They sway out of the dust, elongated noses and bottom teeth scraping at the ground. Huge, striped bulks of flesh and armored skin emerge from a storm they’ve carried from the steaming north. They look exhausted, but they won’t rest until they reach the flooded grasslands behind me. Indeed, this herd has marched relentlessly for hundreds of miles just to reach this inland delta.
I feel my guts twist as they coalesce out of the cloud front. From my Earthly perspective, everything about this seems wrong. My mind balks at their appearance, their silent arrival, and their local name, hoploderms. So similar yet so different to the creatures I know back home. Still, that’s the 8th-Day World for you, Earth’s strange little sister.
Besides, I’m not here for them, but him.
He steps out of the dust storm in the middle of the herd. Seven feet tall and wrapped in a nomad’s robes, he matches the hoploderms step for step. The right hand holding his walking staff looks human enough, though huge and scarred. As he strides forward, however, I catch glimpses of carapace on his left side, full of cracks and protrusions. And I remember: He’s the strangest thing here.
“Out for an evening stroll, Weathered?” I call when I think he’ll hear. The half-giant squints at me, but doesn’t break stride.
“Eric Anderson,” he says, then walks right on by. “Give me a moment, off-worlder.”
Flanked by the hoploderm herd, Weathered plunges into the water and floating greenery behind me. Contented rumbles shake the air, as they feast and quench their massive thirst.
“Thanks,” Weathered says after a long drink. “When chasing the rains, hoploderms keep walking even during their usual rest cycles.” He flips his hair back and wipes dust from his split face. “I wanted to experience that determination up close.” Weathered smiles like he’s discovered a universal truth or something.
I say, “Elephants never rest, eh?” and nod in agreement.
“I don’t know about elephants,” he frowns. “But hoploderms can forgo rest when—”
“Never mind,” I interrupt, “it’s just an expression.”
Then he aims a question my way.
“You’re a little far from home, aren’t you?”
He’s right. Usually, I only come to this world when I feel like slumming it on the frontier. But today I’m working.
“Something from here kicked open a door in the House last week,” I reply. “I’m supposed to be on vacation. But Caretaker’s sick, so I gotta investigate.”
“Elephants never rest, indeed,” he nods knowingly.
I wince. Gotta keep my clever comments to myself. Otherwise, these one-world bumpkins just abuse them!