Dedication
I can’t even count the number of people I have to thank for their help with this story, starting with all the readers who followed me into this universe. When I wrote the first book, I never expected anyone else to fall in love with Ondry and Liam like I had. So thank you for helping to give this universe a soul. Sarah, Beth, Emma, SJ, Jeanette, and Carolyn have all encouraged me to write whatever I wanted, even when I wanted to write stories that don’t fit into the traditional publishing models. Raelin and Madison asked about the Rownt reaction to orphans or orphanages, and so many people asked about potential egglings for our couple. Those requests really guided this collection. And then I can’t even count the supporters who fed the muse by commenting on the different stories on Patreon. These would have remained vague ideas floating around in my gray matter except I wanted muse-food, and every time I came back to Claimings, I got enough comments to sustain my muse through the most trying times.
And I have to mention all those who helped catch my various and sundry errors. I have done everything from forgetting names of my own characters to dropping words, and they have jumped in with their mouses (mice?) at the ready to stop me from embarrassing myself. Thank you to my patron saint of grammar, Mandy, as well as Marnie, Erica, Anka, and Ally who caught umpteen mistakes. It’s good to have friends who don’t let you run around with toilet paper hanging off your shoe.
Angry Little Aliens
The eldest Grandmother who had once been known as Ragil watched the strangers’ ship approach. Her fellow Grandmothers waited in silence. This was not one of the giant ships of the Cy that sometimes drifted through space, empty and sending out repetitive signals that made Imshee flee. This ship had straighter angles than the rounded lines of the Cy, and it lacked the transparent structures. It also lacked the long spider legs of an Imshee ship, but it did have one long spire that reached in front like the grasping claw of a sea creature. It was not as large as one of the in-system ships the ship-Rownt built, but it was larger than the boxy landing ships the Imshee regularly brought to Prarownt.
It was utterly alien.
“Should we quiet our transmissions?” a younger Grandmother asked.
She-who-had-been-Ragil watched the report from the satellite. Nothing indicated aggression, but that did not mean that these aliens were harmless. Likely they came to steal the meat off the table. They would find that Rownt were not likely to leave valuables in sight for strangers. Deidell would have hidden any ships, or any evidence of ships, leaving Janatjanay to fulfill its role.
“We stand on the hill for others to see us,” another Grandmother admonished the younger one. Hopefully she felt the shame of the rebuke, but She-who-had-been-Ragil did not turn to study the others. This would be the first time since the Imshee had arrived that strangers had appeared. Ship-Rownt always ran the risk of sharing a path with a stranger, only Imshee came to Prarownt. And they remained near Deidell.
Fewer Imshee visited now that the Cy ships often flew empty. When those powerful ships were alone, they reacted unpredictably.
The strangers’ ship was so slow that it would take days to approach properly, so She-who-had-been-Ragil turned her back to the display, making it clear that Rownt of any reasonable age would not live in fear of strangers appearing on the horizon. Their temple was named Janatjanay, after all. Strangers would be inevitable in such a place.
“We should check satellites and planetary defenses,” she said. She waited to see if any of the Grandmothers would contradict her and put forward a plan other than waiting for these strangers, but none did. The burden of being eldest was not in taking action—it was in knowing that others would follow and would suffer if her judgment was flawed. More than one eldest had walked away from a temple and sought a place to sit and die rather than carry the burden.
Some stories said the last Grandmother of Prabrateakil had done that. She had led the Rownt to space, to an uneasy trade with the Imshee when she had not valued or understood the true nature of the trade. The burden of that had grown to be too much, and when the town around her died, replaced by Deidell and its modern shipyard, she had walked away rather than sit on the temple floor and see if the Grandmothers of Deidell would seek her counsel.
It was a cautionary tale. Just because a Grandmother was ready to walk a border did not mean they had the right to walk it. Rownt followed where Grandmothers walked.
Ironically, every Rownt would have chosen to follow that Prabrateakil Grandmother into space. Her motives touched the Rownt soul. But in the end she chose not to follow the path she herself had set. She-who-had-been-Ragil was acutely aware of the danger that approached with the strangers’ ship—and the danger was not limited to individual Rownt lives or profits.
“I will advise parents to remove their egglings,” another said.
She-who-had-been-Ragil should have advised that first, but she walked toward the stairs without comment. She was fortunate to have so many elder Grandmothers to stand beside her. A Rownt who invited others to pick a harvest had to share the profits, but a Rownt who picked a harvest alone watched fruit rot on the plant.
“Grandmothers! A transmission!” The youngest Grandmother’s voice trembled with emotion. She-who-had-been-Ragil turned back to the monitors. “I believe they transmit visual and auditory information.” Her tail whipped so furiously that she slapped another Grandmother. The victim of that errant tail hissed, and the young Grandmother held her hands low and even showed the back of her neck.
“We are all emotional,” She-who-had-been-Ragil said, not specifying whether she intended her admonition for the hissing or the tail. The young Grandmother curled her tail around her leg where it should’ve been. She was cursed with a masculine tail that showed her emotions more than a Grandmother’s tail generally did. “Can you display the transmission?”
“The visual,” the young Grandmother said. She tapped at her computer and a figure appeared on the screen, blurred by static but unmistakably Rownt-like. The Grandmothers all looked at one another in shock. They had never seen such a familiar face on a stranger.
“It appears angry,” a Grandmother commented.
She-who-had-been-Ragil agreed. The color was most unfortunate. If they had met these strangers while standing on a ship, She-who-had-been-Ragil would assume the Rownt had trespassed—nothing else would account for the apparent rage in the stranger’s expression. Every bit of blood had fled the creature’s face, leaving it pale with anger or perhaps distress. The stranger’s mouth moved, and a Grandmother moved to a computer and opened the communication to planetary defense.
“Do they send audio?” She-who-had-been-Ragil asked. She would not have strangers treated like predators because of unfortunate coloring.
“I struggle to separate the signal from the noise the ship generates,” another Grandmother said. A new stranger moved to stand beside the first. This one was much more agreeably colored; around the room Grandmothers relaxed fractionally. Perhaps the pallor of the first did not indicate emotions as it would on a Rownt. After all, Imshee never changed color, even at their most fearful or angry.
“We should transmit,” She-who-had-been-Ragil said, and she hoped that some Grandmother would provide a logical objection. When none did, She-who-had-been-Ragil moved to a computer and brought up the communication menu. She studied the technical data collected by the satellites and hoped these strangers could receive and understand Rownt transmissions. The strangers had shown two individuals, so she made eye contact with the second oldest Grandmother. She moved to stand next to She-who-had-been-Ragil.