Building A Camp
The pod door opens for the second time to a jungle, but this time three fall out instead of one. Yondu helps Kraglin get over the small ramp to the ground and picks Peter up, setting him on the grassy land. “When’s it get dark?” Yondu asks. “An, ya ever see any animals big as yer clan anywhere else?”
“Two hours,” Kraglin says. “And no. The other tribe, they are similar to the porlacun, and they fear us. But we are only three, and I would not have risked three of us against all of them.”
Yondu nods. “Okay. Lemme take a look atcha and then I’ll make camp. You try ‘n keep an eye on Peter, okay?”
Kraglin nods. Yondu digs through the pod until he finds the medkit, drags it out so he can help clean the boy in front of him. He’s got Kraglin stretched flat in the grass not but a few feet from the pod, so there’s a sense of a ‘wall’ to the rest of the jungle. He gently feels Kraglin’s ribs, glad to note they’re bruised but not broken. “How easily do ya heal?”
“I… how would I know?”
“Cause that ain’t the first time he done it to ya, boy,” Yondu says, not having time to be nice about it. “An’ it’s important. Tell me.”
“A few sun cycles,” Kraglin mumbles. “How did you do what you did? Why?”
Yondu looks around for Peter, finds him asleep in the pod, and sighs. Poor cub must’ve been worn out from the stress of the fight. “When I was younger ‘n you, I wish someone had done it fer me,” he says. “Ya understand?”
Kraglin stares at Yondu’s eyes, pinning him in place. Finally, he nods. “For what it’s worth, I thank you. It seems I am again in your debt.”
“Yeah, well. Ya get better and ya can help me keep an eye on the brat,” Yondu says. “Ain’t gonna letcha go back to yer village, Kraglin. Not you or the cub.”
“I do not have anything to go back for,” Kraglin responds. “But Peter… he’s their Clan Chief, now that Ego is dead.”
“He ain’t gonna be much of a chief as a babe,” Yondu argues. “An’ he’s gonna need ya now.”
“He has always had my support and care,” Kraglin says.
“An’ ya got his. Ain’t never seen anyone his size throw hisself into a fray like that. His father could’a hurt him an’ he still begged fer ya. Ain’t the first time he’s had ta do that, is it.”
Kraglin shakes his head no. “How did you know how to… kill them?” he asks, bravely. “Are you… I’ve never seen weapons like yours.”
“Yer askin’ if I killed before. Answer’s yeah; up there, I’mma leader of a lot of men, like yer Clan Chief. An’ either ya give ‘em strict rule or they’ll kill ya first. Ever heard of the word ‘pirate’, boy?”
“No.”
I’mma pirate. A Ravager Admiral,” Yondu says. “Ain’t the easiest job but it’s mine. I do the work that others won’t do. Or they can’t do. Messy-like.”
Kraglin doesn’t respond for a moment. Then, he takes a breath and says, “We don’t get our full name until we are men,” he says, softly. “I will have seventeen summers this turning of the suns; I received my full name the summer last. I had been known only as ‘tall-grass’, but last summer, the other tribe thought to come at us with spear and stone. I was the one who saw them progressing to the village, coming through the tall grass like serpents to strike. It is how I earned my name, Krah-a-gah-la-hin, - or swift-knife-in-tall-grass. There were only a few that made it to the village.”
“You killed them.”
“Yes.”
Yondu listens to the story, how plainly Kraglin states the efforts he made to ensure his people lived. He wonders if, had he stayed with his dam, he would’ve turned into the same kind of Centaurian hunter that Kraglin became. “You killed ta keep ‘em safe, boy. Ain’t no harm in that.”
“And yet the Clan Chief would not claim me as his own,” Kraglin says, closing his eyes. “One of the elders took me aside afterwards, told me how the Clan Chief had always longed for my Mother. But my Mother chose my Father, angering the Clan Chief. When my Father died, he gave her no choice but to be his woman; and I was the leftover child he could ignore.”
Yondu doesn’t ball his hands into fists, but it’s a close call. “Ain’t leftover,” he growls. “Ya came runnin’ after Peter an’ got in my face even when ya didn’t know me; I coulda killed ya easy, but ya chose to stay an’ protect the cub. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with ya, Kraglin. The Clan Chief was a bastard, no two ways about it.”
Kraglin raises a hand and places it on Yondu’s shoulder. Even though the boy is shaking, Yondu feels the strength in the touch. “You will spoil me with such words, Yondu Udonta. And yet I find myself wanting to move closer instead of pulling away. Why is that?”
“’M just a sweetheart’,” Yondu says, and gives Kraglin a toothy grin of his own. “Must be my natural charm.”
Kraglin smiles, and Yondu wonders whether he can keep the boy smiling in such a way. He finds he wants to, and wonders what that means. “So,” he says, clearing his throat. “Gonna get a shelter built around the pod so we’s got some privacy and cover. Can ya stay here, keep an eye on Peter?”
“Yes.”
“Great.”
Yondu hauls himself to his feet, reaches into the shuttle behind the sleeping cub, hauls out the emergency shelter and quickly starts setting it up. Then he disappears into the jungle, arrow at the ready, to find something for their dinner.
By the time the suns set, Yondu’s built the large lean-to against the pod, created a fire, hunted a snake-thing, and has it roasting. He checks on Peter, checks on Kraglin, and finds himself… weirdly satisfied. Huh.