“What’s Terethia like?” she queried.
“I do not know. I was formed from a dead Scale planted in the earth. I woke up ten years before now. I have never seen my home, only listened to the stories.”
“Tell me some of the stories.”
The Scale obliged. He recounted the far-off legends to the girl in broken speech, telling of distant empires and legacies beyond her ken. Through it all, the girl lay transfixed. No military mind had she, and no devious thoughts of betrayal crossed her face, only curiosity. When the Scale had finished, he slouched slightly.
“What’s wrong?” the girl asked. “I promise, I won’t tell anyone!” She seemed almost worried.
“It is not you,” he replied, shaking his head. “It is hard to explain in your words. Telling you has reminded me of how important my journey is, and reminded me that I am a stranger in a land which does not want me. I am worried now.”
The girl sat up quickly. “You still need a guide, right?” He nodded. “I’ll go with you then! I know every city from here to Thengiron out west, and I can keep you out of trouble too! I promise I won’t burden you!”
“Did you not say that you could not come? Do you not have your own tribe to help?”
The girl’s eyes drooped. “Not here. I’m… not from Keystone.”
“The road will be hard,” he warned. “There will be danger.”
“Well, I have you to protect me!” she said with a wide smirk.
No, the Scale thought. “Very good,” he said. “You may come with me.” The girl smiled broadly, leaned forward, and embraced him.
“Thank you,” she said softly. He slowly put his arms around her in response. “You’re so warm,” she observed. They sat there, arms across each other and bodies pressed close together, for what felt to the Scale like an eternity. Unfortunately, it ended when the girl exclaimed “Oh!” and pushed off of him.
“I am Ytha, by the way. I haven’t chosen my second name yet. What am I supposed to call you?”
“We have no need of names,” the Scale explained. “We are each the same.”
The girl- Ytha- frowned. “But you’re not the same. You’re a lot taller than any other Scale I’ve seen, you’re much thinner, and you don’t have a tail. Shouldn’t you have a name?”
“If I am needed, the tribe need only ask where their Speaker is, and I am known well enough for them to find me.”
“So your name is Speaker?”
The Scale’s jaws twitched, as if to frown. “No. I am a remnant of Emperor Anakaras. I need no other name.”
“Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say…”
“It is alright. You could not understand.”
Ytha squinted her eyes at him. “But I still need to be able to call you something, or you’ll stand out. What does a Speaker do, anyways?”
“I was the one who spoke to men when they came. I learned their tongue, and I talked to them to get things we needed.”
Ytha leaned against the wall, resting her cheek upon her fist. “What about Hatib?” she asked after a few minutes.
“I do not know that word.”
“It’s a shortening of ‘he speaks for us’.” Ytha explained. “I think it suits you.”
“Do names all have meanings?”
“Of course. Names are important to everybody else. They’re how you know each other, and they can say a lot about a person. It’s why I haven’t chosen my second name yet- I want to make sure I know who I am first.”
“Then what is the meaning of your first name?”
“It’s a word from across the sea, I think. I was told it means ‘river’ or ‘stream’, or just a flowing bunch of water.”
“It is very beautiful.”
Ytha’s face flushed. She looked down, but the Scale saw her concealing a smile. “Thank you,” was all she said.
“And I thank you. ‘Hatib’ will do. Now, rest. We must begin our journey early tomorrow.”
Ytha nodded, and lay down upon the straw mat. The Scale began to turn to face the window again, but he felt Ytha reach out a hand to him.
“Hatib? It’s very cold tonight, and I don’t have a blanket. Could you lie down with me?”
He nodded. “If that is what you wish.” He turned at the waist and pulled the cloak over them, then lay next to Ytha. She turned to him and placed her arms over his chest, hugging him tightly. Her head rested on his arm, and with no other place to put them, he wrapped his arms about her, brushing her braids aside.
His breath wafted over Ytha’s back, filling his nose with her scent. She smelled of dirt, grime, and the road, mostly, but underneath that stench he could detect traces of sea salt and spices. She must be filthy, he thought. He shifted slightly and turned his head to her, then snaked out his long tongue against her back. As soon as it touched her skin, he felt her recoil and gasp. Assuming that it was just the unfamiliar feeling of his tongue, he began to rake it across her back, scraping off what dirt he could. She began to tremble in his grasp.
“Is this painful?” he asked, worried.
“What are you doing?”
“Cleaning you. It should not take long.” His tongue continued its journeys across her skin, rubbing roughly across her lower back, twisting about her arm, and digging into a small navel in her stomach. As he worked, he could taste and smell her true scent more clearly now. She reminded him of a journey he had taken to the ocean once, where his tribe had speared fish and cooked them over a roaring fire. However, another odd smell began to fill the air, gradual and unnoticed before. He attempted to pinpoint what it could be, but as he searched his memory, nothing seemed even close to it. His tongue continued to work downwards, and he felt the strange scent growing stronger.
“If you do not mind,” he stated, “I must clean your lower half.” Ytha did not respond, but she seemed to be breathing heavily now. He could feel her heart racing against him before she pulled away from him and lay on her back. In the darkness, he could see her eyes only as completely black specks against her darkening face. He turned his body about and rose up over her, straddling her face with his legs. His head leaned downward and his tongue flicked out across the outer edge of her leg, moving downwards. The dirt here was clumped and fresh; she had been on the road, he knew, and recently. As his tongue weaved between her toes and across the sole of Ytha’s feet, he felt new calluses there, soft and flexible still. He would either have to accustom her to walking or get her a horse.
His tongue continued upwards along her inner thigh. He could smell the thing, whatever it was, growing closer. Though he did not know why, it excited him, and he felt his breath coming in short bursts. Ytha, too, must have smelled it, for she squirmed underneath him. As his tongue rubbed across the gap between her legs, Ytha yelped, and the Scale could feel a pulsing within his head. This spot was filled with dirt and covered in some sort of slime which exuded the exotic smell. It tasted slightly metallic, and the Scale lapped eagerly at it to clean it away. Ytha, underneath him, continued to writhe on the ground, but he paid her no mind. His attentions were entirely focused upon this new taste, which continuously streamed from a crack between Ytha’s legs.
“Hatib,” he heard a voice call from far away. His mind cleared somewhat, and he turned his head to see Ytha underneath his body. She was staring at something between his legs, from what he could tell: two long, thin rods covered in a mucus which dripped onto her breasts.