Archos ignored the shouting at first, he simply smashed obsidian fragments and piled them nearby, until he heard the shouting of Ayente’s mother, and Ayente’s shout in turn. ‘I do not know if their gods are real, but... calling out to them in frustration and annoyance, I know that would feel very good, right about now.’ Archos thought to himself and pounded his tail into the mud at the few words he could make out. ‘What could be wrong with their food?’ He wondered as he caught the word, and the tone of outrage in Ayente as she shouted in what sounded like denial.

He took a deep breath of the warming air, and exhaled it as he forced his temper to be stilled before it could burst. He took up his sword and put it on his back again and walked back into the crude settlement.

The air blew lightly across his dripping wet black scales as he ventured closer, a few words became more clear, and he heard the sound of a sharp crack, the source of which became evident when he saw Ayente on her side on the ground with her right hand on her face and her mother standing over her speaking too rapidly for him to follow. But her tone was unmistakable even across the lines of race between dragon and human. That tone was Fury.

Ayente saw him first, saw the flash of anger in red eyes as the whites around them became black. She held out the hand on her face, her palm turned up, and only then did he realize his advancement had become much more rapid. He slowed his pace as the others of her tribe recognized that he was coming, and forced himself to stay calm. On her face he saw a red mark in the shape of a human hand and a split and bleeding lip.

“Ayente, up.” He said in his own language, certain she alone would grasp it, she got up to all fours and then stood on her feet.

As she rose, Archos glared at the one he knew as her mother, “Oos Ayente gyon?” He asked, the older woman stepped back, her stern expression touched by fear. Archos took a step closer. “Oos... Ayente... gyon?” [You hurt Ayente?] He demanded again.

She pointed a shaking hand at Ayente as her daughter brushed herself off, two males nearby were glaring at the wounded blonde. “Ayente naki’et!”

Archos paused, his red eyes fixated on the raging woman. “Ayente naki’et!” She shouted in fury. A low growl emanated from the dragon’s throat as he failed to understand the words. ‘Whatever a nakiet is... it isn’t good, but what could it mean? She was with me all night, she did nothing... new, could it be related to what happened by the water earlier? No, not likely.’

He turned to Ayente, whose eyes were glassed with tears of rage with her fists clenched tight against her side, her entire body trembled with suppressed fury.

At his questioning look, she began to use his language, “She says I took what wasn’t mine to take, they say I am a thief, that I stole food from the tribe... that it was me... or it was you. Or it was me and I gave it to you, my... my mother accuses me, she says I was seen, that Malach was informed this morning.” She had been looking down at the dirt, but her head snapped upward to meet his.

“I did not do this thing, Archos. I swear by the gods... I did not, I did not, I did not...” She choked back a sob and angrily wiped away her tearful expression and turned her narrow, rage filled eyes on her mother.

More of the tribe had begun to gather.

“It is true, the food is gone, all of it.” A young man added as he came to the gathering near the center of their little settlement.

“Maybe he took it.” Malach said, “Maybe he ate it. Ayente may only be guilty of... telling him where it was, or showing him, not knowing what he would do.” He said smoothly as he approached, gesturing to Archos.

There wasn’t a sound made as Archos was accused.

Malach opened his arms as he came closer to the group, “Ayente would have no need for all that, though it was little enough, it was too much for one, perhaps all his questions were just to gain knowledge of where it was kept, that he might eat his fill.”

Archos felt his scaled brow furrow and his growl become more audible, his red eyes bored into Malach as he put together the words as best he could and gathered that he stood accused.

Before he could speak, Ayente was screaming a denial so fast he could not understand her, ““Jao’ti hile Archos enlo!” [My body is Archos’s food!]

The rapidity of her words ended, and she looked down at the ground again, clutching her hands together at her waist. “If he hungers, I will feed him, he has no need to take from the tribe, only from the cursed.”

“Ayente, translate for me, I know not enough words for this.” Archos said with a low, sonorous voice.

She nodded anxiously, “What Ayente says is so. We were speaking of a hunt just this morning, it is true, I am hungry, but I will not take from my hosts, such is not the way of my kind or my people. We do not take without giving. This I swear in the name of my forefathers and foremothers.”

When she was done, she stepped closer to him, reaching out a hand, she caressed the black scales of his sword arm, “I swear, he did nothing, I did nothing.”

“Then why were both of you up before all others, if not to eat, did you take the food down to the waters, eat, and cast the rest into the water to hide what you did?” An older male, stooped and gray of hair, asked in a creaky voice.

“I will show you what we did. But first, you must know that we did not do this thing you say.” Archos replied in a slow, halting fashion, his arm moved behind the slender Ayente, his talons over her bare belly.

‘They’re so sharp, he could rip me apart with a twitch. And yet, so comforting, he is being ‘careful’ with my body.’ She thought, and stilled herself with great effort, not to tear herself away, but to keep herself from visibly relaxing into the wet, cool scales.

He glanced down at her with one red eye, and she looked up to him, “Do you trust me?” Archos asked gently.

She nodded. “Seyet. Eybe’ti.” [Yes. With my life.] She whispered up to him with her eyes bold and brave as when he’d first caught a glimpse of her impossible valor as she fell.

His arm moved up her body until bent at the elbow and two scaled digits cupped her jaw. “Open.” He commanded, and her jaw parted, and one of his digits entered her mouth, going to the back of her throat.

She felt it immediately, the gag reflex, and she vomited, she bent forward as his long finger retreated and his hold on her slackened, and she expelled the contents of her stomach onto the ground.

“She has eaten nothing in some time, as you can see.” Archos gestured to the mix of stomach acids and almost entirely digested food. “Had she eaten recently, after you all, there would be more there. Do not take my word for it, expel the contents of your own bodies and see for yourself that its contents are like hers.”

Ayente coughed and spat. Archos’s red eyes focused on Malach. “You, voice of the gods, come, look closely at it, that you know it is truth.”

The shaman appeared hesitant, but under the stunned but watchful eyes of his people, he felt the weight of his title on his body, and so he came closer. “What am I to see?” He asked as he crouched over the puddle.

“That we are ‘both’ innocent of this thing.” Archos said with contempt, and he savored the moment of dawning, horrified understanding as the portly shaman grasped the significance of Archos’s choice of words. But did not have the span of time necessary to escape their meaning, as the dragon reached up, triggered his own gag reflex, and vomited up his stomach contents over the head of the voice of the gods.

Even as Archos did this, he thought to himself, ‘That was petty, that was very, very petty. No, it was petty to the point that it was beautifully profound, and... absolutely hilarious. Tascaros, wherever you are, I have absolutely no doubt that if you watch this, you are laughing with your father as he rolls his eyes at your absurdities!’ The memory gave Archos comfort for a moment and the tension went out of his scales as he suppressed his own deep seated urge to laugh at the scene.

Malach fell back, coated in sticky, foul smelling fluids and scrambled away from the mostly digested meats that were, at the least, very few chunks of.

“Had I stolen your food, there would be more coating your shaman. Had she done so, it would be ‘fresher’ than a meal from the same time you all ate. Now... where is the accuser?” Archos demanded as the dumbstruck humans looked at him with a total lack of comprehension at what they’d just seen as Malach cursed and tried to wipe the foulness from his body, with very little success.

Malach, sickened by the sudden stench and disgusting fluids all over himself, vomited as well, revealing that his partially digested meal looked to be in exactly the same state as Ayente’s... as if Archos’ choice had been designed to do exactly that.

“Come, see if you do not believe, and bring the accuser.” Archos snarled the order out and pointed to the puddles as the shaman scrambled away and flung himself to the grass to wipe himself off.

Eyes turned to one suddenly anxious figure. Ayente had recovered from Archos’s actions by then, and wiped her mouth, she looked down at the contents and then at the utterly disgusting coated Malach, and began to laugh, she clutched her belly with both arms, and bent over laughing at the absurdity of the mess that was now the voice of the gods.

She did not notice at all as the eyes of her tribe turned to the nervous looking elder male. His eyes darted around, blue, beautiful despite the age of the body that framed them, frightened. He was backing away. His voice was raspy.

“I saw... I swear by the gods... I swear...!” His hands tapped behind him against the empty air to ensure he could still back away.

Archos turned his red eyes on him, he was balding with wisps of gray. “I have done nothing! Only said what I saw!” His half steps were not carrying him away from the accusing eyes.

Scaled lip curled to bare a knifelike set of teeth. “What did you see? Exactly?” Archos demanded as Malach began to stand up and Ayente’s laughter faded when she recognized the shift of mood around her.

He raised an unsteady hand with an unsteady arm, and pointed to Ayente. “H-Her, coming out of the hut where food is held in common.” He repeated insistently, his bright blue eyes alight with urgency.

“When?” Archos demanded sharply.

“In the darkness hours before the false dawn...” He answered confidently. A smile slowly creeping over his face. “Sh-She is...” Whatever he was about to say, was cut off at a more intense glare of looming red eyes and a very low, angry growl.

“I was not asking what she is. How could you see her in the darkness? She was with me all through the night, and I saw where the hut was that holds your remaining food store, do you sleep near to it?” Archos’s glare did not diminish.

The smile melted away.

“No... he does not.” A bulky muscular male of dark complexion and long brown hair piped up and moved behind the withdrawing elder. The older male paused when his hand found itself against the thigh of a young warrior in his prime, and had his back pressed against him.

“You accuse me, and you accuse our guest?” Ayente’s sense of humor was fading fast as the fullness of the accusation began to sink in. The old man’s eyes darted around to the rest of the tribe.

“What do your people do with those who bear false witness?” Ayente asked, her eyes turning hard and focused on the ‘witness’, she did not look at the dragon beside her.

“They bear the punishment of the guilty. If they spoke with false tongue.” Archos answered, his eyes similarly focused on the man who was seeking support and finding none.

Malach’s face was purple with rage as he came near.

“How do you punish thieves?” Ayente asked further with her entire body shaking with growing anger.

“Thieves who steal for greed are punished in different ways in different places. In a land of plenty they are punished by being forced to work for the public, and paying restitution to the one they stole from. But in the outer colonies where the loss of anything is critical, they are typically buried alive to make the fields fertile.” Archos answered.

She still didn’t look up at him as she answered, “I do not know what you mean by some of those words, paying, restitution, but buried alive? This I understand.”

The older man was trying to get around those behind him, only to find his shoulders seized and held fast. “Let me go! I have done nothing! You would believe an outsider and a cursed one over me?!”

Malach approached and with a guttural growl he uttered, “This is your fault.” And drawing his hand across his body, he snapped it forward and cracked the man on his jaw, snapping his head to one side and blooding his lip.

“The gods tell me you lie, as I was just about to say before I had to... clean up.” He said with disgust, still reeking of dragon spit, vomit, and half digested food.

“I di-” The older man started to protest, only for Malach to snatch up a stick from the ground and shove it into his open mouth all the way to the back of his throat. And out onto the ground came freshly consumed food.

He paled even as he retched, splashing the voice of the gods. “You are to blame.” Malach said loudly, “The gods revealed this truth to me, and that you sought to blame a guest and the one who brought him. These are terrible crimes, do you dare say anything in defense of your lie before me?”

“Ya’mavi, ya’mavi a’ekta lak nal iba! Ibar pael lak’ha zel. Ya’eyapal gyope yot jao, ibar sto zel jao. Ya’mal lak nayt a’moto lope! Ya gya’ha!”

[“I-I was hungry, I was hungry and did not bear it. There was not enough food. I thought with the monster here there will not be enough. I did not want to hurt anyone! I am sorry!”]

The old man protested so fast that Archos could barely keep up with it. For most of it, he did not. It was a confused jumble of words he’d heard used in other ways. Uncertain, he put a claw on Ayente’s shoulder. “What did he say? Exactly?” He asked with a narrow look that told her he did not expect to be happy.

“He called you a monster. Feared that you would bring hunger, he wanted food. He says you are not people. These...” She rubbed the back of her head in frustration as several larger members of the tribe, survivors from her raid, began to drag the old man away, to the place of worship, as Malach continued to berate the thief.

“These words are not exact. We do not use them as you might, you must determine meaning in part by how they are placed with other words, he says he is sorry, I believe he is sorry he was caught. He was not good to me. To blame me is easy. He is weak of soul.” She said regretfully as she rubbed the cheek her mother had slapped.

Archos noticed that as she spoke, she was no longer looking at the withdrawing thief, but rather over at her mother who only stared at her daughter bitterly.

“Weakness and want, my people say they both bring great suffering. Therefore we try to create plenty, and to build our strength on both.” Archos replied, sensing the tension in Ayente’s body as her mother slowly withdrew without even an apology, only the same bitter look she always wore with her lips tightly pursed before she showed her back.

“Plenty?” Ayente asked. “Of food?” She looked up at him with curious hope.

“Yes, but also many other things, we build plenty in knowledge, plenty in wisdom, plenty in our virtues, such as courage, plenty in practice of our skills, to build plenty is to build strength. The only poverty we embrace is vice, such as greed and cowardice.” He answered patiently.

“My people are... weak, aren’t they?” She asked humbly as she looked down at the way their vomit had mixed in the dirt to create muck.

Archos felt the ache of a warrior bereft. He put a talon under her chin, easily sharp enough to pierce her flesh, he only raised her gaze with a very slight pressure. ‘So like Tascaros... laughter at the crudest and most petty pranks, and eyes as hard as the royal sword I carry. My friend... watch over us.’ He thought sadly.

“I will not lie to you. I see them so. But... strength begins with weakness, nobody, person or people, begins strong. My people have a long history, yours do not.

“Too, I saw the embers of strength just waiting to blaze forth, when I saw the courage your people had in battle. They died for one another like a wing of dragons, you cannot all be lost in... what I have seen since coming here.” Archos remarked with a quiet sternness.

She wiped her eyes clean of the welling emotion, “Weakness, it seems... is the greatest of Kalao.” She said resolutely.

“Kalao? What means that?” Archos asked. As she described her meaning, of crime and vice and things one should not do that work harm or wrongness, he understood.

“Yes, we have a word for that also, it is ‘sin’.” He replied.

“Yes, weakness... is a sin.” She said quietly as not far away, the thief was stripped, beaten, and cast out to die in the wilderness by the tribe that had become a mob under the leadership of the Voice of the Gods.