She laughed and gently stroked its, no, his fur. He made a purring noise and leaned into her hand.
“You may not look like him, but you sound like Mr. Tiddles.” He purred again and she smiled. “Does that mean you approve of the name? Perhaps I should call you Mr. Tiddles as well.”
As she stroked his soft fur, she cast a nervous look around her. “Are there scary things in this jungle?”
He chittered softly in what she feared was agreement. The shadows seemed to have lengthened over the past few minutes. And was the sky getting darker? The idea of setting out into the darkness appalled her, but so did the idea of spending the night out in the open. Where was she going to sleep?
Her stomach growled and she realized that sleeping arrangements were only part of her problem. How was she going to find anything to eat or drink?
The panic that she had been trying to hold at bay rose to the surface and she started to shake. Mr. Tiddles made an anxious noise and patted her face. The sympathetic gesture was the final straw. Tears started to drip down her cheeks as she gathered him close and gave into despair.
From his perch high in the trees, Commander Taraxan Bellkandis watched as the little female below huddled into a tight ball of misery. He had the strangest impulse to go and comfort her, but he immediately pushed it aside. He had no intention of making his presence known until he determined whether or not she presented a threat. While he could not believe that such a small, lushly female body represented any danger, she could be intended as a lure to a larger trap.
When he had awoken on this strange, colorful planet instead of in the crisp whiteness of his quarters onboard the Sword of Meikka, he assumed he must have been brought here by an enemy. Although his people, the Doturans, were not currently engaged in active conflict with any other race, the galaxy was a tumultuous place, and periods of peace never seemed to last long. The fact that he had been taken from within his own ship, safely—he had thought—docked on the farthest moon of their system, argued a level of technology that indicated a formidable opponent.
A quick inspection had confirmed that he had been abandoned without weapons or clothing. The lack of clothing he dismissed, but the lack of weaponry had sinister implications. Was it an attempt to render him defenseless? A grim smile curved his lips. His natural abilities, not to mention his years of training, made him a formidable enemy—which anyone attempting to cause him harm would rapidly discover.
A thorough search of the area where he had been left revealed nothing except a crudely woven bag, but within the bag he discovered a long sharp knife and a sheet of something that was definitely not native to this primitive environment. The thin, flexible material was etched with what appeared to be a map, although the symbols were unfamiliar.
With an impatient glance at the thickness of the surrounding vegetation, he took to the trees instead, climbing rapidly upwards until he could see over the vast canopy of trees. Comparing his surroundings to his map, he decided that one set of symbols must represent the mountains rearing up in the distance. The glint of water in the other direction suggested a river, which also appeared to be represented on the map. Based on those features, a symbol that bore a faint resemblance to a sword must indicate his current position. That symbol was repeated again a considerable distance away, next to what could be a representation of his home planet of Dotura.
If the map could be trusted, it might indicate that he needed to reach that location in order to be returned to his previous existence. Was this a test to see how well a Doturan could survive without the aid of technology? If so, his unseen opponent was in for a surprise. He smiled again. Despite their present star-faring capability, the Doturans had never forgotten their origins. He had been trained to survive in the wilderness since he was a child and even now, he escaped the confines of his duties whenever possible—a feat that had grown more difficult with his increasing rank. This could prove most enjoyable.
He was halfway back down the tree when a noise from below caught his attention. It seemed out of place amongst the other sounds of the jungle and he descended rapidly until he could observe… a female?
Small and lushly curved, with a mane of long dark hair, she was certainly not Doturan. Was she a native? He dismissed the thought immediately. Her pale skin, a striking contrast to the rich hues surrounding her, and her awkward movements argued that she was as out of place as he. Perhaps her race was being tested as well. He scanned the clearing below and recognized a bag similar to his own, confirming his suspicion.
In that case, he should keep his distance… Or perhaps he should continue to observe, he amended as she rose to her feet and he got a good look at her naked body. Every inch of her was softly curved, from full, heavy breasts to a lush, round ass perfect for gripping as he entered—
His thoughts came to an abrupt halt.
What was wrong with him? He was an officer and a gentleman. Lustful thoughts about a strange female were beneath him, even if his interactions with females had been as infrequent as his survival trips for the past few years. This primitive environment must be to blame, arousing his own more primitive instincts.
As he argued with himself, he heard her speaking in a low sultry voice, and he automatically dropped further down the tree in order to hear her better. Despite his translation implant, her words were unintelligible. Interesting. As far as he knew, it was programmed to
