The float chair took her deeper into the wild growth, but she was able to stand and walk around an area for some time, examining greenery more closely. She loved the dense darkness of the jungle. She took a blanket to the pool and sat there in the warm shade, watching the trillers flit from flower to flower. They were so cute, like fuzzy pastel bats with delicate wings, listing from flower to flower, pinks, lavenders, greens and yellows, a rare turquoise. She never saw them in bright light, not even where there were many flowers; they preferred shade and were thickest in dark undergrowth. They had long tongues like a butterfly’s to reach nectar inside flowers. The fuzzy puffy body hair collected pollen. The trillers lived in small flocks and would spend time each day grooming each other. The pollen they licked off each other was another important part of their diet, according to the report she read.
One afternoon she found a triller flock whistling and fluttering in one area, clumped together. She slid off her chair and moved slowly toward them to investigate. One tiny triller was on the ground trying to loft, but one delicate fuzzy wing was limp.
“Oh.” Brielle didn’t think it could bite so she cupped it into her hands. It was as long as her smallest finger, a puff of lilac fluff with patterned fuzz on her wings, darker lavender swirls with specks of green. It cried, a piteous whistle, the tiny soft body quivering. Large, round dark eyes and small circle mouth gave it an eerily human face, with a frill of vertical feathers like a tiny crown.
Karvar might know if the wing needed set. She got back in her float chair and flew back to the dome as fast as she could. Brielle gently smoothed its fur. “I’ll take you home. I will gather flowers so you can feed. You can live there in safety until your wing recovers.”
“Karvar, Karvar!” She called for him while she waited for the lock to push out the unfiltered air and the inner door to open.
When the door light turned green Karvar burst into the lock. “What’s wrong, what happened?”
His golden eyes roved all over her, looking for wounds, but his gaze made her feel hot. Weak at the knees.
She really was getting better. This is attraction. Desire.
“I found a hurt triller.” Her voice came out breathy.
He reared back. “Oh. I thought maybe you got hurt.”
“No. I feel fine. But can you help the triller? I think her wing might need help.”
He moved back to his work table and she got out of her chair.
She frowned. “Trillers don’t like bright light. Can you close the sun shade and dim your lights?”
“Sure.” He quickly pulled on a cyborg visor and lowered the lights. He handled the tiny creature gently and soon had a simple splint tied on with gauze.
The tiny triller seemed to know it was to help her… her lavender, bluish shade indicated female.
“It probably feels better to be wrapped. We’ll undo it in a few days to see how it is healing,” Karvar said.
“She can live in the indoor plants up in the loft, and I’ll make sure to bring cut flowers in for her to feed.”
Brielle floated up the stairs in the chair—stairs were still exhausting—and set the triller under a flowering plant. Then she had to get her a tiny dish of water. The little flyer sipped from the water and then maneuvered herself deep into the center of the plant.
“A nap sounds like a good idea.”