Lirran knelt on the ground encircled by the attackers. They were superficially human, but far different from him. The attackers started to argue among each other heavily. The first attacker, seemingly the youngest of the squad, was being reprimanded by the other ones. They all had a very similar appearance he had heard of the ones called treefolk: short with short legs, long arms, hands dangling below their knees, toes long and soles short, no hair anywhere on their body or head, dark tan skin and apart from a loincloth, only adorned with paint on their bodies, each of them bearing bows and club-like weapons. 

Still, their captors were human and despite Lirran understanding barely a word clearly, the language seemed much more familiar than the clicking and squirting of Navigator Kaza. He looked to her, she was lying flat on her face but had curled her mantle in, apparently too afraid to even move her head to look around. The second attacker was still reprimanding the first but the third approached Lirran, he was obviously the oldest of the three. 

He addressed Lirran with a low voice in a broken form of his language. “You are intruder, you are now prisoner.” 

Lirran could do nothing but nod at the man standing a head shorter than him. 

Lirran was bound with rope, but when they tried to lift Kaza off the floor, she gave horrid screaming sounds off that hurt their ears. As the first attacker raised his club once again, the other two quickly stopped him. Blue blood now flowed from a crack in one of the shell plates on her mantle. 

They ordered Lirran to take a look at her and when he knelt down to her head, she peeked out carefully. “Shell is broken, I no longer can do stand!” 

Lirran saw why, the shell plates formed a spine for Navigator Kaza’s kind. They overlapped by some mechanism that allowed her to put weight on it. If she tried to stand with a broken or cracked one, it might tear them apart completely. 

“What now we do?” 

“I in water need to swim, then I can heal slow.” 

Lirran looked to their captors. “It is unlikely that they will agree.” 

Kaza seemed to think for a moment. “I suggest you do carry me.” 

Lirran looked into her eyes. Her full weight would certainly be a burden to him, but he could not let that hinder him. If they struggled against their captors, they would surely be killed. “I now do that.” He turned around and knelt down. Slowly, Kaza slithered onto his back and wrapped her mantle around him, grasping onto his arms and shoulders. Their captors took another rope and wrapped it around the two of them to tie them together like a bundle. 

Kaza’s weight was even greater than Lirran had thought. With only careful steps, he managed to follow his captors, with whom he could only keep up because their weird feet and short legs did not carry them very fast. One of them climbed up a tree by swinging and swaying his body on his long arms, his short legs pushing him further up with great strength, then he was too high up for Lirran to lift his head under the weight. 

With body leaning forward while also paying close attention to every step he set, he had no opportunity to see what the forest around him looked like or where they were headed, except slope upwards. After what felt like a painful eternity of burden, he heard their captors speak to others in their tongue. 

What Lirran did have time to pay attention to were the weapons of his captors. The clubs were made of a wood with a grain visible only in some spots where the almost-black gave way to a deep red. They were as long as a sword or club for one hand, curving first back then forward in a naturally flowing manner, resembling a cutlass or falchion, but of wood and wide at the tip like a club, yet their edges looked sharp enough to cut, with notches where they had obviously been used to parry blows like a sword. The grain of the wood followed the shape of the weapon so closely, Lirran was convinced this wood had been grown for years to become this weapon and nothing else. 

The bows appeared to be made of layers of different woods and were almost as tall as the wielders themselves. The arrows in their quivers would reach from his own feet to his heart, fletched with iridescent green and blue feathers. The shafts were made of white, flexible wood but the tips of the same dark-red as their sword-maces, shaped like hearts, or leaves of linden. 

He soon caught a glimpse of other humans of these people that walked along them on the path but made way quickly when they saw the group approach. None of them had any hair, even on their head, including their women and children. He saw their feet with short soles and toes as long as fingers. The men wore only loincloths and body paint, the women concealed their bodies somewhat more with lengths of cloth wrapped around only the torso, leaving painted arms and legs free. All of them gawked at him from large, dark eyes. 

Lirran’s steps became slower, his legs tired but still stemmed the precious weight he bore until, finally, his captors stopped. They stood on an area of the forest cleared mostly of trees yet still shadowed by a canopy, apparently. He tried looking up, but his cargo made turning from the hunched position difficult. Some of the people he saw lining the area carried spears or polearms and armour made of wood and leather. He heard his captors and other discuss wildly. Then an aged man in even more intricate wooden and leather armour arrived. He wielded an ornately decorated club and a shield with a symbol engraved upon it. He commanded some people around and there seemed to be order. He stepped closer to Lirran and what he could see were furrowed facial features aged by sun and scars. 

“What tribe are you from?” There was a determination and accusation in his voice that told Lirran his mind was made up as to what Lirran was. 

Lirran answered truthfully. “I am from Ulsol. I am of no tribe, but used to be under the liege of Lord Fron.” 

The old warrior raised an eyebrow. “Where is that? The wet or the dry part of Insisa?” 

Lirran shook his head. “Ulsol is an island close to the frozen ocean. I have no stake in your land and neither does my Navigator. We were washed ashore by the storm.” 

The old warrior remained unconvinced. He barked commands and pointed to different directions to the others before turning back to Lirran. “Your truth will be discussed. Keep your mouth shut and I will let you live to your next interrogation.” 

Lirran tried to appeal to him. “Please, my Navigator needs care and some water. At least allow her a wet blanket of sorts!” 

The honoured warrior looked back to him and smirked, then instructed some bystander, whereupon they emptied buckets of dirty water over him. 

He gritted his teeth and grumbled. He would have to endure for now. 

Further on Lirran was pushed and pulled. All he could see was the forest floor beneath him, which soon was replaced by boardwalks and ramps leading upwards. His legs protested but he marched on. He noticed more guards in armour were accompanying him now. He was brought on some kind of tall ring-shaped walkway and pushed onwards towards a steep drop. He now saw that he was probably more than fifty feet above the ground. He got pushed on by the guards. Was he to jump? 

He heard metallic rattling from above and an iron cage was lowered down. “Drop fish!” a guard urged him on. They cut the ropes binding him to Navigator Kaza. 

Lirran tried to talk to her. “Can you crawl in?” 

But she just gave off a pained squeak. 

He turned around and knelt down, trying to let her down. Navigator Kaza was least thrilled to be confined to such a cage. Lying down completely was impossible on the limited floor space. “I am sorry, they are forcing me.” He turned to the guards, looking at him from behind masks of wood. “Do you not have a barrel you can lock her in? She cannot stand, she wouldn’t be able to escape dry land anyway!” 

But they merely repeated their order. “Drop fish!” 

Lirran sighed and Navigator Kaza slithered off his back. She came to rest with her entire mantle covering the lower third to half of the cage’s bars, but at least her spinal plates were flat on the ground. Blue blood was smered all across her mantle from where her shoulder would be. 

The guards pulled Lirran back from the cage and closed it with a lock, then gave a signal and the cage was raised back up. Lirran followed it and saw dozens of cages, some occupied, hanging from a ceiling of boards and spars. He was on a ring-shaped platform from which each cage could be accessed once lowered. He was pushed on to the next position and the cage meant for him was lowered. He walked in with little resistance. There was little to do. Once inside, he collapsed on the floor, his legs sticking out between the bars. 

From higher above, he saw the boards of the walkways and ramps seemed as if held voluntarily by the trees around them. The trees that formed the walls of this prison stood tight by tight, lattices boards filled up any gaps in between. The air was humid and warm, standing still. He looked over to his Navigator. 

“Are you doing well?” He called out. 

Her answer was a pained and desperate gurgle. Only slowly did foam flow out of her mantle. She was breathing, but barely conscious. 

A feeling of hopelessness again overcame Lirran. Raindrops fell down on cages and boards occasionally, but he was in the dry and so was Navigator Kaza.