humans in Atzla, so I had not ventured deep into studies of their tongue."

"Yet it is a human you are now with," Mila joked.

"Such a... umm... weird happening. Unexpected, that is the word. Unexpected happening. But I do not care what he is, so long as he is with me," Celia said, placing her hand on Galen's as it sat behind her ear, smiling just a bit wider.

Galen began shifting his stare back and forth between Mila and Celia. His shocked look gave way to a slight chuckle accompanying a widening grin.

"Well, this is even more surprising," he stated, instantly bringing Mila's full attention back to him.

"Galen? How- When did you learn Nekonian?"

"Whoa, wait, what the Hell is going on here?" Michael butted in. "What the hell just happened?"

The Private shrugged helplessly in response, apparently as clueless as Michael felt. Celia suddenly spoke out a bit in Nekonian, her words prompting both Galen and Mila to nod. Expelling a breath with force and irritation, Michael pressed the ends of his fingers into his brow and pinched down on the bridge of his nose.

"What, what is it?" he demanded. "Could somebody tell me what the fuck she just said?"

"Celia's magic gave Galen more than elvish tongue," Mila explained. "She had knowledge of Nekonian, and the spell is that he will understand her no matter what language she speaks. She has my language, and now, so does Galen."