Chapter 10: Old Tech

As Jamison, from the winged branch of the hanuman tribe, approached the gathering of strangers, the swamp water barely rippled. He thought, don’t trigger an incident, but he didn’t know what to expect or how these people might interpret his actions—no one in his life had ever encountered a single original, much less a family or tribe.

But he kept easing forward until almost within striking range, then stopped and held both hands out palm up. “My name is Jamison.” Although inefficient, he used the old language. “I’m a field medic. Perhaps I can help the fallen one.”

“Help him?” The original’s apparent leader stood two heads over Jamison, but his shoulders drooped like he carried full five-gallon pails in each hand, and his face lacked color; heartache had him down, if only for the moment. “My son, Tulugaak, is gone. The life no longer shines in his eyes, and his blood has stilled.”

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