A Human's Perspective on a Monster's World.

The firelight encompasses them all, the smell of the roasting buck is slowly filling the air. It's cold, we've been traveling north for days, weeks, I suppose. It's somehow easier to lose track of the days out here in the wilderness. My legs ache from walking, my back throbs from carrying my pack. How many times have I wanted to just throw the damned satchel down and never look back? Somehow, here in the wild, it's easier to not care so much for material objects.
The ground is hard, I'm tired of sleeping on it, sitting on it. I'd kill a man just to have a soft chair or a warm bed again. Dirt is underneath my fingernails, no amount of scrubbing in the few freshwater ponds and lakes has been able to change this. My skin feels dry and filthy, I'd kill another man for a shower, even just a short one, with soap. Oblivion, I miss soap. My companions seem less bothered by it. Even, Adashii, a creature of water doesn't seem bothered. Then again, I haven't witnessed much that has actually been able to dampen the Naga's spirits. His endless enthusiasm annoys me.

Sioriana sits to the left of me, never within arms reach of anyone. The white fur of my Kitsune companion is nearly golden in the firelight, her black markings nearly disappearing into the night. She's curled up tightly, her small furred hand clutching a small green leather bound book that she writes in nearly every evening. Her other hand swirls her strange feather writing instrument about the pages of her journal. Her hands are identical to mine in silhouette, yet the flesh of her palms is replaced by spongy paw pads, like that of a feral animal. Each of her five fingers is topped in a deadly claw. She pauses for a moment in her heated writing, to gently caress the feathered end of her quill against her...lips? Are they really even considered that? Her long vulpine face is in no way like that of a human's. Does her species kiss?
My attentions are directed to the man closest to her, even though he is still just out of reach. His eagle eyes are trained on the cooking deer, yet his taloned and scaled hands are cleaning one of his many blades. His massive wings are curled against his back, casting odd shadows on his avian face. I know one of his wings is broken, he's spoken of it before, through a venomous tone. His armor is still strung tightly against his feline body. With fur is there really any need for clothing? Do the Gryphon people even wear clothing unless they're soldiers? His tawny fur is short, showing the scars of past battle. I wonder how Rynoc came to be a mercenary. His feathered face shows no signs of age, yet I know him to be over sixty. How old does his species live to be? Twice my age, yet is he still considered young?
I've seen the way he looks at Sioriana though, it seems no matter the species, that look remains the same. Three times her age, but are age differences even taboo in the monster's world? Are specie differences? Despite our time traveling, I have not encountered any relations between two different races, at least not of the sexual kind. Sioriana takes a moment to meet eyes with the stoic Gryphon. She tucks her journal away and moves to her feet in a single movement. No matter how many days we travel, I am always stunned by her grace. She moves lithely on her toes toward the dark forest, her black robe with it's small, colorful designs fade quickly into the night. I faintly wonder if she's capable of walking flat-footed, like a Human. Rynoc stares at his blades, his hands. Not a heartbeat later, he follows. No one says a thing, nor makes a remark. Not even is a eyebrow raised, for those of us that have them. All that remains of us is Dion, Lore, Noxiana, Kamaria, and Adashii.

Dion sits farther back, his roots plunged deeply into the ground, feeding from the earth. His kind doesn't sleep, however his eyes are closed and his light green face is turned toward the sky. Flowers and vines protrude from his skull, forming makeshift hair. He's only visible from the waist up, his lower body completely made up of roots. Mandragora have no hands, nor legs, just tentacle-like roots from the waist and elbow down. Despite that he is possibly the strangest creature among them, I trust him the most. He has an easy way about him, with the infinite knowledge of all those that came before him. I know Mandragora rarely live past thirty. I also know that Dion doesn't technically have a gender, no Mandragora does. However, for whatever reason, it's just easier to associate the creature as male. Perhaps my own gender plays a role in this. Mandragora are commonly said to be more plant than animal, especially because they procreate by releasing spores. The thought of which boggles my mind. Do they fall in love? Would they know one of their 'children' if they ever met one? If you cut one open, what would you see?

Adashii sits with Kamaria and Noxiana. His long serpentine lower body is curled in on itself, the many bracelets of gold make a pleasant sound as he moves, explaining something or another to the girls. His face is long and wide, forming more of a snout with nose holes at the tip. I know for a fact he can dislocate that jaw of his to devour whole pigs. The thought still turns my stomach. Some times I can't help but wonder the anatomy of a creature with the lower body of a snake. Adashii doesn't wear much clothing, however there's always a bit of cloth around his waist. To be honest, I don't like putting much thought into it. He flirts with the girls, every roll of his body seems to suggest something else altogether. Every movement seems so intricate and tense. I wonder if that's a product of his race or his profession? Even with no music, it always just seems obvious that Adashii is a dancer.

Noxiana makes a noise that causes both of her companions to laugh. I still haven't been able to decipher the buzzes and hums of the Fae. Everyone else can understand her perfectly. She sits in the air, propelled by her two translucent dragonfly wings, on the ground she barely reaches my knee, but then again, she's rarely not flying. Her naked body gleams in the moonlight, apparently Fae have a particular aversion to clothing. Her light grey skin is accented by darker gray markings and bright pink hair. She seems so dainty and small to me, yet something always strikes me as wrong when I glance at her face and see a smooth plane of flesh where a mouth should be. Her three fingered hands feature her mouth in the palm of each. The small circular openings make my skin want to crawl, just knowing she could feed from me with a touch. She glances in my direction, her red eyes full of a certain kind of rage and disdain for me and my race. She ignores my staring, continuing her conversation.

Kamaria is no taller than my waist. I've never seen her in her true form, but I've heard that Feligions are the smallest of the favored nine Dragons. Her body is marked by extremely short fur with patterns of wild cats in red, brown, and gold. Her furred tail curls around her as her deep green eyes train on Noxiana. Small white horns top her skull next to large expression feline ears, such a strange creature to look so delicate yet be capable of transforming into something so deadly. Flesh runs from her face, down the front of her body, her face looks so Human, even with the border of scales that quickly transitions into fur that displays on the sides of her face and neck.
She watches Noxiana with such interest. Back on Cytimba, I never would have thought to see that look between two members of the same sex, however things are so different off the Human island. How comfortable they all are with each other, how is a Human supposed to fit into this monster's world? All of them could kill me so easily. Talons, claws, fangs, and magic. All I'm equipped with is a higher intellect and an understanding of technology. What good does that do me here? Out in the world of beasts and wild?

Lore is reclined near a rotting tree near me. Threi'la look the most Human out of any other race that I have encountered, despite that magic runs so deeply within their veins. Her ears are long, her purple eyes are without pupils, and her skin is the black-grey of fresh ash, but her face is so beautiful. Lore always holds a serious look, she doesn't talk much, but doesn't seem to get offended when I ask questions. She stares into the fire, chest moving with breath, silver hair framing her face. Exiled Threi'la are known for their curvaceous women, hearty nomads with roots in the ancient and forbidden art of blood magic and necromancy. I don't trust her, but I'd be lying if I said I hadn't noticed her. I look around our camp, no one really trusts the necromancer, Lore never seems to mind. I admire her ability to ignore the distrust. No one really trusts me either, I suppose the feeling is mutual. History hasn't made any of us friends.
She rolls her neck back, her body seems to go on forever. She's just barely taller than me, over six feet. It's been months since my voyage from the Mainland, months since I felt another person. A twinge of jealousy hits me at Noxiana and Kamaria, or Rynoc and Sioriana for their intimacy. Lore's eyes roll to meet mine, my head snaps back to staring at the fire. Real smooth, not obvious at all. The crunch of grass meets my ears as Lore checks the meat and throws more firewood onto the pit. She joins me on the ground, crouching at first, before relaxing with her legs to the side of her, lounging. The woman is all muscle from a life lived in the wilderness. She watches me for a moment.
“What do your people believe in, Lukai?” her voice is strong, feminine, yet with power. A slight accent is heard whenever she speaks. She fixes her purple eyes on me, one hand supports her weight, the other rests in her lap.
“Nothing. Religion is forbidden in the Mainland. There are a few rogue believers in Embrey that follow the teachings of the Bringer of Light. Otherwise, science is all we care about.” I swallow hard, talking about deities is something I had hoped to avoid. To my knowledge, all of the monsters had their own god or gods. Lore points her face to the sky, seeming to think for a bit. Her neck seems so long with her silvery hair pinned back like that.
“My people, those of the Corai'con, the Exiled Threi'la, believe in the world.” she meets my eyes once again. “All that is, is here and here is all that we will ever be.” she pulled dirt from the ground as she spoke and let it flow through her fingers. “Apart of this world, in this soil. My people believe that when we die, we return to the earth. No deities, just what is seen and felt.” I watched her warily, her seriousness always feels so comfortable, a fact that I am not comfortable with.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Sioriana and Rynoc return, they act as if nothing is out of the ordinary. She goes back to writing, he goes back to tending to the fire and his weapons. Why do they insist on pretending that what they do is a secret? I watch a telltale shiver erupt through Sioriana. I witness Noxiana run a hand through Kamaria's red-gold hair, rubbing her ear. Lore watches me examine them.

“Life is short, even for the most long-lived of us. Connection is rarely a thing happened upon, and even rarer a thing that is kept. You may be a stranger to this world, but you are just as much apart of it as the rest of us. If there is nothing else that you learn from this journey, Lukai, please remember that we all come from the same place.” she ran a hand down my cheek before she left me. Fire ignited where she touched, her calloused fingers lingering on my face long after she had departed from my presence. A sigh escapes me. Dion is still connected to the ground. Kamaria is still watching Noxiana, whom still holds contempt for me. Adashii is still doing his eternal dance. Sioriana is still small and quiet, intently trained on her work even if now the barest hint of a smile can be witnessed. Rynoc is still cleaning his weapons, even if something akin to self pity or hatred consumes his person. Lore is still watching the fire, eyes holding something I can't read. And me? I'm just as lost as I've always been.