A terrible war between two races had been stretching on for hundreds of years, and when an end seemed to be nearing in favor of the turbaks, a young rixit tribeleader must rise to fiercely protect her people from certain extinction.
Aghet's decisio...
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Is this how Turbaks are born?
Aghet thought to herself, then shook her head. No, she knew they had more or less the same reproductive systems as her own race. No magic children popping from vases. At least, not until now. It wasn't even a child. Aghet might have guessed it to be around fifteen years of age, if not more.
Aghet chewed on her lip, crouching down in front of it and throwing a cloak over it's naked body. The child, or whatever it was, remained silent, staring at Aghet with an unflinching white gaze that revealed nothing.
Fastening the clip together around it's neck, Aghet asked in a hushed whisper.
"What are you?"
It didn't reply, too busy staring down at the cloak given to it, feeling the fabric between two mottled, blue-grey fingers. After that, it raised it to it's cheek, rubbing her face against it as if it liked how it felt. It kept looking up at Aghet, like it was wary of it's actions, wondering if she would reprimand it like a child to it's mother.
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Aghet was curious about the lines of blue that raced up it's arms and neck, and reached out to grab the turbak, taking it away from it's activity.
It flinched away from her touch, dropping the cloak and raising both arms over it's face.
"I won't hurt you, not unless you give me reason to." Aghet told it, checking to make sure her mace was attached to her hip. It wasn't. She must have left it back near the fire.
