They found him.

They bring me to a clearing deeper within the pines. Trecol sits in the center. One member of his crew, the green-patterned Styt, crouches beside him. He’s saying something, but Trecol only scowls. His fists close and his gaze darts about, like he’s looking for a way to flee.

Maybe he can’t. Maybe more of the Rurim are hiding beneath the surrounding trees.

Ryle appears from between the shadows, making me jump. “He asked for you specifically. He described you.”

“How could he describe me?” I ask. “He’s never met me.”

“He saw you from his sleep,” Ryle says with a shrug. He hands me a CommPad – the Rurim’s version of a tablet with an armstrap. “This is his.”

“Okay.” I grip it with both of my hands and I step out into the clearing.

Trecol rises. All seven feet of him. My breath catches in my throat. He hasn’t wasted away at all. Thick muscles ripple beneath his gray-patterned skin. The charcoal shock of hair between his ivory white horns drops low, brushing the very top of the bridge of his long, straight nose. I can’t see his eyes beneath the fringe, but I know that one of them was damaged in the crash – what was once a deep sea gray had become a lighter, smoky tone. If he were human I’d guess that it would be permanently blind. 

My knees wobble. He’s so familiar to me now, yet still so alien, and it’s strange to see him upright. Strange and jarring and thrilling. He looks healthy. He shouldn’t. It makes no sense. But it’s such a relief to see.

Styt nods at me and drifts out of the circle, leaving us effectively alone. Why did Trecol want to see me? How does he know me at all? We don’t know how much awareness humans have when they’re in a coma. Perhaps he saw and he heard more than we guessed.

“This is yours,” I say, holding out the armband. He takes it from me but he doesn’t put it on. Instead his eyes travel up and down my body, not leering, but… suspicious. I open the translator app on my tablet. 

“Hello, Trecol. I’m Rowan.” The voice coming out of the app is flat and ugly, but I hope my own soothing tone gets through to him. 

“Row An,” he says, then corrects himself. “Rowan.” He speaks in his own language, rolling more letters than I can imitate. My tablet translates back to me. “It’s you. You’re real.” He reaches for me. 

I sidestep his hand. He doesn’t pursue, thank goodness. Otherwise I’d have to cut the conversation short. “I’m real. I’m a doctor. A medic. How are you feeling?”

“Are they holding you here against your will? I will take you away. I can keep you safe.”

That’s not encouraging. Romantic, in a dramatic knight-in-shining-armor kind of way. But does he not recognize his friends? One thing I’ve learned as a pediatrician is how to deal with patients who don’t understand what’s happening to them. “Trecol? Can we sit? I’ll explain” I sink to the ground first, crossing my legs. 

He glances at the trees behind me, then behind himself. Finally, moving slowly, he sinks to the ground. “Why are you afraid of them?” I ask.

“I am not afraid.” 

I want to roll my eyes at the male bravado but I resist. “Okay. Why are you… suspicious of them?” He doesn’t answer. “Do you recognize them?”

Pain twists his face, and he looks away.

“Okay.” I offer a faint smile. If he doesn’t want to talk, then I will. “Can I tell you why you’re here?” He nods. “You were in a crash. You were… traveling with your friends and your ship hit the ground here, upside down. It’s too damaged to fly, now. And you were injured. You’ve been unconscious for a very long time.”

“I am a pilot.” He says it softly, as if it’s a revelation.

“Yes,” I say. “You weren’t piloting that ship, though. The crash wasn’t your fault.”

He’s frowning again, obviously disagreeing. Time to change to subject.

“This is planet Antasun. So far we’ve found a lot of jungles, and some caves, and an ocean. We don’t think we’re going to be able to leave. Not for a long time. We’re stuck here. Stuck together.”

“My kind and yours.”

“Yes, Rurim and human. Do you have any pain? A headache? Dizziness?” He hesitates before he nods. “It should fade with time, but some painkillers will help. We have medicine back at the camp. May I examine your head?”

He raises a ridged brow, but he nods. “You had a crack in your skull,” I explain as I get to my feet. “It healed quickly, but it would be dangerous to re-injure it. I just want to check.” I circle behind him and part the hair at the back of his head.

I flinch when I touch him. How different he feels, now that he’s active. Now that he’s so much more alive. He’s warmer, too. And I’m breathing him in, a scent that I didn’t notice before. One that’s hard to describe. Like… rain on asphalt. There’s a scar where his injury was, and it looks just as closed and healed now as it did the last time I inspected it, when he was still unconscious on the floor of the Doctor’s Den. I press a thumb to it and ask, “Does this hurt?”

“No.”

“Good.” I circle back around. He barely has to tilt his head to look at me, even seated while I’m standing. On an impulse, I brush the long tuft of hair out of his eyes. One dark, one light. “You need another trim,” I say. That was something we took care of, too. There were so many things, so many bodily needs and functions. I’m familiar with every last inch of this alien, and yet, he’s a stranger to me. “Can we do an eye test?” He nods again.

I hold up my index finger in front of his face and say, “Follow with your eyes. Don’t move your head.” I move it to the left, then to the right. Both of his eyes follow but only the dark one is truly focused. “Okay.” I place a palm over the light eye. “Follow again.” As expected, his dark eye can follow my finger.

Wait, why am I doing this? He can cover his own eye. But he’s visibly relaxing. His lashes flutter beneath my touch. He’s turning toward my hand, closing his other eye… I clear my throat.

“Other side,” I say. I switch palms and cover his dark eye.

He jerks his head away. “Sorry!” I say, backing up a step, “Did I hurt you?”

“I could not see.” He covers his good eye himself. “I can’t see. My eye…”

“I thought so,” I say. “I’m sorry. You were really banged up in the crash.”

“My horns.” He reaches up to touch them from where they sprout, just above his forehead, The thick ivory curves tightly around his temples, hiding the top half of his ears. “No cracks?”

“No, they’re fine.” Considering his other damage, I wonder if his horns even can crack. Maybe they’re meant to be a natural half-helmet? They didn’t help in this instance.

Or maybe they did. Maybe without them, he would have died. The thought makes me cold all over. I don’t want to think about more deaths. I can’t imagine it.

“The other Rurim,” I say, “They are your friends. You were all in the crash together. They’ve helped care for you. Will you return to their camp? They all want you to join them. They missed you.”

He shakes his head slowly, eyes downcast, ridged brow furrowed. What is this, amnesia? Does he have no memory of them? Or is something else going through his mind?

“Will you come with me, instead? There’s more tests we should do. Back on my ship.”

This time he nods, no hesitation. “Yes, always. You awakened me. I am yours.”

I don’t know what to do with that. But at least I can keep him close and make sure that he’s okay.

“You awakened me. I am yours.”