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"I noticed." The wind keeps bringing the smell. "I think they like you."

His nostrils flare with irritation, and he glares down at me as if I caused the problem. "They are going to point the others right at us if they do not stop with their noise."

I bite my lip. He's not wrong. "Then what's the solution?"

He makes a gesture with his hands—a twist and a toss to the side.

Snap their necks? "Absolutely not. You just said a minute ago that they were noncombatants."

"That was before they were threatening our lives." His glare turns mutinous. "Yourlife. I won't allow that."

I cross my arms over my chest. They're people, and a lot of them aren't fighters. I saw a female with a baby."

"It's them or us, Aidy?—"

I shut him down before he can continue, putting my hand on his chest, over his heart. His noisy, humming heart. It's a reminder that we're not exactly quiet, either. "Let me see what I can do, all right?"

He frowns. "What is it you think to do?"

"Talk to them? Can't hurt, right?"

"They don't speak. They just hoot."

I think he's wrong, though. I think they're communicating and we're not seeing it. They look nervous and twitchy, constantly moving, but something tells me that the hooting isn't the language. The body is. And for some silly reason, I feel like Ican figure this out. "Give me a chance. I don't want to resort to murder."

He growls and flicks his hand at the cluster of abominable snow-people a short distance away. "Get them to be quiet, then. If your way doesn't work, mine will." I turn to leave, and he grabs my hand. "If they touch you, I will make sure they never touch anything again. Understand?"

Why does his surly possessiveness make me giddy inside? Jesus, I've got issues. I nod, trying not to show how pleased his words make me. "I'll be careful."

I give him one last reassuring pat on the hand and then turn to face the strangers. I don't know why I'm so convinced they're people, just that I am. It stands to reason that whoever lives on this planet isn't going to look like what I imagine people to look like. The suns are doubled, the mountains are purple, and I have a humming worm in my chest. Of course things are going to be different here. This means communication is different, too.

It means I need to try and talk to them. If we're going to be here for the duration of this game (however long that might be) we need to make friends with the locals.

I take a cautious step forward, not smiling. I seem to recall something in my memories about bared teeth seeming threatening, though I have no idea where I got it from. Instead, I put my hands out, palms up, and move slowly. "Friends. We want to be friends."

The tallest—the one that must be the leader, and the one that Corvak defeated—quivers and crouches low, hunching to show submission. I inwardly wince. Do I get down on his level to show that we mean no harm, or will that just tell him we're fair game for attacking? I don't know the etiquette. I decide to go with a simple introduction and pat my chest. "Aidy. I'm Aidy. Ay-deee."

They stare at me.

In the back, someone hoots.

I try again, patting my chest. "Aidy."

The leader stands and tentatively brushes his fingers over his breastbone.

Yes! Exactly! "Aidy."

He brushes his fingers over his chest again and hoots.

Somewhere behind me, Corvak snorts.

I know I'm right, though. I'm sure I can communicate with these people. I just need to choose my words and gestures carefully. I touch my chest again, then my cheek, then brush my arm, as if to say that all of me is Aidy. "Aidy."

Then, I point at the nearest snow-man, and let my face show my questioning.

He lifts his head and hoots again, the sound softer, then gestures at me and makes a huffing sound.

"I think he's trying to say my name," I tell Corvak.