A/Ns: Progress is still bein made. Slowly, but still. I now have 19 out of 35/36 chapters written. :) Now, on with the show!

Sciencegal - Right? On the upside, those interactions give you experience when writing similar scenes. Having a Puerto Rican best friend has made me think harder about how bilingual people think. Helped A LOT with Sophia's case, actually.

ZathuraRoy - Talking is talking in my book. Poor Leo, though. LOL

Guest - Yes. Yes, they did. But don't count Leo out just yet. This journey is all about him healing, after all...

CHAPTER 07: IZEL

Coyolxauhqui smiled across Izel's straw hut. "Do not pout, Izzy," she said.

"I am not pouting," Izel countered.

"Your arms are crossed."

"So?"

"And I know your bottom lip is not that big."

Izel sucked in her cheeks, distorting the tattoos over them as Coyo removed the lid from the firepot she squatted beside. The Chieftain scooped some stew from the pot with a wooden bowl then began to speak her best friend's name. Izel, however, cut her off when she stepped dangerously close to the red coals that heated their dinner.

"You told me I could see the creature by the time the moon was halved," she said. "Tonight, it is almost full."

"Sneaking out has become harder, Izel, and were we both missing—"

The skinhead waved a hand. "How would that differ from our childhood? Besides, at the rate you take Tetani leafs it is a wonder you have not been caught already."

Coyo frowned. "I take what is necessary."

"Half of Nenetl's reserves?"

"Remember his size, Izzy, his injuries. Added to that was Hupaxque's venom."

"Wah-posh-keh? He was bitten by Hapaxque? And lived?"

"I noticed its black mark on both his neck and hand."

"How?" Izel reclaimed her slack jaw. "How is that possible?"

"Hapaxque are known for their aggressive behavior. He must have encroached on the spider's territory."

Izel paused then dryly said, "You misunderstand. As usual."

"Then clarify."

"I meant how did he survive the creature's bite?"

"Ample amounts of Tetani. I mixed them with Xlopi, Scyn, and Maunt to create a paste. It eases his pain, although I suspect he dislikes it."

"So"—Izel rounded the fire pit to kneel by her friend—"you believe herbs saved his life? Odd, considering the death rate of Hupaxque is nine in ten."

Coyo stared at her stew. Should she mention the alarming rate at which the turtle-man was healing? When she had found him, his legs curved, and he reeked of death and urine. Yet now he sat up on his own. And spoke. Like a human.

"Coyo?"

Coyo faced Izel, saying, "Fine. You may come. But know one thing."

"What?"

"This creature is unlike anything you have ever seen, and…he does not speak our language."

"Huehuei Ometeotl," Izel whispered, eyes widening, "it speaks?"

Leonardo's throat had swelled shut. Someone invaded his sanctuary, another tribeswoman. Her frame was petite, and her hair had been shaved. Dressed in a fur-trimmed breechcloth and short poncho, she stood yards away, dumbfounded. If only Leo's legs were as healthy as his arms. Maybe then he'd have a chance at running.

'I should've expected this,' he thought. 'It was only a matter of time before someone else found me.'

Still, the obvious inevitability didn't calm Leo. The skinhead drew closer, and he squirmed against the tree base that cradled him.

The skinhead halted, calling over her shoulder, "Coyo, ah-yoh-tl?"

"Ah-yoh-tl eh lah la-cah, Izel," a second female answered. Coyolxauhqui. Brushing aside her frizzy hair, the tribeswoman placed a hand on the skinhead's shoulder then smiled.

So this newcomer was a friend? A member of her tribe, probably. That would explain why their tattoos matched in color, though not design.

The tribeswomen began chatting, their enthusiasm more foreign to Leo than their language. Only one other human had met him with such awe. He couldn't decide if that eased or worried him. Then again, things could be worse. He could've been found by those military troops instead.

'That's right.' Donald's voice echoed at the back of Leo's mind. 'Instead of becomin' a pet project, ya could be sacrificed to some pagan god. Doesn't that sound fun?'

Leonardo clenched his fists, gaze set on the humans. They seated themselves within arm's reach and waited until his breathing slowed before speaking.

"Ti-ah-lee," the skinhead told Leo. She spoke slowly enough that the pronunciation in her exotic accent could be detected.

Coyolxauhqui shook her head then recited some long phrase in gibberish.

The skinhead waved her off. "Notōcā Izel. Ken motōcā?"

"Izel—"

Leo stopped Coyolxauhqui with a sharp look before narrowing his eyes at Izel. "Coyolxauhqui already knows, I"—he licked his wounded lips—"don't know what you're saying. No understand. Got it?"

"English?" Izel asked. She faced her friend.

Coyolxauhqui nodded. Leo detected something strange in the way she averted her eyes: a shame that belonged to a child rather than a woman. She toyed with the edges of her breechcloth, chewing on her lip to avoid Izel's pointed stare.

"Wait; you know English?" Leo asked.

"More than Coyo," Izel replied.

Leonardo watched his nurse's head duck further. "Why? How? Wha—what are you doing here? What do you want?"

Izel waved her arms, her poncho lifting to reveal bare breasts. Instantly, Leo looked aside.

'Prude. What different does it make? Technically, ya're naked too. Don't even got any weapons or gear.'

"Speak slow," Izel said.

Even though Leo wouldn't meet her gaze, he sensed her smile. "What do you want?"

"Want?"

"With me. Why are you…helping?"

"Why not?" Izel chuckled as Leo's fists loosened. "Tribe come from help."

"Wh—what does that mean? Whose tribe?"

"Izel's. Coyo's."

"Izel," Coyolxauhqui started.

The skinhead patted her friend's hand, speaking more gibberish.

"Is well," Izel continued. "Trust Izel. Trust Coyo."

Leonardo frowned. Anyone who blindly accepted his existence warranted caution. And the whole time the tribeswomen unpacked a basket, he feared they'd brandish a weapon. There was none, sans that horrible paste.

Inside, Leo screamed.

"That was incredible." Izel turned from the bright moon to face her friend. The duo walked side-by-side as they trekked through the forest.

"He is magnificent, no?" Coyolxauhqui replied.

"And he speaks. I cannot believe you waited so long to introduce us!"

"I did not wish to distress him further."

Smiling, Coyo pushed aside a curtain of vines to reveal the open sky. The distant rooftops of their village's straw huts were now visible, and she waited for Izel to exit the forest before continuing down a steep hill.

"There is one thing I must ask," Izel said, feet sliding through the dirt.

Coyo answered hesitantly. "Y—yes?"

"When you found him, he was near death, bones broken. Yet he moved with more ease than any warrior who has survived less severe traumas."

"What are you insinuating, Izel?"

"Perhaps…perhaps he is a Teonehnemi."

"A Teo? He looks nothing like them."

"Their form can change."

"Not that severely.

Running ahead, Izel blocked Coyo with an outstretched hand and wild eyes. "What if he is a sign?"

"What sort?" Coyo made a face. "Really, such nonsense is the reason I have not taken him to our tribe."

"But—"

"If he were a Teonehnemi, they would have already taken him back. Besides, he speaks."

"True."

"Izel, he has not revealed his past nor intentions. So I beg you. Keep this a secret from the Elders. And Huitzi."

"Like I tell those cronies anything," the skinhead muttered. She snorted then smirked when the tribeswomen began walking again. "Are they your reason for keeping this secret? Or do you find pleasure in being the only one who knows of such a being's existence?"

Coyo's cheeks darkened with an embarrassment that whipped her head sideways. "Ludicrous," she said. "I am simply curious. You know what commotion would arise if others knew."

"In other words: you wish him to be your personal project."

"Izel!"

"Think, Coyo. Commotion or no, he is vulnerable out there. K'ekchi boundaries mean nothing nowadays and despite his remarkable healing, he has little defense against a predator—not even clothing."

"Yes. I know."

"You have been considering it."

"Since I found him."

"Rightly so. He is a living being, not an escape. Our people can protect him."

With a grave sigh and grin, Coyolxauhqui raised her head. "Why are you not Chieftain?"

"Me?" Izel snorted "No, no, no. Terrible idea."

"You talk so much about the things you would change."

"And, as you say, I intimidate women and enrage men. My ideas are mine. I have accepted that they will not spread beyond me. Which is fine."

"Really?"

"I am no leader."

"Neither am I."

Izel captured Coyo's hand, pulling her to a stop before their village's secondary gate. "Leadership runs in your blood. But you must find your own way of ruling. No one expects you to be your mother."

"No. Everyone fears I am more like my aunt."

"In ways." Izel's words stung—more so than similar ones spoken by K'ekchi Elders. "But," Izel added, "if you do not give up, you will not become her."

The tribeswomen's grips on each other tightened. Coyolxauhqui eyed the teal tattoos that seemed to jump from her hand to Izel's. It was their mark of Eztaca, their pact.

'My duty includes more than being Chieftain or a Tonalquizca,' she thought. She had a responsibility outside that—one which all K'ekchi shared. In that respect, she was not alone.

"I will speak with Huitzi in the morning," said Coyo.

Izel nodded. "Good idea. He is the one who deals with American traders."

"He is also a traditionalist."

"Worry not." Izel sniggered as the two opened the gate. "How big of a commotion could Leonardo cause?"

Agent Obadiah Rook cursed in Puerto Rican yet walked with ease, despite how he wished to backhand his assistant. "They were all unsuccessful?" he asked.

"Yes, Sir," Agent Barrett answered, stone-faced. The clone was, after all, accustomed to delivering bad news.

The man scanned the field report he held. "How many Jinchos were there?"

"No more than ten."

"And how many soldiers were deployed?"

"Thirty-five at O five hundred this morning, Sir."

"Are their conditions the same as the others?" With a deep sigh and frown, Obadiah made it apparent that a fluffed answer would be unacceptable.

"Mostly," Agent Barrett said. "In total, we had three deaths and a dozen accounts of agents falling unconscious moments after breaching the Barrier. All remaining members are in comas, save for seven soldiers who would not step outside the Safe Zone."

A snide smile tugged at Obadiah's face, causing several wrinkles to emphasize his aging condition. "So Baxter's invention was useless, as I predicted. Considering his terrible luck with Lombardo, you'd think Bishop would focus more on military strength, not scientific. Barrett"—said woman stood at attention—"deport the survivors to The Island. If they wish to be deserters, they can be treated as such."

Agent Barrett spoke without hesitation or emotion, "Yes, Sir."

"Decades of failures and it still pisses me off." Continuing through his base camp, Obadiah went on to say, "At this rate, there won't be anyone left to mine the wreckage. We need a new angle. Something fresh. Something—"

"Excuse me, Agent Rook."

Obadiah loathed the voice but spared a smile at the younger Hispanic who grabbed his arm. "Agent Hyde," he said. "Enjoying your naps?"

Agent Xander Hyde glanced at his hand then removed it from his superior. "I haven't fallen asleep since, Sir. Trust me."

"If you say so. Got something important to report?"

"Um, yeah. It"—Agent Hyde stepped closer to whisper—"it's about the lead I told you about."

Obadiah ran a hand over his gray beard. "The mutant? Have you found him?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"He's tricky, alright?" Agent Hyde asked in Spanish. Months ago, his Mexican dialect had required some acclimation. Now Rook understood him with little effort. "The mutant left his camp like he had just vanished. Real Stefan King shit. I followed his footprints until they disappeared by the river."

"I've heard this," Obadiah said, voice heated.

"But what you don't know is that I've found new signs. No, don't leave. Hear me out, Sir. Please."

Obadiah shared a look with Barrett. She stared listlessly, and the man returned to Agent Hyde with a groan.

"There are piles of old food," Agent Hyde said. "Used vegetation. And I—I think the smell of urine and feces."

"You think?"

"That's the problem, Sir. I couldn't stay long."

"Why?"

Agent Hyde steeled his expression. "His new camp is inside the Barrier. I almost didn't make it out."

"You… you withstood the Barrier?"

The younger Hispanic nodded. "Barely. And if we're going after that mutant, I'll need something more than standard firearms."