The wind came in from the west, sour with blood and agitating the gorillas.
Izzy stood at the rail and scanned the horizon. Then again with the telescope. “No sign of smoke. And there aren't any settlements this far out. Are you sure what you smell is blood?”
Kiirahk grunted, flat nostrils flared as she crouched on the rail, the fur on her back bristling. Her fingers wrote words in the air.
“Travelers? Maybe.” Izzy rubbed her head, thinking. “Prolly not worth the effort of looking.”
Ganagh, pacing a circle near the bow, stood upright, showing his teeth and slapping his chest, insistent.
“Nyraaagg.” The female, agreed, signing at Izzy more rapidly. /Convoy. Merchant train. Smugglers./
“There would be smoke, Keery. The mechs don't leave transports undamaged.” She shrugged. “I guess we should check it out. Might find something useful.” There was no point in voicing hope for survivors. The machines never left anyone alive.
She smiled, bitter. Almost never.
“Make sure the engines are hot. I don't want to be dead in the air if it was more than just a skirmish.”
Kiirahk chuffed in agreement and loped toward the stern of the airship, hurrying Ganagh down the steps ahead of her.