Hannah shifted, groaned, arched her back and heard several snaps. She plopped back down in the chair looking at the fire. This had become the most uncomfortable chair in the world. For nearly two weeks she had slept, or at least attempted to sleep, in this solid wood oak chair, made out of polished logs to look 'natural' to fit with the overall theme of the cabin. She had put the felt blanket in every way she could imagine to try to make it softer, but to no avail. The fur rug was starting to seem like a better option.

She shifted her shoulders back, scooted so that she was sitting on the edge of the seat and her chin was tucked right up against her chest looking into the fire. The past couple of days had become comfortable; she was giving Jar-hidda's leg a few more days before making the trek to his ship and he had started going hunting by himself. It had become normal in its own way, her body was starting to get back to its normal routine in what it was used to, and muscle memory pined for the soft comfort of a bed at the end of the day.

Finally she gave up, moving out of the chair, stretched out her back with an uncomfortable noise. She laid the fleece blanket on the fur rug and laid down on top of it. It got too hot really quickly, and she dragged the rug away from the fire until it was right up against the chair. She laid down with a sigh looking up at the orange ceiling. She was almost forty, far too old to be sleeping on the floor like some spry teenager.

She grimaced and rolled over onto her side, feeling her shoulder dig easily through the fleece and fur and hitting the wood. She looked into the fire, missing her king-size bed upstairs, occupied by an alien.

She sat up suddenly. Why was she sleeping on the floor in front of the fire like the family dog and the rough-tough high-pain-tolerance alien was sleeping in her bed!?

Hannah stood up from the rug, picking up her blanket and tossing it into the chair. She moved upstairs with a purpose. Jar-hidda was asleep on the bed, his back turned to her, dressed only in his loincloth. The notion that they could possibly just share the bed crossed her mind. Human compassion crept in, reminding her that he was injured, and her guest, so he deserved the bed. It was big enough that she could sleep on the very end of one side and be fine.

But there was just something about the idea of sharing her bed with an alien…. She stepped into the room, picking up the musky smell that was simply his scent that had come to permeate the room. He hadn't stirred, which was unusual, she figured him for one of those light-sleeping, pull-out-a-weapon-upon-awakening sort. She doubted what she was doing for s moment, but then steeled herself and moved up behind him.

She roughly shoved his shoulder and shot back when he flipped over onto his hands and knees, one leg slipping off the edge of the bed as his yellow eyes searched and his mandibles spread. His gaze quickly settled on her as she stood dumbstruck at her own idiocy. He looked ready to kill, like she had jabbed a sleeping bear with a stick. He stared at her, rattling in a way that she didn't understand, but his gaze said it all, 'what do you want?'

Hannah thought about backing down, going back downstairs to lay down on the hard wood floor in front of the fire—what was she thinking!? She braced herself, setting her jaw and squaring her shoulders back and making herself look as intimidating as she could. She pointed at the bed with a jerky movement and said with conviction, "my bed."

Jar-hidda looked down at the exact spot she had pointed, then back at her, rattling again. He crawled forward, shoulders rolling as his clawed toes threatened to pierce the sheets. He slipped off the side of the bed, facing her directly, looking down at her from his full height, shoulders squared and his fingers brandishing their claws. She didn't back down, staring straight up into his eyes, curling her hands into fists. His mandibles spread as he roared with enough force to move the stray strands of hair away from her face.

She stood her ground and his mandibles closed. He tilted his head and rattled again, amused or pleased or… something she wasn't sure.

"My bed," she said again tersely. Jar-hidda grunted and shoved her shoulder, knocking her out of her spot and he mocked her.

"My bed," he growled and spread his arm in that same challenging stance he had done to her a couple days ago. He was going to fight her for it. She had wished that they were over this and that he understood fighting him was not only pointless but borderline suicide. He was intent on it, it seemed, and he was waiting for her move.

She held her breath and stepped back towards the door. She stopped just in front of the threshold and let her breath go, turning her shoulder towards him and raising her fists to protect her center. She had never actually fought anyone outside of her mother's training lessons. Sure there was the one girl in highschool who had misconceptions about why she was an orphan, but she had gone down with one solid punch to the chin.

To say she was rusty was an understatement. As she stood there, looking at Jar-hidda as the alien observed her, she was giving herself a quick refresher course, not that it would help any. Protect her center, keep at least one fist level with her chin, don't provide the opponent any openings, keep aware of weak spots. Jar-hidda's ankle was nearly fully healed, not exactly a weakspot anymore, his mandibles were probably the more fragile of his appendages, but were rather out of reach for a conventional fist fight. His spread-arm aggressive stance left his center wide open, but he could afford to. Bullets couldn't get through that tough hide of his, let alone her small fist.

What had she gotten herself into?

He didn't give her the chance to back out, closing the distance between them with a single step, and his bare fist came swinging at her like a sledge hammer. It whipped through her hair as she ducked underneath it, delivering a sloppy uppercut to his diaphragm. She heard the impact hit him solidly despite the poor delivery. She mentally reprimanded herself and ducked to the side, putting distance between them.

She did not calculate for her much larger opponent's much longer reach. Her left ear rang as he backhanded her, nearly sending her toppling to the ground. She caught herself on her hand and stumbled back to her feet, turning to face him, keeping one fist up. She moved to the side, felling her knee hit the bed and dropped instantly, anticipating his attack to his cornered prey.

She swung her leg out to trip him, and felt like she had attempted to swipe the roots out from under a tree. She moved away quickly, knowing that her shin was going to bruise, and he remained standing. She cursed in her head profusely enough to make a sailor blush. There was no way she was going to win this, not unless she fought dirty, and he hadn't given her reason to. This was why she stuck to guns.

He walked towards her cautiously, no, casually. He knew she was no match for him and while her shirt was sticking to her skin like it was monsoon season, he hadn't even broken a sweat, if he could sweat. The futility of the situation just made her more upset. She stepped forward into his circle, swinging punches hoping to accomplish something and he didn't even move to block. He just let her hit him. He was clicking at her, laughing. Then he caught one of her wrists, his fingers circling easily around the entire limb. She tried to pull out, but the strength of his two nubs alone was enough to keep her in place. He began pulling her to the side, showing off his strength? Demonstrating his superiority? He laughed at her, the tusks on his upper mandibles clicking against his lower.

She dug her heels against the wood and tried to pull out of his grip. She glowered at him, set her jaw and pulled back a fist. She collapsed at the sudden release when her fist impacted his mandibles. Her knuckles had cut open on one of the tusks, but he was stumbling back, holding his face and making a sort of howling screaming noise. She launched herself from the ground and threw her shoulder at his knees. He fell forward, and she was sure she had dislocated her shoulder. She whipped around on her feet and kneed his side, sending him tumbling to his back. She pounced on him ready to just beat his face in, lost in the adrenaline.

Her wrists were caught in both of his hands and he easily reversed their positions, his dreads tapping against her face as he roared at her, the lining of one of his mandibles bleeding from being cut on his sharp inner teeth. She clenched her fists and roared back and, in a move that was more reflex than coherent thought, she brought her knee up to his groin.

Jar-hidda made a whining noise and collapsed to the side, curling slightly in a fetal position. She sat up with a wide-eyed look at him, horrified at what she had just done. He recovered faster than any human man would have, breathing raggedly as he moved again to his knees, planting on foot on the ground. He then began laughing, that human laugh that he had gotten from someone else.

She scrambled back as he moved to his feet, letting out a heavy breath touching where the blood was leaking out from his mandibles and looking at it on his fingers. He turned his yellow eyes to her, as she stood with her back to the bed, wondering what sort of Hell he was going to put her through now as retribution.

Instead, he walked away from her, towards the fire, "want it that bad, take it," he growled.

Hannah blinked, then blinked again. Those were not words she had taught him. She watched flabbergasted as he settled onto the ground near the fire, "you…."

Jar-hidda flinched as a pillow smacked into the back of his head and he turned his head to look over his shoulder at Hannah, his yellow eye catching the light and seemed to be glowing.

"You speak English!" she accused loudly, pointing at him.

"A little," he growled again, looking away dismissively. His voice, his voice, was so deep and gravelly it almost didn't actually have tone at all, it was like listening to someone talk while they were gurgling stones. He was hit with another pillow and he looked at her again, the tendons I her neck could be seen as she held in a full-out ranting and screaming-fit that would have put a toddler to shame.

"Then why didn't you say anything before!? This whole time I've been talking to you like you were a one-year old! I've-," Hannah felt a chill at the realization of all the things that had come out of her mouth thinking that Jar-hidda couldn't understand her. She had confided in him, insulted him, chastised him among countless other things that the much larger alien could easily just kill her for.

"I don't know you," he growled behind his mandibles, "I don't know this place."

Hannah relaxed, lowering a third pillow, understanding slightly. This world was as alien to him as he was to her. Trust was that much more of an issue. She sighed and rubbed her temples, "you have some explaining to do," she groaned underneath her breath.

"Explaining?" he growled, having difficulty with the word.

"I have questions, you will answer."

"In the morning," Jar-hidda turned from her and laid his head back down, facing the fire, snatching the two pillows to place under his head. Hannah sighed and arranged her remaining pillows and also laid down, but had a feeling it would be several hours before she would be able to sleep.