Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

My friends! Honestly, I never intended to write "serious" fanfiction. And it's quite possible this will be my first and last attempt. To be frank, this isn't even really fanfiction in the conventional sense...

What follows will be lengthy. Impatient readers can skip this chapter and proceed directly to the story itself. You can always come back to read the introduction last - if the story happens to pique your interest and you become curious about the reasoning behind this particular plot.

For those who decide to read in order... Well, let's proceed in order then.

It all began when someone once asked me: what exactly is the Alien? I was momentarily stumped. "You're a zoologist," they said, "so explain from a zoological perspective what kind of animal it is." And, believe it or not, I started explaining. Maybe I'll even write about that someday... Since xenomorphs are automatically associated with Predators in people's minds, the conversation naturally shifted to them. And that's when things got interesting for me. What kind of creature could the Predator be? Could such an organism even exist in principle, or is it just an artificially cobbled-together anthropomorphic hybrid of a crocodile and a cockroach? After pondering it for a while, I realized that theoretically, it could exist. As a result of my mental gymnastics, this... opus was born, where our beloved character is literally dissected - in a figurative sense, of course.

So, I present for your consideration a variation on the theme of "how it all could actually be" with a slight scientific bent. I warn you upfront, the Reader won't find battle scenes or politics here, nor musings from the Predator's perspective - after all, we can't possibly know how things really work for them, much less delve into the thoughts of another sentient being. There won't be any "Yautja words" - for the same reason. There won't be telepathy or problem-free communication with representatives of Homo sapiens - in my view, that situation is more than artificial. Also, many will probably be disappointed, but there won't be any romantic storyline. No, the idea itself that two representatives of intelligent life forms can "find each other" doesn't repel me at all, quite the contrary, the topic is worthy of study (even if only hypothetical for now), but not in this case. Simply by its nature, first contact with something alien and unfamiliar cannot generate any reactions other than fear or interest, whether it's a living organism, a food object, or unfamiliar terrain. The main theme of the story is a kind of adaptation to a phenomenon that doesn't fit into the general worldview, an attempt to somehow interpret something extraordinarily new for humans and, possibly, still find familiar elements in it. Therefore, there's no need to look for erotic subtext in descriptions of any tactile interactions between characters, or in the description of human scientific interest in the anatomy of an extraterrestrial being. Emotional - yes, but certainly not erotic.

Since the story pursues very specific goals, and I have no desire to add unnecessary characters or complicate the moral and philosophical components, it will lack parallel plot lines. In essence, it represents a kind of "concentrate" of communication between a human individual and a Predator. I hope this won't tire the Reader.

Now a bit more about what you can actually expect to encounter in this story: a lot of cynicism. Because science is cynical. The narrative turned out to be quite one-sided, but from the perspective of a professional zoologist, with accompanying reflections, observations, and doubts. Of course, I don't promise to provide complete clarity - who knows how accurate the judgments of a scientist encountering a completely unstudied object for the first time might be?..

In general, I suggest considering this work as a kind of "documentary." After all, there is, for example, a BBC film (I believe) about what dragons would be like if they existed. And now I'm going to do something similar. With the same slightly amusing "shoehorning" of fantastic elements into reality and with some inevitable edits to the "canon" where shoehorning fails (I promise not to overdo it). At the same time, my opinion may differ greatly from that of other Authors - here we cheerfully refer to alternative realities, and again everything becomes good and clear.

Let me say a few more words about the plot. It's uncomplicated. I confess, I had to use several "template" situations (after studying other fanfics, I encountered such favorite scenes in every other one). Any Author constructs the plot of a work according to their own considerations. Some like romance or the intensity of certain scenes, others have different reasons for their choices... Specifically, I didn't aim to create an intricately twisted plot, so I didn't bother. As in many similar stories, a young woman randomly saved by the Predator will be in contact with him. In this situation, I'm guided not by the notion that it's normal for women when a man is "just slightly more handsome than a monkey," and not even by the subconscious female desire to "seduce the monster" - although for a psychological or purely artistic work, that would be perfect. No, it's simpler here. Only out of gratitude for being saved and fear of being left alone with unsolvable problems can a rational being follow an unknown individual (of a different species, no less) to an unknown destination, with the barest minimum of trust. And to fulfill this condition, the being itself must be quite defenseless. So we keep this heroic note, especially since it fully corresponds to the "canon," according to which the Predator doesn't kill the weak and unarmed. But, I repeat, Readers have hastily predicted the romance of the presumed relationship. The choice was simply limited. Judge for yourself. A human male, tagging along for research purposes, would probably be killed by the Predator, taking his persistence as a threat. An elderly person of any gender in such an encounter would, in the worst case, die on the spot from a heart attack, and in the best case, would simply cross themselves after seeing the alien walk into the forest on its business, and the story would also have no continuation. Contact with a child could be interesting, but a child wouldn't make important scientific conclusions for us, which would completely devalue the story. So by process of elimination, we're left with a woman. Moreover, an educated woman who's even slightly obsessed with her research, and therefore quite reckless. And Russian. Because she "would enter a burning house" and because it's more convenient for a Russian Author. And I'll immediately answer the question that will naturally arise for the Reader: yes, I'm a herpetologist, and no, I don't mean myself as the heroine, but she does convey my thoughts.

Such a ubiquitous moment as the Predator's injury also couldn't be avoided, although, I must admit, I really wanted to - well, it's strange when such a super fighter, super hunter so clumsily exposes himself to bullets. But I had to sacrifice him once, otherwise there would be no opportunity to speculate about the strange color of his blood. And pay attention to the speed of his "return to duty"...

Warming up the human individual through the Predator. An interesting moment that for some reason appears in many places. This scene just amuses me, so I used it, but in a completely different way... Well, I found a practical application for it too.

Smell. Everywhere people love to mention the mysterious male musk that drives the female crazy. Sorry, I disagree. There's a concept called species-specificity. Only organisms very closely related in evolutionary terms can react to each other's pheromones. In our situation, we can't speak of even distant kinship. The smell of organisms belonging to other systematic groups is usually perceived as unpleasant, or not perceived at all. Nevertheless, the episode from "Predator 2" where the alien was found by scientists by smell is very interesting...

Bathing. And again, no romance. I just couldn't think of another way to "undress" the hunter for research purposes. You might ask, why didn't I choose another, more convenient plot development - the Predator falling into the hands of scientists? Now that would seem to be where I could really run wild with my theme! You could do anything with him there - not only look and touch, but also take full analyses, run him through an MRI, and even dissect him in the end... Nevertheless, I preferred "field conditions" because, firstly, you can observe the alien's behavior in them, and secondly, there's no need to delve into his physiological features - I would have to go too deep into modeling this object, as it would require the level of "established facts," not just "hypotheses." Agree, it's too much - to invent how the digestive or respiratory system of a deliberately fantasy character is arranged, and to do it in a way that everything is as realistic as possible. I'm already fooling around too much here as it is... And finally, I don't want to support the "evil scientists" plotline, as it's inherently incorrect, even if it suggests itself in this context.

Despite all of the above, the Reader shouldn't think that the work will be completely soulless. Its characters are living beings, they have feelings and emotions; each of them has their own story. But, as happens in life, most of this story will never surface.

Readers accustomed to the standard description of the Predator as a character may be surprised when they meet the hero of this narrative. He's a warrior, sure, but still not a robot. He can doubt, be frightened, or frankly act stupid, depending on the circumstances. In his "off-duty" time, he can get distracted, behave frivolously, and even oversleep until noon. He can be absent-minded and bump his head on a branch, his stomach can growl, he might need to scratch at the most inconvenient moment. But when necessary, he will mentally prepare himself and go to cut off heads...

The relationships between the characters will develop in some way throughout the story - that's inevitable. Maybe in some places it will be quite predictable for the Reader, and in others unexpected. There will be amusing moments too, how could there not be? In general, read on - you'll see and understand everything for yourself.

And lastly. What does this work mean for the Author herself? Why did I actually start all this? I'll answer. Because I'm not alien to modeling. And because I don't like biological blunders in fiction. I warn you again: much of my view on the possible anatomy of Predators will differ from some established views in the field of fanfiction. I'll try to stick to the "canon" as much as possible, since that's how the character was created, but there will be noticeable discrepancies with other fanfics. Well, outside the "canon," everyone has equal rights to their point of view, right?

And finally, one more reason for creating this work. I myself really want to understand how a randomly, almost hastily invented screen monster (I won't retell the history of the character's creation here) could generate such a powerful audience response. What attracts all of us gathered here to the Predator, originally conceived as a decidedly negative character? Maybe it's the glimpses of morality in the form of following a certain code of honor, sharply contrasting with his bloodthirstiness? Maybe it's his undisguised primitiveness, which humans have long lost and secretly long for? Something indeed touches a nerve when you see this strange combination of advanced technologies and barbaric traditions - we could never achieve that. Maybe even the fact that the first Predator costume was worn by a good, positive, kind person... I still can't decide. Will you help?

Chapter Text

Dr. Zoya Voronina, a herpetologist and candidate of biological sciences — nearly a doctor, one might say — sat in the dim light of a large, dirty army tent, bound hand and foot, tear-stained, with a split lip. The last few days of her life had been more like hell. She desperately wanted to wake up and find it was all just a nightmare, but several signs told the woman that, alas, she was definitely not asleep. Fifteen days ago, she had arrived in the Colombian selva as part of a mixed research group. Four days ago, their expedition had come to a sudden and tragic end...

Zoya worked and taught at Moscow State University, conducting research in the phylogeny[1] of the Scincomorpha infraorder[2]. She was a medium-height woman with the appearance of an eternal teenager. Although she was already in her early thirties, her military-style dress, ever-present baggy backpack, and short haircut made her look so young that some stores refused to sell her alcohol at the checkout.

Students absolutely adored Zoya Nikolaevna — for her easygoing manner, quick wit, and remarkable sense of humor. By treating them almost as equals, she found common ground with both notorious troublemakers and the most timid wallflowers, awakening a genuine love for scaly creatures in many young hearts. Much to her audience's disappointment, Zoya was often away on expeditions and rarely taught classes, ceding that honor to less desirable teaching staff.

This expedition to the heart of Colombia had taken three whole years to plan — there were too many nuances in its preparation, including economic and political factors. Zoya's efforts to join the group are a separate, rather long and dramatic story. So the researcher's joy knew no bounds when, after six months of correspondence and several rather costly trips, she finally managed to secure a place in the expedition.

At the same time, it's hard to describe in polite terms what her family was going through. Let's just say they probably shed a couple of buckets of blood... Of course, it's understandable that they were afraid to let Zoya go into dangerous forests, and she was nervous herself... But they could have at least not made the situation worse and offered some meager support... After all, Colombia is Colombia.

...Drug cartels, bandits, frequent military conflicts, coups... All kinds of horrors had to be read and heard about the destination. Zoya, of course, tried to reassure her friends and relatives, arguing that it was quite safe there now, but no assurances worked, and she herself, to be honest, didn't really believe her own words. Nevertheless, Zoya consciously took the risk. She couldn't miss such a chance: to work with foreign colleagues, obtain unique material, possibly even open doors to the world's best institutes... She needed this expedition, needed it like air!

The goal of this venture was, surprisingly, just one small, inconspicuous lizard the size of a finger. The elusive fiery Cercosaura hypnoides had not been encountered by scientists since its description in 2012. Living in lichen thickets, this gymnophthalmid[3] hid so skillfully that there was no proper opportunity to study its biology or assess its population size. This almost detective-like story captivated and enthralled several young scientists, including Zoya. For a long time, they had been gathering all the scarce available data on the species of interest, planning their research. The particular intrigue was that they had absolutely no guarantee of encountering even a single specimen. But just in case, it was decided to conduct several less important side projects. Some colleagues, taking advantage of the opportunity, asked to collect material—the group accumulated six such "requests" in total, so the trip would not have been fruitless in any case.

Zoya had already had the chance to visit the Amazon selva once. The impressions were quite controversial. A dense forest, saturated with moisture, warm and oozing like a piece of fresh meat. The heat exhausts you in a few hours, the feeling is like being in a giant greenhouse. Add to this the gnats, infections, and inflamed scratches from branches, as well as the constant sweat running down your body, never-drying clothes, and damp tents... And all this at the "height of the season." With the onset of rains, mud, endless streams of murky water, temperature drops, and even greater humidity join the overall picture. You might say, disgusting?..

And yet...

The slanting rays of the pale morning sun piercing through the dense evergreen canopy. The magical light pouring through the lacy gaps in the foliage and the sparkling dewdrops in it like a scattering of jewels. The indescribable sharp, mushroomy smell of wet wood and soil. The whistles and cries of birds drowning in the hazy haze; the soft, springy moss spreading underfoot; the wonderfully beautiful inflorescences among the lush vegetation. An abundance of life, a triumph of forms and colors, a realm of pristine nature. The selva can be repulsive, but it knows how to enchant. And once it has captivated you, it will never let you go again...

Truly, a complex place. And complex stories unfold in it...

The long-awaited time of departure finally arrived. Despite the scientists' attempts to complete all preparations before the rainy season, this plan couldn't be fully realized. Many circumstances contributed to postponing the expedition's start date. They managed to leave only at the end of August. One could only hope that the rains would be slightly delayed and pour closer to the second half of September.

On August 26th, the group of scientists flew by private flight to the city of San Martín in the Meta Department, from where the researchers were to venture deep into the selva. Their motley company consisted of five people: Zoya; another girl named Rose Hill, a herpetologist from an English university; Hans Lehmann, a colorful German, a renowned specialist in teiids[4] from Hamburg; and colleagues Carl Spencer and Thomas Taylor from the USA, who specialized in reptile genetics. In San Martín, they were joined by a hired guide—a talkative and cheerful tracker named Angel (whose last name Zoya never managed to remember). He knew the forests well, spoke decent English, asked for a reasonable fee, and radiated optimism—in short, he was a dream come true in every respect.

As she recalls, at the very beginning of the journey, Zoya asked the guide how dangerous the places they were heading to were. He replied that they were quite safe. At most, they might encounter local tribes, but he could easily find common ground with them. Well, jaguars are found here, of course, and poisonous snakes, but both can be skillfully avoided; they don't specifically hunt humans. These last words brought smiles to the scientists' faces.

Angel hesitated a bit and added mysteriously that there was also a chance they might be devoured by the Forest Demon. But superstition isn't a reason to cancel an expedition, is it? Everyone took his words as a joke, although the Colombian himself suddenly turned serious.

It took several stages to reach the supposed habitat of the gymnophthalmids. As long as it was possible, they traveled in off-road vehicles provided by the enterprising Angel. The last, most difficult one and a half kilometers of the journey had to be covered on foot, which took almost a whole day. They set up a permanent camp at the same place where another group of scientists had worked several years ago. The cleared area had already begun to be overgrown with new vegetation, but traces of relatively recent human presence were still noticeable.

After settling in and resting a bit, the group began their long-awaited research. The first days, as often happens, were unlucky. Nothing interesting was caught in the traps, and the weather began to deteriorate. A week later, Thomas caught a lizard that was mistakenly thought to be the sought-after specimen, but to everyone's disappointment, it turned out to be a juvenile[5] individual of a completely different species.

During these unsuccessful attempts, Zoya managed to collect some small statistics on the terrible leaf-dart frog—that very tiny golden frog whose skin secretions are used by indigenous peoples to make curare poison. Along the way, the researcher gathered several dozen samples of local small herpetofauna[6] for one of her Moscow colleagues. She didn't particularly like this work, preferring to observe living objects rather than preserve them in formalin, but sometimes science demanded sacrifices...

Days passed unnoticed. Each of them began with the search for the mysterious reptile and ended with discussions of impressions in warm company around a blazing campfire. But they tried not to stay up too late, as they needed to wake up early. And honestly, there was no energy left for anything after dinner—from the very beginning, they had to set a very active pace for the work to accomplish at least something. The inexorably approaching rainy season forced the group to hurry with the survey of the area. Expedition members set out into the thicket at dawn and stayed until dark. There seemed to be no other way to bring about results, and the scientists could only wait patiently for their luck to turn, relying on their own professionalism or a miracle—it wasn't clear which more. Unfortunately, they soon had to realize that instead of miracles, monsters sometimes appear...

On that fateful morning, nothing foreshadowed trouble. The camp was waking up peacefully. Tom and Carl, who were on duty, were cooking at the "kitchen," joking and casually planning the day. Upon waking, Hans and Angel joined their comrades, while the women savored the last few minutes in their sleeping bags.

Suddenly, the idyll was disrupted by voices coming from the forest. They were getting closer, shouting something unfriendly in Spanish. Then came a sound like a gunshot. Angel still managed to assure them with a smile that there was no need to worry, he would immediately sort everything out with these uninvited guests, but it turned out differently...

Everything happened very quickly. The small camp was surrounded, then captured. There were about a dozen attackers: armed to the teeth, looking like real bandits. Who they really were and what they wanted from the scientists remained unknown.

The subsequent events were hard to comprehend. Panic ensued, and demonstrative shots were fired into the air. In the ensuing commotion, Angel, Thomas, and Carl disappeared somewhere. Perhaps they managed to escape, but it was hard to believe. Hans, Zoya, and Rose were caught. They had hesitated, trying like complete idiots to grab their bags. Remembering belongings and documents at such a moment was the stupidest, most fatal mistake... But they simply weren't thinking straight. As they were being tied up, Zoya thought with strange detachment that she and her companions would now simply be shot, but instead, they were forced to stand and led away from the camp.

Pushing the prisoners in the back with gun barrels, the bandits drove them through the forest, hardly giving them any rest. The captors rationed food and water for themselves, giving the exhausted and frightened victims only the bare minimum to keep them from collapsing halfway from exhaustion. The scientists had difficulty understanding the dialect spoken by their tormentors, so their understanding of the bandits' intentions remained very vague. The prisoners were forbidden to communicate with each other, were led separately, and every movement was vigilantly observed.

This torture continued for almost three days. On the second evening, the women, falling from exhaustion, couldn't take it anymore and begged for a break, but their pleas were ignored. Then Rose, suddenly emboldened, sat right down in the grass, declaring she wouldn't take another step. One of the gang immediately rushed to her and struck her, to which Hans instantly reacted. He lunged at his colleague, pushing aside his own guard, for which he paid with his life. Without hesitation, the man was shot point-blank in front of Rose and Zoya. The shocked women were lifted and dragged further...

Towards the end of the next morning, under the carefree chirping of birds and the peaceful rustle of the awakening forest, the bandits brought the prisoners to their lair. The trap had snapped shut...

Chapter Text

The heavy pre-dawn hours were approaching. Zoe lay awake, unable to sleep. It's uncomfortable enough to sleep while bound, but when you're consumed by fear and facing an uncertain future...

Yesterday, they had killed Rose  —  the girl had been less compliant than Zoe. She had tried to escape, and when caught, put up a fight. Who knows, maybe her fate would prove more enviable in the end. It was clear why they might have kept Zoe alive...

The gang leader stumbled into the tent. Zoe, lying on the cold ground, shrank at his appearance. There was nowhere to hide  —  she knew that  —  but she instinctively tried to crawl away. The man bent down, grabbed her, and pulled her close. Zoe caught a whiff of his foul breath. Your teeth are rotting, you freak! She grimaced. The bandit smirked and pulled out a knife. Slowly, relishing his victim's suffering and basking in waves of her fear, he traced the blade along her defenseless neck, slightly grazing the skin. Zoe began to tremble. Her heart raced erratically, almost choking her. Satisfied with the effect, the tormentor let out a hoarse laugh and started speaking in Spanish. Zoe's grasp of the language was poor, but what she could make out didn't bode well at all. The bandit reached for the fastening of her pants...

Suddenly, a commotion outside distracted the leader. Shouts erupted, followed by what sounded like cursing. The pounding of feet, more shouts. Gunshots. A burst of machine gun fire.

Swearing, the leader spat to the side and, shoving the woman away, rushed out to assist his men. Zoe's heart, already threatening to burst from her chest, now fluttered somewhere in her throat  —  not from terror this time, but from a spark of hope. Someone was attacking these bastards! She might be rescued!

Listening intently to the sounds of battle raging through the camp, the woman could only pray to any higher power that she wouldn't be accidentally killed along with her captors. And that her captors wouldn't fend off the attackers...

Something horrific was unfolding in the camp. A scream pierced the air. Inhuman, ghastly... No, human of course, but so blood-curdling it was as if someone was being torn apart alive. A burst of gunfire. A thunderous boom. The tent shuddered, nearly swept away by the blast wave; Zoe's ears rang. The woman, who had started to rise, fell back to the floor and tried to hide under a makeshift table cobbled together from crates. Her head filled with a deafening buzz...

Another frenzied yell broke through the still-piercing ringing in her ears. Several bullets tore through the canvas. The gunfire continued, but less frequently and with less conviction. The screams showed no sign of abating. And then...

A deep, guttural roar from some large beast shook the entire area. It burst into the general cacophony, drowning it out with its thunderous rumbles. Zoe had never heard anything like it before. What on earth...?

The growling sounded again, much closer now, intertwining with human screams. Another volley of gunfire erupted. As if in response  —  an angry howl, a series of pops, a bright flash — visible even through the thick fabric of the tent. A groan. The gurgle of someone choking on their own blood... Flash, flash, flash...

The soot-covered leader burst in. Zoe raised her head in fear. The bastard survived! He was looking around wildly, clutching an assault rifle; blood trickled from a gash on his forehead. After searching for his captive and spotting her, the man barked something and yanked her to her feet with one hand, pulling her from her hiding place. No, no! She wouldn't go with him! Zoe tried to break free, but her attempts were futile; she only received another heavy blow and lost her balance. As she fell, the woman caught a glimpse of an enormous figure throwing back the tent flap and stepping inside.

The leader raised his rifle and fired a burst. The figure darted sideways, evading the line of fire. The weapon clicked, sputtered, and died. A growl sounded just a meter from Zoe...

Paralyzed with fear, she propped herself up on her elbows and saw a hulking figure advancing on the leader. The gang boss was no small man, but compared to the newcomer, he looked like a mere boy. Who could possibly be that huge? The bandit tore the useless rifle from his shoulder, tossed it aside, pulled a machete from his belt, and held it out in front of him. His opponent crouched and spread his arms wide. Something clinked, glinting.

Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Zoe crawled to the far wall of the tent and pressed her back against a pile of junk. From here, she had a clear view of the opponents and could observe the duel. Meanwhile, the leader and the stranger began circling each other in the confined space. The woman stared at them wide-eyed, unable to look away. She was simply stunned  —  not so much by what was happening, but by the appearance of one of the participants: Zoe finally got a good look at the giant...

God knows what it was. At first glance, she thought a huge African American with dreadlocks had attacked the leader, but now she doubted it was even human. Gigantic height, a half-naked torso covered in mottled, bumpy skin, a loincloth, metal plates on the chest... On the splayed, predatory fingers were... claws! Claws, for crying out loud! On its face — a solid iron mask framed by a tousled mane of braids. What the hell was this thing?!

The creature crouched and began moving in a half-squat — sometimes smoothly, sometimes abruptly, shaking its misshapen head. Above the wrist of its almost human right hand protruded two serrated blades; the left hand was frozen in an open-palmed gesture, as if signaling to stop. The man opposite also moved, trying to maintain a safe distance. It's hard to say how long this "dance" continued, but suddenly the bandit lunged forward with a yell, swinging his blade. The stranger parried the attack as if playing, easily throwing his opponent back. Another attack — with the same outcome. A growl was heard again. Very close. Right here.

Is IT growling???

Zoe might have been more surprised, but she seemed to be in a trance. Now she could only watch as the man furiously hurled himself at the creature, and the creature each time tossed him aside like a feather, as if toying with him. The machete clanged as it flew off to the side. The bandit roared and... charged at his enemy with bare fists! Strangely enough, the creature allowed itself to be hit, then countered with a blow to the man's solar plexus so powerful that it sent him flying, overturning the rickety table. But look at that, he got up... Not knowing what else to defend himself with, he hurled an ammo box and a stool at the behemoth — both splintered under the strike of the fearsome blades. This seemed to finally push the giant over the edge. The stranger swiftly went on the offensive. He swung, but his opponent managed to dodge, and the blades only slashed through the canvas awning, leaving two clean, long cuts. Light flooded into the tent through the gaps. The leader rolled across the floor and, fumbling among the debris for a crowbar, tried to use it as a weapon. The crowbar was immediately knocked from his hands, nearly hitting Zoe in the head as she cowered nearby. The leader was visibly weakening, trembling with fear and the realization of the inevitable outcome. Judging by the silence that had fallen outside the tent and the fact that no one was rushing to his aid, the entire camp had already been wiped out...

Finally, the stranger tired of the game and moved to the final act of the duel. Advancing on his opponent, he delivered crushing blows to the futilely resisting human, accompanying his actions with furious roars. In his frenzy, he broke into an eerie screech several times, and with a final lunge, he abruptly grabbed the man by the throat, lifting him off the ground. Easily holding the bandit's body aloft with just one hand, the giant forcefully plunged his blades under the man's rib cage and ripped upward with a sickening crunch. Zoe swallowed hard: the leader had been wearing a bulletproof vest...

A death rattle escaped the loser's throat, but it was quickly drowned out by a triumphant rumble. The body, sliding off the blades, thudded heavily onto the earthen floor. The stranger proudly straightened up, standing over his fallen enemy. His chest heaved heavily, each exhale accompanied by a muffled growl.

Paralyzed with terror, Zoe continued to watch as the newcomer bent over the corpse, pulled out a curved knife, and, turning the victim onto his stomach, made a surgically precise incision along the back and skull, and then... Ripped out the exposed spine with one swift movement of his clawed hand!

What happened next, the woman didn't see. She finally felt faint, her vision darkened, and she realized she was losing consciousness...

Chapter Text

Someone was trying to bring her back to consciousness. It couldn't be said that Zoya fainted easily, but it had happened a couple of times before, so she knew what it felt like. A familiar smell hit her nostrils. Smelling salts... The woman focused on her sensations. Arms... Wrists aching... Legs... Numb... And her head was throbbing. Zoya struggled to open her eyes.

"Put away your damn smelling salts[1]... Put them away, that's enough, I can't breathe!" she nasally forced out.

The response was a grumble. And an indistinct movement of the figure leaning over her. Zoya focused her gaze... And screamed. A terrifying mask was frozen in front of her face. Black, perforated lenses with an aggressive squint stared at her, concealing the true expression in her savior's eyes. A sloping metallic forehead and a beak-like facial part with slits on the sides completed the picture. God, why couldn't this be a dream?

The stranger jerked at her scream. He growled in displeasure, shook his head, and slowly rose. Now he towered over the helpless captive like a true colossus, like a mountain. Powerful legs, remaining in her field of vision, were partially encased in armor, partially covered with something like a mesh. Resignedly lifting her head, Zoya tried to take in the mighty figure in its entirety. But the stranger's head was lost somewhere in the heights. Everything started to swim before her eyes again... Where was that smell coming from...

And again, with some unexpected jerk, she regained consciousness. The giant had already stepped away, but unfortunately hadn't left completely. He stood at the exit, examining Zoya. Overcoming weakness and nausea, the woman tried to get up. Her gaze involuntarily fell on the body sprawled nearby. The sight almost stopped her heart again: the bandit was missing his head. Fortunately, Zoya was distracted by the sudden realization that she was no longer hindered by ropes. She looked at her hands and feet: the bonds had been neatly cut and were lying nearby. The stranger calmly observed her fussing.

Okay... She needed to somehow organize her thoughts... He hadn't killed her. He had killed the leader, beheaded him... And apparently destroyed all the other bandits... But he hadn't touched her. That was already reassuring. But it was better not to show her relief too obviously for now...

"Did you do this?" her own voice sounded unusually hoarse. There was no response.

"Who are you?"

Zero reaction.

Having come to her senses a bit and grown bolder, Zoya stood up. Oh, how her numb legs ached!

The giant noticeably tensed but didn't move from his spot.

"Did you save me?" the woman took a couple of uncertain steps in his direction. It was time to wet herself with fear, but she had to keep it together... He could have killed her with a single flick, but he didn't, which meant he wasn't her enemy. And the real enemies were no longer alive. Thanks to him, by the way.

A warning growl was heard. Zoya stopped.

The dim light from a gap in the tarpaulin fell on the armored, menacing figure. And now Zoya could see quite clearly that this was definitely not some clever camouflage suit concealing a human body. Because the armor actually revealed quite a bit.

What was it? A mutant? An experimental weapon?

An alien???

Zoya stood motionless, openly staring at the enigmatic stranger who resembled a reptoid straight out of a sci-fi novel. He looked... incredible! Rough, scaly skin peeked through the large mesh covering the creature's chest, thighs and shoulders. Several terrible old scars stretched across its partially exposed abdomen. A corrugated gorget encircled its neck, from under which protruded something like a carelessly assembled necklace of bones and teeth. Skeletal fragments adorned a couple other spots as well. In particular, a fresh human skull with traces of blood hung from the mesh at its waist. So that's where the bandit's head ended up...

The alien's head was crowned by a strange helmet that fully covered its face but left the temporal and occipital areas unprotected. Wires and hoses extended from behind its back to the mask. It seemed to be part of some grotesque spacesuit. But did this mean Zoya was truly facing an extraterrestrial being unable to breathe Earth's atmosphere?

But could life on another planet really evolve to be so similar to Earth's? A reptile like Earth's, with scales and claws? Or a humanoid bipedal form? Weren't these just fairy tale plots adapted for better human perception? Shouldn't life from another planet look fundamentally different from all living things found on Earth?

Maybe. Or maybe not. There's a theory that life can only develop on Earth-like planets and always follows the same scenario. Plants that produce oxygen always grow. Worm-like and jellyfish-like animal forms always emerge, along with arthropod and fish analogues, and all the other "templates" we know. And as the "crown of evolution" - some bipedal skilled creature possessing not only dexterous hands, but also remarkable intelligence... If that's really the case... then yes, it all adds up.

Or another possibility: Zoya had gone mad, or been drugged, and was hallucinating. But that was easy to check. If the alien answered her in Russian now, then that must be it.

"Do you speak our language?" Zoya asked, probably the dumbest question of her life in the most ridiculous situation of her life. There was no response. Could it really not be a hallucination?

"What a head you've got..." the woman remarked absently. Oops, did she say that out loud? However, there was again no reaction to her words. And the stranger really did have a strange head. Large. Covered not with dreadlocks as Zoya had initially thought, but with some rubber-like protrusions of a graphite shade. From afar they really did resemble Afro braids, as they were covered in metal and leather rings. These protrusions seemed to be part of the creature's body rather than an element of its costume. This mane could play the role of a secondary sexual characteristic or indicate age and status. It could also potentially be involved in thermoregulation. But now was not quite the right time for hypothesizing.

The presumed alien stood over two meters tall - its head almost touched the tent's roof. It had an athletic but somewhat heavy build, though that might have been due to the armor. Something like a small cannon was visible above its left shoulder, and either a spear or some other piercing-cutting weapon protruded from behind its back - Zoya knew absolutely nothing about such things.

The alien's hands looked quite human-like, if you ignored the scales and claws. Well, the fingers were more widely spaced, the palm proportionally wider and shorter than a human's, but otherwise - normal hands. Bulky bracers adorned with what appeared to be electronics decorated its forearms. Powerful shins were encased in metal like a medieval knight's, but the footwear was quite rudimentary - toes with claws poked out, over which some metal duplicates were laid. Perhaps for protection, perhaps to make kicks more painful.

While Zoya had been staring impolitely long at her savior and tried to address him several times, he continued standing in place, only swiveling his heavy head from side to side. These movements strikingly resembled a bird's - sharp and brief. It seemed the mask impeded vision, and its wearer had to turn his head to examine objects of interest from all angles. Now he was clearly studying the human and couldn't decide what to do next.

But then, as if satisfied that the former captive was in relatively good shape and more or less steady on her feet, or perhaps simply losing interest in her, the alien turned and walked out. Then, coming to her senses, Zoya rushed to the exit but froze when she saw what had become of the camp. Tents smoldered and vehicles burned around her, several craters smoked. The smell of a battlefield hit her nose: burning, hot iron, charred paint, fabric and flesh... Bodies were visible everywhere. Torn apart, disemboweled, with smashed heads or no heads at all... Zoya squeezed her eyes shut, unable to examine the horrific scene in more detail. Had the brute really done all this alone? Or were there others with him, and all his friends had left while he stayed behind?

When the woman forced herself to open her eyes, she found her savior had already walked quite far away. But was he really a savior? Or just a murderous thug whose interests had by lucky chance aligned with those of an earthly woman? Watching the rapidly retreating figure, Zoya pondered. He had destroyed her tormentors, left her unharmed and even helped her - if he hadn't cut the ropes, she'd have been in trouble. And now everything was working out so conveniently as he walked away. That meant Zoya would stay alive. Stay here. Alone. Alive. With corpses all around... Unless the dead raiders' friends showed up...

The last thought chilled her. The big guy was getting further and further away, and with each passing second Zoya became increasingly aware of how dangerous things were turning once again. A decision had to be made immediately. Staying in the camp to await the bandits' belated reinforcements meant certain death. Staying alone in the forest - death with high probability. Going with the unknown being... Death with a certain degree of probability.

"Wait!" Zoya set off after her dubious hero on legs still wobbly with fear. He did indeed suddenly stop, turn around, and growl softly. Then he continued on.

"I said wait!"

He turned irritably again and made a warning lunge, shooing the woman away like a stray dog. Then he confidently resumed his journey.

"I'm not staying here alone!" Overcoming the paralyzing terror, Zoya tried once more to catch up to the strange giant. But he no longer reacted to her. Heading towards the edge of the forest, he pressed something on his left bracer and... simply vanished. Or rather, not completely vanished, but turned into a blurry, light-refracting outline. Camouflage? Interesting... They say the military has something like that too... But who cares, those things are only effective in rough terrain anyway. And up close, in open space and in daylight, such camouflage is useless.

"Listen, I can still see you! This won't help!" Zoya called out, continuing her pursuit.

This time she seemed to have achieved the desired effect. The giant stopped and deactivated his concealment - silently now. Apparently he realized that growling or not, the pesky creature was not deterred. Waiting for the woman to approach, and only then turning around again, he stared at her pointedly.

What a huge guy he was after all... If it was a guy... Finding herself in close proximity to him, Zoya swallowed the lump in her throat for the umpteenth time today. She had to tilt her head back to establish eye contact with the hulk. But suddenly her gaze was drawn to something even higher than his shaggy head. The woman flinched in surprise. There were more bodies up there...

Two skinned humans dangled from a tree, suspended by their feet. These appeared to be the lookouts. Something suggested they had been the first victims. Zoya tore her eyes away from the gruesome sight with difficulty and looked at the presumed "artist" behind it. She had no idea if he could recognize facial expressions, but just in case, she tried to appear confident as she waited for his next reaction.

For a minute the alien did nothing, as if pondering something, then suddenly pointed his clawed paw at Zoya and himself, then somewhere into the forest, and tilted his head to the side as if awaiting an answer. His abrupt movements clearly expressed impatience.

"You're asking if I'll go into the forest?" Zoya clarified. "Well, there's nowhere else to go but the forest. Of course I'll go! I'm going with you! Understand? You don't understand? I. Am. Going. With. You," she pronounced the last three words loudly - in a subconscious effort to convey meaning through raised tone - and nodded her head emphatically with each word for added conviction.

But instead of establishing mutual understanding, something bad happened. The alien recoiled, apparently surprised by this unexpected forcefulness, took two big steps back, crouched down spreading his arms, and suddenly reared up. A blood-curdling roar shook the morning air, with metallic notes added by the resonating mask, and the resulting sound chilled to the bone. Zoya felt herself falling into helpless stupor. Time seemed to slow down, before her eyes was only this huge threatening figure with deadly arms outstretched... The soulless gaze of empty lenses, the metal of the breathing apparatus vibrating from the menacing growl... This was it... She had made a mistake... She shouldn't have followed him.

He began to advance... So slowly and inexorably... With a thin ringing sound, two blades extended from his right forearm... Zoya had already seen them in action. Had seen how the alien cut open the gang leader's bulletproof vest like a tin can. How he had screamed... How they had all screamed!

The sharp dagger-like claws were already reaching for her neck. Now this terrifying creature would grab the poor earthling by the throat with one hand and disembowel her with the other. And there would be no more adventures...

It's unclear how, but in the split seconds before the irreparable nearly occurred, the paralysis suddenly left the woman. Without thinking, obeying instinct, Zoya began to sink to the ground while simultaneously covering her head with her arms. Something whistled by at lightning speed, missing the top of her head by millimeters... But Zoya was already lying on the grass, curled up in a ball.

The menacing shadow blocked out the sun, lingered for a moment, then moved off to the side. The woman felt with her back how the giant silently circled around her, apparently figuring out where best to strike. She didn't move, even stopped breathing. Blood pounded loudly in her temples. Blades of grass unpleasantly pricked her face. The hulk seemed to be stopping. His muffled rumble sounded from somewhere above... But why was he hesitating?

Minutes ticked by one after another, but nothing happened. The killer loomed as a silent colossus over the helpless creature huddled at his feet. At first he still growled like an angry lion, then only his loud breathing could be heard, but soon even that calmed down.

Finally Zoya grew bolder and slowly raised her head to look at the volatile brute who had nearly finished her off. No aggression followed from his side. He stood motionlessly looking down at her. Now only his periodically clenching and unclenching fists betrayed his agitated state. He hadn't retracted the blades yet either, but at least he'd stopped waving them around - small mercies...

Convinced the danger had passed, the woman stood up and straightened, trying not to make any careless movements.

"I'm still going with you," she said as firmly as she could, overcoming herself and suppressing her trembling. And she repeated the recent gestures of the creature standing opposite - pointed at him, herself and the forest, insistently shaking her head. It was right then that the alien suddenly flared up with indignation again, but this time visibly restrained himself - he only rudely poked Zoya in the chest and made a clearly warning sign in front of her face, rubbing something invisible between his claws, then abruptly straightening his fingers. "If I want to, I'll grind you to dust and scatter you to the winds, don't piss me off!"

The nods... The nods irritate him! Zoya nearly slapped her forehead at the sudden realization. A terrestrial analogy immediately came to mind. Dominant iguanas and agamas nod vigorously at competitors and subordinates, and they immediately understand that nothing good awaits them. For these reptiles, a nod is not a greeting or agreement, but a challenge. Perhaps it's not just them... If the big guy is indeed an alien lizard whose ancestors by some strange coincidence had a similar signaling system, it's quite possible that he perceived the human's harmless gesture somehow differently. These are the difficulties of translation...

The short fight between the alien and the bandit immediately flashed through her memory - indeed, it had begun with a deep nodding motion. And the hulk had demonstrated the same to Zoya herself a short while ago, when he had nearly flattened her. Fortunately, the alien seemed to have realized his mistake, which is why he didn't attack the second time.

Deciding she should be more careful in her actions, the researcher chose another body movement to indicate agreement and reconciliation - a shallow bow. The main thing was not to raise her head quickly, then it should come across as quite pacifying... To her surprise, the alien responded with a similar slight incline of his head, holding it lowered for a moment. Had she guessed right? Well, with some difficulty, but things seemed to be moving along.

Having settled the formalities, her newfound companion sharply turned around as if on the command "about face" and headed for the forest. Not waiting for an invitation, Zoya hurried after him, but halfway there she remembered something.

"Wait!" she called out again. The reptoid turned around, but more calmly and smoothly this time, and stared at the woman as if to say, "Well, what is it now?"

"I can't go like this, I need to get my things! Damn, how do I explain this to you?"

The alien was already preparing to leave, ignoring the human female's shouts, but Zoya caught up to him and, risking paying for her carelessness again, tried to take his hand. Stunned by such audacity, the alien yanked his paw away from her and hastily stepped back, clutching the limb to his chest as if afraid the touch might be poisonous.

Zoya began helplessly gesticulating, pointing at the camp and trying to beckon him to follow. A distrustful growl was heard, but after some hesitation, the hulk finally gave in and moved in the indicated direction.

Together they returned to the tent. Suppressing her nervous trembling with all her might, the researcher stepped inside. She tried not to look at the disfigured corpse lying there, but her gaze kept inadvertently falling on it. Walking deeper in, the woman began rummaging through a pile of junk where she thought she had seen her belongings yesterday. She wasn't mistaken, her backpack was there. The contents had clearly been rifled through by strangers' hands, but it seemed nothing important was missing. Most crucially, her documents remained intact... The alien approached and peered over her shoulder. Then he walked around and squatted down, sticking his paw into the backpack without permission.

"Hey!" was all Zoya could exclaim.

He paid no attention. He rummaged through the things and fished out Zoya's spare bra. Just brilliant! For a minute the hulk puzzled over the delicate element of women's undergarments in his claws. Zoya felt that a little more and, despite the overall seriousness of the situation, she would simply burst out laughing. Nerves...

"Put that back," she said quietly but firmly, composing herself. And he actually did put it back. Only to immediately extract from the depths of the backpack... a pack of sanitary pads!

"You really have a lucky hand..." the woman said in a fallen voice. "Don't you want to try again?"

The reptoid turned and stared at her, apparently questioningly. What was this creature babbling about all the time? Oh what a picture it was... An alien monster meditating on feminine hygiene products...

"Please put that back where you found it too," Zoya asked as calmly as possible. "It's valuable bandaging material, the last package..."

And the hulk seemed to obey again. No, he probably didn't understand the meaning of the words, unless he guessed from her intonation. But he didn't stop investigating the backpack. After rummaging at the bottom, he pulled out something else. Now his wide rough paw held several jars with formaldehyde-preserved specimens. The alien froze and slowly turned his gaze back to the woman standing nearby; this time his posture looked as if a sudden revelation had dawned on him. Standing up, he held out the samples to Zoya on his open palm, accompanying his actions with intermittent chirping. It seemed these small dead animals in glass vials greatly interested him.

"Yes, those are mine, I caught them," Zoya answered the presumed question. The alien examined the vials once more, then surprisingly gently handed them back to their owner, after which he touched the string of bones hanging at his waist. The woman shuddered slightly. It seemed they had finally found it - the necessary point of contact. Perhaps this guy was some kind of hunter or collector? And now, having come across dead lizards in the backpack, he was beginning to respect Zoya, you could say he even saw in her a kindred spirit. This evoked mixed feelings... But at the moment it could play in her favor.

Apparently impressed by his find, the reptoid stepped aside, giving Zoya a chance to calmly pack her backpack. As soon as everything was ready, they silently left the tent and headed together towards the forest.

Chapter Text

Zoya crashed through the undergrowth with the grace of a young hippopotamus. She was out of breath, barely dragging her belongings behind her. It had been naive to think the Hunter would help carry her stuff. The woman had initially foolishly assumed that after that intimate moment in the tent, the stranger's attitude toward her might change somehow, but on the journey he once again became irritable and unapproachable.

Nashatyr, as Zoya sarcastically dubbed him to herself due to the characteristic ammonia scent that wafted around the Hunter, moved through the wilderness with extreme ease, speed and stealth. Despite his size, he felt quite confident in the trees. At times he simply walked above through the mighty branches, then briefly descended, but either way he far outpaced the tired woman. Sometimes she lost sight of him and started shouting - then he would seemingly reluctantly respond with a disgruntled growl, but didn't slow his pace. She had to catch up with her last ounces of strength. Apparently, waiting wasn't in his rulebook.

Without rest or break, they walked like this almost all day, covering in fact about two kilometers, but it felt like much more. A lot of time was spent pushing through bushes and crossing all the ravines and streams they encountered. Unaccustomed to such forced marches, Zoya could no longer feel her legs. Only the fear of being left completely alone spurred her on, forcing her to move forward. Forward, towards the fear of being alone with a monster...

With the approaching rainy season, an unexpected chill descended on the selva. The weather had started to deteriorate even before Zoya's group was kidnapped. Everyone expected rain, but no one was prepared for it to be so icy. Instead of the tropical humidity and warm stuffiness typical for this time of year, a European-like autumnal dampness reigned in Colombia.

A light rain was falling. Zoya zipped up her windbreaker to her throat and pulled the hood over her face. Mosquitoes buzzed all around, getting into her eyes and nose. But the Hunter, apparently, couldn't care less. He plowed straight through the forest, seemingly tireless. He moved purposefully, as if knowing exactly where to go. Finally, feeling that she was completely losing her strength, Zoya shouted after the receding broad back:

"Where are we going?!"

The answer was the usual silence.

"Hey, you! Where are you rushing to? Just stop for a minute, let me catch my breath!"

Silence again in response. And angry snorting from under the mask. The mysterious guide didn't even dignify Zoya with a turn of his head.

"That's it, I'm not going any further! Go to hell, you stinker!" the woman got angry and demonstratively plopped down on some hummock. Nashatyr didn't react, disappearing into the thicket.

Left alone, Zoya clutched her head and began to ponder what to do next, painfully rubbing her temples with her fingers. Maybe it was for the best that he left... What could she have expected from him? Maybe he would have killed her anyway, just a little later? Or done something even worse... After all, he was a completely alien organism. What was his logic, his manner of behavior, his morals? On one hand, it would be interesting to find out all this, on the other - did she really need to? He had recently almost killed her in the most sophisticated way just because of a nod of her head. If something inexplicable seemed to him again, he would surely bump her off, God knows he would...

Somewhere right above her came a prolonged and muffled dejected sigh. The researcher flinched and raised her head. Nashatyr's emotionless mask was staring down from a branch. How had he snuck up so unnoticed? And from the opposite direction he had recently disappeared in. And why on earth did he come back?

The Hunter descended and squatted in front of Zoya, peering into her face. She stared back at him uncomprehendingly. And suddenly it dawned on her. Just think, he had just... given up! He couldn't leave without her! Could it be his conscience was troubling him? Did he feel her trust and not dare to let her down? Hmm, don't flatter yourself too much, big guy, there can be no trust in you! But thanks for not abandoning me...

Well, one way or another, she had achieved a break. The Hunter was clearly not thrilled, but for some reason submitted to Zoya's hysterics and settled on a nearby tree. He refused to stay on the ground no matter what. To hell with him. Now she needed to think about minimal comforts. Apparently, they were going to stay here for the night.

Zoya couldn't remember how many attempts it took to light a fire, but finally her efforts were rewarded, and timid tongues of flame began to gnaw at the damp sticks. To start the fire, she had to sacrifice her favorite field notebook as kindling - it was the only dry fuel in the whole area. The rainwater had miraculously not seeped into the bag where Zoya had previously packed her papers. So now their time had come... Smoke began to curl; very soon there was much more of it than flame, but the biologist understood that she would have to put up with this for now. At least maybe the gnats would back off a bit...

Nashatyr, who had retreated to the upper tiers, hadn't shown himself all this time. Zoya had long lost sight of him, but had given up - if he left, he left, no need to keep tabs on him... Suddenly his magnificent person appeared before the researcher again, falling noisily from somewhere above. Growling irritably, he destroyed the feeble fire in two counts and loomed threateningly over the woman. She quickly tried to crawl backwards, but her back hit a tree trunk, cutting off her retreat. The mask's lenses continued to stare at her with their deadening gaze, but the brute didn't move from his spot. After standing in a "hunting stance" for a couple more seconds, he straightened up and stepped away, apparently absolutely satisfied with the impression he had made. So, no fire allowed... Maybe to avoid attracting attention - they hadn't gotten too far from the camp yet, even though they had been trudging for many hours straight. Although it's unlikely that the smell of smoke could spread far through this thoroughly damp forest...

Meanwhile, the rain intensified. Soon it was pouring as if from a bucket. You needn't have bothered, the woman glared angrily at the alien, everything would have gone out without you. But he seemed not to notice her angry looks, concentrating on entering some combinations on the device built into his bracer. Both he and his equipment were obviously indifferent to the rain.

Zoya sighed and hugged herself. She was starting to shiver from the cold. Despite the fact that the hapless traveler had put on almost everything she found in her backpack - and the clothes were taken with the expectation of returning to autumn Moscow - she continued to freeze, as she was soaked through. Of course, there was still a change of underwear and a clean T-shirt left, but in order to change, she would first need to take off her wet clothes, and doing that here in front of an incomprehensible type didn't seem like the best idea; besides, in ten minutes she would be soaked to the skin again.

It was getting dark rapidly. Zoya sat on her backpack, leaning against a tree with her eyes closed. She didn't know how much time had passed, the minutes dragged on endlessly, the woman was no longer aware of herself and what was happening due to cold and exhaustion. She wanted to sleep, but couldn't - the chills and growing hunger prevented it. Water kept dripping from above. The downpour had subsided, having managed, however, to spoil everything possible: the weather, well-being, mood. Mosquitoes were crawling from all sides. Nashatyr, who had gone back up to the treetops, didn't appear.

To avoid freezing, the researcher forced herself to get up and walk back and forth, but her body completely refused to obey. Finally, abandoning these pitiful attempts, Zoya plopped back down under the tree, chattering her teeth and with a last effort of will restraining the growing desire to howl. Here she was, miraculously saved from violence and death, sitting alone in a dense forest. Alone, because her savior seemed to not care about her and had no intention of helping her any further. By morning she would be guaranteed hypothermia and probably even pneumonia... She had nothing to eat, no communication, not a single landmark... This was apparently the end. But how absurd! After nearly being stabbed several times, to simply freeze to death... And where - on the equator!

Lost in such sorrowful thoughts, she didn't immediately notice some movement above. It was her mysterious companion, apparently concerned with the thought of whether she was still alive down there. Nashatyr hung down from a lower branch and rewarded the woman with another long, studying look, slightly moving his head. At the sight of him, Zoya involuntarily flinched and shivered. She had gotten used to his existence, but wasn't yet accustomed to his sudden appearances.

"What are you looking at?" she whispered, barely audible, sniffling. "How haven't you frozen yet yourself, half-naked as you are?"

Zoya knew that, as always, silence would be the answer. Well, what to expect, after all, he doesn't understand a word... Nevertheless, to the researcher's indescribable surprise, Nashatyr suddenly made some attempt to communicate. He jumped to the ground, came up to Zoya almost close enough to touch and squatted down in front of her again. Raising a clawed index finger and nodding his head for emphasis, he pointed upwards. Then he stared at the woman again - now, it seemed, questioningly.

"No," she shook her head, "I'm not going up there, it's slippery. And I'm not good at climbing in general."

He didn't understand. Of course, he didn't understand.

Nashatyr repeated his gesture with only one difference - he first pointed at Zoya, and then upwards. Apparently, in his brain it didn't compute how one could sit in a puddle and not want to go up a tree? Zoya again responded with a refusal. The Hunter didn't give up. With the agility of a monkey, he climbed onto the lower branch and beckoned her from there, using a completely human gesture. When this didn't help either, he gave up and climbed back down himself.

Then something completely unexpected happened. Nashatyr, muttering something under his breath, moved closer to his involuntary companion, squatted down and... suddenly pressed against her. Leaning down and hunching over, he propped one elbow against the tree trunk above the earthling's head, and placed his other hand on the backpack, thus limiting the space around the woman. Zoya instinctively leaned back and looked up in horror, once again meeting the cold gaze of the mask framed by a mane of hanging appendages. While the worst guesses were racing through the researcher's mind, she suddenly felt a growing wave of heat emanating from her companion. And he just froze like that, not moving.

A minute passed, then another, and a third... Nashatyr didn't take any further action. He just sat in this strange pose, probably uncomfortable for him, forming a living warm roof over this stupid and weak frozen human being. What was this? Sympathy? Mutual aid? Care? Was it really familiar to the brute?

Slowly coming to her senses, Zoya slowly averted her gaze from the mask and looked at the broad chest almost touching her, partially covered by armor and a black mesh with large diamond-shaped cells. Nashatyr's sides moved barely noticeably from side to side, steadily and smoothly - he, it seemed, wasn't worried at all, being confident in what he was doing now. His rare breathing rustled in the filters right above her ear, no other sounds were heard. It was getting hotter and hotter.

But the body of a living creature couldn't produce such crazy heat! Especially when it was cold around - the vascular reaction should have, on the contrary, prevented excessive heat loss. And since morning, it didn't seem to radiate such heat... Overcoming her fear, Zoya reached out and touched Nashatyr's torso, slipping her fingers between the mesh cells. The alien reacted very calmly, simply tilting his head more and observing with obvious interest what she was doing. To the touch, his skin was warm but not hot, quite elastic and slightly moist. About like the paws of a young crocodile, Zoya noted to herself. Closer to the sides, denser horn plates of irregular shape and different sizes were visible, darker than the general background of the skin. Emboldened completely, the herpetologist touched them too. Hard, slightly rough. Here her fingers encountered something hot. Thus, there were no doubts left: both wanderers were being warmed by Nashatyr's strange body mesh. Carefully hooking it with her finger, Zoya pulled slightly - it resembled something like synthetics or even plastic... Like a wire with insulation. And it warmed like a very powerful heating cord, feeling like it was giving off about fifty degrees...

A muffled warning growl came from under the mask. Zoya quickly let go of the mesh and pressed her hand to herself. Clearly, the big guy was willing to tolerate some liberties, but everything has its limits. Apparently in retaliation, Nashatyr took his paw off the backpack and poked the woman in the stomach with a claw, as if to say, would you like that? Understood, better without too much initiative for now. She froze, and Nashatyr made himself more comfortable, practically collapsing on top with all his enormous mass and burying his forehead against the tree.

God, how he stank up close! It was difficult to describe this bouquet unambiguously: something like a mixture of the smell of sweaty feet and the secretions of a frightened snake with a distinct ammonia note. Potent stuff... Although after the fight it smelled even stronger, it even made your eyes water... No wonder Zoya came to her senses just from the reptoid's approach. It was as if someone had shoved a bottle of ammonia under her nose. Perhaps the intensifying smell in these creatures was a signal of aggression?

Zoya turned her head as delicately as possible, trying to breathe to the side. What can you do, every living creature smells of something. And the smell of an organism of another species is rarely pleasant. And considering that the new acquaintance had been wandering through forests for who knows how long, he was unlikely to have had the opportunity to take a shower with fragrant soap... Perhaps she should try to understand his situation. To tell the truth, for the past week Zoya had been persistently pursued by the smell of her own armpits. Although at the moment it had undoubtedly faded and been forgotten...

On the other hand, it was a pleasant discovery that mosquitoes didn't fly closer than a meter to the Hunter. As the supply of already ineffective repellents was running out, Zoya thought this was very opportune. Apparently, in the near future she would have to stay closer to the big guy... Well, just not as close as now.

Meanwhile, the warmth gradually played its role. Zoya began to nod off, and recent reasoning gave way to whimsical sleepy thoughts. It looked wild, of course, from the outside - to fall asleep practically in the embrace of an alien monster - but by that time she was so tired and frozen that she really didn't care anymore. Moreover, there was no threat emanating from Nashatyr, he didn't even touch her with his hands: either he didn't want to scare her, or he himself didn't find it particularly pleasant. Maybe in his understanding she stank even more strongly? Or did her appearance disgust him? Who knows. Nevertheless, he took pity on her. He saw that the little animal was about to die from the cold and took pity. Just like hiding a stray puppy in his bosom. Only in what way, one wonders, did he understand that her condition was close to critical? Did he notice the trembling, hear the chattering teeth? Did he detect the rapidly falling body temperature? After all, snakes have thermoreceptors on their faces, maybe he has the same?.. Or... Well, actually, who cares. Now everything was irrelevant...

Chapter Text

Zoya awoke abruptly: in a half-sitting position, she began to turn and slid off her backpack into the damp grass. Thick twilight was encroaching from all sides. The night air spreading around was moist and cool. Nevertheless, her clothes had almost dried. The chills were gone, and she felt tolerable... Nashatyr?..

Zoya listened and realized she was completely alone. The leaves rustled, rustling and splashing sounds came from all around - the usual forest noises at this time of night. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness and began to slightly make out the outlines of objects illuminated by the dim light of the moon hiding behind clouds. Massive tree trunks and hanging vines; slumbering undergrowth sparkling with diamond-like droplets... And behind it all, the hiding black belly of the midnight selva... It would have been very beautiful... if it wasn't so scary.

A piercing shriek cut through the silence and abruptly stopped. Zoya started shaking again. She automatically grabbed her backpack and began blindly rummaging at the bottom. There were still a few glow sticks left somewhere. After feeling around and fishing one out, the woman frantically cracked the tube, mixing the poisonous yellow glowing substance. There, at least a bit of light. What the hell was that sound?..

There was a rustling in the bushes and, before Zoya had time to get scared to death, Nashatyr tumbled out of them. An interesting detail: when he needed to conceal his presence, he moved completely silently - it was hard to believe that such a large organism could be so quiet. But as soon as he "relaxed," not a trace of his previous carefulness remained. However, it's possible he was making noise intentionally to signal his presence. Something like a sign of trust. But again, these were just guesses.

Shining the light in his direction, Zoya saw that Nashatyr was dragging something on his shoulder. The next moment, he threw a still twitching peccary[1] practically at her feet. Before starting to butcher his prey, he approached the woman and gestured for her to hand over the chemlight[2]. She had to give it up. Now he'll crush or break it again... But Nashatyr merely tore off a wide leaf from some plant and, wrapping the tube, returned the now dimmed light source to Zoya. Who are you so afraid of revealing yourself to, big guy? You could take down any enemy in any number with one hand tied behind your back...

Sitting back in her previous spot, Zoya began to watch, mesmerized, as the alien set about butchering his prey. It must be said, he skinned it incredibly quickly and neatly, like a professional taxidermist, using a small but apparently very sharp knife for this purpose. And he seems to be right-handed, the researcher noted with surprise.

Nashatyr needed just a few minutes for the whole process. He gutted the pig with the same astonishing speed. The Hunter carried out these manipulations, by the way, not on bare ground, but thoughtfully laying down the same wide leaves. When finished, he easily separated the hind leg of the piglet and hospitably held it out to Zoya. The whole thing. About six kilograms.

"Ahem..." was all the woman said. How to explain... She shook her head and used her fingers to show the approximate size of an average steak. Then she took out a lighter and demonstratively flicked it. To this, the Hunter, in turn, shook his head. Well, well... And you're going to eat raw meat yourself? Well, good luck... I wonder how often he gets treated for worms, the researcher thought maliciously. Or maybe Earth worms didn't scare him?

The Hunter sighed heavily under his mask, obviously disapproving of human gastronomic practices, but didn't insist on his way. After hesitating for a while, he seemed to come up with a solution. Cutting off a few thin strips of meat and laying them out in a single layer on leaves, he took out a narrow long object from behind his belt that turned out to be a portable burner giving off a very pale blue flame. After carefully searing the resulting fillet, Nashatyr moved back, looked at Zoya and made an obvious inviting gesture. She didn't need to be asked twice. She had never tasted such exotic food before. Hell, she hadn't even seen anything like this in science fiction movies: an alien saved her from bandits, warmed her with his body heat and cooked her dinner. God, what's next?

The Hunter watched attentively as the woman approached to try his culinary masterpiece, and seemed to be waiting for approval. Zoya carefully picked up a piece of meat with her fingertips to avoid burning herself and tried to take a bite. Well, it was charred on top, slightly undercooked on the bottom, and of course unsalted... But considering it was the first food she had eaten since the day before yesterday...

"Tasty! Well done!" she mumbled, chewing the treat diligently. The Hunter quietly purred in response - apparently quite proud of himself.

I wonder how he's going to eat in that spacesuit, a thought flashed through Zoya's mind. Or did he only bring food for her? Can he even digest anything from Earth?

But she didn't have time to form any guesses on this matter, as Nashatyr suddenly stood up to his full height in front of her without warning. Zoya, startled, jumped up too. What was he up to now? The Hunter stepped back and froze. He seemed about to do something but hesitated at the last moment. For several seconds he wavered, shifting from foot to foot, and then resolutely began to remove his mask.

Seeing what he was doing, the woman froze. She abruptly stopped caring about how her companion was going to eat and how he planned to breathe during the process. Something else took center stage. She watched with wide eyes and waited. And her heart was pounding so wildly it was ready to jump out... Now, right now... She would see his face. What would it look like? Similar to a human face, like his whole physique? Or would there be a lizard muzzle? Or something resembling the mask itself, something bird-like?..

Meanwhile, Nashatyr unclasped invisible fastenings along the edge of the helmet and pulled out two tubes from the temporal area one after another. Under slight pressure, some kind of white gas escaped from them. It looked more like steam than gas. The mixture supply automatically stopped, and the hoses hung on the powerful shoulder. The Hunter grasped the mask with both hands and began to remove it slowly, almost theatrically. If he wanted to impress the Earth woman by doing so, he succeeded. If the idea was not to scare her, then it failed, alas. Because when the whole set of jaws appeared from under the mask, the only thing Zoya could whisper was:

" Goddamn..."

What she saw took her breath away. She had always considered herself a person of no small courage, but what appeared before her eyes now was just too much... All horror movie creators could boldly go on vacation. Four oral appendages with long curved fangs at the ends firmly riveted the gaze of the stunned woman. They were folded crosswise and connected in pairs, upper with lower, by skin membranes, and behind them a lipless toothed mouth was visible. Hell, not a mouth - a real maw! As far as the meager lighting allowed to judge, the mucosa was colored dark brown. Two canine-like teeth protruded on the upper jaw, and between them gaped a wide diastema[3], into which the lower row of smaller teeth, sharp as a stockade, fit perfectly. Instead of a nose, there was a horizontal fluttering skin fold, above which something like a wide flat nasal bridge was still visible. The eyes were small and deeply set, in the dark they glowed faintly, not so much in the center[4] as along the edge. The Hunter's severely furrowed brows were covered with horny plates and spikes, running in rows up to the temples and forming a high crest above the steep forehead.

Zoya felt the hair on her head stand on end and even, apparently, start moving... But she pulled herself together. She couldn't show that she was scared... After all, she had been communicating with this monster for almost a day now, and it hadn't killed her yet, either intentionally or accidentally; it had even managed to work as her personal heater and tried to feed her... Really, why be afraid of it?

And he's breathing, it suddenly dawned on the zoologist. That is, Earth's air basically suits him. Maybe he needs the mask more to hide this terrible face? Although something was still being pumped by those hoses...

Standing two meters away from the human, the Hunter watched her behavior attentively. Obviously, he expected some negative reaction in advance, which is why he was in no hurry to reveal himself... But, making sure that his companion wasn't fainting or about to run away screaming, he risked approaching her again. Or rather, not quite her, but the meat that remained lying between them. Zoya couldn't take her eyes off his terrible oral appendages for a minute. One thought persistently pulsed in her head: how many times had THIS already come almost right up to her face, separated only by a thin layer of metal...

The next time an involuntary shudder shook her was when Nashatyr spread his jaws. He apparently had gotten quite tired of keeping them in a pressed state under the mask. The upper appendages were shorter than the lower ones and could, apparently, move into the maw, to the side and up. The lower ones, when moving down, spread apart, and they also had an additional joint allowing them to straighten and stretch forward. It was difficult to understand what was located deeper in the maw, as vertical folds closed behind the alien's front teeth. And if Nashatyr's physique mostly corresponded to "Earth standards," the structure of his mouth raised a lot of questions.

Horror gradually began to give way to curiosity. How, one wonders, did evolution come to this? The jaws themselves were more like the gnawing mouthparts of insects, but overall the Hunter had many more features in common with vertebrates. Of course, we were talking about an extraterrestrial organism, but it was difficult for the human mind to comprehend this.

Here Zoya had to be distracted from her reflections again, because Nashatyr, having put aside his mask, proceeded to eat. And the woman instantly lost her desire to eat "at the same table" with him. First, he critically assessed the taste of the pork, quickly touching the chosen piece several times with a flexible forked tongue that unexpectedly appeared from his maw. At least now Zoya knew he had a tongue... Apparently, this organ was hidden in a deep fold, like a snake's, which is why it wasn't visible at rest. The fact that it didn't constantly jump out suggested a somewhat different purpose for its forked shape than in snakes[5].

Meanwhile, Nashatyr, sinking his teeth into the raw meat like a beast, began to tear off large pieces with his sharp lower incisors and push them deeper into his mouth with the help of his oral appendages. He didn't chew the food but swallowed it whole, raising his head and carefully jerking it, like a hungry alligator. The herpetologist had seen how these aquatic predators dine more than once, so the mechanism was familiar and simple to understand. Nevertheless, alligators didn't qualify as intelligent civilized beings, and Nashatyr definitely had such claims.

The whole carcass - albeit of a small - peccary was disappearing right before her eyes. But this, as it turned out, was not the whole show. When the alien's oral appendages began to crush the tubular bones with the force of hydraulic shears, getting to the bone marrow, Zoya just turned away.

"You eat a lot..." she said, stunned, when the crunching subsided.

The alien tilted his head to his shoulder as if to say, "What did I do?" And immediately caused Zoya another shock by starting to lick himself. Not just lick himself, but thoroughly clean all his oral folds and membranes smeared with blood with his tongue. It looked simply terrible... Although the poor creature, endowed by nature with such bizarre jaws, apparently had no other choice - essentially devoid of an oral cavity, this being could maintain the hygiene of protruding parts only in this way.

Finally satiated, content and washed up, Nashatyr sprawled languidly opposite, leaning on his elbow and shamelessly examining the human. The upper oral appendages rose and froze in a sinister semblance of a grin, his eyes were squinted. Barking shortly, the Hunter pointed to the "roast" the woman hadn't finished eating. Although her appetite was gone, she still stuffed a couple more pieces into herself. It must be said, Nashatyr had cooked for her generously: even if it had been normally prepared meat, she still wouldn't have been able to handle such an amount. Well, apparently he judged by himself...

Feeling she couldn't eat anymore, Zoya put the meat aside and, calming all her conflicting feelings, risked moving closer to Nashatyr. She took the leaf-wrapped glowing chemlight with her. The Hunter sat up with interest. Oh, his oral appendages were moving again, how it looked...

Gathering her courage, the researcher knelt down a step away from the Hunter. It was time to establish some kind of interpersonal contact. Pointing at herself with both hands, she introduced herself:

"Zoya. Zo-ya. Zoya."

The presumed interlocutor abruptly tilted his head to the side and quietly rumbled.

"S-s-soy," he finally pronounced, horribly mangling her name. But the woman nodded with satisfaction, as if to say, excellent, well done. She nodded and froze, frightened - she had forgotten again that this might offend him... However, Nashatyr took it quite calmly this time, apparently understanding what was what.

And also, possibly, he had just eaten and was in a better mood. Moreover, he was in such a good mood that he tried to say something else to his companion. Actually say. Until now, Zoya had only heard various spectra of growling from him, racking her brain over how an intelligent being could have such a primitive language at all, but now real words came from his maw. Only a few, but still something. His voice was muffled and bass, with vibrating notes, like a crocodile's love song. The dialect sounded extremely strange to the human ear. Overall, it gave the impression that due to the structure of his mouth, Nashatyr spoke quite inarticulately. The big guy did best with hissing sounds, but sounds requiring lip work to pronounce were apparently absent in the Hunter language, as were the lips themselves in this biological species. The mucosal folds behind the front teeth seemed to take only minimal part in voice formation - they hardly moved when talking. They seemed to be needed mostly just to keep debris from flying into the maw. The alien pronounced vowels gutturally, rumblingly, and they came as if from the chest, which suggested the presence of an analogue of the bird syrinx[6]. At the same time, the joke about "burping the alphabet" involuntarily came to mind each time. The lost part of familiar speech sounds was more than made up for by growling, grumbling, crackling and howling, but here it wasn't always clear where exactly were words and where just expressions of emotion.

First of all, patting himself on the chest with his palm, the fanged one introduced himself to the human. In the complex name that Zoya heard, there were hisses, clicks and guttural sounds that she, try as she might, could not reproduce. Distantly it sounded something like "Ch'fko-ofgr-r" and something else. She made several attempts, each of which caused a storm of either amusement or indignation from her interlocutor. In the end, giving up on this, the woman affirmatively and clearly, even separating into syllables for significance, pronounced:

"Na-sha-tyr!" And pointed her finger in his direction. And again repeated: "Nashatyr!"

The Hunter grunted in surprise but didn't object. With that, the topic of this simple conversation was exhausted, the alien didn't utter another word.

After resting a bit, Nashatyr, to Zoya's great displeasure, extracted the skull of the killed bandit and, laying out incomprehensible instruments and reagents around himself, became completely immersed in processing it, no longer paying any attention to the woman. She struggled and struggled and eventually decided to abstract herself from his actions. While the mysterious companion was busy, Zoya had a unique opportunity to examine him more closely. The zoologist's inquisitive mind was very interested in the unique jaws of this life form. Mentally, the researcher tried to divide them into separate bones, and gradually the guesses built up into a single quite plausible picture.

Despite the fact that Nashatyr's oral apparatus at first glance differed strikingly from what nature had equipped Earth vertebrates with, it turned out to be quite easy to draw an analogy. After all, jaws actually consist of two halves, which is explained by the bilateral symmetry of animals. During the individual development of an organism, they fuse together. The upper jaw is formed from the maxillae[7] located along the outer edge, bearing teeth, as well as paired palatal bones and vomers in the center. So Nashatyr's upper oral appendages were most likely freely ending maxillae, or rather, some analogous bones that could be called that for convenience. The unpaired upper jaw, which looked almost like a stump, could consist of something like palatal bones. That is, the "puzzle" remained approximately the same as in Earth animals, but was in a disassembled state. Only two fangs were visible on the "palatal bones," although potentially there could be many more teeth there. It's unclear, of course, what was going on further in the maw, but given that the Hunter didn't chew his food, there might not be anything there at all.

The unpaired lower jaw, apparently, was transformed from toothed remains of gill arches, as once happened in Earth fish. The lower oral appendages, by analogy with the lower jaw of vertebrates, could be conditionally called "mandibles" and consist of analogues of angular and dental bones connected by a joint. If you look at a snake's lower jaw, you can see a very similar structure, only without a joint. Two halves in snakes, by the way, also don't fuse together, although they are connected in the "chin" area by an elastic ligament - very convenient for swallowing large prey.

Obviously, in the ancestral forms of this unusual species, a mutation occurred that disrupted the fusion of the external jaw bones and thereby turned the oral apparatus into a dangerous weapon. There was no doubt that in the past (and maybe in the present) these formidable hooks were used for attack and defense. Zoya had already had the opportunity to witness the force of their compression and didn't want to test it on herself at all.

Perhaps due to the same mutation, the nose area was formed so strangely from a human point of view - there wasn't much to form it from. Speaking of the nose, or rather, breathing... Nashatyr had been breathing atmospheric air for several hours now - noticeably a little deeper than when he was in the mask, but without wheezing or difficulty. Zoya concluded that the alien still consumed oxygen, if only because he manifested himself as a typical carbon-based life form and ate the meat of Earth animals. Then his use of a breathing apparatus could indicate either an insufficient amount of oxygen in the Earth's atmosphere, or the general gas composition being poorly suited for constant breathing. And also, possibly, even in the tropical forest Nashatyr's lungs lacked humidity. Now, during the rains, the air might be more suitable for the Hunter, so he was managing without a spacesuit, but at other times he needed additional injection of water vapor. In favor of this version was the fact that there was nothing resembling tanks visible behind the fanged one's back, but there was some kind of unit that could well turn out to be an evaporator. And if Nashatyr was still breathing some kind of gas mixture, its supplies would have long since run out...

If this creature's gas exchange was exactly as the zoologist assumed, then the high oxygen content coupled with increased humidity and, most likely, high temperatures (as hinted at by the temperature of the heating net) gave a very interesting idea of his home planet. Apparently it remotely resembled Earth of the Carboniferous period. In that case, it's not surprising that the Hunter felt so confident in the tropical thickets.

So, humid and hot... Most likely, small freshwater bodies all around; lots of precipitation, fogs; impenetrable vegetation. Not much of a resort, but there's definitely some charm to those places. Zoya sniffed the air. Maybe Nashatyr inherited a primary aquatic mechanism of ammonia excretion from his ancestors? Hence the smell. Again, if we turn to analogies, the skin of Earth reptiles is practically devoid of glands, except for musk glands. Therapsids, which gave rise to mammals, had glands. Nashatyr, more similar to the latter by all criteria, possibly had something like sweat glands - and why save water on a planet where there's plenty of it anyway? But you can quickly excrete toxic ammonia. And it was necessary to excrete quite a lot, apparently, if it was normal for Nashatyr's congeners to consume such a huge amount of meat. But so far the only evidence was the smell. Whether the Hunter sweated or not was unclear because of his skin constantly wet from rain. Again, considering that his smell willingly remained on everything Nashatyr touched...

Zoya surreptitiously sniffed the sleeve of her jacket. She was completely soaked in this, with permission to say, aroma! Great. Well, you are what you keep company with... You transplant pythons - one of them will definitely poop on you, you drag oversized crocodile cubs - one of them will definitely pee on your leg... As they say, every profession has its own smell, but don't touch our profession.

By the way, as another option, the cause of such a sharp smell could be the protein composition of the food consumed on Earth, unusual for the alien. Even if the biochemistry of all organisms in the Universe obeys common patterns, some variations must still be present. It's doubtful that this creature digested everything eaten here so perfectly. But apparently his civilization also hasn't invented "hunger pills" that humanity dreams of yet. In field conditions there's no choice, you'll eat anything when you're hungry. Sometimes, however, it will come back to bite you later...

Nashatyr tore himself away from his occupation and raised his gaze to Zoya. Apparently she had been staring at him for so long that it made the Hunter tense. But, making sure that the human was sitting calmly, he snorted, changed his posture a little and returned to working on the trophy. The skull was already cleaned inside and out, the polished bone beginning to shine. The master touched the glossy surface with undisguised reverence, checking the quality of the processing. He even began to growl softly with pleasure.

Zoya herself didn't notice how she was distracted from the jaws and began to observe his hands. Now that there were no embarrassing elements left in the form of brains and gore, the process seemed much more civilized. At first glance rough and clumsy, the reptoid's hands nevertheless very deftly manipulated the instruments. Somewhere the Hunter also used his claws. His palms looked smooth, calloused, their back side covered with rows of rectangular plates extending to each finger.

Quite unexpectedly, the observed spectacle awakened old memories in Zoya. The last meeting with Grandpa Seryozha... That evening he was working on a carved medallion for moose antlers. Along the way he was telling stories, jokes; a couple of times he almost cut off his finger. Zoya got scared each time, and Grandpa chuckled, saying if he cut it off he'd carve himself a wooden one. He was joking like that... An avid hunter and fisherman, the life of the party... He was a famous taxidermist, animals and birds came out looking almost alive from his hands. Fifteen years ago he didn't return from hunting. No, he wasn't torn apart by wolves or bears and wasn't hit by a stray bullet, everything was more prosaic. Grandpa died stupidly and suddenly - in a car accident on an empty night highway. He had shot some grouse that day... How stupid: in order to get a couple of birds, a wonderful person said goodbye to life. And you, Nashatyr, are you really ready to give your life for these bones?

Although who is Zoya to judge? She herself hasn't gone far. She almost died because of a couple of elusive lizards. And maybe death still awaits her ahead, so it's too early to calm down. The most annoying thing is that she found something much more interesting than Cercosaura hypnoides, but will anyone know about her discovery?

Oh, Nashatyr, it's a pity you can't become a living trophy for me, Zoya thought. The dimensions and strengths are too unequal. However, perhaps it's for the best. He'd be taken apart if he ended up in some research center. And if Zoya herself understands that Nashatyr is not just an interesting living organism to study, but a personality, albeit a very... extravagant one, how many other scientists would want to understand this?

"Let's agree that no one is a trophy for anyone, okay?" the woman said quietly, addressing herself more than the fanged one. Nashatyr again cast a puzzled glance at her and raised his maxillae.

"S-s-soy, hr-r-r-r, ch-ch-ch-ch. U-u-uohf-f-f," he uttered, as if that could explain anything. He was just burning the skull with the burner already familiar to Zoya, most likely using it now for its intended purpose.

This imperturbability, by the way, was quite surprising. Here he sits and polishes human bones. And he's completely calm about the fact that his companion has settled down nearby and is watching this. Perhaps where he comes from, they have a much simpler attitude towards remains than in the human world? Or does he think that Zoya, like many animals, is unable to distinguish the remains of her own kind? Or does he think that since it was a hostile congener to her, everything is fine?

A strange thing, by the way... There were about twenty-five people in that camp, Nashatyr sent them all to meet their maker, but he only took the leader's head. What's the point? Maybe because he only fought hand-to-hand with him? Or is it some kind of ritual? In any case, it's good that it's like this... For a second, Zoya imagined Nashatyr hung with two dozen bloody skulls, and she didn't like this sight.

The woman made herself comfortable and continued to observe the actions of the incredible creature sitting before her, pondering what it might ultimately represent. In an absolutely incomprehensible way, the Hunter combined the most archaic and progressive features. Nashatyr growled like a beast, had claws and was dressed like a barbarian, but at the same time he used technologies that, to Zoya's uninitiated eye, surpassed all human inventions in their level. Everything he did, he did skillfully - he fought, hunted, navigated the forest, polished bones... But this was only one side of his life, the field side. But what do the everyday life and relationships of such beings look like? Or is hunting all they do? What about science, production, medicine? All this must exist by definition, but it doesn't fit at all with Nashatyr's image...

He's intelligent, speaks some language of his own, makes contact, but at the same time attacks people and tears off their heads, and selectively at that. He doesn't eat people, but reverently makes souvenirs from skulls. He's emotionally unstable and curious like a monkey, but at the same time he carries himself with such pathos that it makes you shudder. He's now merciless, now strangely compliant, as if trying to both ingratiate himself and intimidate at the same time. Illogical. At the very least, it's strange for a representative of a civilization that has gone through its own path of formation. So maybe it's some kind of artificially created organism? Or a representative of a rather primitive tribe that received a technological "upgrade" from someone? It's still difficult to imagine that these crooked paws can solder boards and assemble high-precision weapons - this isn't skinning a skull... And the owner of these paws himself, despite all his wonderful features, seems a bit dumb... But since there is one species of aliens, there are surely others. Those who take "under their wing" underdeveloped peoples, teach them, share developments... After all, there is an opinion in some circles that humans also didn't build civilization on their own. That is, we doubt even about our own origin... And with this fellow there are even more doubts.

Or are there still workarounds? And if hands are itching to invent something, then no claws on them will interfere? What if these mysterious warriors are just internally too sentimental and so sacredly honor traditions that they can't afford to deviate from them and put on normal pants? And Nashatyr is actually very smart, but his type of thinking is so alien to humans that Zoya is unable to understand it? Well, anything is possible... Maybe so. She's allowed to be mistaken in such matters, after all, she's an expert on lizards, not on extraterrestrial civilizations.

Chapter Text

A pale dawn was breaking. The rain sprinkled lightly a couple more times and then stopped, much to Zoya's relief. She was thoroughly tired of getting wet - unlike her strange companion, who apparently genuinely enjoyed the dampness. Nashatyr didn't hide from the rain, and the perpetually moist state of his skin didn't seem to bother him at all.

It felt noticeably warmer, likely due to a change in wind direction. But for how long? Without shelter, a frail human body wouldn't last long here. Turning to Nashatyr for warmth seemed like an absolute last resort - yesterday's experiences were quite enough... Build a shelter? She could try, but it was unclear if they would move on today or stay put. Was it worth starting?

Unfortunately, Nashatyr wasn't providing any definite information. Having finished processing the skull, he wandered off again in an unknown direction, putting on his mask and gesturing for Zoya to stay put. Obediently settling on her backpack, the researcher waited for the Hunter's return. If he planned to return, that is. Lost in thought and sighing, she observed the tiny creatures bustling in the moss. At any other time, these little things would have filled her with genuine delight, but now the zoologist remained almost indifferent. Perhaps her capacity for wonder had simply been exhausted...

The invisible alien emerged silently from the thicket. Apparently, he had been scouting. He materialized and beckoned her to follow. Well, alright then...

Hoisting the backpack onto her shoulders, Zoya set off after her guide, into the unknown. Today's journey was much easier. Firstly, the woman had managed to rest somewhat, and secondly, she had eaten a little. Moreover, Nashatyr seemed to be getting used to the human's presence. It no longer felt like Zoya had simply tagged along with the alien Hunter, who was tolerating her nearby while barely containing his irritation. On the contrary, he now periodically looked back if he went ahead, waiting for her to catch up, and moved exclusively on the ground.

Around midday, the travelers found themselves in a part of the forest that seemed vaguely familiar to Zoya... She couldn't say for certain, but that tree over there, she seemed to have seen before... And those boulders lying nearby... Wait... Wasn't that where the whole group had taken photos a week ago?

Up ahead, a clearing came into view, and beyond it something recognizable, bright red... Zoya couldn't believe her eyes. Nashatyr had led them to their research camp! There was her own stupidly glaring "eye-searing" red tent... After this expedition, Zoya remembered vowing to herself to throw it out and buy a new one.

The woman stopped, listening. The Hunter stood behind her right shoulder.

Silence...

After waiting a moment for propriety's sake, Nashatyr nudged the researcher forward, pointing towards the camp with an open palm. Zoya turned to him, puzzled. What did he mean? "I've brought you where you need to be, now go"? But how...

"How do you know?" Zoya asked suspiciously. "Did you see how we were taken from here?"

A satisfied chittering sound came from under the mask. As if showing there was no danger, the Hunter stepped into the clearing first. The woman followed on suddenly wobbly legs. Nashatyr leaned slightly towards her and swept his hand around the camp: "Don't you recognize it? This is your home!"

There was no doubt he had indeed been here before, apparently having studied the area quite well. He had even managed to find the shortest path here, one evidently unknown to the bandits. And it turns out he had seen everything that happened here. He saw and did nothing, the scoundrel... Because he was waiting for the bandits to lead him to their hideout, and he wasn't wrong... He could have intervened earlier, if he had an ounce of humanity, he would have come to help. Hans and Rose would still be alive. And the other guys too... What would it have cost you, you two-meter tall bastard, to help? Would it have diminished you?

Zoya suddenly felt fear knotting in the pit of her stomach, and tears welling up in her eyes. As if in a half-dream, she moved forward. And almost immediately stumbled upon Karl's body... The man was lying face down; it was evident that the corpse was already badly decomposed, and the smell was correspondingly awful.

It was good that the face wasn't visible... Zoya had already seen more dead bodies in the last day than in her entire life, plus dismembered parts... But the swollen blue face of a comrade... No, her psyche might not be able to handle that. Although somehow she would probably have to bury him, she couldn't just leave him...

Carefully circling the corpse, the woman moved between the tents. On the other side of the clearing, she immediately noticed Thomas and Angel. Both were dead. She hadn't seen how they were killed, so until now she had secretly hoped that at least one of them had survived and gone for help... But no. And since the expedition time hadn't run out yet, no one had probably even noticed they were missing. No one was looking for Zoya...

Tears were already making wet tracks down her cheeks without asking permission.

If she had known this area even a little, she could have tried to reach the nearest settlement, it would have been about six kilometers... But alas. Someone in the group had had a navigator, but it had died for some unknown reason in the first few days, and anyway, the terrain wasn't displayed correctly on it. So in terms of orientation, the scientists had relied entirely on their guide. Now Angel was gone, there was no one to guide them... And where Nashatyr might lead her next was too frightening to even think about.

Oh, damn it!..

She came to her senses just in time. The Hunter, it seemed, considered his duty fulfilled and was about to "wave goodbye". Zoya caught up with him already in the thicket.

"Stop!" she yelled. Nashatyr looked back. He had clearly learned this word by now, as he heard it most often and always in the same context.

"No! I don't need to be here!" the woman shook her head and sobbed, barely holding back from crying. "Don't you dare leave me here!"

The alien cocked his head in confusion. The behavior of the human female once again defied explanation. She was practically hanging onto him - it was enough to bewilder anyone.

Literally dragging the Hunter back onto the camp territory, Zoya calmed down a bit, while Nashatyr, in the process, seemed to completely lose understanding of what was happening. He sat down, observing the commotion that had arisen, and thoughtfully scratched the back of his head. In another situation, this human gesture would probably have made Zoya burst out laughing, but now she didn't even notice.

Assured that her companion was waiting for her, the woman forced herself to think more rationally with an incredible effort of will and began to search the tents. First of all, she went into her own. There she found her old mobile phone that had fallen out of her pocket during her escape attempt. That was good, even though there was no signal here...

After finishing with her tent, the researcher examined the rest of the camp and collected some items. Half an hour later, her arsenal included three flashlights - one of which was very powerful - various chemical light sticks, a supply of repellents, a well-stocked first aid kit, a pot, four collapsible canisters, and several packages of instant noodles. She also took a couple of sheets, some clothes and her sleeping bag, as well as all the salt she could find. As much as the woman hoped to find radios, they had vanished - as if into thin air. The bandits had probably taken them.

After some hesitation, the traveler began folding Hans's compact brand-name tent. He no longer needed it, and it could save Zoya's life - it wasn't clear how long they would still have to wander... The tent had a protective color and convenient mosquito nets. For Zoya with her average income, such a model had previously been the ultimate dream. But of course, acquiring it in this way was as sad as could be...

The packing was complete and it was probably time to set off. But first...

"Nashatyr, we should bury them," Zoya said, approaching the Hunter and dumping her load in a pile, pointing at the bodies. The alien stood up and, approaching Karl's corpse, poked its leg for some reason.

"Bury, you understand?" she mimicked the process, to which Nashatyr snorted contemptuously, using gestures to convey the following: pointing at the body - at the ground, then at himself - at Zoya - and into the forest, which could mean: "The dead stay, you and I leave." After which he abruptly headed for the thicket. "Right now."

Zoya cursed. The only thing she could manage was to cover her comrades' corpses with a tarpaulin, which she did, quickly darting back and forth. Then the woman picked up her noticeably increased load and hurried after her impatient companion. As she left, she looked back wistfully at the abandoned camp.

To her great regret, Zoya had absolutely no idea about the area beyond the research site, and when the camp was left behind, the woman once again had to blindly trust her guide. But he too seemed to walk somewhat uncertainly, often looking around and making stops. It seemed he couldn't decide where to go now with the unexpectedly fallen burden on him again. However, soon his step became firmer, and the Hunter suddenly changed direction.

By evening, Nashatyr declared a halt. That is, he stopped and pointed with his claw at himself, at Zoya, and at the ground. The woman collapsed, exhausted. The Hunter climbed a tree, probably also intending to rest. Interesting, how much does he weigh that the branches don't break with his size? An adult male orangutan, still capable of climbing trees, reaches a mass of one hundred to one hundred and fifty kilograms, and moves very, very slowly. All known larger organisms are already terrestrial. But this one, look at him, feels at home up there, and even manages to jump. It's one of two things: either he's lighter than he looks, or he can estimate the strength of each support with amazing accuracy, since he hasn't broken his neck yet.

Catching her breath, the researcher set up the tent and dragged her things inside. Nashatyr came down several times to look and disappeared again. At his next appearance, Zoya showed him the flame of a lighter, and in response, to her great joy, received an affirmative nod of the head. Then, after making a small fire, the woman went for water. Somewhere nearby there was a gurgling sound, so it was difficult to make a mistake in finding a water source.

Nashatyr had chosen the campsite with perfect knowledge. The clearing was small, reliably protected on all sides by dense trees. Lianas hung around like curtains, and fluffy moss formed a soft, damp carpet. Two steps away, a conditionally clean spring or rain stream flowed, trickling over the stones in a small waterfall.

While Zoya was figuring out how best to fill the canisters, she was joined by the Hunter, who was probably also tormented by thirst. His mask was fastened at his waist. Zoya shuddered with surprise, not yet used to the sight of the alien face, but Nashatyr paid no attention to this, rushing to the stream. Pressing his toothy maw to the stones and waiting for a little water to flow into his mouth, he tilted his head back, and then repeated this procedure several times. In short, he drank roughly like a bird. Probably, with such jaws, he didn't have much choice in this regard...

Having drunk his fill, Nashatyr yielded the spot to Zoya. The woman placed the canister under the strongest of the streams, continuing to glance at the alien shuffling nearby out of the corner of her eye. How... strange he was, after all. She was so tempted to check if it wasn't just a carnival mask on him.

Catching another of her glances, Nashatyr spread his oral appendages apart amiably and stared with his round button-like eyes. Perhaps this was how he smiled. His face definitely had expressions, but reading them was very difficult.

Here, the herpetologist had an idea that seemed, at first glance, quite good. While Nashatyr was hanging around here without his mask, she could seize the moment and film him, so there would be evidence later. Zoya discreetly took out her mobile phone from her pocket and unlocked it. There wasn't much charge left, but it would be enough for one or two photos. After all, she didn't know exactly when their paths would part, maybe tomorrow it would be too late?

As soon as Nashatyr moved a little further away and turned half-sideways, Zoya aimed the camera and pressed the shutter. The flash went off. The Hunter darted to the side. Zoya automatically pressed twice more. The white light picked out the tense figure from the forest twilight.

How stupid of her! To forget about the flash...

In two leaps, Nashatyr reached her and knocked the phone out of her hands, obviously taking it for some kind of weapon. Pain darkened her vision, Zoya bent over, clutching her pulsing wrist. It felt as if she had tried to stop a moving train with her hand...

Growling angrily, the Hunter reached for the woman with his clawed paw. He stomped the phone into the mud with a swing. Zoya looked in horror at the monster's widely spread jaws. Nashatyr narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brow, advancing on his errant companion. She had no choice but to collapse to the ground again, demonstrating that she posed no danger.

Fortunately, this time he came to his senses faster than yesterday, figuring out the situation and stopping his "scolding". He lifted his foot and looked at the broken device unknown to him. Apparently recognizing his mistake, he scraped the phone out of the mud and sheepishly tried to return it to Zoya.

"Keep it," she grumbled, getting up and trying to move her hand. Luckily, the blow had been glancing, and she had avoided serious injury. Had it been otherwise, Zoya would not have escaped a fracture...

Nashatyr purred prolongedly and placed the device on a small stone. Not wanting to bother his companion any further, he withdrew. Zoya sighed and hid the damaged mobile phone in her pocket, then continued to collect water. Well, what's the use of being angry? It was her own fault...

But it was too early to calm down. When the third canister was half full, an indignant roar came from the direction of the "camp". Abandoning everything, the researcher rushed towards the sound, not really thinking at that moment that it might signal danger. Although there was no danger after all. But what met the woman's astonished gaze caused extreme indignation. Nashatyr had decided to examine the tent out of boredom. Since it was designed for an average human, not an alien giant, he had gotten stuck in it and, frightened that he had fallen into some clever trap, had wrecked it, tearing three walls out of four in the process. Now, having extricated himself from the canvas, he was trying his best to "save face", pretending that nothing had happened and he was just passing by. Zoya was furious.

"Why the hell did you do that???" she burst out. Perhaps yelling at the fanged creature was reckless, but she couldn't contain herself. Fortunately, there were no consequences. Instead of answering, Nashatyr silently and with dignity disappeared behind the trees.

For the rest of the evening, Zoya cursed under her breath as she mended the ruined canvas, fortunately finding a needle and thread in her backpack. It seemed as if Nashatyr was simply mocking her! And while Zoya understood rationally that he didn't mean it, and in the situation with the phone, she herself had been careless, it didn't make her feel any better.

After some time, the Hunter returned as if nothing had happened and sympathetically bent over his companion as she sewed, as if inquiring how she was doing. The woman barely suppressed the urge to hit him with something - she was held back by a healthy fear of angering the alien killer again, and there was nothing suitable at hand... After hovering nearby and seemingly sensing the negativity thickening around his companion, Nashatyr once again left her, retreating into the thicket.

A dirty gray haze of twilight descended on the selva like a gigantic blanket. Low-hanging clouds foretold an imminent downpour. The ensuing silence was broken only by the rattling trills of some local insects, the cozy crackling of flames, and the bubbling of the kettle. The water was boiling for the second time. Zoya removed the kettle from the fire and set it aside to cool, so she could pour it back into the canisters later. There were several packages of purification tablets in the first aid kit, but the researcher preferred good old-fashioned boiling, now that it was possible.

Having finished repairing her temporary dwelling and firmly setting it up between the trees, the researcher quickly snacked on "trucker's food," crunching a packet of noodles and washing it down with boiling water. It would do for now. The Hunter was still absent. She had to go to bed without waiting for him. Zoya crawled into the tent, which now resembled Frankenstein's monster, blissfully changed into clean clothes, and wrapped herself in her sleeping bag. The first drops of rain fell on the canvas roof, under the lullaby of which the tired traveler quickly fell asleep.

The next morning began with Nashatyr. Peering out of the tent, sleepy Zoya literally came face to face with him - it seemed he was guarding the entrance or simply waiting for her to wake up. He was without his mask and was fiddling with something in his paws. When the woman crawled out of the shelter and approached the Hunter, he, as if apologizing for yesterday, held out a branch studded with dark pink fruits. Zoya puzzledly turned the branch in her hands, plucked one of the berries, and sniffed it suspiciously. The scent was very subtle, barely perceptible. Nashatyr growled and slightly moved his head, extending all four oral appendages. Obviously, this meant something like: "Eat, I'm treating you!" The woman doubtfully examined the berry, and then held it out to the Hunter, but he squeamishly frowned and shook his head, as if to say, I don't eat such things.

"Then how do you know I can eat this?" Zoya exclaimed.

Apparently, he guessed from her intonation what she was asking, as he pulled out from behind his back a bunch of... dead toucans. About five of them.

"Oh my..." was all the woman could utter, throwing up her hands.

Nashatyr pointed a claw at the swaying bird beaks, then at the berries, then at Zoya. Well, yes, apparently his logic was in order: if Earth birds ate these fruits before his eyes, then they could also be suitable for human consumption. It was unpleasant to realize, but it seemed that the Hunters knew much more about humans than humans knew about them. They even knew what humans ate. Only with raw meat did they make a mistake.

Still somewhat doubtful, the woman dared to try the exotic fruit, and to her pleasure, it turned out to be quite good. She decided to eat one for now, and after a while, if she didn't feel unwell, finish the rest.

Seeing that Zoya had stopped eating, Nashatyr grunted in confusion, thrust the toucans at her, put on his mask, and once again climbed a tree, disappearing from view. The good-natured, big-beaked birds were terribly pitiful, but in their current state, they differed little from supermarket chicken, and hunger was making itself felt, so Zoya struggled to light a small fire using the remains of her notebook and, sighing, began to pluck the game.

The Hunter was absent all day, appearing only at sunset when nothing but bones remained of his prey. Zoya reasoned that since he had given her all the toucans and left, he would catch something else for his own dinner. Anyway, their carcasses after plucking and gutting turned out to be quite tiny, barely enough for her to eat her fill, and for this giant, it would have been just a morsel.

Nashatyr indeed showed no displeasure about the lack of food. After circling the "camp" perimeter, he settled down to rest, burrowing into a mossy mattress among the roots of the nearest tree. He didn't remove his mask, so it was unclear whether he was sleeping or awake.

Zoya stood up, stretching her numb legs, covered the fire pit with earth, and also went to rest, wishing her companion good night but hearing no sound in response. It was starting to drizzle again, promising to intensify soon.

To the steady tapping of raindrops on the tent roof, Zoya closed her eyes and sank into thought. The past day had been the first relatively calm one in recent times. She didn't have to escape from anyone, didn't have to run anywhere, didn't have to drag anything. Nashatyr didn't bother her, busy with his own affairs, only bringing food - today he had been an almost ideal companion. And now she could finally sleep peacefully, being under his vigilant protection... It was even starting to be somewhat enjoyable.

The train of thought was interrupted by the crackle of bushes outside. Zoya peeked out from under the canopy. It turned out she had jinxed it: despite the rain that had picked up in earnest, the Hunter had slipped away again. Of course, he hadn't been hired as a guard, but still...

Every time Nashatyr left her, the woman wondered if he intended to return, and if he didn't, whether that was good or bad... Probably bad, because at the moment he remained her only key to salvation. He could protect her, he fed her for some reason, he confidently led her through the dangerous forest. It was just unclear what he himself got from their joint time-spending. And here lay a serious catch. Zoya still had no idea where exactly Nashatyr was heading, just as she didn't know his true intentions. When her research interest temporarily receded, the realization surfaced that her companion was not just a biological specimen, but a sentient being. This meant any kind of surprises could be expected... How safe was it to follow him? And what would happen when they arrived wherever they were going? The guesses frightened Zoya. But not more than the prospect of being left alone with her own helplessness. What would she do if he up and abandoned her here? Zoya didn't know where she was, she had almost no food, no weapons, and wild animals and... brr... no less wild people were roaming around... If she had to choose between unpredictable Nashatyr and a predictable crowd of bandits, the latter clearly lost out.

Was she afraid of the Hunter? Yes. And no. Frankly speaking, Zoya experienced very, very complex feelings. First and foremost, there was a persistent sense of the unreality of what was happening. She saw before her eyes living proof of the existence of extraterrestrial civilizations, but subconsciously tried to deny what she saw. As soon as Nashatyr disappeared somewhere, her brain began to perceive recent events as if they were a dream. As soon as Nashatyr reappeared in view, her brain began to mercilessly glitch... Against her will, Zoya immersed herself in an intoxicating feeling of true delight. The proximity of her unique companion caused a sharp surge of adrenaline, making her forget about possible danger. And then the woman risked losing control of the situation and her own actions, desperately trying to understand, study, touch... The herpetologist first felt something similar a long time ago when she first held a venomous snake in her hands.

...When you press the beast's neck with a hook, you are in relative safety. But at the moment of grasping the writhing body with your hand, the world seems to turn upside down. And then you're holding the indignant creature by the corners of its jaw, and every moment of what's happening takes on an almost implausible clarity. You know that a couple of centimeters from your fingers are fangs with deadly venom. You have no right to loosen your grip because it could cost you your life. You spend a long and agonizing time figuring out how to release the snake now so that it doesn't have time to strike... And at the same time, you inwardly exult, feeling in your hands a damn strong and dangerous, but indescribably beautiful creature...

Yes, she was undoubtedly afraid of him. And at the same time, he attracted her like an uncaught specimen of a herpetological collection; like an undescribed species about which she wanted to know everything. So, it seemed, there was much more in common between them than Zoya could initially have assumed...