Chương 4: Heroic Misunderstanding

I didn't need to know what a pincer attack was. I just knew we messed up. It was the same kind of messed up as when my uncle had been surrounded by herons. The memory was still sharp. My uncle's tail had flickered. The salamander signal that meant stay back, stay hidden, I'll handle this. The same signal he'd used when the water snake came too close to the eggs. The same one he'd used when the snapping turtle had wandered into our territory. Except this time, there were three herons.

Their beaks had been long, ominous, and fast. My siblings and I had closed our eyes. We were underwater. It was impossible to tell if any of us were crying. The water hid everything: tears, sounds, the fact that we were all pressing against each other like we could somehow make ourselves small enough to disappear. When we'd opened our eyes, my uncle wasn't signaling anymore. I understood then that some situations had only one ending.

The kind where the outcome was predetermined and the only variable was how quickly it would be over. My uncle had not survived the herons. I had no intention of following family tradition. I turned to the side and ran. The beetles followed.

"How brave…" someone said softly behind me, probably Aria.

"This all happened because of her." The voice was rougher this time, probably Zebron.

"But I must say, she has guts." I processed what they were saying and was 100% sure there was a huge misunderstanding, but that was not my concern right now. I kept on running. Every time I turned a corner, another beetle joined the march. Sometimes an Obsidian Spider. Sometimes something bigger, something that clicked in a lower register that I felt more than heard. I ran faster. The corridors blurred into a single long, dark, chittering blur. Left, right, right, left.

The dungeon navigation had officially stopped being a strategy and started being a prayer. Somewhere behind me, the swarm kept multiplying, drawn by whatever alarm the first beetle had sounded. I didn't stop to ask. I didn't stop at all. By the time I burst back out into daylight, I had no idea how many things had been chasing me, only that none of them were currently biting me. I'd decided it was the only metric that mattered. I was lying on the ground again. My stomach grumbled.

The only saving grace of my situation was that the sun was no longer directly overhead. It had moved to a more reasonable position in the sky. The breeze was cool. Almost damp. I registered this as a minor victory on an otherwise catastrophic day. Then I heard footsteps. I looked toward the dungeon entrance with minimal head movement. The three humans emerged. They carried long black sticks slung over their shoulders like firewood. Spider legs. Each leg was easily the length of a human.

Segmented and jointed, covered in the kind of chitin that suggested it had been designed by evolution with armor-piercing in mind. They gleamed dully in the fading sunlight, black and sharp at the tips. Zebron tossed two in my direction. They landed with a heavy thunk.

"Your share." I stared at the spider legs. I picked one up. It was heavier than expected. The chitin was smooth and cold under my fingers, like touching polished stone. I could see my reflection in it, distorted and strange. My stomach growled again, louder this time. Without a second thought, I bit into it. CLANG! The sound echoed across the clearing like someone had struck a turtle shell with a ladle. Pain shot through my teeth. My jaw vibrated with the impact.

Somewhere in my mouth, my canines filed a formal complaint about working conditions. Apparently, human teeth were not as reliable as salamander mouths when it came to eating things that were, technically speaking, made of biological armor plating.

"What are you doing?!" Zebron rushed over and took the spider leg.

"Obsidian Spider legs are for crafting, not eating!"

"And it's disgusting…" Aria added helpfully, before turning away. She moved quickly to the dungeon wall and proceeded to throw up. My stomach growled again. It was not impressed by technicalities like "inedible" or "crafting materials." It wanted food. It had wanted food for hours now. The fly from earlier had been a pleasant appetizer, but that had been approximately one lifetime ago, and my current body required significantly more than a fly per day to maintain operations. Zebron scratched the back of his head.

"Fine. Let's camp here." Aria looked at him.

"Here? In front of the dungeon?"

"Why not?" Zebron started walking toward the treeline.

"You guys start the fire. I'll hunt for dinner." Someone moved beside him. Zebron jumped.

"Damn it, Norman!" He then looked back at Aria.

"You good setting up camp with…" He stared at me.

"What's your name again?" This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. I didn't have a name or a need for one. But I had opinions about being mistaken for another species, like a lizard.

"Salamander." [Name has been registered as Salamander.] Zebron turned.

"Let's go, Norman. I'm not dealing with this." Aria waved them off while laughing awkwardly. She then faced me.

"OK, tell me your real name."

"Salamander." Aria just stared at me with a smile. Somehow, it was creepy. The human brain suggested using the human body's name to get on with it. I considered it. I looked at Aria's face. Blank eyes but somehow smiling. I gulped.

"Ruina." The voice sighed. [I'm not being paid for extra work.] [Updating name…] [Name has been updated: Salamander → Ruina]"I'm Aria. Nice to meet you, Ruina."

Twenty growls of my stomach later, there was fire. Everyone was close to it except me. I sat at a distance. I liked being wet. I liked being damp. The moisture on my skin and clothes was comforting, familiar, right in a way that very little had been right today. But the aroma of meat over the fire was irresistible. It drifted across the clearing like a physical thing, reaching into my nose and pulling at something deep in my stomach.

The human body had opinions about cooked meat, strong opinions, and those opinions were currently staging a coup against my salamander sensibilities. I moved closer. A hand grabbed my shoulder. Aria shook her head.

"It's still raw." I stared at the meat on the spit. It was sizzling, dripping fat that hissed when it hit the fire, and it smelled like the answer to every question my stomach had been asking for the past several hours.

"But—""No." Aria's grip was gentle but unyielding.

"Absolutely not." I sighed. I sat back down, now closer to the fire but not close enough to grab the meat. My stomach argued. I ignored it. Waiting was a skill salamanders understood. Zebron poked the coals with a stick.

"So, what kind of mage carries a rock on their head?" I adjusted said rock.

"The damp kind." Zebron snorted. Aria giggled. The fire crackled. The meat rotated. No one asked any more questions.

Another twenty growls from my stomach passed. A unit of measurement I was becoming an expert in. Finally, a piece of skewered meat was handed to me. It was still hot. Steam rose from it in delicate curls. The smell was even better up close. A combination of char, seasoning, and the fundamental rightness of protein. I opened my mouth, bit a piece, and swallowed it whole. My throat immediately registered several objections to this approach. I choked. Aria's hand hit my back.

"What are you doing?! Chew!" I made a sound that was half-cough, half-wheeze, and fully undignified. The meat was stuck somewhere between my mouth and my stomach. I tried to swallow again. Aria hit my back harder. The meat moved. I gasped and looked at the remaining meat on the stick with newfound wariness. Apparently, I'd already lost trust in my teeth earlier, having declared them useless after the spider-leg incident.

But it seemed teeth had a purpose after all, and that purpose was processing food into manageable pieces before one attempted to swallow them. Humans relied heavily on their teeth. I would need to learn to use them. I took another piece of meat carefully and began to chew. The meat broke apart. The flavors spread across my tongue. The human brain registered salt, herbs, and something smoky. I registered that this was significantly more work than swallowing flies whole, but the results were admittedly superior.

I chewed thoroughly and then swallowed. No choking. Success. I took another piece, chewed, swallowed. The process became rhythmic. Natural. By the fourth piece, I was practically an expert. When everything had calmed down — which is to say, when I had learned to chew my food and the immediate crisis of choking had passed — Aria asked a question.

"I haven't had the chance to ask this earlier, but what's with all the blood?" She gestured vaguely at my clothing, still stained with an alarming amount of red.

"I can cast basic healing." I put another piece of meat in my mouth and chewed. I swallowed.

"It has already regenerated."

"But—" Aria started.

"If she said it's fine, then it's fine. Give her space. Maybe she doesn't want to talk about it." Zebron yawned and lay down on a log.

"I'm sleeping first. Wake me when it's my turn to watch." Aria sighed.

"He has a foul mouth, but trust me, he's a good guy." I considered this. They had indeed fed me. By salamander standards, which admittedly were fairly simple, this qualified them as good humans. I nodded. Someone spoke on the opposite side of the fire.

"First watch is mine." It was Norman. I looked around the clearing. The fire crackled. Zebron was already snoring. Aria moved to his side, settling close enough that their shoulders touched, and closed her eyes. The human brain stirred with interest. Were they…? Apparently, relationship status was survival-critical information for humans. I found this baffling. But that was a problem for tomorrow-me. Current-me had eaten, had a rock on my head, and was damp. All conditions for acceptable rest had been met.

I found a spot that was damp from my earlier presence, adjusted my rock carefully on my head, and lay down. The ground was hard. But my stomach was full. The breeze was cool. And I was, against all reasonable odds, still alive. For a salamander who'd started the day under a pond rock, that was a significant achievement. I closed my eyes and let the sound of fire fade into the background, joining the chorus of night insects that were beginning their evening performances.

Just when I was about to fall asleep, the human brain specifically chose this timing to ask, Do you think the assassins will come back? I ignored it. The human brain was not so easily ignored. What if they find out this body is still alive? Not my problem tonight. I ignored it harder. Eventually, even the human brain gave up. The last thing I registered before sleep took me was that I rolled over — and my head hit something hard. Probably a rock.

My consciousness slipped away, or perhaps this time, it was dragged back into the dungeon. Somewhere in the darkness, deeper than the stairs, deeper than the upper corridors where adventurers occasionally wandered and caused problems, a beetle the size of a house clicked. For some reason, I understood it anyway.

"Billy. Where did you put the old dungeon core?" A smaller beetle clicked back rapidly.

"A human took it. Put it on her head." A pause. The large beetle's antennae moved.

"Billy, humans do not put rocks on their heads. Now tell me the truth." Billy's click sounded, in any language, like crying. The large beetle was quiet for a long moment. Then it began to move toward the stairs, rolling a ball of compressed earth and stone as big as itself. The stairs collapsed. I woke up. The back of my head hurt. I reached under it and found the culprit — the rock. It looked like a normal rock. A bit dry. I put it flat on my face and went back to sleep.