Free Sword of the Gods: The Chosen One by Anna Erishkigal

boyfriend.
    “Who … Jamin?”  He
pointed in the direction the man had disappeared.  Had she really picked
up his language that quickly?
    Ninsianna nodded yes. 
“Jamin.” 
    It appeared she shared
the same underlying non-verbal body language as his race.  Not wanting to make
any assumptions, he nodded his head and said “ sua [yes].”  Then he
nodded his head and said “ aon [no].”  He did it several more times until
she understood.
    “Yes, sua ,
Jamin!”  She pinched her nose as if blocking out a bad smell.  She laughed, a
delightful, musical sound.  Definitely somebody she knew. 
    Her face, her entire
body, even her language was animated.  He couldn't remember who he was, but he
had the feeling his people were not as expressive as the unusual woman who had
saved his life. 
    “Let’s get back to the
ship,” Mikhail said.  He attempted to sit up.
    “Up,” she said in her
own language, pointing up.  Mikhail repeated the word and then said it in his
own language, “ suas .”  She repeated the words as she helped him to his
feet, laughing with delight as she experimented with the unfamiliar words
rolling off of her tongue.  She propped herself beneath his armpit like a
crutch, wrapping one arm around his waist to stabilize him as they made their
way back to his ship.  Once again, he was aware of that feeling of warmth, a
lessening of his pain wherever she touched him.
    “Back here.”  He pointed
past the bridge to the sleeping quarters.  “I can't remember my own name, but
for some reason I remember the layout of my ship.”  His fingers automatically
found the light switch built into his bunk.  By the size and number of bunks,
the ship could transport four crew members and a modest cargo.  He appeared to
have been the only person on board at the time of the crash. 
    “I need to sit down,”
he said as she maneuvered his splinted wing to turn in the narrow aisle between
the bunks, “before I collapse.”
    She examined his
injuries.  The chest wound seeped blood, but otherwise the stitches had held. 
She reached into her satchel and pressed more fresh leaves against the hole in
his chest.  He detected an astringent odor reminiscent of alcohol.  Some type
of medicinal herb, perhaps?
    He studied the
unguarded expressions which crossed her face as she gave him water from her
water skin, the one that had started all the trouble when he'd thoughtlessly
drained it.  This time, he only took enough to quench his thirst. 
    She pulled dried jerky
and berries from her satchel.  The meat was chewy and salty and the berries
sour, but they were all he'd had to eat in two days.  Taking another draught of
water, she put the rest away.  Pulling back the covers, she pointed to his bed
and barked an order he clearly understood despite the language barrier.
    “Up … suas ?”
Ninsianna pointed towards the ceiling.  She then pointed down and muttered
something in her own language.  She had to repeat the gesture a second time
before he realized she asked what the word for ‘down’ was.
    “Down,” he said,
pointing down to the floor.  “ Sios .”
    “ Sua, sios [yes, you down].”  By her stern expression, she wouldn't to take 'no' for an
answer.  Having just witnessed her punch that Jamin fellow in the face, he
decided it was wise to do as he was told. 
    “Down.”  He arranged
his broken wing to minimize his discomfort.  Pointing to the opposite bunk, he
said, “you, sios , down.”
    “ Sua, sios [yes, down].”  Ninsianna pulled back her covers and kicked off her crude animal
skin shoes. 
    Mikhail gaped as she
slipped off the shawl which served as her dress, leaving herself naked except
for a loincloth fastened around her hips, and slid beneath the covers.  With a
smile of pure innocence, she said something he assumed meant “good night,” and
promptly fell asleep.
    He stared at the
trusting woman asleep across the aisle before snapping off the light.  Injuries
or no