Sitting in the kitchen, basking in the warmth of the iron cookstove, Leeza tore apart a pair of leather gloves and altered them to suit Nate’s delicate hands. The fingers were shortened slightly, and a fourth one added. It was a simple, though time-consuming, process.

“Too many,” Leeza said, holding up Nate’s hand and wiggling his fingers.

“You’re lucky I don’t have six digits per hand.”

“How many six digits?” Leeza asked, trying hard to assimilate as much of his language as she could in short order.

Nate held up both hands and displayed six fingers.

Leeza made a hissing cough which sounded like “Kh’as,” denoting her word for six.

“Nah, I think we’d better stick with you learning my language. You’re good at it, and I’m just a dumb flyboy.”

“What you mean, dumb?” Leeza asked, setting down her sewing.

“I mean compared to you, or Vinsra. You’re around me a couple of days, and you’ve already acquired a rough understanding of my language. I could never pick up languages that fast.”

“I not so fast. Just know words. Sound is easy,” Leeza said, returning to the stitching.

With a few more tugs on the heavy string, the gloves were completed, and Nate was able to return to work and aid with the stacking of the hay bales in the barn.

The work around the farm was strenuous, and Nate found it hard to keep up with the Leshers, who were clearly much stronger. However, as the temperature cooled toward the end of the day, he found it easier to keep pace, and by the time the sun went down he was clearly out-performing the muscle-bound reptilians.

The nights weren’t terribly cold, and Nate’s body was grateful for the cooling breeze which followed the twilight of dusk. Standing out in the cleared fields of red stubble, he removed his shirt and allowed the breeze to flow over his body, drying the beads of sweat upon his chest and arms. The wind soothed the sting of being stranded upon this alien rock, and let him find some peace of mind.

When he came inside, he found Leeza waiting for him. The curious lady who continued to show him kindness had remained awake to satisfy his needs.

A plate of cold meatloaf was served, and Nate’s hunger was great, so he made short work of it, barely chewing between bites.

Leeza sat quietly and watched him eat, continually fascinated by her peculiar, alien guest. This strange being she had met only three days ago continued to captivate her imagination. So many things she wished to ask him, yet so many human words eluded her.

With the return of the sun came the herding of the reptilian cattle, which frightened Nate to no end. The massive things were reminiscent of a small triceratops, with bony skull plates and threatening horns. They stood nearly ten feet tall, and had jaws which could snap your arm in two with a single bite. Even though they seemed satiated by the reddish hay stubble, Nate didn’t feel like tempting them with his savory flesh, so he kept his distance as much as possible.

The hired man’s underlings were clearly amused by Nate in all that he did. They were commonly seen laughing and pointing, especially as Nate danced around the pasture, trying to avoid the cattle he was there to herd.

Feeling sorry for Nate, the hired man tried his best to encourage the human. “Them... work no good,” he grunted, trying out his limited English vocabulary.

The hired man’s favoritism toward Nate didn’t help with the workers at all, and by lunchtime Nate was back inside, satisfying Leeza’s desire to learn more of his language. The conversation was long and boring for Nate, but it expanded Leeza’s vocabulary many times over.

Several days passed, where all Nate seemed to do was talk, so Leeza could perfect her English. He’d already experienced this routine with Vinsra, and it drove him up the wall until he found himself herding the frightening cattle just to get away.

After six hours of tending the herd, he returned to the comfort of Leeza’s house to find no food waiting for him, but Leeza was in the kitchen, trying to whip something up.

“The cook has plague,” she said, stoking the woodstove.

“You have a cook?” Nate asked, having always assumed that Leeza was the chef of the house.

“I found her in bed at middle day, full of Skate. Now I must make food.”

“That’s midday, and I’m sure you’re a wonderful chef.”

“I used to be,” she said, as though she hadn’t prepared a meal in years.

It was Nate’s turn to watch, as the venerable Miss Leeza worked her magic, dropping pans on the floor, hacking meat and veggies furiously with a chef’s knife, and eventually getting most of the food into a massive, cast-iron skillet, which heated the meal to perfection.