"Nothing is ever over." He thinks, walking through the saloon doors. He was tired. Tired of walking, tired of looking over his shoulder; hell, he was tired of thinking.
A lady sits on the stage holding an acoustic guitar. A Brenuvian cowgirl, fitted with a yole cap and denim tunic; or so she would have you believe. She starts to strum a simple melody as he finds a bar stool to occupy.
"Kraajchk 'ere Golke?" The man behind the bar asks what he's buying. A tall skinny reptilian faced man, he rubs his hands together and lets his long tongue jut quickly around his face as he waits for a reply, like he was trying to catch flies in that crooked smile of his.
"Whatever's on tap, Poikilo." He says.
The bartender hisses a little bit as he walks away. He doesn't hear him. She's starting belting out a song with that lily waver; a tune with the aural complexity that only those born under the blue sun could possibly master. Still, those wavelengths strike a pretty heavy chord for the rest of us. He's caught in it, like a fly wandering into a spider's web. It's not long before he recognizes the trap, but it's too late.
The bartender rubs a rag against a dirty glass and watches as two bounty hunters drag him away. "Telear ech biastialke." He says under his breath.
They bind his arms and take his volt gun.
"Don't worry guys, it's only for self-defense." Golke says, regaining movement in his face.
"Irrelevant." Comments the darkly blue and grey one, whose tendrils hang past his glum lips; the two bounty hunters being from the dour people of Prrux.
"You must be recovered." Adds the other, still yellow from youth and showing splotches against his smooth shiny skin. "This is for your own good."
"So idealistic still." Golke says, shaking his head before turning to the older hunter. "When are you gonna teach this one about the folgtat?"
The bounty hunter looks back at him, the fire almost visible in his beady eyes.
"What does he mean?" The younger one says.
"He's got to know about his people some time, Balistoi."
The bounty hunters tie him to the back of their charodon, knowing he'll be dragged against the hot sand as they make the long slow journey to Gorvin.
"You said the Folgtat was just rumours." Golke hears Balistoi and his assistant talk in hushed whispers. "It is, of course!" the older one answers. "He's just trying to set us against each other. Don't be so naive."
"Damn." Golke thinks. "That usually works."