Humans and Silence
Humans are feared Shamans, their music can heal the sick or inspire armies, but on one very black day, in the very worst of times, you may discover the power of their silence.
Human music is a magical thing and the Dran have learned to fear it, but sometimes their silence is worse.
I only learned this after I died. Ha, that is a exaggeration, another habit picked up from time spent with humans who are the greatest of storytellers, but on this occasion it is not far from the truth. In fact, I fully expected to die and my squad did believe I was dead.
We were caught in an ambush, Dran all around with little chance of escape.
I was shot and as I fell I slipped down into a ravine. I remember little of it, only the pain and the sensation of tumbling before my body shut down protectively.
What I know is what I have been told by my old squad and what little Andy will admit to me.
For many cycles now I have considered Andy to be as a pouch brother. This might seem strange, humans are terrifying and awe inspiring creatures, but we have been through so much that now to watch our younglings play together is like watching the family clan.
Back when I was shot, Andy was mortified. He was dragged away by the squad when they discovered a chink in the Dran line. There was no way they could get to me and not one of them doubted they had seen me die, something I do not blame them for when when the chances of my survival were so slim.
That night they found a place to rest, but Andy refused to sing or even sleep. He spent the night staring into the darkness, a sentinel radiating pure fury. His anger was so clear it kept the squad from resting too and their own thoughts turned as angry as his.
When he did speak it was to announce his intention to go back for me. No one could convince Andy it was foolish, he would not believe I was dead until he saw my body for himself, and then he would make sure I got the burial I deserved. It may mean little to us, but humans show great reverence to the dead and most especially those they treasured in life.
By this time I was awake again although I wished I were not. The Dran dragged me out of that ravine and threw me into a transport cart, not tending to my wounds or giving any thought to my pain as is typical of them.
I could see nothing, I could only hear the fighting. There were yells and screams, shots fired, even an explosion which sounded very like the humans who fight with us, they do like to make things explode.
When the cart door opened I was expecting a Dran executioner, instead I saw Andy.
He was bathed in blood and gore, his eyes burned with anger which melted the moment he saw me looking back at him. That was one of the few times I have seen his tears.
No words were spoken, he picked me up with his customary ease and threw me over his shoulders.
The next time I woke, Andy was playing his guitar at my bedside. I was safe, comfortable, and relaxed, he did everything to aid my recovery with his gentle music.
That was the only time Andy did not sing to the squad before going into battle and they told me the effect was more powerful than anything less than the death metal. Our Shaman vibrated pure and unadulterated rage, it rolled off him like fog battling the dawn sun, and it led them to slaughter every Dran between them and me.
It is a high honour to know my human brother unleashed the purest of magics in his quest to find me and bring me home.