Explanation

Ixtic, still standing at the edge of the clearing, looked at the strange, choked sound that had escaped Etalcaxi's lips, her head tilting with concern. "Is the warrior choking?" she asked, her voice soft.

The sound that burst out of Etalcaxi in response was a loud, sharp, explosive bark of hysterical laughter. He clapped a hand over his mouth, a reflexive attempt to shove the sound back down his throat, to maintain some shred of dignity he had so carefully constructed. It was no use. The laughter was like a dam breaking inside him, and it exploded out of him in great, manic waves.

He doubled over, clutching his stomach, his carefully applied war-paint contorting into a visage of amusement. His spear clattered forgotten to the ground, landing with a soft thud.

"Foliage!" he wheezed, the word squeezed out between gasping, tearing peals of laughter. "She said... she said Lord Cozoc... has good... HA!... has good foliage! HAAAAA-HA-HA-HA!"

He was completely overcome. He pointed a trembling, unsteady finger at the silently screaming, fern-sprouting Nictex lord, the sight of his proud, arrogant rival being praised for his potential as a decorative shrub finally shattering the last vestiges of his control. He was laughing so hard that tears streamed down his cheeks, carving muddy rivulets through the black charcoal and grime of his war paint. He stumbled backward, his legs giving way, and collapsed to his knees on the soft earth, roaring with a laughter so loud it seemed to shake the very leaves on the trees.

"A THICKET!" he howled at the moon, his voice cracking with hysteria. "A very nice thicket! HA! By all the gods, a thicket!"

The terror of the day, the weight of his perceived doom, the horror of his monstrous lover, the shame of his foolish passion—it all came pouring out, in a fool's helpless, healing laughter.

Ixtic watched this complete breakdown with a growing bewilderment. This reaction made no sense to her at all. She had shown him the problem. She had shown him her elegant, practical solution. And now he was on the ground, making a loud, barking sound and leaking water from his eyes. She took a tentative step toward the kneeling, laughing warrior, her brow furrowed.

Is he... alright? she wondered, her mind trying to diagnose the strange symptoms. Did he inhale a bad spore from one of the night-fungi? The noises he was making were very loud. They were not like the happy chattering of her monkeys, nor the contented purr of a well-fed jaguar. They were sharp, violent sounds, like a sick animal trying to cough up a bone. This noise will disturb the nesting birds in the jacaranda, she thought with a flicker of annoyance.

She knelt down beside him, her movements cautious. She patted his heaving back, a bit awkwardly, as one might pat a choking dog, hoping to dislodge whatever was ailing him. Her touch was gentle, her face showed genuine curiosity about his strange, loud affliction.

"Little warrior?" she said, her voice soft with concern. "Stop making that sound. You will make yourself sick."

Her earnest, worried tone was somehow the most hilarious thing of all. It sent him into another, weaker fit of laughter, which eventually wound down into breathless, wheezing gasps. He wiped the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand, smearing the mud and charcoal on his face into even more of a mess. He looked up at her, a wide, incredulous, giddy grin plastered on his face.

"Eat them!" he gasped, his chest aching. "I thought you ate them!"

She just stared at him, her beautiful face blank. His explanation had clarified nothing.

"I thought you were a cannibal!" he continued, his voice still bubbling with suppressed giggles. "A blood-drinking monster! I thought you were fattening me up to cook me in a pot!"

This new torrent of nonsense only deepened her confusion. Cook? Pot? The words were familiar, but the context was strange. "Why do you keep talking about food?" she asked, her voice laced with puzzlement. "I just explained. The disrespect. The chopping. My jacaranda tree." She looked at his exhausted, delirious face and came to the only conclusion she could. "Are you hungry? Is that the problem?" She looked around, her mind already cataloging the resources of her grotto. "I can find some nice, fat, sweet grubs. Very fresh. They pop when you bite them."

She said this with helpful sincerity, an offer to soothe what she could only assume was a hunger-induced madness.

The earnest, helpful offer of fresh, popping grubs was the final, killing blow to his terror. It was so innocent, so practical, so completely Ixtic, that it sent him into another, weaker fit of helpless giggles. The last, stubborn remnants of his fear were gone, washed away on tears of laughter.

The laughter finally died away, leaving a quiet calm in its wake. He sat on the soft earth, his body weak, his face a mess, and looked at things with new eyes. He looked at the 'human shrubbery', at the silently screaming, leafy Nictexs. He looked at the perplexed and concerned woman kneeling beside him.

The horrifying, blood-drinking monster from his nightmares was gone. And in her place was a stunningly beautiful, terrifyingly powerful, and somewhat socially clueless woman with a very, very literal mind and a unique approach to conflict resolution.

Not a cannibal, his mind whispered, the thought no longer laced with terror, but with dumbfounded awe. Not an evil, scheming monster. Just... a... she almost seems like a force of nature. A very, very aggressive grower. He had risked his life, his honor, and the lives of his men... because his secret jungle lover had gotten into a dispute with their rivals over some light deforestation.

He sat on the ground, still catching his breath, a wide, weary, smitten grin on his face. He looked at Ixtic, who was still watching him with that look of concern, as if waiting for him to start barking again. His fear was gone. His anger was gone. His righteous fury was gone. In their place was a strange, surprisingly warm feeling—a mix of deep affection and wonder at her sheer, magnificent strangeness. He was still in danger, of course. Being with her was like sleeping next to a beautiful, purring volcano. But it was a much more interesting, and far less immediate kind of danger than he had imagined.

He looked at his lover, the grower. He looked at her prized shrubbery, the Nictexs. And a new plan began to form in his mind. A plan of negotiation. After all, he thought with a final, quiet chuckle, she could surely be reasoned with.