One
The jungle was dense. Number One crept through the undergrowth, listening carefully to the various ambient noises that surrounded her. She spotted a Rafflesia flower on the ground ahead of her. A spark of joy lit up in her chest, but was snuffed out just as soon. Those grew everywhere in the jungle, finding one offered no help to pinpoint her location.
She felt dreadful, having run off after getting angry with her Cêpan. Now she was lost. Pathetic! She scolded herself, kicking a tree trunk hard enough to dent it.
Worry weaselled its way into her gut as the jungle around her fell silent. Her eyes flicked around the undergrowth, scouring for any signs of danger. A branch snapped beneath her foot, making her jump. Sighing, she gave another baleful glance at the plants before setting off in a jog. Her best bet was to go east- she could almost feel the tug in her gut from her Cêpan's worry.
"I'm going to be in so much trouble when I get back," she mused aloud, smirking a little. Her feet hit the soft ground in a steady rhythm, the sound changing to a sharper thunking as the terrain changed to wood. The root she was running on was thick, sturdy. She soon leapt back to the ground. The air was fresh, and she closed her eyes to enjoy the feeling of it mingling with her hair.
She ran a little longer, until she spotted a swatch of fabric caught on a branch. She frowned a little, slowing down next to the plant. Tentative, she lifted the patch off of the twig, holding it at eye level. It was light brown, soft (most likely from some kind of shirt, she deduced) and some kind of stitch down the middle of it. From the way it had been caught on the twig, and the size of the tear itself, Number One guessed that whoever owned this scrap had been moving right.
She looked in the aforementioned direction and saw that twigs on the ground had been snapped and leaves had been jumbled. However hardened by her history, she was still just a curious young girl. This finding piqued such a feeling. Her feet ghosted across the ground, barely stirring the leaves. Her eyes were glued to the path before her, feverishly scanning for more hints.
Horror shot down her spine like an electric shock when her eyes came to a splatter of blood on a green, plate-like leaf. A million possibilities circled through her brain. Was it her Cêpan's? Was it Mogadorians? Her head snapped up, instantly more alert for suspicious noises.
She shook her head once, twice, thrice, and went back to her path-following. The animals were still silent around her, like they were holding their breath and anticipating some kind of terrible happening.
Number One's heart pounded in her chest, the blood trail growing wider by the moment. Some of it still glistened, fresh. Breathing in small, almost hysterical gasps, eyes flicking across the shining, sickeningly sweet-smelling blood trail, she tore through a wall of foliage as it came to block her path.
The alien's breath came to a violent halt in her throat. She fell down to her knees, scrabbling at the dead leaves around the body. Her Cêpan... her friend, laying with a torn up middle, from her gut to her pelvis. Not dead, yet, as she wasn't dust. Number One's hands grasped the older woman's shoulders, shaking gently and trying to lock eyes with her Cêpan. Something unintelligible burbled from her mouth, followed by a coughing spray of blood. Number One didn't even start to care how life still clung enough to the woman to keep her solid.
A sob racked her frame, her face contorting into an ugly expression of pain. A foot thumped behind her, forcing a squeak from her throat. No. No, no, no, no! Without another moment's hesitation, she launched herself over the corpse, dust exploding into her palm.
She ran hard, the sounds of pursuit only egging her on. She zig-zagged through the trees, scattered plant debris crunching underneath her feet. A root stuck up from the ground, too small, too seemingly insignificant for her to really notice it until it caught the toe of her shoe and sent her sprawling to the ground. A thick hand snatched the scruff of her shirt and lifted her effortlessly. The Mogadorian laughed at her effort, enjoying the desperate way she squirmed.
The entry of the blade was less painful than she imagined, not to say that it wasn't. Just that it was a little more... dull. She dropped like a sack of flour, her eyes glazing over, unable to move. The last thing she could see before an endless blackness was that annoying Rafflesia flower. And she could hear whispers. Whispers of thousands of voices, all saying "save Lorien!"
But then, they all screamed.