Aeneas’s energy reserves were running extremely low, the heat and lack of oxygen were slowly but steadily choking him where he stood. Breathing nitrogen could only go so far, especially on a planet with comparatively little of it to go around; besides, the delicate gills that collected the gas were by this point badly damaged, bleeding and falling apart through their protective feather coverings. It would take weeks for them to grow back.

But the Ohm was stirring. Katara had already rushed past him into the flames after she’d slammed their attacker (or at least he assumed she’d gone back in), and though it had stayed down for a few minutes it was, no doubt, starting to recover. Aeneas kept a wary eye on it as he continued to manage the fire, gathering the children close, picking up Wuffles the kitten and keeping it cradled by his chest so that it wouldn’t wander off; an odd sort of protective instinct welled up inside him, unknown until now, strong and violent and honestly bloodthirsty in its motives. The alien found himself unconsciously baring his mandibles and raising his tail above his head, loosing a steady hiss of warning and fear as he prepared for the worst…