Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was a low sound.

Soft. Sharp. Enough to set one’s teeth on edge and have their eyes darting to and fro, seeking something in the underbrush that saw them long before they knew it was there.

With admiration, a set of lipless jaws gave a bemused hiss as talons raked along the cold metal shell of the unoccupied hull of a starship. A hint of tension radiated in their fingers, dark talons tapping across the roughened hull. “I’m amazed this bucket still flies,” came the scratchy cant of a male voice as it passed through a translator and synthesizer, allowing him to be understood at once by the multitude of xenosapients milling about the landing zone in their unmarked coveralls and safety gear.

“Uh, sir?” a voice chirped from his elbow, earning a sharp gaze and guttural snap that made them flinch. “I-is there something wrong with the ship?”

Dark teal eyes the color of rolling waves darted to the smaller alien, pupils narrowing to thin slits; the only warning that would be given. With a flick of his tail, the warning faded and a shimmer rippled up the blue and indigo diamondmaille armor that protected the serpent-like male who wished desperately to rip the metal plating of the mysterious vessel under his palm wide open. “No, fuck-wit,” he grumbled, the seagrass color of his hide growing taut around his jaw, “I’m impressed because this thing shouldn’t be able to fly. It’s an old model compared to mine which is already ancient, so someone went through a lot of effort to get this thing space worthy.”

“Are… do you not know how to get in because of the age… sir?”

“I didn’t say that,” the male chittered, sliding a gleaming, spined mask onto his face; it clicked into place magnetically and the eye frames lit up, cycling through a spectrum of colors as it analyzed the vessel in more accurate detail. “Let me know when the lander is here. There’s probably some cool shit inside that got updated to make this thing flyable again.”

“You—you are the expert on these craft, sir,” the little alien tried to affirm, but it only served to annoy the male further.

Voice edged with ice, he snapped, “Uh, no shit,” with his head cocked to stare the shorter one down with one eye trained on them, “I’d better be, unless there’s another Ka’dask’kan on the payroll I don’t know about.” He didn’t give a chance for a reply, knowing there wouldn’t be—and if there were, then it wouldn’t be for long. “Besides, even if it takes a while to crack the slut flying this thing is in ring seven a whole system over from here getting her shit rocked, so we’ve got time.”

It was hard to tell by a serpent’s mouth if it were smiling, but the small one felt certain his supervisor was.

And it was frigid.

Chapter Text

“A… what?” It was obvious the translator hadn’t caught up yet, but as he gazed down at the lavender serpent before him, Elite Hunter Lar’dha felt he knew in his soul what it meant, his electric-blue eyes flashing with curiosity and just a hint of danger. Despite the mere hours it had been–or a day cycle perhaps–he felt as familiar with this female as anything else, as it seemed like weeks they’d been trapped together in the underground fighting venue, carving their way free in blood and battle to return to his ship and escape. Yet he knew this wasn’t the case and she was very much a stranger to him, as he was to her; the one certainty he had was that he was going to see through this path with her until it was completed, or he died.

The female looked up from her respectful kneeling position, recognition flashing in her large eyes that he likely did not know that term. Rising slowly, he noted a few places where her muscles seemed to twitch or tense, indicating soreness despite the medical treatment she’d gotten, Sjajende’kolii spoke again, repeating herself. “Jjangra’ka.” The translator did not do its job once again. “Revenge. A hunt with the only goal to seek justice, self serving or deserved.”

The yatuja’s mandibles clicked as he processed the term, finding an opportunity to begin analyzing her, at least in a cultural aspect. Before, he had stumbled finding a topic to begin with–his research was almost exclusively done through observation, not interrogation–but he steadied himself, tracking her movement as she returned to her seat and flopped into it, the ache becoming more pronounced as her smooth brow creased with discomfort. “Enthused as I am to get more payback for being locked up like a prized stock animal, I’m a bit… curious how this ‘revenge’ hunt differs from before? Or does it?”

She blinked slowly, the pained crease fading as her eyes reopened and focused on him past the screen that simply read “calibrating 75%” in terms of their languages being processed. “It differs in that I have declared such,” she stated, voice level. “Before, I simply did because of necessity, but now I have made my claim so that my spirits know my intentions.”

“Your spirits?” he prodded, sitting back slightly so as to not seem too desperate for information.

But she seemed to catch on regardless, her eyes narrowing as she also took a relaxed posture, one paw laying on the tabletop, her talon tapping softly. “Would it not be polite for me to ask a question?”

He clicked, a bit annoyed she was that quick to realize he was prodding with intent. Giving out information of his kind was a tricky subject–they had reasons for erasing bodies and detonating failed hunting sites–but he also supposed briefly that she realized that and had similar feelings about giving what could be, in any other circumstance, an enemy, vital information. “It would be,” he said carefully. “We are going to have to trust each other if this is going to work, and that means understanding each others strengths–”

“And weaknesses,” she cut in, never breaking eye contact.

He didn’t usually concede to weakness being a variable, but it was nonetheless true. “Yes.”

“Then tell me of them,” she continued, finally looking down at her visor and the flashing blips of light on the lenses. “Your fighting is grand, I had felt the moment I saw you in containment that we would be fierce together, but often I felt as if you would forget I was there, with you, not against you.”

Was it that obvious? the male pondered with a start.

“I have soreness in my back from your elbow striking me.”

“I apologize for that.” To himself, he snorted; usually an apology would be unheard of and unnecessary–things happened and young hunters had to learn to operate in close quarters–but he was an Elite and had the skill to avoid such. He just lacked recent… experience in team fighting that was greatly his own fault, and he knew this, so the apology was at least a bit warranted. “It has been… a long while since I fought alongside someone. I have hunted together often, but those events were conducted as individuals, with separation and distant coordination. Fighting side-by-side I am shamefully rusty.”

Her head tilted, just slightly. “We will need to work on that then. I feel we will be fighting in close quarters quite a lot soon.”

Nodding, Lar’dha gestured with his paw, hoping she would know his previous question still stood.

A flicker of tongue slipped out of her jaws and back–very serpent-like. He noted that for his next inquiry as she spoke with uncertainty, though whether it was hesitation to talk at all or unknowing what words to use, he could only guess. “Spirits,” she started, glancing about the room while thinking, “my people believe them to be the spirits of the fallen–those we have slain in a hunt.”

That made sense, but he leaned closer, showing interest and quietly urging her to continue for a more satisfactory answer.

Sja sighed softly, looking apologetic for a moment. “Lar’dha,” her voice churrled, her accent smoother than his own and making his name sound like a breath rather than a bark and it made him chuff without meaning to when he heard it, “I would ask that what I say be kept close. Our ways are old and sacred and I would not risk my people having them used against them.”

He’d been right about her reason, and he understood it, as well as the quiet assumption it carried. “You assume I will use this information to hunt your people?”

Her gaze held clearly that it was indeed her concern. “Perhaps not you, but yours.”

“It would be an unfair advantage,” he answered without hesitating, making her head lift acknowledgingly. “My reasons to learn may be to hunt, but I selectively deliver information that would be considered ‘necessary’ for a hunt to conduct but not enough to give anyone but myself the advantage, as I earned that information for myself. For you,” he pounded his chest with his fist, “I will state a promise not to hunt your people and to keep your words as my own. For trust.” It was not a lie. Her information picked up on the ship would remain on his ship’s memory until released–and he had no intention of doing so, especially if it could bite him later on should someone take issue with his allegiance, temporary as it might be.

‘Temporary’ struck a nerve as it passed through his mind once again. There was no reason to think it wouldn’t be, however her motivations beyond revenge were unclear to him, as were his own. Would she depart as soon as it was complete? Would he let her? Did he even have a right to do so–?

No. He knew he didn’t. That was silly. Stupid, even, to assume he had any right to her autonomy. “Besides, there is no fun in an unfair advantage.”

Sja’s expression softened considerably as she accepted his claim–he liked that she could feel his honor in his words–and she thanked him, her eyes seeming amused. “Thank you, Lar’dha.”

He caught himself before he could chuff again, merely nodding as he sat back once again, turning his gaze elsewhere before he could embarrass himself.

“I will promise to keep secret your people as well.”

Another nod. He felt her word was just as valid as his own and trusted it.

“Spirits,” her voice repeated, reminding him what his question had been about before the topic had shifted, and he looked back just as she picked herself up and moved to the cockpit windows where the deep stellar sky was visible, a swath of galaxy passing over the view like a bright trail overhead. Gesturing vaguely to the sky outside, she appeared to be far away in her mind, her eyes somewhat unfocused. “They are the reason my people reached into the sky. Our gods showed us the ways of the hunt, of faith and fortune and gratitude, but also… strength. To take another’s power as our own through a challenge of will. Skill is a means of strengthening will, and the one whose will is most powerful emerges victorious.”

Chattering, he tilted his head, listening. There would be a few he knew who may disagree with her about will over skill and power, but his teacher had said something similar–though that had been about the desire to live, specifically. He’d been warned many times that any hunter, no matter the skill or age, could be taken down if the prey wanted to live badly enough. That statement had been proven manyfold by the results of ooman hunting from other clans. Pyode amedha could be notoriously tenacious when sufficiently motivated.

The serpent had paused a moment before continuing, motioning as if reaching for something that wasn’t there. “A hunter’s prey is a sacred conflict, combat stripping down the veil of body, mind and soul, and the victorious hunter,” her body motioned as if striking something and then holding up a weapon–he realized she was giving a story, dancing almost, he recognized the method as similar to makers telling sucklings stories in nests, “is one that claims victory over the soul by separating it from the body. The prey falls and the hunter takes its power and essence unto themselves with ritual,” she moved as if holding something up over her head, eyes closing.

Lar’dha bristled as an image came to mind suddenly–

She had not swallowed the head she tore off like he’d thought at first, instead pulling it from her jaws and raising it above herself while it still dripped blood freshly, closing her eyes as it fell onto her face and slid down her skin for a long moment, the body held in her other hand like a broken toy.

–then a shiver crawled up his back, along with the feeling of needing to adjust how he was sitting. That moment had been burned into his mind like a hot iron, fixing his attention with a feeling of awe and reverence he couldn’t quite place, but he started to understand why that had been the case at least.

Why, though, remained the question. Why would she adopt the essence of such a vile creature as Lanky One?

“Their spirit and strength then belong to the hunter, making them greater than they had begun as, and their essence joins the legacy as a watchful spirit.”

Sja’s voice drew him back out of his head, having not noticed he was stuck thinking again–had he missed anything important??

Then, as if she had sensed his question, her expression steeled over and she made a fist; while he’d been reminiscing, her story dance had brought her to the floor in a respectful kneel, but it ceased being polite and became a stance of determination as she punched the ground with unnecessary force, her voice hard. “But those that are unworthy spirits are not given rest in the arms of the gods. A hunter may choose to condemn that spirit with the ultimate humiliation if they proved cowardly and arrogant–to be slain and dominated by the will and spirits of the hunter, defeated and humbled by force, never to rest.”

Hold on a second now, he mused, confusion waning as she seemed to snap out of her explanation and examine her hand, fingers flexing. “You say you dominate the soul of the ones you kill to humiliate them?”

“The ones worthy of such, yes.” She seemed satisfied that her hand wasn’t damaged and straightened fully, looking at him. “Though it is not inaccurate to say we dominate all of our prey when we are victorious, subjugating their spirit into our own as the victor, but the intentions are different. Worthy prey are gained for strength. Humiliation is reserved for those we cannot bear having peace in death, disallowing their final rest to be pleasant or used as an escape from our wrath.”

“Is that why you–?”

“Yes. It was.”

A deep purr was threatening to start in the elite’s chest. The intensity of her gaze, the clarity of hindsight, how she knew what he was going to ask and didn’t hesitate in affirmation–it pleased him greatly to understand–no, to believe–that on some level, Lanky One had gotten a much worse death than he’d assumed and that she had established herself as his superior in such a perfectly permanent way. Enough so, he slipped out a quiet, “That’s fascinating,” that earned him a new look that jarred him.

There was a complex expression on Sja’s face, partly looking genuinely pleased at his interest in her ways, but her eyes were roiling, for lack of a better term. There was happiness, he thought, but also… pain? Kindness? It was one he’d certainly never seen before.

Actually, most of her behavior was something he hadn’t seen before, or at least lacked much interaction with. She seemed to slip between emotions like water over rocks, or a flash of lightning, so obvious but so swift; his own were taught to hide certain feelings and thoughts–anything that could be perceived as a weakness to prey was to be concealed, discomfort or lack of confidence was pushed aside, softness only for privacy and personal time, away from prying eyes. Females could be as “moody”--as some would call it–as they pleased though even then it was rare for them to lose their composure around the males, making them unpredictable.

It was giving him reaction whiplash.

The table pinged, cutting them both off from continuing their discussion as the read out said “complete”, allowing them to finally disconnect and hold their respective equipment thoughtfully. Just long enough for an odd silence to begin that he fumbled to fill. “I… am still not sure how revenge fits into your explanation,” he tried, but one of her brow ridges raised.

“I believe it is my turn.”

He grunted, rolling his eyes a bit but motioning for her to follow to put the masks away fully.

Still, she seemed to concede by continuing as she followed him back down the hall to the armory, “A hunt is sacred, done with intent and respect aligning with our laws and customs.”

Understandable, he thought, knowing exactly what that implied and realizing slowly what revenge could entail.

“Jjangra’ka is a proclamation that disregards those customs. The rules. It is… purely selfish in reasoning, but often felt to be necessary. To willingly disregard the laws is to be rejected by the gods and fall into exile, freeing the hunter to do as they feel is necessary, with only their spirits as comfort.”

He stopped short, Sja stopping quickly enough not to run into him and back pedaling to avoid his tendrils as he whirled to her, a white-hot twist in his gut striking him suddenly and sending his fight reflex off without warning. “You would disregard sacred law?” he claimed, somewhat loudly. “Do you not fear being ic’jit by your own people?”

“That is why it is not something decided easily,” she snapped back, voice just as loud. “One would not declare jjangra’ka for pettiness or fun! To even consider being accepted back, one must still try to obey tribal law and they will still be judged and punished before then.”

Accepted back? As ic’jit?? Unheard of!

Lar’dha rumbled harshly as confusion crossed Sja’s face. He was trained to kill Bad Bloods. Not join them.

“The exile is honorable,” she stated firmly, his shoulders losing tension as he waited for her to try and explain. “A means to an end. Any warrior can succumb to a desire to endure jjangra’ka and the good hearted will obey law, even when it is not necessary. They will take whatever punishment the elders decide, should they return–but if their actions are too grievous, they may be Eternal Exiles. They are the ones who went too far, lacked honor and justification, relished in the loosened binds of the law.

“My reasons are justified, and I intend to obey as much law as this pursuit allows. Such that I will accept judgment should I return home after.”

His reasons were just as valid, but he also knew his code, as all yautja do, thus he knew this endeavor wouldn’t make anyone bat an eye as long as he kept the tenants in mind as he went. Hers, however, were unclear where the lines were drawn, the levels of exile feeling middling and uncomfortable–for yautja, either you were honorable, or you weren’t. There was no middle ground.

That was her way, however, and it needed to be respected–he snorted, realizing he had jumped to a conclusion that didn’t need to be there, but he felt he had already apologized far too much as it were. It was getting uncomfortable. Instead, pride bruised, he turned back to the hall and stalked down it, catching only the faintest patter of her feet and the clicking of her talons as she followed, a beat after he moved until they reached the armory door. Even as he opened the door and racked his equipment once more, hearing her do the same behind him, his temper simmered down enough that he felt like knocking his head against the wall for his reaction. Too much time had passed to him to make it worth broaching, so instead he fought the tense silence with an equally tentative question that had been eating at him since he woke up on the accursed orange box:

“Exactly… how did you end up captured?”

The silence made even his quiet tone feel loud, enough that her lack of reply couldn’t be chalked up to not hearing him, but he started to repeat himself when she finally spoke, equally as quiet. “I was hunting.”

His brow furrowed at the short reply, but knew it was his own fault for acting like he did; he made an effort to build a sense of trust to learn and accidentally threw it out just as quickly–though could he blame himself when it was drilled into his skull almost from birth that the code was law and the law was eternal–never to be broken unless honor and clan lost their meaning? The answer failed to define itself before he felt a faint touch on his back that halted his thoughts, his breath slow and deliberate, trying not to shake the already rocky ground they stood on by brushing her away or moving apart. Faint as it was on his hide, he could tell it was only her fingertips touching him, nothing more; part of him wanted to turn and look at her but he felt… unworthy.

“Please… I am tired,” was all she said and he exhaled, mandibles tensing against his jaw to stop himself from offering his nest to atone for his accusation.

Gesturing to the door, he began to move, feeling her fingers fall away but sensing her presence behind him, her footfalls fully silent now. “Do you have a sleeping preference?”

“I will sleep where I am given.”

As long-term guests were not something he kept supplies for, Lar’dha had no spare nests available and had to resort to the extra sleeping space being either the floor, a slab or a hammock lined with a spare hide he wasn’t using for anything. The rooms had ambient temperature controls so covers were rarely necessary and he showed her how to adjust everything via the panel beside the door. “You can change the light with this dial,” he twisted, showing the dimming effect on the light panel overhead, “and these columns are for temperature and humidity. Buttons here,” he pointed to a set of them, “are to adjust the atmospheric content. It sometimes helps to acclimate to new planets–or recover from them.”

There was no way to tell if she was listening, as he still couldn’t bear to make eye contact with her.

“And… this last one is something I had made.” The dial he indicated sat below the rest, with a faint blue light as opposed to the red of the rest. “It’s ambiance. I have a catalog of sounds I’ve sampled from various worlds I’ve hunted on that I use to meditate or cover silence with. If you feel you need it, press the middle part in and twist it to change the file.”

Silence for a moment as she realized he was done.

“Thank you.” Her voice was still quiet, distant. “I… hope you rest well.”

“You need it more than I do,” he assured, trying to sound gentle, heading through the open doorway and noting another button on the opposite side of the room controls. “This opens the door, if you need it.”

“Thank you,” was all she said still, the last thing before the door slid shut behind him, cutting off their view of each other.

Instantly, his head was in his hands and he suppressed a violent roar, palms quivering.

WHY! he shouted at himself over the profound wrongness that settled over him, questions beginning to buzz as he marched through the corridor, feeling the need to punch or claw or break something but stopping himself–he had a room for that, and it wasn’t the hallway.

Why did he let himself snap at her?! He knew to prepare for such differences!

Why did the mere thought of her becoming ic’jit panic him so?? Did he actually fear a world where he would hunt her down if she was?

Why was hunting her so upsetting to consider? She was a stranger, that had not changed! She was not yautja, that would not change!

Why did everything feel so wrong now? The moment the trust fell away, it settled like a damp cloth over his mind.

This was a mission. A hunt. His clan would barely accept that as an excuse–they were not easily endeared to outsiders as some clans were, skilled or not. He may even face banishment if he tried to take her to the clanship, which would strip his rank and authority.

I am an Elite, he told himself, the roar in his chest compressing into a drawn out growl as he struck the door button a bit too harshly, the empty training room a welcome sight. I do not feel shame for anything, nor do I pity anything. This hunt will end and I will return her to her last hunting ground and be done with this messy affair.

Even so, it wouldn’t hurt to beat it out of himself a bit, right?

Chapter Text

Morning–-or rather, waking hours-–came with no comfort or refreshing feelings, the floor an uncomfortable alternative to stay on for longer than a nap permitted. Groggy and aching, Lar’dha picked himself up, feeling his hide stick to the training mat he’d used as a makeshift cot, his shoulders popping and cracking as he rolled them and shook himself awake. His tendrils flipped about, softly pattering against his collar and back, the metal rings clicking together in a familiar way that so natural it almost made him forget why he was laying on the floor of his training room. Scattered about the floor were the remains of a cheap dummy–or three–that were used for drilling and accuracy practice; beside him sat his combistick, bits of fabric stuck to the end from where he’d speared the dummies over and over until his paws ached and he couldn't keep his grip anymore.

Yet he couldn’t bring himself to go to his room after. It would take him passed…

Oh. Wakefulness brought him the uncomfortable memory of his asinine behavior only hours prior–shame had kept him from nearing her door, even if it meant to reach his own, so he stayed in his personal isolation, seething.

The resolve came next, settling into the cracks of his thoughts as he fixed his loincloth and necklace, cleaning and racking the combistick, trying to avoid exiting as long as possible to face whatever consequences awaited him outside. These thoughts–the feelings–were getting out of hand, muddying his judgment. Making him soft.

“I am yautja,” he told himself aloud, gazing at his weapon for a long time. “I am not pyode. I am in control.”

But I am a fool, he conceded to himself after a moment. We need to trust each other in order to work together. Trust does not require emotional commitment. I do not need to spend my mental energy on a temporary alliance that is otherwise causing me distress. But… I probably should attempt to apologize now, even if it’s too late to matter.

He told himself this, yet he had a niggling feeling he didn’t fully believe his own reasons–there was no sense dwelling on it, though, in the event it would compromise his resolve further. Burying the thought train as deep as it would go, he took a breath and exited the training room, turning to head to the mess quarter to force himself to engage in his own routine without trying to drift into one that necessitated seeking out his serpentine companion for just a bit longer. However, the gods seemed to be in a mocking mood, as she was already there, sitting at the table slab, her pastel skin a bright splash against the cool, dark metal interior that gave him pause to appreciate for a moment when he noticed. Only for a moment, though.

However, she didn’t notice him enter–or maybe she intentionally ignored him–her posture hunched but slack, tail drooping over the ground, unmoving. For a breath, he wondered if she were well and his heart skipped painfully with concern–

–Sja adjusted, her posture shifting her weight to the opposite side in her seat, neck craned over something while bringing her face into view in profile; he exhaled with relief, approaching again. She still didn’t greet or acknowledge him, but he’d noticed why when he glanced at the table and found it covered in tablets, red glyphs shimmering across their surfaces. They were familiar, having coming from his personal archive, her attention glued to them fully as her gaze skipped between two of them as if she were looking for something. He was two nok away before her tongue flickered out, breaking her concentration and causing her head to lift to acknowledge his presence.

The elite went to speak in an effort to start the painful endeavor of swallowing his pride to apologize when she got off the first words, “When did you get here?”

His mandibles tensed slightly with annoyance that he didn’t speak sooner but he tried to sound unabrasive. “Just now.”

Her gaze flickered a second before she muttered, “Ah,” and put her head down. Low.

Too low to be a relaxed posture.

Churrling, Lar’dha felt his lower tusks flex out and back as he processed this action. He had not seen her lower herself–she had knelt before, but at the time her neck held a regal arch that preserved her dignity, keeping her from seemingly lessening herself–he could only assume, them, she was purposefully making herself submissive. Why? He opened his mouth, “I–”

“I am sorry.”

Again, she beat him to it, turning his effort into a rattle of agitation that only served to push her head lower–he wanted to punch himself for it. Momentarily, his peripheral caught some words on the tablets that he could comprehend with half a brain; they were texts for sucklings to read over when they learned to read and write, mostly detailing stories of honor and explaining the pride and power of the hunting code. He hadn’t realized he had anything of the like in his archive, but it begged the question: what was she doing with them?

Once more, though, he didn’t get a word in before she spoke; he faintly wondered if she was doing it on purpose somehow. “I understand now how my words must have… upset you. Regardless of how little I knew at the time…” She picked up one of the tablets, the words ‘showing respect to your superiors’ catching his eye, and drew her fingers down it, the text rolling back a not-insignificant amount before stopping. “I should have understood there was likely a reason and asked thusly. Now I understand better how it must have sounded–and why you would be offended.”

Her gaze came up just enough for him to notice how glossed over her irises were, the dark patches under her eyes that hadn’t been there earlier–he flicked over the table once more and counted seven tablets, eight including the one she held, as well as her mask sitting among them, the lenses flickering rapidly with blue and purple lights as it worked, presumably translating for her. Instead of addressing her words, what spilled out now that he wasn’t being interrupted was, “Have you been reading this whole time?”

Her eyes widened with surprise at his choice of intrigue, her focus remaining on him as he moved around the table to pick up one of the archives, glancing it over. “Um… Perhaps?”

He clicked, head shaking slowly. “You need to rest.”

Her tongue flickered again as she looked away. “I tried to, but could not. I was… bothered.” Sja fidgeted, sitting forward and lacing her fingers together after putting the tablet down, then adding, “By what happened.”

He began carefully stacking the tablets up, taking the chance to skim them to see what she had been reading, letting her speak as needed for the moment.

“I could not stay in bed so I decided to walk, hoping it would settle me. I found the archive room while exploring and felt compelled to look at them, so I made my way to the armory to ensure I was not grabbing anything that would be… sensitive.”

He felt she meant anything that would break trust further, such as private information or tech-specs.

“Though," she added, "I assumed secretive information would be kept under more guard than behind an easily opened door–”

This time, he cut in for a moment. “You would be right.”

Her grip fidgeted. “So I came out here to read. I didn’t notice for how long.”

Placing his hand on the stack, Lar’dha contemplated her words and documents he’d seen and felt it was true she wasn’t digging for anything that would necessitate her abrupt death. A story for sucklings, he pondered, formal ceremony behaviors, the simplified code of hunting, taboos and punishments, dueling etiquette, clan ranks and responsibilities…. “You gave yourself a crash course on my people?” His voice was neutral, but with a faint hint of being impressed.

She nodded, irises glimmering with honesty--or perhaps a touch of delirious fatigue.

So she mostly likely put her head down to show subordination to me, he concluded, the screen under his paw confirming as much by clearly reading those very instructions; he tapped it loudly with his claw as he thought, just barely catching her gaze flick to it and back. Normally, he’d accept this at face value, but in this particular case he didn’t care for it one bit--he made himself say as much. “You do not need to apologize,” the Yautja stated firmly, placing his other paw on the table, fingers splayed for support as he leaned over toward her, seeing her head tilt with confusion. “Do not lower your head to me, either.” Her brow ridge knitted together at this. “You are not subordinate to me. Do not hang your head.”

Trying to formulate a segue to his own apology, he shifted his weight back and gripped part of the stack of tablets, hefting them up with a grunt. The logs may not have been terribly big but they were bulky and dense, very easy to fumble with if one got over eager to carry them, so he nodded to the remaining stack, a quiet request to her to help put them away. As he expected, she figured it out immediately and picked herself up, moving to assist with a sense of urgency to stand at his flank with the remaining half of the stack held to her abdomen securely.

Moving carefully to maintain balance with his burden, Lar'dha led the way to the archive room, lightly wondering if she had pulled them out one at a time or somehow managed to take them all at once; he could only stave off the inevitable for so long though, thus he cleared his throat, feeling unable to look back and simply hoping he had her attention. “You owe me nothing for what you said. I am the one that should apologize to you–and I do.” Skillfully, he used his shoulder to hit the button for the door as they came to the archive room, a small, raised section in the center of the confined room sliding up in greeting, making itself for a good drop point for their burdens. He’d make sure to file them away later. “You tried to explain and I denied it, which was greatly unfair of me. I was blatantly placing my clan standards over yours, which is an ignorant thing to do.”

While speaking, he took the stack from her and placed it beside his own, waiting to see if she would answer him or acknowledge his apology while keeping his attention on the archives.

When she didn’t acknowledge him, he felt a cold chill under creep under his hide, worried it truly was too late to reconcile–but he caught a very faint hissing sound that halted the thought spiral, almost like air escaping through a crack which forced him to turn to find the source. The chill under his hide turned into ice in his veins, piercing deeper into his flesh with each heartbeat: Sja was slumped against the door jam, one hand cradling her face and the other splayed against the wall as she slowly slid down, fighting to stay upright while the soft hissing noise stifled as her jaws clneched shut. Moving with the lethal speed of his well-trained reflexes allowed, Lar’dha stepped forward into a wide crouch, hands going under her arms as her own grip failed, body limp.

There was a pulse still in her–he felt for it immediately at the base of her throat, a reflex from many hunts–and he assumed there was breath as well, but she was catatonic, head lolling to one sided with eyelids shut. For a moment, he sensed his arms tremble with panic yet they felt distant and numb, as if belonging to someone else--then he scooped her up, voice frozen in his throat as he moved swiftly passed blurred corridors, heading straight to the medical bay by instinct only. Over and over, he told himself she had simply fainted from exhaustion, to not lose his mind, the words, ’She’s tired, she’s fainted,’ echoing and blocking all other thoughts in his head and the ability to identify things he saw as the familiar walls of his ship blurred and smudged into featureless gray steel.

***

Astringent. Though necessary, it had the worst kind of stench, stunging and coating the throat, even making one taste it if it was in sufficient enough quantities--all simply through odor. Despite this, it was not enough to disturb the blue skinned yautja who’d long gone scent blind to the persistent-yet-necessary sterile stench of the medical equipment. He sat on the floor by the wall, elbows to his knees, fingers steepled with his mandibles twitching, belying his otherwise motionless posture. Though his assumption had been correct about her sudden fainting spell–she’d been through an ordeal and a half and gotten by on only an hour or so of sleep, after all–he was still floored by the reminder that Sjajende’s species was not registered in his computer system, so he couldn’t know for absolute certain his computer was correct in it's prognosis.

Passed out entirely, the serpent didn’t have a chance to argue as he laid her out carefully on the medical table, the runes along the bottom flaring to life as it picked up on a patient’s presence. Quickly, he pulled up the master system from the nearby console–and audibly rumbled, seeing the default settings for yautja, which would be meaningless here. He’d have to build a biological profile just to make sure the lab didn’t fry her or flay her by accident; thankfully, his forethought had him a step ahead already, as the computer had analyzed her blood and vital signs when they’d visited previously, giving him a foundation to build on.

While not in any way a doctor–his equipment was meant to be autonomous and self-operating for the most part, since he was often alone–he knew how to add and modify settings manuall; opening a new specimen profile, he imported the stats already available, at first labeling it as “Ka’dask’kan” but then pausing to consider that he didn’t know that for sure and changed it specifically to say “Sja” instead. Some alerts came up immediately, as he expected, so he started addressing them with controlled fervor.

One required a full x-ray to process, so he started there, letting the machine warm up and calibrate. The next read “disconnected” and he checked it, seeing there was no active feed to the patient for things such as intravenous fluids, so he started prepping one as the x-ray came to life, the squared-off arc of green light sliding out of its place at the base of the medical table and swiveling up, starting its slow trekk from foot to head–

Pauk, he chastised himself, I laid her down the wrong way. It was no worry, though, he could alter the orientation of the scan once it was done--he was panicked, he could justify his mistake to himself for the moment for that reason. The IV was ready, but he inspected the tip to ensure it wasn’t damaged, gaze focusing on the sharpened top.

Lar’dha’s hide prickled for a moment as a brief flash of the sedative drip passed through his mind, his grip on the IV tightening briefly.

Easy. Payback will come in due time. She needs me now.

Steeling himself from letting his thoughts wander, even incidentally, he moved with purpose, inserting the IV into her forearm once the x-ray began its return trip to its dock, the scan becoming more detailed on the second pass. It was fascinating to behold, but he had to wait to truly take in the information, forcing himself to check that–yes, the IV was taking live readings of her blood content–then he had to fix the scan to read it the right way, that way the computer wouldn’t read her feet as her skull and so such. Next, he ran a diagnostic to see if anything had changed in her blood, body or brain chemistry since her last visit just hours ago.

He could almost smell his own tension as he waited, watching the loading indicator fill up, eyes switching from it to the body scan as it flickered, a reticle jumping to seemingly random points on her body reconstruction image quicker than he could keep up with. To a degree, he was glad he’d taken the time to do the right steps, but a faint tickle that he was taking too long was trying to drag him into a blind panic up until the moment the screen displayed the results–he inhaled with some relief, having not noticed he’d been holding his breath until then.

Vitals sample 1.1 stable and consistent with unknown sample 0.1. REM waves detected. Blood content stable. Digestive system active. Brain chemical composition at 87%.

Diagnosis: insomnia.
Recommended treatment: bedrest.

Fervently, he closed his eyes and thanked his gods, her gods–whatever gods and spirits bothered to hear–that it was just fatigue. Of course, he insisted to himself, finding a space to sit down, legs going wobbly. I knew she had simply passed out. She is fine. She is sleeping.

So he sat.

Waiting.

Trying to explain to himself why he cared so much about her health that his legs had gone numb and his heart tried to vibrate out of his chest when he’d just explicitly told himself he didn’t need to care and wasn’t going to invest his emotional energy into a temporary alliance.

He wasn’t.

He wasn’t.

Yet he did.

***

Motion flickered, stirring Lar’dha’s peripheral awareness back to the present moment, dragging him out of the trance he felt like he’d been in. His eyes burned–had he forgotten to blink the entire time?--and he picked his head up, seeing a faint movement on the table. Quickly, he rose to his feet, fully standing before the movement had even settled; Sja’s arm draped over her waist as she rolled slightly, the IV sliding over the edge with her. Gently, the yautja put a paw on her forearm and did his best to remove the sensor needle, assuming it wasn’t necessary anymore, but doing so seemed to holy her, making her hiss and gasp while shooting upright, swinging reflexively toward the direction of the sudden pinch.

Lar’dha dodged a half-step back, the IV falling to the ground as he let go to grab her wrist, firmly stopping her clawed hand from reaching him. Wild eyes simmered down as her senses came back to her, teal irises flitting about before landing on him and seeming to recognize him through the haze; in a moment, her body relaxed noticeably, tense fingers relaxing from striking position while she fixed her balance, rubbing at her face with her other hand only to notice the mark where the IV had been. “What happened?”

Her voice was soft and creaky from sleep, but it gave him a huge sense of relief to hear again, the wave of tension washing out of him that he’d barely noticed he'd been carrying the moment she first collapsed. On his free paw, he started rhetorically listing off everything that came to mind, functioning somewhat on auto-pilot: “Extensive time spent in a stressful environment, roughly thirty minutes of extended combat, an explosion, five minutes of berserker level rage, so roughly 27 hours in total being broken into an hour of sleep post-liberation, followed by about 6 hours of deep reading and then four more passed out in the medical bay.”

The expression on her face seemed to be annoyed yet amused at his sarcasm, but it softened as she looked to where he was still holding her wrist in place-–a gentler grip than initially, but he’d barely noticed he hadn’t let go yet. When he tried, he hesitated, seeing her bring her own paw up and softly lay her fingertips over his knuckles, leaning her head against them quietly.

Gentleness was the last thing he expected from anyone, and he hadn’t yet gotten used to it from her, feeling anything but worthy of the tenderness she continually gave freely even in spite of his previous actions. The differences between her and his own kind continued to shake him on a profound level-–he knew she was not yautja, yet he found himself comparing her as one without meaning to, perhaps due to her ferocity and fighting ability reminding him of such… yet it also made it more jarring to think of how a female of his clan would react to his actions--how absolutely destroyed he would be had he raised his voice and infringed on the honor of one of his own.

There would be no hands to hold, if a certain someone had her say on it.

Gold Skull females were known to be frigid, blunt beings that had directive and power both in great supply. He’d have been punched out and beaten long before now if Sja was yautja, making him more likely to be the one on the medical bed, not standing beside it. Yet here he was, hours later, and she still seemed to be the one apologizing, offering softness and understanding when he'd been prepared for hostility and blame.

It confused him, which he hated being in general. But he couldn’t get away from it. From her.

“You cared for me.”

His jaw tensed as his thoughts ground to a halt, her eyes open and looking up at him from yet not moving away from his hand, a single iris fixated on him. He blurted, “It was mostly the computer,” trying to deflect her words as he felt praise was unnecessary for the bare minimum consideration--or so he told himself it was.

“You had to have brought me to it,” she pointed out, pulling back from his hand at last--he let go a touch hastily, balling his paw into a fist and snapping it to his side.

With a leading tone, he replied, “Yes…?”

Her view was firm. “So you cared for me when I was incapacitated.”

He tried to argue back–why, though?-and was actually grateful she decided to keep speaking.

“I did not expect–” but a yawn caught her, jaws opening wide, wider–the stretch of her maw was actually impressive, catching what sounded like a joint unlocking as she did, her fangs pushing out of their places within her gum line and gleaming in the dim glow of the overhead lights–then she exhaled, rolling her jaw back into place with a tongue flick and a sheepish, “Forgive that.”

“Forgiven,” he said immediately.

Her gaze moved to the computer equipment and off of him, which he was grateful for. “I did not expect your medicines to work on me.”

With an agreeing click, he turned to the panel that had her readout on it and hit the projection button that took it from a 2D image to three-dimensional hologram. “Thankfully, you didn’t need any,” he began, focusing on the information he had at the ready while sliding the parts of the readout around to be more viewable. “But I did have to put your biosignature into the system, since your genetic sequence is vastly different from mine.”

“I would assume so.” A flicker of concern tinted her voice.

He’d expected such. “Do not worry, I will keep this to myself. Originally, I had planned to ask you directly so we could be prepared for messy hunting, but, well… things happened.” For a moment, he thought she was looking at her charts silently, but she waved it away from where it was placed between them, obscuring him from her, and he realized she’d been looking through to him.

“Are,” she sounded confused, “you still going to assist me with the jjangra’ka?”

He nodded, having decided to commit regardless of what he’d said about it. “I still have my own revenge to bring them, it makes more sense to keep working together for it since the goal is the same, regardless of what you call it.”

Her gaze dropped but she nodded in understanding.

“Keep your head up,” he stated firmly, catching his tone by her twitchy reaction. “I see shame in your eyes, stop thinking about what happened and that you were at fault for my folly.”

Sja's words held a sincere tone of care as she replied, “That feels difficult, since I am not sure how deeply I wounded your pride in the first place.”

There was no way he was going to admit her sorrow had hurt him far deeper than her argument had. “Would you feel better if I punished you for it?”

“Yes.”

Oh. I expected her to resist that option. He clicked with thought, having not expected an immediate affirmative, but he couldn’t back down now so he stepped forward. “Very well then.” Quickly and with much practice from many successful hunts, he reached down, bent his knees in preparation, and grabbed her around her waist, hauling quickly up to bring her off the medical table with a graceful toss over his shoulder and turn coming together in one fluid motion.

Still weary, Sja’s reflexes were blunted, leaving her unable to stop him from whatever his goal was. A surprised hiss slipped out that twisted into turned into a confused yelp as her hips met his shoulder like a sack of grain, his forearm pressed over the back of her knees firmly to stop her from wiggling free. It was not an unimpressive feat–she had very wide thighs and hips, making for a precarious grip–and it was a bit undignified at that. For the sake of her dignity, she made a fist and jabbed at him, right in the cauterized stab wound on his back.

He grunted, stride faltering slightly, but he kept his marching pace.

“I can walk,” she insisted when her retaliation failed to work.

“No,” was all he replied, stopping only once he’d found the door he wanted, opening it and walking in.

She did not recognize it as a room she’d been in before, even less so when he dropped her unceremoniously on something soft and musky-smelling, the walls covered in various things she could only assume were either trophies, treasure or trinkets. Her butt folded into a furry, padded cushion of sort, Lar’dha standing over of her with his arms crossed. Looking about, she concluded it was a bed of some sort–or perhaps nest was the better term?-and a foreboding feeling welled up in the serpent's guts. Baffled and wary, she looked back at him, waiting for an explanation.

“You wanted punishment to atone for your slight on my pride,” he pointed out, stance firm.

It did not help her feel at ease, urging her to narrow her gaze with suspicion and just a touch of restrained hostility.

Which he seemed nonplussed by, concluding, “So you are going to stay in here and rest,” throwing out her prior assumption instantly and leaving only pure confusion.

“This is not–” she started, wondering if he'd made a mistake in locating her quarters.

“It is my room,” he acknowledged before she could finish, knowing full well where he was.

Sja stopped her words, unsure what else to say.

“It is more comfortable than the one you are in, and I can lock the door from the outside.”

She sat forward with a start. “Wait a moment–”

But he shook his head, tendrils swaying, and had already started to walk from the room, backwards, keeping his gaze on her in case she tried to get up and follow. At the doorway, he pointed his finger to the floor, indicating her to stay put. “You are confined to this room for half a day cycle until I am certain you are rested and well after your ordeals.”

A rattling hiss came at him, but she didn’t dare to get up from the bed.

Pleased, he stepped over the threshold, putting himself in the hallway while she stayed firmly on the bed, glaring–though he felt a bit of playfulness there, like she knew he was only a bit serious about his threat. “I will check on you soon. If you try to leave before then, I will strap you to the medical table instead.”

She hissed again as he touched the door lock, closing her in and cutting off line of sight once more. There was no need to lock it, he knew she would stay put out of obligation and desire to atone, even if to him it was misplaced, but he couldn’t help an amused chitter in his throat as he reestablished some sense of status quo and control of the situation. That, and he rather enjoyed carrying her around for that brief time; she was lighter than he’d expected-–or more that she was simply lighter than a yautja of the same size–-and so very soft under his paw. His gaze fell to the arm that had carried her there, the impression of her smooth skin and soft flesh still imprinted on his nerves for the moment as he squeezed his fingers into a fist and released them. For a daring moment, he almost thought about what it would feel like to actually squeeze a bit of her thigh flesh in his palm--and if she'd enjoy if he did.

Catching the stray track of thought before it could take off fully, he shook his head vigorously to clear it, a bit distressed at his own invasive thoughts. She is not yautja, he firmly told himself, turning to head off to find something to occupy himself for a few hours. It brought the tenderness of the stab wound back to the front of his mind. The punch had smarted quite a bit, for what it was worth. Despite her softness, there was definitely muscle under there, he had to remember--and she knew how to throw a hook to make it count. It still stung and throbbed as he decided to head back to the med bay to wait out her 'punishment'. With time to himself for now and his mind feeling at ease, he wanted to read over Sja's charts in detail and learn more about his soft but strong female companion just as intently as she had learned about him.

Chapter Text

Warm humid air. Firm dry dirt. A heavy weight that shifted awkwardly, like drinking too much water after having none at all. The burden shifted, rousing its host–or perhaps it was the sound of metal clicking together that did it.

Disturbed from her slumber, the lavender female picked her head up groggily from the mat she rested on, pushing herself up carefully—her hand flashed to her abdomen, swollen with child which pushed her center of gravity around strangely, as if trying to keep it in place. It would be many weeks still until the child was free of her body and ready to be cared for, but the heft was still considerable. It would be a large child, she felt. Healthy. Strong.

But childbearing was not what she needed to think about now when a looming shadow filled her vision, the moonlight from the entry smudged by the figure in her home. There was no fear, though, as her tongue flicked and caught a familiar scent—though she was confused about its presence, their armor glinting in the light they blocked in a way she knew.

There was no fear…

... but she did feel anxious.

“Ya’sen?” her voice asked quietly, the figure standing rigid, mask in hand, tongue flicking rapidly. He did not look at her. “What are you doing home so soon?” The female sat up further, sitting so her stomach settled on her legs comfortably.

The armored male seemed to ignore the question and she felt her uncertainty grow, his voice low and stern. “Was someone here?”

Confused, the female peered around the dark hut, her tongue also flicking. “No? I… don’t believe so?”

The male, Ya’sen, whipped his gaze to her finally and an icy grip dug its way into her heart. “Don’t lie. Someone was here today.”

Her skin began to crawl, a sick feeling in her gut beginning to roil that had little to do with the child there. “Earlier, yes,” she admitted cautiously. “I was—”

“Who?” he demanded, still keeping his voice low as he took a step toward her sitting form. “It smells like—” His tongue flicked again. “Rikta.”

Jaw firm, she tried again. “I felt unwell today, I asked him to bring—”

Ya’sen cut her off again, seeming not to hear her words. “What was he doing here? I told you to have no one here while I’m gone.”

Again, she tried, trying to subtly scoot back from her partner and his angry aura. “Rikta is my tjurr’nan, I only asked him to bring me medicine. I had not eaten from the sickness I felt. That was all.”

Ya’sen crouched in a swift motion, his displeasure almost palpable on his breath as he rasped at her, “That is all?” as if he didn’t believe her words.

A tremble started in the female’s arms, the icy grip creeping from her heart into her veins, her throat, but she tried to stay firm. She was with child. He would not–

The ice in her throat was no longer there–it was outside, on her skin, squeezing, her neck and skull smacking against the ground as weight bore down from above. Her legs were pinned. A knee digging into the soft flesh of her thigh painfully, her hand held firmly by a much larger, stronger one to keep her from reaching up. She could not choke yet her head grew fuzzy, the blood in her veins thinning as it passed through the grip on her neck.

A growl from the male–the assailant–gave her only despair as she struggled to free herself from his hefty bulk, the weight in her body–

The baby!

Kicking as best she could with her free foot, she tried to catch something, anything, with her talon but she only found sleek metal scales that earned her a cold, humorless chuckle. “This will be your lesson about disobeying,” he rumbled, her vision warping as her brain became starved for blood. “I don’t care if they are tjurr’nan or tjuarrna I will have no males near you when I am away.”

“Y…” Her voice was merely a croak as she begged, her only free hand pinned under her body from his assault, twitching and struggling to come free of their combined weights—to no avail. “Ya… se… n…”

Burning teal eyes seared in the dim light, the last pinpoint of light in darkness before she returned there…

Prolonged staring was a cultivated skill many yautja of his clan trained to acquire, usually as sucklings, for the unnerving quality it had on certain types of prey that found the continuous, unbroken, intense eye contact to be unnerving, if not outright terrifying–but at times it had the habit of occurring while one concentrated, resulting in unwanted eye fatigue and dryness. Rubbing his face, Lar’dha realized he’d been doing just that, so enraptured by the diagnostic report’s finer details that he’d forgotten to blink again, his vision burning as he came out of his deep thought and realized it had already been several hours since he’d sat down in the first place. Peering around, everything seemed as it had been when he started: no noises, no warning messages, no crafty snake trying to sneak about unsolicited when his back was turned.

Should I check on her? he wondered, standing up and stretching with the diagnostic perched on the table, showing the skeleton and organ configuration of Sja overlaid on top of each other. While the cold mental blanket and uncomfortable wave of guilt and shame had been alleviated, part of him still felt compelled to solidify the mended bridge before it crumbled. For whatever reason, tension had been broken by a mild bit of playful authority; he’d felt her own misgivings evaporate when he caught her off guard with his command and the lighter mood as he dropped her in his bed for ‘punishment’--perhaps he’d been overthinking everything after all?

Save for the dirty look she’d given him when he dropped her on the nest of cushion and hide. There was no playfulness for that brief moment before he issued the command to stay put–he clicked his mandibles, brow creasing as he thought on that a bit more, moving about to find himself a drink. His mind said she simply had her dignity bruised by his manhandling of her but his gut, for whatever reason, whispered that the little bit of trust remaining had almost been lost there–that she exhibited a flicker of hostility and anticipation. Did she think he was actually going to punish her? With violence?

Cool liquid filled a skin he kept in the mess with a very light, refreshing c’ntlip, the sack growing fat and damp with the beverage in his hands–he was reminded briefly of the softness of her thighs as he held her, a pleased purring sound buzzing in his jaw. As if he would dare to marr something so soft and smooth for what he ultimately concluded was a rather stupid ordeal! Nevermind, she was not yautja so he wouldn’t dare to subject her to their punishments–though even if she was, only a fool would try to punish a female for something so trite.

Surely, he hoped, she didn’t believe he’d do something to her, regardless? She’d heard of them before now–he recalled mention of such vaguely–and gave herself a very hasty overview of his people mere hours ago, leaving whatever she read fresh in her mind, so perhaps she’d worried his reaction to an honor conflict would bleed over to his actions?

The wineskin stopped at his mouth, barely a drop leaving as the epiphany bloomed and he lowered the bag. A light had gone off in his mind.

Of course!

Trust was rocky at best and she’d received just a hint of his temper already, naturally she’d be scared. It was smart to fear the yautja, after all, and she’s proven she was quite intelligent.

So of course he needed to do something to show she had nothing to worry about! It was so obvious!

… But what? He had nothing to give her as a show of good will–the dress was not his to give away, he remembered–but he needed something. Was there something she needed, perhaps? There had to be, he could feel it–

–a flash of broken, twisted metal passed through his mind for just a second. The spear! It was still broken!

Slinging the skin over his shoulder, Lar’dha sped his way to the armory, a lilt in his gait that he hadn’t felt since he was a child, too pleased with himself to contain it well and grateful there were no eyes to witness it happen. Eagerly, he combed through the armory walls, finding the weapon had been sorted into the ‘repair’ knook as the computer seemed to recognize it was in no way functional. Picking it up, he was surprised to find it was incredibly light for its size, but durable–she must have really been swinging to break it like she had–yet he couldn’t think of the material it was honed from. Nothing his computer wouldn't fix, at least.

Or so he thought. Annoyingly, the material was not one familiar to him nor his database, meaning it most likely came from her homeworld, thus it was inaccessible–at least for the time being.

Although… He considered the weapon for a moment, then looked about his storage at this collection, the bits, parts, scraps and spares he had for emergencies that mostly collected dust, as he took excellent care of his weapons, rarely losing or breaking them.

Meaning he had extras.

The door wasn’t exactly silent when opening, but the gears were oiled well enough that the airlock was the only thing to make a sound which was hardly noticeable most times. It at least did not seem to disturb the sleeping figure that had crawled its way to the far side of the nest, curved like a half moon against the rim of the cushion. Lar’dha quietly took this moment for himself, unable to rip his attention away from her form as she slumbered, still as stone–he couldn’t tell if she were breathing from this distance. Carefully, he rested the combistick he brought with him on a shelf next to the entry, doing his best to be silent about it so she wouldn’t startle, and approached on the balls of his feet to ensure such.

Slender neck and waist conformed to the shape of the bed while wide hips deformed the cushion, her flesh bare where the dress had fallen away–his eyes grazed the pattern of her skin, the subtle darker stripes that broke up her pale underbelly, the crisp shadelines that wisped up her leg and across her rear like natural tattoos. Had he not been the careful type, he wouldn’t have noticed his own paw attempting to glide across those patterns absently, but he was and he did, stopping his mindless action and redirecting it to her shoulder, a dark diamond-shaped swirl visible where the strap of the dress stopped. Softly, he touched her there instead, giving the faintest of nudges.

She didn’t wake, but she seemed to become a bit more aware of something, her face scrunching. Was she dreaming?

He tried again, just a bit more firmly, laying his weight on a knee in the middle of the cushion so he could balance himself better. “Sja,” he purred, trying to be patient since it was on his orders that she was sleeping in the first place. “It has been half a cycle.”

Her face scrunched more, tail spasming, and he caught movement under her eyelids coinciding with REM sleep.

The elite had half a mind to let her stay asleep, but the other half very much wanted to present his gift now, not later. His full palm encased her bicep as he gave a more direct shake to her shoulder, chittering, “Come now, if you sleep too much you will give yourself a brain ache.”

That seemed to do it. Her eyes flashed open, pale turquoise bright against the brown-black skin of the bed.

He felt a ripple of adrenaline shoot through him.

She lunged, jaws gaping.

Reacting as only he could, Lar’dha’s muscles coiled, pushing him back from striking range while his hand came up and thrust into the crease of her neck, just under her jaw to hold her there and keep space between their faces. Black, needle-like fangs throbbed in her jaws for just a moment, nearly catching him in the face, forcing him to push back as her body writhed to stabilize itself–he desperately didn’t want to choke her–

Then, her eyes appeared to focus a second after he pushed into her neck–he was so focused on her gaze changing that he didn’t notice her make a fist in the same second she seemed to come to.

The punch connected with her signature speed and precision, knocking Lar’dha off the nest and forcing him to release his grip as his paw went to his own face, reactively snarling as she flailed to the back wall, touching her throat where his hand had been. She was prepared to strike again with her other hand.

”Why did you hit me?” he couldn’t help from shouting, more shocked and confused than angry.

She also seemed as confused as he was but her voice was firm as she shot back, “Why were you grabbing my throat??”

Lar’dha wiggled his mandibles and flexed his jaw. He’d definitely been hit harder before, and nothing seemed broken, but it had mostly shocked him. “You tried to bite me,” he emphasized, moving into a cautious crouch in case he needed to dive out of the way at a moment’s notice.

It was unnecessary, as she seemed to deflate from indignant to purely confused, looking from him to her own fist and back. “I… I did?”

Slowly, he rose to a half-standing position, paws visible and splayed in front of him to seem non-threatening. “Yes,” he insisted, bringing his voice to a more gentle tone. This seemed oddly familiar to him, now that he wasn’t reacting in the moment to defend himself; sucklings sometimes had inbred defensive reactions to being startled or, at times, waking up suddenly from nightmares. Makers often complained about being punched while their offspring was dead asleep or their somehow biting them when disturbed without warning; he himself had gone to retrieve one of his own and the little gremlin had scratched his forearm up rather egregiously for the trouble because they had been dreaming of climbing a tree to escape a stampede. Perhaps this wasn’t so different?

Eyes still wide, Sja krept her way back to the center of the nest, moving cautiously toward him and trying to speak. “I… I am so–”

He growled, head turning but eyes staying fixed on her, stopping her apology short and freezing her in place. “Do not apologize for reflexes–I am not angry,” he clarified, feeling as if he needed to state such.

She visibly relaxed. Good.

“I am a bit confused however. You did not do that the last time you woke up.”

Her gaze dropped to the ground and back as she wrapped her arms around herself. The dress had gone askew, twisted in a way that could not have been comfortable and compressing her breasts in what he thought was definitely so; he moved to instinctively try and assist with fixing her attire but she leaned back from him as if he had tried to threaten her–he stopped instantly, daring not to move again, even a twitch. Sja watched him move then freeze when she denied him touching her and she regarded his reaction for a long moment, understanding that he would not do so if she didn’t want him to–he explicitly would wait until she let him help or told him otherwise.

She chose to fix her dress herself, quietly adjusting the strap and creases until it sat properly and comfortably over her skin. Taking this to mean she didn’t need the help, Lar’dha retreated, standing fully upright and taking a half step back to give her space if she wanted to stand herself, but his gaze never moved from her, even if she wasn’t looking at him for the moment.

“Was it a bad dream?” he inquired gently when she didn’t offer an explanation at first.

After a second, she nodded, hugging herself again. Then she spoke, her voice barely audible. “More… like a bad memory.”

He clicked with concern, stance changing from guarded to protective. What kind of memory would elicit such a hostile reaction? he asked himself. If it were hunting, I would assume she wouldn’t be feeling so small about it. Taking an inquisitive step forward, he watched for her reaction and saw her regard him for a moment, but not flinch, which was good but she also didn’t seem willing to let him be next to her so he moved to kneel instead, putting himself lower than her eye line so she could look down at him and feel bigger. Stable. “Do you want to tell me about it?” he asked, doing everything he could to not demand the information.

For a moment, he thought she was going to–her mouth opened and she looked eager to say so–but then she closed it just as quickly, turning away in such a manner that it betrayed her obvious inner conflict. “It would not matter if I did,” she began after a short silence, her tail wrapping around her lower leg securely. “Nothing could be done to change it.”

He softly grunted. It was true, he couldn’t change the past or her memories, but things going bump in the night in the recesses of one’s one skull was still a familiar burden to him. “Do you have this one often?” he tried instead, in case this was a regular occurrence he’d need to consider watching for going forward–but also offering what he himself would have liked to hear when his own nightmares would come for him, as sidestepping the issue never made him feel any better.

She shook her head. “No. I… have not thought of it in a long while. Why now, I can only guess as it is simply from the stress… I am… glad I did not bite you.”

Shrugging, Lar’dha adjusted so he was sitting on his calves, watching her posture change moment by moment as she refilled with some bit of confidence, the impression of the nightmare passing from her system more with each passing minute. Confidently, he assured her, “I do not think it would have been very bad. Not after the ordeal we went through.”

But her brow pinched and she leaned toward him, newly concerned and insistent. “No, it would have been bad. Very, very bad.”

He tipped his head. “What do you mean?”

Her reply was direct. “I am venomous.”

The charts came to mind, the unfamiliarity of the organs and strange bone structure–it didn’t seem at all implausible that she was venomous and he simply hadn’t recognized the glands for it at the time. “Exactly… how venomous?” Yautja were extremely hardy, toxins were rarely a concern–unless they were corrosive.

“Very,” she repeated plainly. “We are able to kill most creatures on our homeworld with a single bite, regardless of size. It is potent enough to be forbidden to use while spirit hunting, as it is deeply unfair and needs no skill to make use of.”

That was intriguing to say the least, enough for him to blurt, “May I see?” without thinking.

She flicked her tongue at him, a soft ‘thht’ chastising him for it.

“I mean,” he tried to amend, holding a paw up to try and disregard his previous inquiry, “would I be able to analyze it? Just in case.”

The request, he hoped, was not unreasonable and at least this time he had actually asked rather than just take it without her knowledge or consent. Sja considered it, then sighed, nodding. “It would be fair, as I nearly killed you with it.”

An amused click hummed in his throat. He claimed, “My kind are very resistant creatures, if it could kill us it would truly be the most potent venom in the galaxy,” in an effort to reassure and tease gently.

She appeared to frown, though her tone hinted at humor. “Do not attempt to prove that, please. I cannot fly your ship if you are dead.”

The amused clicking got louder as he remembered why he’d come around in the first place, glad that some kind of wit once again dissolved the growing tension. Why couldn’t it be so easy with his own kin…?

Because we talk with our fists, he reminded himself, rising and moving to collect his gift. Behind him, he heard the serpent rise to her feet, prompting him to say, “Wait one moment,” as he returned, seeing her completely still with a confused expression back on her face that switched from him to his hand and back. “Your weapon,” he started, holding the combistick in its ready position out to her, “it’s a material I do not have access to and I do not know how soon we can repair it, but I do not want you without one.”

During the later half of her mandated lock up, Lar’dha had gone rifling through his personal stores, taking the time to polish and sharpen the spear after its long shelf life, taking the time to replace the grip that had grown a bit worn and cracked while just sitting about. There was a purple-hued leather he’d had laying around that reminded of her skin color so he used that to replace the grip. Then, he found some gold beads used for decoration that he added on simply because he could–and just a bit so she’d remember him when she looked at them.

There had also been a small tassel salvaged from her original spear: a pink, silken chord with a string of beads hanging off of it–six in total, made of some kind of glass or gemstones in different shades of blue and green, separated by smaller beads in between. Two of the larger beads appeared damaged, one being cracked and the other missing an entire sliver on one side, deforming it, but he dare not attempt to fix or replace them, as he didn’t know if they were meant to be that way. He simply added it to the combistick so she would have what may have been a very personal thing with her. Good hunters, he knew, did not add things to their weapons for no reason, especially if it risked getting in the way at all, thus he felt safe in assuming there was meaning to the little dangly bit that somehow survived her manic assault in the arena.

His assessment seemed to be correct, as he watched her home in immediately to the tassel, her fingers lifting it up with thoughtful awe, as if disbelieving he’d taken note in the first place; her eyes held a deep expression of what he could only assume was gratitude, but it made his chest hum as his heart sped up, the kindness of her eyes almost too much for him to take. It was a relief when she finally grabbed the handle and took the stick from him, the tender gaze changing as she grunted under the heft.

“It’s a bit heavier than mine,” she noted, admiring the rest of the weapon now that she had it, her talon running along the exposed blade on one end.

“Is that an issue?” He hoped not.

“No, but I am not used to it. I will need practice.”

Content clicking built in his throat, the eagerness returning in full force all the way to his bones as he observed her pleased expression that made his tusks flicker excitedly. “Let me have a venom sample and I will happily show you how to use the ki'cti-pa.” She made a short hiss akin to a huff, likely hoping he’d forgotten to follow up on that, but it reminded him of why he’d gone through the effort of fixing her up with a weapon in the first place. “Also,” he began, feeling an electric excitement in his fingers as he carefully took hold of the combistick’s handle, careful to hold her palm to it so she wouldn’t release the gift mistakenly. He brought it vertical between them so he could see her just beyond the blade, triggering it to release the full length, watching it unfold with a metallic metal-on-metal noise. She seemed fascinated by the weapon’s structure but also curious about what he was doing, giving him reason to continue. “I want you to know that this gift is also my promise to you that my hands will never bring harm to you so long as we fight on the same side together.”

Her gaze riveted to his. He hoped she felt the determination of his claim.

Unwavering, he pressed on, “Cetanu take me to the endless sleep before I dare to harm anyone under my care or protection, which extends to you, Sja.” Quickly, he added, “Even if you don’t necessarily need the protection,” before properly finishing with, “and barring any training or acts of self defense, I will never intentionally bring harm to you as long as you call me an ally.”

A moment passed before he sealed the combistick back into its ready state to allow his words to settle over them, metaphorically binding his words to the weapon as he did. Sealed with his promise, he nudged it toward her, indicating he was letting go of it. For a moment, she didn’t say anything, processing–he hoped she still believed in his credibility after all the drama–and finally saying carefully, “Your words are your honor?”

The familiar phrase spurred him to thump his chest with the paw he’d held the stick with, responding reflexively, “And my honor is my vow,” bringing forward a deeper level of authority to his promise that he’d implied but hadn’t expected to directly acknowledge–she really had been reading anything she could, it seemed. Only a fool would try to break a spoken vow like this, and he was not about to be a fool anymore. “Now, do you feel well enough to try a practice drill with your weapon?”

A cool smile pulled at her cheeks, making her eyes glint playfully. “I think so. But first, let’s stop in the medical bay before I change my mind about the venom.”

This time, he whickered loudly, not caring if she heard.

Chapter Text

Thud.

Vibrations rattled the floor, dense metal dully bouncing off of thick padding that covered more metal, reinforced against even the most asinine of training accidents. Lar’dha stalled, changing the arc of his weapon from attack to neutral, pulling its length to lay across the flat of his arm and back as he waited, analyzing. His opponent had dropped her weapon butt-end down onto the floor, hands gripping the top end for stability while her jaw hung loosely, giving the impression of an exhausted hound despite a lack of heaving shoulders or sharp panting noises. Part of him had expected more despite it being the first time Sja had been given use of his training room, but applying expectations had already gotten him in a tight spot once as it was and he was not eager to do so again.

“Are you well?” he opted to say instead, relaxing his stance entirely and bringing the dual-weighted staff to rest at his thigh, held with a firm grip but loose wrist in case he needed to move quickly.

The serpent hissed quietly, her jaw sealing shut with a flicker of her tongue before she righted herself with a light shake that rippled from head to tail tip; her arms, however, showed signs of quivering as she hefted the staff back into combat position. “I am fine,” her voice replied steadily, legs adjusting to distribute the weight of the object in her paws more evenly.

She had the technique, he observed, but lacked the endurance for the weapon. Makes sense, he admitted, clicking at her from across the mat. Her spear was very light and she struggled with the ki'cti-pa when I first gave it to her. Definitively, he decided, “We will break here,” but it only earned him another frustrated hiss.

“I can still practice for a bit longer,” she insisted, but he was already moving to mount the stave on the wall, giving her a hard look to urge her to do the same. Reluctantly, she followed, the fatigue showing much more pronounced as she walked; dark blue bruises were starting to bloom on her thighs and forearms from where slow blocks and arcs had cost her a point and a whack she got clipped by his weapon, which added to her fatigue. Yautja sparring was almost as violent as actual hunting at times–he had tried to tone it back and pretend he was dealing with a suckling, but he could tell already she knew what she was doing, she just didn’t have his muscle density to compensate.

“Rest,” he insisted, moving to stand at her flank and assist in lifting the weighted pole onto its designated hooks. His practice staves were simple objects, long enough to be used as a short staff but weighted on either end, giving it more complicated aerodynamics that required both strength and control in greater quantity than a standard staff would. The one he selected for Sja was the lightest he had, but it was proving enough in itself that in a contest of raw force, he was undoubtedly the victor. “Hydrate and allow your body to settle. It is unused to this kind of training.” It wasn’t a question to him, merely an observation.

It seemed to be enough to earn the sighing sound she made as her paws fell away from the wall, resigned to the truth of his analysis. “We rely on speed,” the female said softly, folding her arms to herself, tail wrapping around her leg securely. “Overwhelming speed, precision, relentlessness–I am not a fighter for raw power. That comes more naturally to the ira than to ones like myself.”

Lar’dha tipped his head to one side, becoming a bit too aware that he had yet to step back after assisting and doing so before his paws could try to betray him again by roaming around unsolicited. “An ee-rah?” he repeated, wondering if there was no direct translation for such a word in his language.

Sja’s eyes flicked to him briefly as she concluded he didn’t know what she meant, though he couldn’t help but feel like she was also assessing something–-what it could be was anyone’s guess. Perhaps she was trying to think of how best to explain it? “Ira are the… ‘short-tailed’ of my people,” she said slowly, unused to describing what was so normal to her. “We ka’das’kan are a varied people, one such distinction being the ora, the ira and the yera . I am yera.” To indicate her point, Sja reached down and pulled her tail into view after unwinding it from her leg, hand running along it gently. As he observed, gaze flicking from her paw to her eyes and back repetitively, he couldn’t help himself but rake up her thigh each time he cycled around, caught in the dark stripes that curved around her hips to her back. “Thin tail, the most common of my people-–neither the strongest nor the most flexible, but fast and capable as any.”

Races was his conclusion based on her words–not unlike the Hish-qu-Ten of his people, if he considered them something slightly ‘other’ to the common yautja. Curious, he asked, “What makes the others different?”

Letting her tail fall back into place behind her, Sja pondered, her weight shifting fully to the leg where no bruises had formed–a subtle attempt to hide discomfort, he bet. “Ira are the strongest of us, easily two or three times our strength and larger, their tails never trailing under their knees; broad-tailed ora are more flexible, holding themselves to the ground with their heavy tails that drag the ground so they can relax their bones and weave through gaps too small or complex for others, or wrap themselves around another and pull their body back together to crush whatever they have hold of. Yet both of them are slower and clumsier than yera, thus we all work together to cover our weaknesses.”

A curious thing, he felt, that her people were able to openly admit to having holes in their armor–weaknesses–without worry. As competitive as his kind were, any mention of a failing could jeopardize not only one’s chance with the females, but also could become exploited in some way by enemies. Yautja are taught to hide their weaknesses from prey.

And most often, from each other.

Thanking her explanation with a simple nod, he gestured to the door of the training room, quietly allowing her to exit first. “If it helps, then, try and think of me as an ee-rah-–I will be the muscle where needed. Do not put pressure on yourself to make up for that on your own.”

Sja had taken a few steps past him, her gait tense to his keen eyes, and paused as he said his part, looking back at him with a furrowed brow.

He clicked at her curiously, but she only seemed to smile faintly at him before turning back around–-had he pleased her in some way? No matter. There was time for questions soon enough. “We should return to the medical bay.”

The door opened but Sja paused, asking, “Why?” with just a faint trace of suspicion.

Amused, Lar’dha carefully moved his paw to her bruised leg and gave a sharp flick, earning a startled hop and sharp ‘ksk’ that said as much as needed without wasting words she’d try to argue with. They locked eyes for a long moment until he gestured down the corridor leading to the medical center, giving little room for her to decline as he stated, “There is a salve that will speed the healing and spare you the pain.”

“I accept only on the grounds that I am not injected,” the proud female hissed at him, her head and shoulders held with indignant stubbornness that told him he’d managed to catch her in a corner that she didn’t appreciate.

“No needles,” he assured, following a few paces behind to stay clear of any ‘stray’ tail lashing. “Though I am reminded of something.”

Stopping in front of the medical entry, Sja glanced at him, acknowledging his curiosity but making no move to open the door herself which prompted him to step closer. He needed to reach around her to do so and though he was mindful, his paw still touched her back ever so slightly as he went; despite taking care not to encroach too closely, he couldn’t ignore the flash of a desire to drag his claws down her flesh that stabbed into his mind. No amount of claiming it was to test how much her skin could take before giving way made it any easier for him to dismiss the thought–nor could he ignore that he needed to stick his head in something cold after they finished.

This allowed a rather intrusive query to pop to the forefront of his thoughts as the door hissed open and Sja finally took a merciful step away from him.

Trying to phrase his inquiry without meaning insult by it, Lar’dha found it difficult to know for certain if it wouldn’t still happen purely for how embarrassing it was to confess. “I feel a bit… ignorant on the topic and admit I may have misread something, but you are a female in your species, correct? I have been assuming so, but your bloodwork is showing a rather unusual array of chromosomes so I was not sure if that equated.”

A quiver of a sound–-not quite a hiss, but a stilted breathy tone–-caught him off guard as they crossed the room and Sja sat herself on the medical table with little fuss, letting him do what he needed to since she had no idea where his supplies were kept or what they did. “By female, I assume you mean one who can carry and birth offspring?”

He shrugged one shoulder, waving his computer awake and flicking through the inventory and synthesizer settings. “In the vaguest terms, I suppose that would define it. Yautja have male and female sexes and reproduce sexually, however it did not occur to me that yours may not be the same.”

Crossing her legs, Sja leaned back, pressing her palms to the table–doing so arched her back in a way that took every ounce of his will power to not to stare at.

Is she doing that on purpose? he asked himself, finding the right combination to produce a fresh, light medical salve that would speed the recovery of her incidental injuries. Surely if she were trying to seduce him, she’d be more direct about it? His finger paused over the ‘enter command’ button for just a tick.

Did he want her to try and seduce him?

“Then yes,” her voice cut through his thoughts before they could take off down a rabbit hole of questions he wasn’t sure he wanted the answers to, “I am female. I was born such and am such by my people.”

“That is a curious way to put it,” he stated, hoping to keep the topic going so he wouldn’t have a chance to stray back where he didn’t want to be. The computer was nearly done synthesizing the requested compound.

“Is it?” she said back, also a bit curious, before answering herself. “I suppose it is, if your people are so straightforward. I have also not considered my experiences are not norms between species.”

A vial popped out of a dock on the computer and filled with a viscous, green-ish gel; Lar’dha waited until the light at the base of the vial switched from red to green before twisting it free and removing it from the station. Bright eyes followed his movements with more attention than her relaxed posture would otherwise indicate, a curious tilt of her head at the vibrant color causing her expression to shift from calm to tense as a flick of her tongue slipped past her jaws. For a half-heartbeat, Lar’dha paused, his mind falling back to those long hours contained behind orange plasmic glass, a tube of vibrant liquid slowly creeping toward him with every defiant movement.

“This is a simple antiseptic salve with base proteins and amino acids that encourage healing.” The words came gently and quick, the vial turning over in his claws to give a clear view to the wary serpent. “None of them have been flagged as potentially harmful to your physiology.”

Pupils narrowing for a moment, Sja wondered, “Checked before, did you?” not unkindly, but just flat enough for him to understand that she was aware he’d examined her while she was unconscious.

Perhaps she was a bit too intelligent.

With a gruff click, the hunter knelt to administer the serum, any retort he could make choked down by a strange feeling he could only assume was guilt. A phrase came to mind as the first bruise took the salve, the mixture disappearing into her skin rapidly–-better to ask forgiveness than permission. Where that phrase had come from he could only assume was from some stint where he observed the local intelligent species of a backwater world whose name escaped him, as it was certainly not a yautja phrase. Had it been a good idea or not, finding it within himself to apologize again grew more difficult with each occurrence.

If his clan brothers found out, he’d be bullied relentlessly about it for months.

“It was necessary,” was all he managed without his tone becoming defensive. For a moment, the hunter pondered if the marks on her skin were already fading where the serum had been applied or if he was tricking himself with the light.

“Indeed,” Sja hummed, watching him raptly as he continued to soothe her aches, eyes fixed on his work. “As is your desire to administer medicine to me, or is that a choice?”

Lar’dha stilled for a beat, thoughts halting all at once. Without even an ounce of hesitation, he’d taken to dressing her injuries-–what was he thinking when she’d given no indication of wanting contact?!

That breathy sound again-–a laugh?--drew him back to physical reality, eyes drawn to the space where her tail slipped over the table’s edge. “You needn’t stop, I am merely wondering about your habits.”

So was he.

“Your documents denoted a…” Sja shifted her weight, leaning forward just a bit as he forced himself to continue seeking bruises so he wouldn't have to look her in the face just yet. “... a lack of fondness of sorts for these kinds of actions. Your kind are very independent, and yet you show far more gentleness than I had assumed the entailed.”

One leg done, Lar’dha sat back on his heels, eyes locked on her knees. “You are not yautja,” he said carefully, voice quiet. “Though you are… correct to assume I am not the norm of my kind, that is not due to softness-–”

“I never said such,” she corrected, voice equally soft to his, knowing the implication of ‘soft’ was not a positive one for him.

A grunt stalled him as he accepted that was true, mandibles flexing. A small part of him was pleased she was learning, yet the majority of him felt vulnerable, knowing this... non-yautja was understanding him in a way many creatures never got the opportunity to. He conceded, “You… did not,” only to keep silence from lingering. By the gods this was difficult suddenly. What in the world was wrong with him?

Not much was available as an answer as Lar’dha suddenly came to regret his choice of focal points. Having realized one leg was now tended to, Sja moved to uncross them, revealing a rather dark mark across her inner thigh. Immediately, the male knew when that had occurred-–he’d punished a sloppy misstep with a sharp crack not unlike how his mentor had taught him not to overcompensate with a heavy weapon–-and that it likely contributed to her sore gait, however the guilt of his rigorous training mattered far less than the realization that he would need to address that exact wound himself. After all, he had been given permission to administer aid.

Every muscle tensed at once as he weighed his options, thoughts already too fast to keep up with being sent into orbit as the snake–-perhaps on purpose, he felt–-twisted in her spot to allow better access to her injury, healed leg hiked onto the table top to support herself better.

The cacophony of don’t don’t don’t don’t only just managed to get drowned out by her voice pondering, “You were saying?”

Clearly she had no intention of helping him by doing it herself. Was this punishment for his stray thoughts merely hours before? Had the gods decided he was their fool for this day?

Willing his fingers not to tremble-–in fear or excitement, he couldn’t tell-–Lar’dha took a generous glob of serum and very slowly reached for the tender, pale inside of the snake woman’s leg. “I am,” he began, struggling to reclaim his thoughts and spare himself the humiliation of being a young male succeeding in his first mating offer, “not the norm. We all hunt–-we males more so to better gain accolades-–but…” Contact brought warmth, his claws and fingertips pressing into flesh with reverent care, a slow, circling path that coated the bruise efficiently. He dare not do more than needed to apply the medicine. The risk of falling too deeply into his own perverse thoughts was getting to be too much to handle. Cetanu, take me. “There is much difference between a hunter and an Elite. We are known for our skills, even among the most skilled.”

“We?” Sja mused, feeling his claws pull away from her leg wound. Turning more revealed the remainder of blemishes along her outer thigh, purple marks marred by bluish bruises nearly to her buttocks.

Lar’dha grunted in acknowledgement, maintaining his feather light touch as he addressed each mark with efficient motions. Even the flesh of her back was tender and smooth. “I said I am not the norm.” In any other circumstance, this fact would bring him pride, but in the tunnel of his concentration it felt flat. He didn’t care for it, but wavering now would mean risking a loss of self control.

Peering over her shoulder at him as he half rose to check her upper back–-very few there, thankfully-–she offered more discussion. It was unfortunate he was almost too locked down to fully grasp it. “I believe I read that term. It was near another that sounded familiar–one I think you said to me when I first spoke of jjangra’ka .”

Finally, mercifully, there were no bruises left–-nor any serum-–and Lar’dha was able to step back and breathe.

When had he-–?

Nevermind. Discarding the mostly empty vial onto the console, he rubbed the remaining residue into his palm–comparing how rough his paws were after her, for lack of a better term, everything, rattled around in his thoughts before settling back in order at last. “By those terms, I can assume you mean ic’jit . It means ‘exile’--those who broke the laws of our people and so are meant to be hunted.”

Sja hummed, tail curling. After a moment to compose himself, Lar’dha dared to look at her face only to find her gaze on the wall, deep in thought. Half of him meant to prod her for some sort of response, the other warned he did not have the strength to continue if she approached him in any regard at the moment.

Something was wrong with him. Deeply.

Another moment passed, Sja unaware of her companion’s conflicted mind, before she spoke again, eyes turning to regard the hunter with curiosity. “So you hunt them, these… ihk-jjiht ?”

Chin lifting with instinctive pride now that he had room to think, Lar’dha’s fist thumped his chest. “I do.”

Sliding off the table, the snake woman turned toward him with a lightness that felt… odd. Something was different in a way he couldn’t readily place, her posture relaxed and yet there was a deliberateness in how she held her weight, hip curving outward with more intent than she’d done previously. Neck craning to better regard him with her sharp gaze, she leaned just a bit forward, tail raising in tandem to keep her balanced. “Did you fear that my declaration of exile would require you to execute me, Lar’dha?”

Sja was far too intelligent for her own good.

Back straightening, the hunter stepped back as a shameful wave doused his spirit, mandibles sore from how he fought to keep them from flaring. How could she have known–-?! Do not release your truth, he immediately chastised himself, turning with a chitter that confused the serpent enough to tilt her head as he showed his back to her in some effort not to be beguiled by her gaze.

Yet she still persisted. “You may speak honestly, Lar’dha.”

Stop it.

“I could already scent your worry when we first spoke of it.”

That’s enough.

“But assumptions have done us harm, so I wish to clear them away where we can. I wish… to understand.”

A metallic thud echoed off the walls of the medical room, Sja jumping only slightly from the din as it rattled her bones. She had seen it coming, felt the tension in the air from his muscles as his arm swung–-the spot was nowhere near where she stood, but the power carried nonetheless, as well as the unspoken command to be silent. Eyes burning into the spot where his fist connected to the wall, Lar’dha only managed a deep rumble in his chest. This feeling seeped into her body, unable to be ignored, leaving Sja to silently consider her approach in getting her companion to open up more; being direct seemed circumstantial at best.

The motion of her sitting back to rest against the medical table drew the bright flash of the yautja’s blue eyes, his gaze burning with warning over his shoulder for a moment until he perceived she was not approaching him nor making a threat. Jaw tensing, Lar’dha relaxed his posture in the same breath Sja turned her gaze from him, expression unreadable. Though he wanted to believe she was simply reading over the holographic display still flashing on the console, he knew that was not so, deep down beyond his temper’s reach.

Something was wrong, but he could only scramble for what. Her body language made no indication of anything being so, but something had changed. Intangible, yet palpable. Though she stood within grasping distance, she may as well have been a thousand lightyears from him.

“We have similar for my people,” she said after a too-long moment of tense calm, finally turning her eyes back to him however it did little for the sense of distance forming between them. “We call them ‘eternal exiles’, those who broke sacred law and are so removed from the tribal commune. So great is their heresy that the gods themselves offer no protection for their spirits, in life or after. It is no small matter to be branded such.”

In another moment, information being so freely given would entice the yautja like meat to a hound, but the offer of insight now with this unease in his veins make him want to wretch. Was she attempting to mend the gap with what he wanted originally? Appease him after his waver in control? Had he so upset her-–?

But he had promised never to harm her-–though she did not appear afraid, yet he felt he couldn’t trust what he saw as he studied her mannerisms. Sja was no Unblooded that telegraphed every thought without intending it. The ability to mask her hurt and fear was not beyond her skillset-–though she’d very freely expressed seething malice in front of him toward others and even toward him in some moments, it was predicated on her not fearing him.

A sinking twist clawed into his throat from his stomach.

Had he just proven his word was meaningless so soon? All because he couldn’t keep himself under control while being scrutinized between intrusive thoughts that would shame him to explain.

Pauk.

Struggling to find words, his moment slipped away as Sja straightened once more and made her way to the door, giving him a wide enough berth he wouldn’t be able to touch her without it being intentional and easily avoided. Frigidness was normal for yautja females. Their vapid actions never bothered him.

This time, though, it did.

Sja was not yautja, and he had been getting used to that in some small amount.

What an insidious trap he found himself in.

Just as the shame crept over his skin to consume him for his foolishness, the snake stopped dead in her tracks and turned, the distance in her eyes replaced by a deep smoldering of something incomprehensible as he moved to acknowledge her despite his wounded pride snapping at him not to. The abruptness that she had changed moods once more connected in his mind like a fist hammering into his solar plex, unguarded and precise. “My people are not strangers to discomfort, be it of the body or the mind. We find solace in our bonds to lead us from the darkness and revel in the closeness of others.” Her tail curled around her leg, mirroring the tightness that she gripped her arms with as if trying not to reach toward him. “Your people… do not.”

He’d expected a scathing clip in her voice, but there was none. It was also not devoid of anything either.

Sja’s tone was… kind. Undeservedly so.

“I am…” Her large eyes closed for a moment and she appeared to exhale slowly. “Not unused to this, but my own weakness does not permit me to respect your ways as I should.”

What?

“For that, I am sorry, Lar’dha. I do not wish to make you small nor strip your strength from you by demanding your heart be laid bare to me. We are not tjuarrna , and I hurt you by presuming so. I…”

The demand of his mind to stop her, correct her, ask what a ‘thoo-ahr-nah’ was, left him unable to say anything as he continually ran into the wall of confusion that had plagued him from their first moments together. For every word shared that answered a lingering question, it brought more with it. It was getting exhausting.

Shifting backward so her weight was on her back foot, Sja craned away from him. It was only in her movement did Lar’dha realize it was in response to his own, his body pivoting toward her as if to close the gap between them. He froze entirely, save for the pitter pat of his tendrils and their metal rings bouncing off his back. This, somehow, hurt.

Worse than the wound to his pride.

But not enough to smother the burning in his hide that worsened whenever his thoughts commanded to bring her near. To hold her. Cling to her.

Comfort her.

None of this was normal. All of it was new.

He hated it.

“I will work to amend my mistake.” Very little time had passed in the material world compared to the dragging passage of minutes Lar’dha experienced within his own thought storm. She had likely not noticed his inner turmoil, it had come on so suddenly. “I would ask that I be left alone in the room given to me as mine for the time being.”

Wait.

“I must speak with my spirits on how to best marry our ways without diminishing them or us.”

Too slow.

Just as he managed to gain some semblance of autonomy, the serpent was gone, his paw raking through the empty air where she’d stood not a moment before with only the hiss of the airlock sealing telling him she hadn’t simply vanished. The burning went with her, draining from his body like rain water over rocks until he was left with not even a thought in his head, cold and alone.

With a thunderous crash, fists slammed into dense metal as a roar reverberated through the empty medical room, leaving silent tension to hang in the air after it faded; Lar’dha sank to his knees slowly, head pressed to the unforgivingly cold surface that was once familiar.

Chapter Text

It started as a dream, as it always did.

Seven days, further and further she walked among unfamiliar trees.

The fifth day, she had found what she sought.

By the seventh, the stars had revealed themselves to her.

It was on the dawn of the seventh day that Sjajjende’kolii approached her elders with her vision, painting for them the map of the stars that the beast commanded of her. They were concerned, as she expected. No Unsung had received a First Hunt that called to them from across the vast empty of The Above, but who were they to question this? The sooth had confirmed, again and again, that Sjajjende’s dream was true.

A Spirit called to her from Elsewhere in The Above.

But an Unsung was not allowed to leave their homeworld, it simply was not how it was done. She had not earned that grace.

While they deliberated, the female went about her daily tasks, lost in the vague memory of her dream vision until a tangle of small bodies crossed her path. Stopping suddenly, her claws dug into the basket of linen she carried to keep it from falling onto the children that tumbled into the walkway. “ Asjay !” she blurted, the lean bodies of the youths turning over as they picked themselves up from the ground, bright eyes apologetic.

“We’re sorry!” their voices chorused, dirt falling away as one brushed themself off.

Absently, Sja knelt and set the basket aside, turning the dark lavender child around to brush down their back where a bit of dead foliage stuck to them. As her paw plucked the stray, a familiar pattern between their shoulders caught her eye. Tightness gripped Sja’s throat, the words she’d planned to say dying before they ever reached her mouth.

The child was small but stringy, the build of a kur’ten nearing their third year. That would be knowledge enough of their identity had she not seen painfully bright teal staring back at her with curiosity but no familiarity.

“Child,” Sja said instead before her silence could betray her, “why are you here and not with your group?”

Those bright eyes turned away, guilt obvious in the way their cheeks scrunched. The children behind them also looked away, knowing full well they were not where they should be.

Huffing, Sja rose to her full height, hands on her hips. “Your silence speaks to your integrity to avoid dishonesty, but you are not getting out of lessons for it.”

A helpless turn of the child’s face pierced her heart, their voice begging, “It’s only for a little bit! Please?”

Sja held fast against her own withering spirit’s demand to relent to the youth. “And what, dare I ask, is so important that you want to leave your nestmates?”

Beyond her elbow, another slink of dark green-blue piped up, “There are nasflies hatching at the pond today, we wanted to watch!”

Nasflies hatched quickly in the warm mornings of the wet season, swarming over still water as their wings grew in. This always brought things out of the mud and deep water to feed on them in droves, which told her exactly what their real purpose was. “If you are so keen to fish and fill your bellies, you can do so with a ratja .”

The young snakes collectively groaned, the dark lavender one stomping their foot at her command. After their disappointment waned, another–-soft pinks like a sunrise–-muttered, “It wasn’t just for us… we wanted to take some fish to the circle…”

Sja’s head tilted, assessing the truth of this claim. The circle at the heart of the village would be clearing firstmeal and preparing for mid now, making it a perfect time to bring things to cook. Amused, she appreciated their drive to help, however, “Why do you not tell someone to come with?”

The guilt flashed on their face and she knew both parts had been true. They’d planned to have a snack and offset their scheming with offerings to the ratja cooks. Cheeky things, children.

“I see.”

“Please!” the teal-eyed child begged again, determination replacing shame as they stood their ground. “We don’t want to be trouble! We can go by ourselves, it’s not far!”

A twitch of her tail had the children shrinking back, expecting harsh words or a punishment for their foolhardy exploits, save for the familiar little snake standing before her. They met her gaze, chest puffing and neck arcing. I wonder where you get that stubbornness, Sja mused to herself, heart fluttering with affection as her posture relaxed somewhat. “I admire your desire to prove yourselves,” she began, picking up the basket and placing it on her hip, “however the pond you speak of is out of sight of the village. You know you are not allowed there without a da’ten .”

Again, they groaned.

“You will wait here.” Pointing at the ground, she gave each child a firm look, being met with curiosity. “I will return and watch over you while you fish. If you are not here when I return, I will hunt you down and parade you like prey through the circle myself.”

Though she meant it in jest, the idea of a hunter coming for them managed to keep the children right where she told them to be when she returned, a net in hand and empty basket fastened to her back. In the time it took for her to gather the gear, they seemed to come around to the idea of a tag-along, greeting her cheerfully.

Eager to get to the pond, they began to march before she’d even gotten back to the spot she left them, one child calling, “Lead the way, Ya’sjur!” as the dark lavender snake took point into the grass.

Sja’s jaw tensed as her eyes followed the familiar pattern on the child’s back, the same she bore on her own body.

“It is the only way.”

Sjajjende’s tongue flicked, tasting an unsettling odor in the air among the dust and darkness. Though day was still lingering into late afternoon, the hut was dim, a thick curtain drawn over the entrance that kept the light out. There were no windows.

Moving about in the shade was a dark, dusty blue figure clad in full robes that, in better light, would bear the weave of a hunter’s story on it. Rifling through the shelves lining the hut’s walls, the elder occupied himself as his words sank into Sja’s mind. Though he bore the title of elder, he had not yet grown weary and wrinkled with age–the hobble of his movements brought by the injury to his leg that ended his hunting song was the only tell that he was unfit to continue on the normal way. The youngest of the collective, Kar’tien had sharpness of mind but lacked the humility that otherwise defined an elder; it was no secret he was bitter about his failing to heal as he always had, this being taken as his sign the gods had deemed his song at an end.

This frustration often manifested as far fetched ideas that he rarely thought through.

“I…” Sja began, unsure how to voice her confusion and concern at the proposal offered to her. “I do not understand.”

An unamused huff told her he was displeased with this response. “You wish to go off world, yes?”

She did.

“But you are Unsung. No Spirits to define you, protect you, no legacy or merit with which to pull from.”

All true.

“So you cannot acquire your own ship, yet I have one I no longer have use of.”

That much she followed. “And you are willing to let me use it?”

“I am.” Kar’tien’s tone held an unnerving lilt to it. “Though I will expect you to make up for this favor, of course.”

“Of course.” She fought herself to not sound over eager. Something was not right about this. Had he planned to make a normal request, there would be no need to ask her to such a place, tucked away from the village paths in the elders’ den where few could disturb them. “What am I to do for you to be given such a boon?”

The male turned, his eyes bright yellow points in the darkness as he muddled over the details of this odd trade. “It will be a time before my ship can fly again. It has sat for too long in the jungle and so been claimed by it somewhat. It will need repairs.”

Biting back the urge to demand he get to the point, Sja held firm as the male approached her. Despite his injury and posture, he still towered over her, shoulders broad with the vigor of a hunter. He would be handsome had it not been for his hubris. “What am I to do during that time?”

“Bear my child.”

It was so blunt, Sja thought she’d misheard him. “... what?”

A ‘ksk’ made her brow furrow, but she didn’t care if he thought her stupid. “Offspring, Sjajjende. I am regretful to admit my desire to grow my song outweighed my effort to carry my legacy onward, but now I am without melodies to add–”

Knowing what he was getting at, Sja cut him off, “--And as an elder, you are not permitted to breed freely.”

Kar’tien’s tongue flicked, a rumble in his throat denoting this was the case. “So you understand my plight?”

This was not right.

But what choice did she have if she wanted to obey her call to hunt?

“As you understand mine.”

Had it not been so dark, her eyes fixed to a point beyond his shoulder rather than him directly, she would have seen a foul grin on the elder’s face. “We have an accord then? I will ask my ship be repaired to flight readiness and in exchange for this gift beyond your stance as an Unsung, you will bear me a child so I may be assured my line continues.”

Tail coiling up on itself, Sja wondered, “Why me?”

The amusement left Kar’tien’s voice. “Why you?”

“You are an elder in status, not in body. I am sure the gathering would allow you some leniency in tradition given your state, yet you have been in this position for some years now and none have claimed your blood in that time. I find it hard to believe the desire for offspring is recent, and with your Song it would not be impossible to find a partner willing to carry it on for you. Why now, and why me?”

Displeased, Kar’tien paced around the female slowly, his steps hitching every so often as his leg fumbled. How he detested this. “Are you often told that you are quite observant, Sjajjende?”

Unwavering, Sja replied, “I am a hunter, observation is necessary. You know this.”

Behind her, his voice purred, “I do,” as a talon glided down the length of her spine. Sja refused to allow a shiver to shake her. “I will reward this skill with the truth: you are convenient. Extraordinarily so. Perfect to carry my Song forward, and in a position where I can make use of that. I would be a fool not to.”

A twitch in her tail betrayed her growing displeasure. “Again I ask, why me?” as he returned to the front, too close for her to feel comfortable and yet unable to pull away without conceding to the silent challenge of will.

“You are not ignorant, Sjajjende,” Kar’tien purred once more, his voice lowering in a way she thought must be an attempt to woo her. A stray talon danced along the hem of her shirt wrap, tickling the sensitive mound of breast underneath. She hated it. “Tjeliya has blessed you. Your children have both grown into fine young hunters, skilled and strong willed.” A warning hiss slipped from the female’s jaws at the mention of her offspring, but this did not deter him. “Your blessing even avoided the sire’s curse on your youngest, Ya’sjur. They may have his eyes, but Ya’sen’s pitiful spirit did not taint them–rather, yours was stronger, and it shows in how they carry themself.”

The sire’s curse was not something Sja had thought of since birthing her second child. The fear that the ill spirit of someone harmful–like Ya’sen–would taint his child as they grew, carrying the evil forward rather than their song, was something all ka’da had in their minds at one point, even when their partner was kind. Sja had birthed one child previously who had been fertile and grew strong, proving hers was a song worthy to carry on despite having nothing yet to sing; her second was Ya’sen’s first, and so bore the judgement of the gods as a sign of his song’s integrity. Sja herself hadn’t thought the curse would be a concern before then until…

Her throat ached with the memory, fighting to keep her paws at her sides and not touching her neck. Despite his vile actions, the curse had spared them both–she was unsure if that was Tjeliya’s blessing protecting them or because Ya’sen had not been there to influence his child in that first year. He had already condemned Ya’sjur for being iyati despite it being no fault of their own. Always, Ya’sen needed to blame something, so when his first and only child was genderless, unable to carry his song onward, it enraged him like no other as he made to blame her and the infant each for this folly of the gods’ judgement. The irony was not lost on Sja, who kept her newborn from him, unable to bear his anger any longer.

“With you,” Kar’tien went on, unaware of the seething Sja felt in that moment, “I will ensure my song is pure. I was close to achieving tju’tjusa , so there is no doubt it will persist in our child.”

The desire to hiss and huff at his words nearly won against her better judgement, Sja’s claws curling in ever so slightly with the effort. A biting comment that he was far from being aged enough to claim the title of tju’tjusa would risk losing her this chance, and so she let it pass. If keeping his ego aloft on drifts of hot air got her where she needed to be, then she would not stop the bellows from working. Rather, she asked, “How do I know your end will be fulfilled?”

A terse ‘ksk’ did not deter her, the male muttering, “So mistrustful of your elders, Sjajjende.” His purring of her name over and again felt filthier on her hide with each use. “In different times I would have you reminded of respect, but this is a most unusual moment so I will refrain.”

She did not pass over the barest hint of a threat in his words, amending her intentions. “It is simply a worry, as I will be dedicating two years of my time to this deal and that is quite a lot of investment I do not want misplaced due to accidental forgetfulness.”

Another click of the tongue told her he was not amused by her challenge of his honor. “Then we compromise.” Her tail coiled up on itself, waiting. “I will not ask you to attend our bargain until my ship is in the repair station. We will arrange for it to be fixed and transferred to you and once so, then we will go about finishing the details. How is that?”

“Acceptable.”

This time, she saw the wicked grin of the serpent’s lipless jaw and shuddered.

No time wasted among the lightspots of The Above, Sjajjende’kolii listened for that faint melody that called to her. Each branch of her path brought wisdom she’d never imagined, words and things and ideas beyond anything her people had conceived even in their oldest of stories. With this wisdom came many, many hunts of creatures that fought with ferocity and skills she’d never encountered, her knowledge deepening.

Perhaps those years spent were truly worthwhile, now that The Above–-the galaxy, as she’d learned was the common term–-was hers to experience at her leisure...

With a weary sag of her shoulders, Sja arranged the star-point grid as she had many times before, hoping it would align and show her the path forward. Over and over, time and again, she looked for the web of light her vision burned into her mind. So long had passed without a new path to follow she had begun to think the gods were playing a game with her. Why else would her first melody be in such an impossibly distant place? What started as a trial had devolved into a fruitless venture that could only be some form of punishment for a sin she did not know she committed.

Unless, somehow, she had been wrong to separate from Ya’sen?

Head shaking, she hissed to herself. No. That couldn't be.

… could it?

Had her accusations been too extreme? Yet he was banished! The gods abandoned him, there was nothing he could do to her. Thinking back, she’d even heard he left the planet entirely to live in exile among the stars, far, far from being able to reach her.

So then why?

Why was she on an endless journey for her first melody when others her age would have a powerful song by now? Hands lowering from the map generator, she hugged herself, tail wrapping around her leg in an effort to console her spirit.

Unsung.

It was not a term she enjoyed hearing, but Sja knew she could not outrun it. Spared only by her desire to hunt for the sake of the village and so been marred by scars and scratches-–all of which faded eventually with time-–she avoided the accursed mark of ‘shiny’. Though perhaps she hadn’t run far enough. Peering at the polished ring of metal encircling her wrist, a touch of shame crept under Sjajjende’s skin; with no Song, no history, no spirits, the new armor she had been gifted that would protect her in The Above was void of any marks or symbols that would detail her endeavors. By taking up the call to hunt, she had lost what little merit she had by trading her roughened leathers for polished metal.

The resilience was incredible, but the protection the diamondmaille offered made earning her scuffs that much harder. The surface shone and glittered on her body, silent and voiceless with no story to tell in its marrs and marks.

Turning away from the outer viewscreen, the serpent trod to the far reaches of her ship, now so familiar it stopped reeking of Kar’tien’s memory whenever she passed by the arches and paths he’d once made use of. It was hers now, the lingering of her footfalls and breath replacing his a little more each day she traveled. A small comfort in the wake of understanding she had, somehow, been tricked into exile. What else was there? The vastness of The Above had been beyond her ability to comprehend, the vision calling her an impossible needle in a field of hay, and within that her own kind were few and far between.

Ages spent seeing and meeting others who bore no resemblance to anything she’d found and more languages than her computer could keep up with and decipher once felt enlightening and enriching, but now they merely reminded her how alone she was; the further she flew from home, the scarcer the familiar became until she only had herself and the black abyss of The Above. Not until the hopelessness of her situation dawned on her did Sja begin to feel the deep well of loneliness she’d danced around open up beneath her, forcing her to look down into its depths.

There would be none who cared to understand her and she tried to do for them.

She would never find the stars her vision gave her.

She would never have her first melody and would forever be Unsung, with no spirits to protect her save for the Whisper of her parents’ Songs and whatever deity still cared to hear her.

The walls of the rear ship felt suffocating suddenly, Sja’s gaze drawn to the murals painted and etched into them showing the gods at work, their likenesses inscribed by the hands of the devoted to protect the ship and its pilot by bringing their virtue with. Though she could name all of them, Sja had never learned any prayers to any save for one, to Tjeliya the Empowering whose voluptuous physique and grand tail took up a generous portion of one supporting arch near the middle of the back wall.

“Blessed by Tjeliya” she’d been told many times from her youth, from the moment her body had changed to that of a da’ten and her venom had become lethal. Paw dragging over the simple linen covering her chest, the weight of her breast and the memories of Kar’tien’s palms on them made her spirit feel vile. Dirty.

Gaze sharpening at the image of the fertility deity whose bounteous powers reflected in their equally bountiful body, chest and hips heavy with feminine might, Sja hissed, “Is this because I would not submit to your blessing?” and feeling her own voice echo back off the seamless metal around her. “Because I chose to pursue hunting rather than become a ratja Nurturer as you so wanted me to be?” A humorless chuff caught in her throat as clarity washed over her, eyes burning with tears she refused to shed. “So I am forced to bear yet another child before pursuing this call so I may finally hear my own song, only for my hubris to be my undoing?”

Turning from the image of the goddix, Sja’s fangs throbbed in her maw, desiring to sink deep into something. Anything.

Taking a few measured steps, the serpent found the last mural arch before the room curved away into another hall, this figure painted smaller than Tjeliya. Kar’tien’s obsession with the power of The Fertile One was evident simply in how he wanted the murals depicted. It was no wonder he desired Sja so much he would give up his ship to secure her, even for one night, nor was it unclear when he refused to allow her to alter the murals to her own preferences. Clearly he still wanted to remind her in some way that he was responsible for this.

Ironic that it was so clearly a punishment for failing to obey her blessed path.

But this one, almost forgotten in its placement, was a deity whom Sja only knew by name and by the-–faded–-red markings that she was always depicted with, a spear in one hand with the other held above her head, a pool of crimson filling her palm. The scuffed marks stretched from her painted hand in tracks down her body like rain drops, gathering underfoot where red flowers should be surrounding her, but they had been omitted-–or more likely, Kar’tien had simply left them unrestored, as upon closer inspection the faintest marks of paint could be found.

Absently, Sja’s claws traced the lines of the goddess’s shape, finding a familiarity in how she, too, seemed blessed with Tjeliya’s bounty and yet found solace in the hunt. Giving a final glance at the largest mural, Sja’s claws curled and her fangs begged for flesh, a deep anger bubbling in her body as every memory that tasted of Tjeliya’s hand flooded forward.

The comments. The dismissals. The lingering looks. The scathing comments. Ya’sen’s selfishness. Kar’tien’s obsession.

It was too much.

Fangs aching, Sja’s jaw flashed wide–-

–-the metallic taste hitting her throat stopped the memories dead, bluish liquid pittering to the ground where it sat on the cold floor before slowly turning brilliant crimson in the open air. Withdrawing her bite, skin burning as her own venom coursed her veins, Sja slammed her hand against the wall above the portrait, allowing her own blood to seep and drip down slowly, the color changing as it reached the bottom of the goddess’s feet.

“I will not be owned,” she bit out, voice carrying a strength that would be deemed excessive for the silence in the room. “The gods I speak to are my own choice. I will not be punished for something my spirit did not want!” Pulling her wounded hand from the cold wall, Sja placed it around the base of her neck, leaving a print like a necklace that slowly faded as it was taken in by her skin. The wound was closing already on her palm. “I will allow no hands to touch me that have not earned my grace, and by spear and fang, they will learn what happens if they try. From this moment, I am of yours, Tar’nijjende, and no other’s. I will prove my devotion to you and in so doing, reclaim what is mine and mine alone.” Bowing her head forward, Sjajjende knelt as if praying, allowing her words to come without thinking. “May your grace in battle be my guide and your final touch be the Whisper that Awaits those who find themselves at the end of my spear.”

Not until her wound had closed and the blood on the wall began to darken did Sjajjende move from her position of prayer, hands held toward the small mural as if cupped with water.

Calmness.

She’d expected fatigue after such a whirlwind, but instead of wanting to crawl into bed and sleep until her bones ached, a sense of stillness filled her, making her steps light and her head easy to hold high. There was a sense of direction now as she pivoted back toward the helm, talons clicking until she pulled them taught to leave only the soft pads of her feet to touch the ground. After so much neglect, the portrait of Tar’nijjende deserved care. Perhaps a space of her own where the goddess’s spirit could breathe.

She deserved offerings.

Sja needed to hunt.

The computer had already mapped and logged the nearest star systems and prioritized them by habitability, making it easy to find a suitable hunting ground. As she set the coordinates and locked into her command chair–-it would be about an hour to reach the moon chosen-–Sja’s claws swiped to another holographic array and opened the voice command. “Read to me all of our stories of Tar’nijjende. I wish to know her.”

“Confirmed,” the flat voice of the ship’s e-reader clipped back, dragging up every file available in the baseline codex every Ka’da ship possessed. None would be without their heritage in The Above, and for that she was grateful even if it brought no warmth or companionship with it.

Eyes closing as the distant stars streamed past her view, blurring into lines with every moment as the ship gained speed, Sjajjende listened to tales and snippets of the goddess of war and mercy, The Red Blooming Flower, The Last Whisper, She Whose Touch is the Last Felt.

Her goddess.

Chapter Text

This is not how it should be.

With a slow breath, Lar’dha willed his body to relax, going from head to hips to toes and back, trying to release the tension every muscle held as he sat cross-legged on his training room floor. The air thrummed with the low, steady rhythm of war drums and clacking of song-sticks that served to keep his mind centered in mediation—usually, anyway. At the moment he couldn’t even hear the quiet pitch past the thwei buzzing in his veins, his mind too focused on everything and nothing while his body itched to move. Personal peace-seeking was never this difficult before.

Then she came and now nothing made sense.

Straightening his back, the Elite chittered to himself, closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath…

Apologies.

Yautja had no use for them in most interactions. It was far more becoming to either beat or get beaten when someone made offense, the loser receiving a terse reminder that they wouldn’t readily forget to not repeat themselves if they couldn't back their snipping and gall.

Yet he’d offered one freely, and thought many more besides—but why? Because he wasn’t fool enough to force an outsider to know, let alone follow, their code or ways. Was he proud of those codes? Certainly. But Lar’dha was not foolish.

It is not because she is female.

… Or so he told himself. Sja hardly counted as female by his own standards; though she was tall and quite capable in her own right, her flesh was weak and her body soft. A swat or punch that another yautja might deem friendly contact could have devastating consequences on her unarmored self. Nevermind she was shaped incorrectly for bearing young! A suckling embryo would rip through her delicate middle before the first term completed!

By those terms, it was simply impossible for him to be thinking of her as he had been! Inappropriate, even! Perhaps he’d simply been gone too long? Did he miss the revelry more than he wanted to admit so it manifested as an insatiable need to be around the first non-prey being he could tolerate…?

I am… lonely…?

That had not been what he endeavored to address. It also felt… wrong.

No. I am not lonely. I have never been ‘lonely’.

But then… why did he desire to be near the serpent if not for simply craving companionship? Becoming an Elite had been his way to ensure co-operative action was by his decision, not by order of another who felt it necessary to group up hunters to raise the chances of success based solely on individual skill set and not group harmony. When he was alone, things made sense. There was order, routine, and no one to worry over save for himself—for a wistful moment he thought of D’ta, safe on the clanship with Kiloun, nursing her pups. It had been some time since he last saw his hound, the only ally he did not mind having at all hours as she was well trained and far more reliable than some of his clan brothers tended to be in a pinch.

Perhaps he missed her ? Yet… it was not unusual for her to be gone at regular intervals, and he had coped perfectly well each time Kiloun inquired to have her bred. That could not be it…

Perhaps I am a fool, the blue male relented after a moment of drawing a blank. His pride had dismantled his only argument that would spare him the humiliation of admitting to himself he simply wanted to be near Sjajjende purely because he chose to. Brow furrowing, Lar’dha tilted his head as a new thought sprang to mind.

Why was that humiliating to consider? In any other circumstance, he could defend his allegiance with proof of her might. Other hunters had formed such battle bonds with non-yautja before with only a few grievances among the older and more traditional ones. She was a warrior, same as he, and just as proud of that fact. Though she would be considered Unblooded—

“Ah!” his own voice clipped, mandibles flexing as realization hit him like a punch to the face. Of course!

Skills aside, Sja simply lacked the proof of her ability that his kind all sought to gain by surviving their chiva . As far as his mind—and clan brothers—would see, she was Unblooded. As an Elite he would scarcely pay mind to them on the clanship but now he was living closely with one and his pride simply refused to allow it to be comfortable. That had to be it! He was cooperating with the equivalent of a child!

So… what, then?

The joy of revelation faltered, his posture dipping to one side as he pressed a fist into the mat, the other drumming his fingers into his knee as he contemplated what this even meant. It was not as if he could oversee a chiva on his own, and convincing his clan to allow an outsider into the next one would cause far more problems than he wanted to deal with. But his ways were not the only one that a warrior could be judged by.

Could there be an alternative?

Clicking, he thought over what he knew, pondering if perhaps her people had some mark of a warrior or adulthood that would ease his unconscious worries…

… and came up blank.

Of course. A low, disgruntled buzz trembled his throat. He’d never asked for that information, only wondering if she were female, not if she were a full warrior and one formally capable of bearing offspring. Many species aged differently and sentient ones almost all had some rite of passage for adulthood. For his own, it was the chiva . For her, he couldn’t guess.

He’d have to ask.

Assuming she wanted to speak with him, of course…

… and if he could bear to be around her for more than a few minutes without losing his sense completely.

Hours before, after picking himself up from the cold floor of the medical room, Lar’dha had it in his mind to tackle the misunderstanding head on. Any more of this infuriating dance they were doing and he’d throw himself out the airlock! Even if it meant violating her request for privacy, he couldn’t leave this dry, irritating energy lingering between them.

Absolutely not!

Marching decisively down the corridor, tendrils whipping and clattering at his back, Lar’dha planted his feet before the door of the spare room made up with a hammock and little else to accommodate his unexpected guest, then raised his paw–

Wait.

Whickering to himself as his arm froze in the air, he wondered faintly what she might be doing in private and if he should barge in without thinking. When did he ever consider doing so to begin with? Walking in blind always caused trouble–he knew this. Head shaking dismissively to himself, the yautja put his paw down and turned instead to find one of the many moderation consoles that could be found at various points throughout the ship. It was an invasion of privacy, surely, but his curiosity and need to smooth the edges of their fractured connection muted any argument he made to himself about not checking on her first. With a few quick keystrokes, he’d pulled up the security feed of that room.

As expected, Sja was there.

To his surprise, she was in the middle of the floor with her head bowed, hands pressed into the ground ahead of her. For a moment, he felt fear–had she hurt herself?!--but as he looked on, he found her to be sitting in some reverent pose that wouldn’t be possible if she’d collapsed or were unconscious. The audio offered no clues until he turned it up somewhat to catch a low, steady hiss that sounded like nothing at first.

Caught in rapt curiosity, the Elite watched on to see her scoop her hands up as if taking water from a pond, sitting up and raising them overhead in one motion. All he could think was that she was imitating pouring something over herself; a flick of her tongue and the faintest movement of her jaw told him she was making that hissing sound. The computer’s log stuttered in the corner of the screen as it tried to register her speech but it couldn't decipher the meaning of it. Speaking too quickly for the computer to keep up with? he wondered, the negging desire to know more rearing up in the back of his mind. Was her natural speech truly that fast and she’d simply slowed down for his sake? Or was it something else, like a chant or cantor verse that flowed quickly but with purpose?

By her movements, he was vaguely reminded of ceremony rites. The more devout of his kind had patterns and intervals they regularly kept to to show their allegiance to one of the gods, rare as it was to find considering all that they did, all that they were, reflected the will of Cetanu and their dedication to him simply through their lifestyle. The extra effort seemed a bit tedious in his opinion.

But now that it came to him, Lar’dha couldn’t unsee the pattern. She had to be praying.

Whom to? he briefly wondered, weight shifting to his right leg. Sja’s slow movement of her hands kept his eyes focused on them, following the tips of her claws as they shifted down her throat slowly, tracing an invisible set of lines; her neck craned back into an arc that exposed the vulnerable underside to something unseen as her claws passed over her skin and continued down–collar–chest–

–a buzz of thoughts kicked up, dragging flickers of memories with them–

–of Little Red, impaled on Sja’s spear after a valiant effort to redeem themself to their own god–

–of moments before then, when Little Red chuckled through a lethal wound at the mention of a goddess who vowed mercy that came in death–

–raising it above herself while it still dripped blood freshly, closing her eyes as it fell onto her face and slid down her skin–

–a rumble in his chest startled the male from his voyeuristic engagement, the burning in his hide returning with sudden force, relegated to a single area of his anatomy. Swiftly, Lar’dha hit the disconnect command–perhaps a bit too hard–before stepping back at a stagger. A few crude names for himself came to mind between the flurry of shame and belittlement that drove him to walk away from the computer, past the door of Sjajjende’s quarters and to his own, lungs aching as he felt himself holding his breath to avoid any further embarrassing noises he might make.

Safely sealed behind the airlock of his own room, he leaned into the cold metal of the door gratefully this time. A slow breath escaped him as the icy surface bit into his hide, providing a new, much needed sensation to distract from the perverse hum chewing away at his sensibilities. Whatever that was, whomever she was praying to, he did not care anymore.

It was too dangerous for him to care.

Stupid , he amended quickly, head dipping as he centered himself before pushing off from the door to reach his own bed. I will speak to her later. I need to rest and gather my wits.

Unceremoniously, the blue yautja pivoted on his heel and let himself flop into his fur-lined nest, sinking into its depths with little resistance. A bone-deep groan snuck its way out as he felt himself relax, the familiar scent of tanned leather and his own musk working to comfort him with familiarity. Yet another thing he’d grown so accustomed to it had become taken for granted, but in the wake of being freed from the orange box of shame, locked upright and unable to stretch or stand comfortably, it was bliss to finally have his own bed again!

Groggy words trickled into mind as he lay there, succumbing to his body’s desire to stop existing for a moment to avoid further stress–or whatever it was that was plaguing him. Why haven’t I slept here yet...? There had been a reason, though for the moment it eluded him. He’d slept already–twice, by his reckoning–yet he hadn’t been in his own bed for it. It felt too new, as if his skin didn’t remember being there recently.

Absurd.

Turning over to get comfortable, Lar’dha pulled a cushion sewn from thin skin softened with a special oil and stuffed with downy feathers to himself. It had a light scent clinging to it, a bit different from the many furs and linens he enjoyed wrapping up in that had long since stopped smelling like the beasts they came from or the oils and workings of new leather. His was a crisp, deep scent that hummed with thoughts of ocean waves and untouched air, of moss in the deepest jungles and rain collected in leaves. A fitting musk for one who could disappear into the water and the trees as easily as he, cloaking be damned.

This was not his, though, yet it didn’t seem out of place either. In a way, it was familiar. Soft.

Eyelids weighing down, he couldn’t pay it much more mind even if he’d wanted to. Turning his face into the pillow and drawing a deep breath, he dozed to thoughts of flowers and field grass covered in morning dew, foggy mornings and lavender, soft and plush under paw…

… a jolt woke him, Lar’dha jumping from his nest while spots danced in his eyes.

What time was it??

Had he been asleep long??

By the gods , his hide burned!

Body reeling from the adrenaline coursing his veins, Lar’dha side-stepped instinctively only to feel his knee buckle and give out. He hit the floor gracelessly, rolling back in a half-hearted attempt to avoid smacking his head only to give up part way and end up flat on his back, sprawled out like he’d been thrown to the floor in a sparring match. If nothing else, it allowed him a moment to get his bearings as he stared at the ceiling. Following a trail of runes with his eyes, the male was grateful there were no witnesses to mock him over his fumble, noting the carved lights read “glory to the hunter who awaits the moment of perfection” before the words disappeared into the wall junction. Why it was there he could only think was due to a habit of some shipbuilders to inscribe things into the metal as it was being formed to its purpose.

Some wrote prayers, others left cryptic riddles or rhymes. Supposedly, his clan brother Dhi'dto had found one inside a vent that said “nosey little suckling, aren’t you?” which had gotten a bit of amusement out of the forge workers, though he never could produce evidence of this claim.

In this case, it was a poem. Or rather, a single line of one.

Mighty is the hunter that does not bow before the storm
Cetanu awaits with thunderous calm

Great is the blade that is wielded with wit and might
Cetanu awaits with claws fully drawn

Felled is the beast brought to heel under a hunter’s mind
Cetanu awaits with perfect form

Glory to the hunter who awaits the moment of perfection
Cetanu welcomes them home

A rather morbid thing to have hanging over his head every night, but it at least managed to keep Lar’dha focused on anything that wasn’t his own pitiful state of being for a moment. Debating the meaning of ‘the moment of perfection’ could prolong this time spent not addressing the burning heat in his groin, but if he did the cold would sink in deeper and that could be worse. Maybe. Instead, he took a moment to assess himself.

He was tired.

He was cold.

And his dreams were trying to drive him mad.

Sitting up slowly with a disgruntled rumble, Lar’dha raked a paw down his face, mandibles flexing inward and jaw tensing. I’m pathetic. The fact he couldn’t even sleep without his questionable thoughts chasing him down had to be a punishment of some kind. It seemed the gods thought it was amusing to lull him to sleep only to turn the softness of his pillow into a crisp reminder of lavender thighs and dark bruises being soothed underpaw, his will being ignored entirely for an indulgent moment of curiosity.

How soft would she feel if he bit into that tender flesh?

Whatever had happened after evoked such a strong reaction from him that Lar’dha woke up in a blind panic, sheath throbbing.

This is getting out of hand , he told himself, straightening up and fixing his loincloth while refusing to linger where temptation waited. No matter what he did, the thoughts still plagued him, nipping at his heels like hounds set to the hunt. Running was not his way, but ignoring the pestering tickle of perversion only seemed to encourage it to continue. Perhaps it was time to do what he did best.

Perhaps it was time to confront these disruptive whispers head on and remind them who the hunter was.

Standing once more before the door to Sja’s quarters, Lar’dha steeled himself to do what he needed to have some peace. They needed to talk. He had to know what she was so he could let go of the stress of babysitting an Unblooded and his dignity would be spared the embarrassment of not knowing. Perhaps then he could function like an Elite again.

Paw raised to knock, uncaring if he disturbed her solitude, Lar’dha’s hide prickled at his neck before he could move. Turning, the door to a nearby bath facility opened, revealing the serpent busying herself with correcting her meager attire. With a tongue flick drawing her attention to him, she paused for just a beat as if not expecting to find him at her room. Before he could explain himself, her gaze softened and she asked, “You are well?”

The tone she used struck him deeply, cutting through his guard. No trace of anger or sorrow or fear existed. It was simply sincere. “I… am,” he managed after a moment, wrangling himself back into a stern and determined mentality. He couldn’t fold after only five words.

She took a step toward him, her tail curling up slightly. Something in how she moved seemed different, though he couldn’t place how. “Did you need something of me?”

Before the burning could sink in at her open question, he turned, gesturing up the corridor. “In a sense, yes. Come.” Keeping his focus ahead, he trusted her to obey and follow. The faint click-click of her talons told him she was.

Only a few steps later, Sja moved to flank him, her neck unfurling to give her more reach to appear in his peripheral. A slight turn of his head to avoid peering at her directly tickled her curiosity. “Have I done something more to offend you, Lar’dha?”

Somehow, she said it in a way that seemed amused rather than worried. What was she playing at suddenly? Clicking, he replied, “No,” while trying to piece together how to explain himself. These serpents change their moods like weather on a death world , he added mentally, realizing then that Sja was not hovering at his shoulder. Stopping and turning, he saw her lingering back at the door of the dojo, head cocked expectantly. “What are you doing?”

Her eyes glinted down his body and back to his face, studying him for a fraction of a moment. Against his better judgement, the male found himself returning the appraisal, catching on the way her muscles moved under her skin as her weight shifted to one leg. “You wish as much as I do to come to an understanding, yes?” Sja’s head turned as she spoke, allowing her a long glance with one eye. It only just occurred to him that her kind did not have fully forward-set vision as his did, but also not side-set like herding prey. Perhaps her ancestors were mid-tier predators and not apex? The range would have helped avoid ambushes and being flanked while chasing down a target, he felt.

That was not what he wanted to know, though. Not that he was able to ask what he’d intended anyway; that question got forcibly kicked out of the way by another that escaped before he could catch it. “How are you able to do that?” The way she hummed at him, head canting upward slightly, urged him to clarify. “To…” his mandibles flexed, shoulders squaring, “... know what I am thinking without my needing to speak it? You have taken words from me many times now, but I cannot understand if it’s done on purpose or not.”

Sja pivoted, one hand raising toward the training room with a hint of a smile in her demeanor. “Would you like to learn how?”

A thrill of excitement danced up his back, feet moving automatically toward her as she pressed the access button that would permit them into the padded room. Her tail swung coyly at her back, as if urging him to follow.

With a whump and a roll, Sja caught herself and regained her footing without breaking stride. The longstaff sang through the air but came nowhere near her as she dodged with practiced timing, the end clipping the floor and nothing more. Already, she was sprinting toward him; Lar’dha pulled back to feint a block to his left with the broad side, eyes tracking the serpent as she altered her path just enough to avoid touching the metal armament.

As he clamped his hand down for a better grip, anticipating contact, the Elite let out a surprised chuff when his opponent abruptly ducked, her head guiding her body as she made a hard pivot. Weight shifting to her off foot, Sja’s form moved fluidly through a solid stance, her tail whipping with momentum to crack across the outside of Lar’dha’s thigh, well under his guard. A rumble and stagger took him back, her follow through bringing her forward leg to her center of mass, still whirling without missing a beat.

She was up, talons on her feet raised.

Seeing the attack coming, Lar’dha spun the staff in his hands and swung but his balance teetered when he tried to reset his footing. The end missed its mark, aiming dead for her face–Sja’s muzzle dipped, a ripple of motion flowing down her spine as all of her dropped those few inches, stride never breaking, and the staff sailed harmlessly past.

He’d made another mistake, too late to defend himself.

Left side open, Sja saw her chance and sprang with a piercing vrrrrrriiiii . Trying to disengage, Lar’dha swung back with everything he could to raise a block, but even this she had managed to plan for. Grabbing onto the pole with her hands, Sja kicked in an arc, using his motion to carry herself around and destroy his sense of balance with the change in her weight.

Stance broken, the Elite fell forward, feeling a knee strike him in the back and force him to the ground. Metal pressed into the back of his neck, the staff having been torn from his grip as he fell only to be used against him as the serpent took the match point.

She let him lay there for a moment, either basking in her victory or making him sit in his loss–perhaps a bit of both–before leaning down to muse, “You are right. I have gotten better.”

Lar’dha couldn't help the gruff chuckle he felt as he turned his head, one bright blue eye glinting up from the mat once he felt the metal rod pull away. “Yes. It only took you five rounds.”

“I am the victor in three.”

Bracing himself against the mass of her body finding itself comfortable on his back, the yautja grumbled, “I conceded one of those because I refused to use my full strength on you.”

Sja clipped, “Perha–ah!” as Lar’dha pushed up, her legs squeezing tight to keep her in place. With a bit more ease than she’d prefer, he managed to pick himself up from the mat and stand, unbothered by her grip on his midsection in the slightest. Flipping the staff around to the front of him, Sja gripped the bar on either side, attempting to playfully trap him with it. Lar’dha took hold of the center with his own paws, applying mild pressure to keep it off him as she struggled to pull, tongue flicking. “Your point is made,” she grunted after a long moment of stalemate, dropping to her feet and spinning the long piece of metal into place at rest along her arm.

“As is yours,” he whickered, leg twitching where she’d struck him with her tail. It reminded him of training in whip work and the many times he’d managed to snap himself with the end in the process. “Your speed is truly admirable, as are your reflexes.”

The arc of her neck raised. He knew this to be a sign of pride.

“Though I am curious,” the yautja went on, holding his paw out for the staff which she handed over without fuss. “When you spoke of learning, I assumed we would be using words, not weapons and fists.”

“Words can lose meaning when the wrong ones are used,” she countered, padding along behind him as he racked the weapon on the wall with its siblings, each of different lengths and weights. Nearby rested the gifted ki’cti-pa, still adorned with soft purple leather and a tassel of colored beads that she lingered on with her pale, seafoam eyes.

Catching this moment of pause, Lar’dha chittered softly, gaze darting to the tassel and back just as she blinked, focus returning to the present. “Something is bothering you?” he started, noting the way her fingers tangled over each other and her tail curled about her leg. By now, he’d learned this was some form of self-soothing. Something was bothering her enough that she needed a physical distraction so it wouldn’t consume her from within.

Had he not also gathered a few habits of personal comfort of his own, he wouldn't have thought twice about it, but shadows were rarely invited and never left when asked.

“Not so much,” the serpent answered, tail immediately unfurling from its place only to whip up in the opposite direction. She was agitated, caught in a vulnerable moment she hadn’t planned for. “Mostly I am curious what you have learned from our sparring.”

“What I have learned?” he repeated back, mentally pinning the obvious avoidance for later. The sting of his leg reminded him to keep far away from either end of her when they stood opposed. “Though I am much stronger than you, your speed far outmatches my own. You would be in trouble if I could catch you, but that seems far more difficult than I’d assumed.”

A huff told him that was not what she meant. Crossing her arms under her chest, Sja’s tongue flicked, gaze stern. “I meant of me, Lar’dha, not of my hunting ability.”

Confused, he inquired, “Of you?” watching as she stepped toward the middle of the mats, walking in an idle circle, waiting. “Was there something you meant for me to understand?”

That odd laugh-like sound earned a chuff back, pondering what she meant as he also began to circle opposite to her–two predators studying their quarry. “Surely you have felt it before?” the snake said in a quiet tone, arms folding more which served to squeeze her chest together. He could only hope she did not catch the stutter of his gaze as she did. “When two beings clash and their spirits meet, all things are felt without words to muddy them.”

To his own experience, Lar’dha wasn’t certain he’d felt such a thing. Time dilation, certainly, though that was more to do with rage than physical combat. Yet it wasn’t completely foreign either. A flicker of memory here and there of hunters sharing tales and tips served enough for him to understand it was something that could happen under the right conditions. “I regret my own ignorance of it.”

Both hunters paused in the same breath, Lar’dha now standing between the serpent and the exit while she became framed by the rows of equipment kept in immaculate order along either wall. At the back hung a tapestry of crimson, maroon and black, the patterned textiles meeting in the middle where an embroidered skull threaded with gold stood stark against the deep red weave, the resting fangs of a creature long forgotten to time baring themselves to Sjajjende’s back. With some amount of surprise, Lar’dha noticed how out of place she was among his trappings and trophies; a spot of softness and light caught between sharp edges, darkness and brutality.

How very alone she must be, stuck in yet another unfamiliar place.

Her eyes called to home, he realized upon replaying that lingering gaze she had. Rather than the weapon itself, she must have been looking at the one thing that was hers to see, and it brought unwanted things to the surface. Unsure if he should address this, he instead asked, “You speak as if you have come to understand me through our scuffling?”

“Indeed,” she answered without hesitation, casting a quick glance around at his many things as if trying to emphasize something. Then, she stepped forward. “You are precise, Lar’dha. The years of your practice are assured in every movement you make and every strike rings true.” Mandibles flexing, he wondered what she was getting at if hunting ability was not the goal to decipher. She stepped to the side, beginning to circle again, however this time he did not follow, thoughts remaining fixed on the emblem of his clan and her misplaced visage before it. “However, you do not enjoy when that precision falters.”

Quickly, he cut in, “I am capable of adapting.”

“I did not say you weren’t,” she cut back, ducking behind him as he turned, tendrils whipping. He turned again, barely missing her as she danced through his blind spot. “I said you do not like it, not that it was a weakness of yours.”

Thinking fast, he turned the opposite way around, intending to catch her in her game but she ducked easily under his attempt.

“You plan meticulously, but when it does not come to pass, you become frustrated. Relying on your brutality to cover any slipping, you can out muscle many obstacles you find when plans fail, but when that is not possible you begin to falter more.”

A rumble in his chest warned Sja she was treading dangerously on his pride. Stopping to listen and feel for her movements, the Elite clenched his jaw.

“There is a hitch in your left leg.”

A tickle on that very leg made him twitch, the end of her tail taunting him into an attack. He resisted.

“Though the injury healed, your body holds the memory. It must have been a long recovery.”

How…? He had not given her any indication there was something wrong with his leg! My scar–?

In his blind spot, Sja’s soft voice continued to read him like a codex. “That leg is the one that staggers when you lose your bearings. It bears hesitation when you weigh it down, as it remembers the moment it was nearly lost.”

The faint sting where her tail had whipped him surged, the very leg that had broken his stance when she avoided his block. She had known then.

“You’ve done well to cover this with practice. I’m sure none who do not know you would ever notice.”

A louder snarl picked up, the sound of his own weaknesses being so obvious clawing at his pride like wild things. “And now you know me?” he snapped back, turning his head and seeing the motion of her stepping out of sight at his back.

“I am beginning to,” she said with gentle confidence.

He snorted, flashing up and snapping around to deliver a warning strike near her before she could dance away. Blue eyes burning with repressed anger, Lar’dha misstepped when Sja stood firm in her place, unmoving. Switching from a fist to an open hand, his hesitation gave her the moment she needed to slink to one side, his arm passing by without a chance to grab on. Instead, she turned about face and took hold of his forearm, snapping it down against her shoulder while her other hand dragged at his bicep.

Ducking forward, his weight shifted with her, the act of throwing a punch now carrying him heel-over-head to the ground. Winded for a beat, he didn’t get a chance to recover before a weight secured him to the ground, the proud arc of Sja’s back the only thing he could make out from his place on the floor. “That is my point without your strength being limited,” her voice mused, lilting with some form of enjoyment at having made him a chair. Peering down at him, her eyes glimmered while his only burned with embarrassment. “You have much pride, my cjaav’nan , but it has lied to you that strength is the only way to victory. I will train you in other ways yet.”

She’d played him! Guiding and goading him into a strike that he’d walked right into!

Though the simmering of his temper still lingered, Lar’dha’s attention became stuck on yet another unfamiliar word, enough that it kept his eyes from roving the outline of the serpent pressing her rear into his ribcage. With a curious whicker in his throat, he wondered, “What did you call me?” which seemed to elicit a new response from Sja he’d yet to see. The tone of the snake’s skin flushed from lavender to indigo, starting at the base of her throat and rising until the length of her neck was a completely new shade of purple.

In the next moment, she rolled off of him, the tip of her tail flicking one of his tusks as he sat upright. The color had vanished by the time she found a place to sit, her gaze focused anywhere but on him while her fingers played at the hem of her skirt, posture alluding to bashfulness. “Do not think much of it,” she managed to say after he casually propped an elbow onto his knee, keeping on her level where she sat.

“You say that and it breeds concern,” he countered, hiding the hint of a grin his tusks tried to form at this new behavior she was displaying.

Quickly, Sja’s tongue barely flicking past her jaws as words tumbled out, she explained, “It is merely a term of endearment–” but stopped short when she made the mistake of meeting his gaze. Fixated on this chance to push past the walls she kept hiding behind, Lar’dha leaned forward, quiet and giving her his full attention. Nothing wavered, not even his line of sight, as he studied her.

When she couldn’t find the words, Lar’dha spoke, his voice low and gentle. “You say it is endearment, but that does not tell me what it means to know why you chose it for me.” Sja’s tail hitched, wrapping over itself until she pressed her palms into it to keep it from seizing uncontrollably. How odd. “If you may,” he went on, gaze flicking only once to the way she tangled her tail and fingers together, then back, “I wish to know. To… understand.”

In the next breath of time he had to look at her, the purple of Sja’s neck flushed once again. She turned in place, head first, then shoulders, and finally she pivoted so her back was to him–not that it did much to hide the color of her flesh. For a moment, Lar’dha felt a mischievous urge to touch her, not for violence or retribution in getting laid out on the mat due to her own cleverness–no, he wanted to find out if her skin was sensitive to touch now that it wasn’t bruised blue. She’d jumped at the flick of his claw on her leg–perhaps it would still be so?

Perhaps… she was ticklish?

There was no chance to debate this unexpected urge. Sja had found the words she needed, her body wiggling and adjusting to a more comfortable position though she didn’t spare him a glance like he’d hoped. Holding her hands so that her fingertips pressed together, Sja closed her eyes and measured her words. “Weave weave, the web is thin; a single silk alone will fray. Weave weave, together now; only with many, the thread is strong.”

The rhythm caught Lar’dha by surprise. It was no war chant, but the steady lilt felt familiar–thoughts of his youth, of the odd rhymes and songs he and those of his age recited or made up to entertain themselves, taught by their makers or by fellow children, welled up from deep within the elite’s spirit. As he listened, he watched, eyes trailing from nape to hip along the dark diamond swirls and lavender stripes that made up Sjajjende’s hide. Surely, he felt, this pattern was unique to her. He had no proof of this, but now that his temper had quenched itself, he was left with curiosity and something else that was not new, but that had been absent from him for some time.

Humble admiration.

In the short time they had together, he had been put up against challenges and ideas that had never crossed his mind in all his years of hunting. He had seen many a beast and sapient do unusual, often stupid things in an effort to outsmart him and yet with none of the flashy attacks or complex traps he outmaneuvered, this one creature had managed to baffle him again and again using only words and her presence. His kind were never so ready to bare their truest thoughts to another, to allow even their own kin to read and know them in a way that was far more than intimately knowing another’s body–yet this one, this purple-hued serpent, had permitted him not only to make a fool of himself without punishment, but allowed him to know secrets that might harm her and her kin if he were anything less but a hunter of his word. In doing so, she had somehow picked him apart like a puzzle cube, reading his innermost feelings and acting on them before he himself knew what he was thinking.

It made him vulnerable in a way that could not be protected against. A way that defied the teachings of his clan about hiding their weaknesses and correcting their shame in revealing too much.

As he listened, Lar’dha let his mind sink and drift without argument, accepting the thoughts as they came and letting them pass when they felt ready. Defying and denying them always made it worse, his pride forcing him into a corner until he was ready to fight his way free–the only casualty being Sja, which he knew she did not deserve. Without her, he would likely still be in that infernal orange box, waiting until something finally broke. Whether it was a machine first or his spirit, he didn't want to know.

Without her, he would be trapped. Maybe even dead.

Without her, he would have no idea where to begin looking for this ringleader. It had been her idea to stop in the room where Little Red made their last stand and offered information to his whereabouts.

Without Sja, he would be alone again.

Lar’dha’s jaw tensed, his attention wavering within the drift as he felt that strange thought return. I am not lonely, he told himself firmly only to exhale slowly as his own wording caught him in a trap. He was not lonely now .

Perhaps before he had company he actually enjoyed keeping, he simply hadn’t known it for what it was.

Remarkable , he went on, acid blue eyes following the gestures Sja made while reciting her poem. Years spent in his routine, kept busy and away from trouble and torment, he’d made himself comfortable and now, after such an abhorrent upheaval of that routine, the yautja found returning to it difficult because it did not have room for another. It wasn’t meant to.

Yet he now wanted that.

Perhaps that truly was what drove him to keep the serpent near and denying it caused it to grow out of control? To mistake a desire for companionship as other needs brought on by his own denial of them? It’s possible, he accepted after a moment, feeling the smooth sensation of Sja’s tail sliding along his leg. It didn’t seem intentional, just a natural motion from how she adjusted herself while speaking, yet he wouldn’t have minded if it had been.

Yes, something was wrong with him, and he didn’t realize it until it wasn’t there anymore.

Lar’dha of the Gold Skull, elite hunter, was terribly, painfully lonely in his quiet ship that drifted among the stars.

In such a short time, Sjajjende’kolii had surprised him, angered him, impressed him and befuddled him in more ways than he’d ever felt on the clan ship among his own kind. Yautja were direct but for all their intended honesty, were terrible at communicating anything deeper than rage and blunt opinions. Intelligent as they were, few actually tried to have meaningful conversations without turning it into a competition of some sort–if they even wanted to speak at all. Though they revelled in the hunt together and stood as one against all outside forces, the hunt was really all they had to bond over.

Perhaps it was different in other clans? He wouldn’t know, as he spent very little time with them and hunting grounds were not meant to cross borders. Yautja on yautja conflict was never a clean affair, thus communication didn’t really happen until long after the forces involved had wiped each other out.

Long ago there had been a desire for more. Even as he tried to keep listening, Lar’dha felt himself drifting mentally again to times long before his elite status had been cemented. Times where he’d made the mistake of trying to open up about the shadows haunting his every resting hour after his chiva concluded. When his leg had nearly been ripped from him due to another’s carelessness. How he would not be able to do so about this most recent incident if he wanted to retain his dignity.

Unless–

“Lar’dha?”

With a start, the male snapped his gaze to the teal irises peering at him with quiet concern. Somehow, at some point, without his realizing it, Lar’dha had slid closer to where Sja sat and leaned onto her back, his crest pressing into the curve of her neck as he absently drifted through his own thoughts. A light rumble in his throat did little to mask his embarrassment.

“You were far away,” the serpent commented, voice gentle. She’d curved her long neck around to face him without disturbing her seat, allowing him to continue leaning uninterrupted. “Have I… troubled you with my words?”

He would not admit he’d stopped paying attention without meaning to. Quickly, he replied, “No, not troubled. I… am still confused by what you were saying at first. That is all.”

“Mm,” she hummed, feeling his weight lift from her as he sat up, watching his lower tusks flex independently against the lower portion of his jaw. After a moment, she went on, “I apologize for that,” while changing her sitting position, thigh brushing along his as the space between them shrank. “I often find it easier to recite our teachings as I have to the young ones, but I realize that you do not have the benefit of understanding the unspoken things they know.”

Tensing against the contact, Lar’dha muscled through the conflicting urges to lean in and away that collided now that he wasn’t allowing himself to drift freely in his own mind. “Have you taught so many offspring that you can recite it so readily?”

The flash of Sja’s eyes as she looked away for a moment told him she was not entirely proud of what she said next, “Only of my own, to which I have born three.”

“Only three?” The question jumped out before he could assess if it was appropriate or not. It seemed absurd that a hunter as skilled as Sja would bear only three sucklings of her own—surely the males would be in contest at all hours for a chance! Her ability alone let her fight claw-for-claw with a yautja, enough that she was even capable of standing her ground against and then overcoming him in a matched spar!

Oh .

The thought had not truly occurred to him until that moment how mighty Sja was, even if she were Unblooded. Were all her kind this formidable, or was she an exception? Why did it bring a tang of bitterness to his throat to consider—?

Do not get distracted! 

“Only?” Her curiosity kept him from wandering off again, the flick of her tongue telling him she was trying to read him as she often did that when attempting to decipher his moods.

Seeing no issue with admitting to his own history, the elite stated, “I myself have sired five,” though it did not stir the reaction he anticipated.

Sja shifted back from him, her expression changing to the same impassable one that came with the gap between them in the medical bay. As her arms wrapped themselves under her chest, a stab of fear dragged down Lar’dha gut—what had he done??

No, he decided before his thoughts could scatter, I am not doing this again. Steeling himself for a prickly response, he asked as gentle as he could, “What is it?”

With only a small hesitation, Sja tipped her chin down and quietly stated, “You have a mate.”

The sound that rumbled the yautja’s chest hummed and clicked in a jittery beat, a drum skipping under the rattle of clicking that served as a laugh for his kind, deep and genuine. The absurdity of her claim had caught him by such surprise he couldn’t help himself, the bright, indignant flush of her neck reaching well to the curve of her eyes when he had the chance to look at her. It took him a moment to manage words. “What in the belt of Kypron makes you think that??”

Skin still darkened with blush, Sja tilted her head to one side, brow knit. “You have children? It that not for mating—” Eyes widening, she corrected herself, “I apologise if you have lost—”

Lar’dha held his paw up, clearing his throat to assert some self control back for himself. “I think you may have gotten your records confused after fainting.” Her tongue flicked expectantly, posture easing so she leaned more toward him again rather than away. “Historically, yes, we bore offspring with one or two mates consistently but this era is much less formal. The strongest of us bear strong offspring and it is entirely up to the females to decide whose genes they wish to carry. That is why we hunt and compete–for their favor. Taking a life mate now is something one would do later in life, or at least after having a reputation worth something. Bearing offspring is not itself an act of devotion to one individual.”

The way her body sank, as if a knot of tension had washed away at his explanation, seemed strange. Had she worried his mate would come for her under some mistaken thought he had been unfaithful? The way her claws picked at the hem of her dress seemed to confirm it had been in her mind in some way–of course!

She must have wondered where that came from, he realised, understanding quickly how she might have concluded he had a life mate based on nothing but old chronicles and disconnected evidence. It’s not as if he thought to tell her where the dress came from when he gave it to her. “I have no partner currently. My last offspring is grown and preparing for his chiva soon.”

Sja’s tail flicked, the end twisting over her ankle. That was new. “Cjii-vah… that is your rite to adulthood?”

Whickering approvingly at her knowledge, he nodded before turning just enough to show the branded scar on his left shoulder, the same as the one on his mask. “This is our clan insignia. Once a kiyande amedha is slain, the hunter marks themselves with their thwei— ” realizing how that might not make sense if she didn’t know what hard meats were like, he added quickly, “it is acidic, one of the few things that can harm us lastingly.”

It was a long moment before Sja spoke again, her eyes busy studying the mark he bore. At first he felt she would only look, but with a slow, respectful manner she traced the shape with one of her fingers, memorizing the cuts and edges. Once she was done, she leaned back, the warm tingle of her touch on his hide going with her. “You have many scars,” was her only comment, her voice plain but soft. Mandibles twitching, Lar’dha followed her hands as she turned them over to reveal her palms, the perfect skin there seeming to mean something—something off , but he couldn’t think what it might be before she decided to keep talking. “For a long time I believed scars were simply a rare phenomenon, so few of mine have them, but once I came to  The Above—the…” Voice wavering, her eyes darted to the side as she tried to recall the proper term. “The galaxy… that was when I realized it was actually the norm.”

They do not scar? How absurd. As he processed this claim, finding it impossible at first, he kept lingering on her bare palms, wanting to understand what she was trying to show him. At his back, a soreness throbbed, reminding him of the knife wound he’d suffered—

— where was her burn mark??

Whatever had crossed Lar’dha’s face seemed to be what she wanted from him. Lowering her hands, Sja folded them into her lap. “Scarring is a sign of our age.” Glancing at his arm again, Sja’s voice stayed soft. “Once we cannot hunt and the gods have called our song completed, our spirits cannot heal us and so we begin to show our marks. Elders are those who did not die on the hunt who completed their songs and so can pass their wisdom on to the youth.”

There is that term again—song. By the way she spoke of it, this ‘song’ must be of deep importance if it’s end called a close to a hunter’s life. A bit displeased at himself, the yautja grunted, “My ignorance is preventing me from understanding as much as I would like to. Your ways are… new, and I have not benefited from a long, late night read to make up for it.”

Sja huffed a terse ‘ksk’ at this attempted humor, though she did not seem upset by it. “Like you, my chronicles are kept in records on my ship.”

“You have a ship?”

The stare she answered with told him how outrageous that question was.

Chittering shamefully, he didn’t argue. It was a rather silly thing to ask after all.

“Perhaps,” the serpent sighed after a moment of letting him sit in his folly, “if it would be easier, you should ask rather than rely on conversation to tell you what you want to know. I feel as if you have many questions humming in your heart.”

Perking up at this offer, Lar’dha twisted to better face her, seeing her jump a bit at his enthusiasm. He would not let this chance slip away again—but now he had to decide what he wanted to know the most. She avoided something before, he recalled as he looked from her pale eyes to a random spot on the floor by her shoulder, the image of her staring at the ki’cti-pa still fresh in his mind. However, she may resist starting with something personal—he certainly would. Best to work my way to that.

The questions he had that did not require prying into Sja’s personal history to answer somehow felt of lesser importance in the moment. Yes, he wanted them answered, but to his surprise Lar’dha found more eagerness surrounding the idea of knowing her than around anything that might as well be trivia at this point. Still, he needed to wait.

First things first.

“When you thought I had a mate because I have sired children,” the hunter began, noting she seemed shocked at his choice of question, “it was not because of your people’s ways, but of a misunderstanding of ours, correct? I find a similar curiosity and wonder if I am also incorrect.”

Gaze narrowing slightly, Sja replied with her own question, “What are you asking?”

The burn in his crest from thwei rushing across his face thankfully didn’t flush his hide in the same obvious way her neck did. “Do you have a mate?”

Sja’s tongue flicked, her eyes glancing to the floor.

A creeping dread settled under Lar’dha’s hide, the thrum of his heart pressing into his throat at the lack of immediate denial. Why? He had no reason to be distressed by this!

After a longer than comfortable moment, the serpent finally answered, her gaze returning to his. “When you ask of a mate, what do you mean?”

A baffled chitter was all he could manage, head tilting. Did she not just ask me if I had one?

She seemed to catch on how odd her question was. “For you and yours, I know a mate is a single partner you are dedicated to, body and heart. Is that what you mean to ask me?”

Brow furrowed, Lar’dha countered, “Is there another kind?”

“You claim five offspring, but not from one mate.”

Ah. Nodding faintly, he started to understand the confusion. “It is complicated. A ‘mate’ is simply the one bedding you for the term it takes to birth a child. A ‘life mate’ is the exclusivity of one partner.”

However, Sja seemed to have no issue understanding. “Ah, you also have vuar’isk’nan !” 

He, on the other paw, had no idea what she meant—partly due to the live translation failing to fully decipher whatever that was supposed to be. “A… thick-blood?”

Again, that silted breath of a laugh came, nearly pulling a chuckle from him as it went. “No, ‘strong blood’. Vuarra are…” Pausing, one of her claws tapped her lower jaw. “Perhaps I should explain it without poetry.”

Seems I picked a good question after all. It had been his plan to follow up her mated status with an inquiry about what cjaav’nan meant; now, he couldn't help a bit of anticipation that it was something more than just endearment—though even that alone brought lightness to his mind and a reprieve from the strange, scratching sensation that buzzed under his hide. In a way, it felt like the thrill of battle, yet there was nothing to challenge.

How odd.

“You ask if I am dedicated to one partner,” Sja began, folding her legs under herself to sit up straight though the curve of her body remained entrancingly shaped. Perhaps her coy way of sitting in the medical bay was merely that–sitting. “I am not.”

The dread he’d been holding rushed away suddenly, as did a bit of breath he’d been holding. Again with that?

“But.”

His body tensed, the ebbing agitation and bitter tang surging back twofold.

“I do possess bonds, one of which is a vuarra —a ‘mate’, by your definition.”

Picking apart how he had described the difference, Lar’dha wondered, “Someone you have borne children with, but not more?”

“A child, but yes.”

“You claimed three?”

Again, her gaze darted to the side and her tail wrapped itself around her knees, unable to take her leg hostage. Just barely, he caught a glint of her focus going to the wall—the wall where he knew the beaded tassel hung off the stave bearing his vow to protect her. “That is… complicated.”

The urge to ask hounded him, but Lar’dha resisted only by reminding himself to work up to personal questions. “Perhaps… but it may be less so if I understood how your people view these… bonds? There seem to be many.”

“There are five,” she affirmed gently, eyes bouncing from the wall to his chest, eyes and back as if uncertain where she was allowed to look. “ Vuarra, the ones bearing vuar’isk’nan, are those we choose to be parents with, either genetically as their song is strong, or in aid with the carrying of offspring from others.”

A rumble gave Sja pause, the confused glint of acid blue that made up Lar’dha’s eyes quietly demanding clarification to this idea. He’d done well in holding back his words this time.

“It is not such an issue,” she told him, head tilting, “to desire the genes of one but to carry with another. Not all who are strong of body or melody make for good caretakers, and some of the most nurturing cannot bear their own children.”

Absurd.

As indignant as it felt to force a male to assist with another’s child, the yautja did what he could to keep his opinions muted by reminding himself over and over, Her ways are not an insult to mine , in order to avoid another conflict of honor like the revenge talk had caused. “Forgive that the idea sounds… odd to me.”

“You are forgiven.”

Lar’dha grunted, catching a playful twinkle in Sja’s eyes.

“For you I understand how strange it must seem, but for my people we are not so strict in how we interact and present ourselves. We have accepted this complexity as the gods’ will and work to maintain harmony in our village weave.”

Clicking in thought, the hunter drummed his fingers on his knee. “I will need more details than that.”

She didn’t seem put off by his lack of understanding, her voice flat but not condescending. “You saw for yourself that my genetic string is unusual to you.”

His tusks flexed as he recalled the bizarre string of chromosomes that had prompted his question about her sex. “Ah… yes, I recall.”

“You claim your kin are male and female alone, yes?”

Nodding, he raised one brow ridge in expectation for wherever this was going.

“I am to assume you bear only the two genetic markers needed for this that appear in pairs?”

After a quick, confused glance around the room, Lar’dha uttered, “Yes?”

One hand resting on her chest just below her collar, Sja stated, “My people have three of those markers.”

A quick bit of mental math had Lar’dha tilting his head more. That sounds like a mess.

“While there are male and female pieces, there is a third that determines our ability to bear offspring and the expression of that genetic sex.”

“So you have… three sexes?”

“Six, actually.”

He coughed, shocked but unable to form a follow up question. While it was true binary sexes were the least common kind he’d encountered on all of his hunts with the majority having some complex array of genetic hooplah that made less sense the longer one thought about it, it meant the number of sapients with this quirk were more than a few. The odds shouldn’t have surprised him, yet it made her statement about herself make more sense in hindsight. “You said ‘by your people’ you are female?”

“I am.” Sja’s tongue tip flicked at the edge of her mouth, lingering for a moment as she thought. “This is perhaps more complicated for you with how strict your ways are, while ours are very fluid. When I say I am female by my people, it is because I choose to be female and they accept me as such. As I am born one, I am ajnati , but more precisely I am atati as I can bear offspring as a female.”

Lar’dha’s brow creased as he attempted to follow along. “There is more than one female?”

“Fertile and infertile, yes.”

“Ah.” That would make sense to know. 

“That, perhaps, is for another time.” Rolling her shoulders back, Sja closed her eyes, dismissing the topic for the time being. “For what matters to your question, because mine are a people with many things that determine our ability to bear and raise offspring, it is not always in our favor that we can have both abilities at all times—”

Before he could fully plan how to ask, the hunter cut in, “Are you able to change your sex as you please?” and felt the burning in his face return at the look of shock Sja had. Perhaps that was a bit too personal.

However, her reply felt a bit humorous. “I wish it were so simple! Many things would have been easier had I been able to be vinati however that is not my path.”

“Vih-nah-tee?”

“Male.”

“So you can’t do that?” He felt a touch relieved he didn’t have to consider if she would be like certain amphibians or fish that would suddenly change sex at a moment’s notice. Learning about her as a female was already proving difficult to keep up with.

“Not in the way you might think, no.”

The relief faded. “What does that mean?”

“I am assuming your kind rarely, if ever, portray yourselves as anything but your birth sex?”

Oh. Immediately, Lar’dha sighed, realizing what she meant now. “I will not speak for all of my kind, but for my clan, no, I cannot say I have ever heard of one being anything but what they are.” Which was true. He hadn’t heard of anything of the sort, but he was familiar with the concept of social genders and other such nuances while on and between hunts. At one time he had been offended at the idea it, but the abundance of this separation of birth and personal identity had whittled away that harsh feeling into mild indifference; quietly, when wondering what he could have done differently in his youth before mistaking social acceptance for safety in speaking up about his mental distress, he occasionally wondered what else there might be that was unspoken amongst his kind. Those questions may never be answered, but the curiosity still remained.

By the way her eyes glimmered, he could tell Sjajjende was pleased to know he did, in fact, know of the concept. “Then it is easier to explain, as for mine it is quite common. Almost one in three children grow to be something else from their birth, though how they present this is varied. Few are able to get medical treatment if they are far from our capital, but still they are as they wish to be seen. In respect of this, they are able to use terms that show their preference with only their fertility being of concern, as it is considered improper to claim oneself to be a fertile female when one cannot bear offspring in that manner. That concern is why vuarra are not always the sire or dam, as it would be untrue to themselves to be so.”

With a long breath, Lar’dha resigned himself to this topic being one he needed a better understanding of before broaching again—though he did not ignore his own misgivings being present. It shouldn’t bother him in any way, but he knew he was grateful Sja was female in the way he understood them—why that was a concern at all he had yet to fully unpack for himself aside from the fact he simply was not interested in males for any reason outside of cooperation, mild banter when he chose to go home, and for making into trophies in the cases where the males were the more visually striking option.

Though females weren’t much better at times, if he were being honest with himself.

But why do I care? remained the unanswerable question in his mind that he didn’t dare ask aloud. Instead, he wondered quietly, “So in these cases where a family partner is not able to… breed effectively,” he couldn't think of a better way to phrase it that didn’t sound incredibly rude, “what do they do? I assume there are rules of some sort?”

A faint chuff told him Sja was not offended, thankfully. If anything, she was amused. “Many that wish for offspring in homes that can reasonably bear an offspring with at least one partner will seek out a willing sire or dam as a surrogate. Most often, the fertile partner will have a vajjlk’nan who will step in, and if not, they may try asking the circle for help or seek the onati instead.”

He was paying attention, but despite that effort Lar’dha felt himself fixate again on a single word—though not for the word itself, but how she spoke it, with a breathy huff that felt like a sigh. Somehow, for some reason, that breathy tone sent a warm tickle up his spine that robbed his ability to speak coherently. “I… a—a what?”

“ Vajjlk’nan? ”

Again, a shiver. “Yes, that.”

“Oh, that is simple. A vajjlk’ishk’nan is one that you like to have sex with.”

Had he been drinking anything, Lar’dha was certain he would have choked on it. Instead he stared at her, dumbfounded.

After a moment of waiting for him to speak, Sja quietly quipped, “I feel as if the idea of pleasure sex is also unusual to you.”

It wasn’t. “We tend not to question when or why a female wants that kind of attention, I was just unprepared for you to be so blunt with it.”

“Is there a reason I should not be?”

A few thoughts all raced through his mind at once, the first one to make it close to being spoken only managing to win due to the other strings colliding with each other before they made it to conscious action. Just barely, he was able to stop himself from letting it out. “I… cannot think of one.” There was no easy way to explain why the very notion Sja might have a bed partner on her homeworld—someone that she had ‘complicated’ feelings toward in a way that felt close to his own regarding the females of his own kind—burned his throat with bitterness, seared his hide with fire and threatened to wake his bloodlust just for the chance to rend their head from their body.

How would he explain that he wanted to forbid any male to touch her?

Even to his own, that was simply not how things were. It was not his choice to make.

Yet that urge lingered, even through her explanation given while unaware of the storm brewing in Lar’dha mind.

“It is rather simple,” the serpent began. “There are those who make your hormones rush and wish for breeding time, regardless of whether they are a good parent,” just faintly he caught the way her inflection changed, as if noting to herself, “ or even a song worth singing ,” which brought that word back to the forefront of his mind. “We are only fertile a few times a year by our calendar, but we can experience desire at any time. A vajjlk’nan is one that causes that desire easily and readily. If that is because of how they appear, how skilled they are,” teal irises flicked down and back over Lar’dha, that feeling of assessment blinking by once again as she added, “how they carry themselves,” in a similarly lowered tone before returning to normal, “or anything else that cannot be readily explained or identified, then they are a bond of passion. Fertile compatibility is not required, however.”

What was that look?

Sja paused, waiting for him to speak.

But Lar’dha was busy trying to unravel why the tone of her voice had changed twice through his own whirling feelings, as if emphasizing something he couldn't quite understand. After a moment of nothing coming together, Lar’dha picked a random query from his mental pile to fill the gap, missing the moment of displeasure that crossed Sja’s face as it was replaced with that purple flush. “None of those were what you called me before, so where does that fit in?”

“Ah,” she uttered, looking away from him. Her tail curled up on itself, nearly forming a knot. “ Cjaav’nan.”

“Yes, that was the one.”

“I…” The color deepened. “I did not mean to use that word without telling you first, as your social graces are… different.”

He didn’t know whether to be excited or worried.

“An arrow fletcher is a hunting partner, but…” The way her gaze flashed to his suddenly, Lar’dha felt himself still down to his breath slowing. What he saw was familiar, as if she were telling him something without words, forcing a connection.

He saw orange.

“We are cjaav’nan. I know that because we are here now. Those moments spent fighting alongside you, of how we spoke without words and aided each other—that is cjaav’ishk’nan. A war bond.”

That, he agreed with, well beyond whatever cacophony was happening in his mind at the moment. Quietly, he asked, “So… you know this because we survived?”

Without breaking eye contact, she shook her head just slightly. “Our survival is proof I am correct, but I knew before then that you were the one I had been waiting for.”

A little thrill raced in his veins at her words, a light rumble in his chest denoting his approval of this idea as the bitter burning faded abruptly. He couldn’t help but prod, wanting more. “When did you know this?”

She didn’t hesitate. “I heard your song. Your rage. The moment you opened your eyes, I heard it and knew ours is a fury none would survive.”

The way her eyes glimmered as she spoke made the purr in his chest grow louder. “Is that so?” He almost didn’t notice he’d begun to lean closer to her, and she had done the same, his mandibles flexing with barely contained eagerness at how close she was getting.

“Must I speak again?” the serpent asked softly, her hand nearly touching his leg as she balanced her weight on her palms. Had she tried to lay her hand on him, he would have let her.

“I would not be against it.”

Though he couldn’t begin to decipher how the look in her eyes had changed from the intensity of bloodlust and determination that he knew to something just as powerful but completely unknown, Lar’dha felt his heart falter under the way she spoke, his spine full of electricity in same way as when she made that breathy syllable. “I knew you were mine the moment our eyes met.”

It was mostly impulse. With his attention completely wrapped up in the teal of her eyes, Lar’dha had nothing to spare to keep his intrusive thoughts under control–nor did he want to. With a swift motion, he swung his arm between them, catching Sja’s wrist with the heel of his paw so that she folded, weight dropping now that her arms were no longer supporting her. She yelped, feeling herself being pulled and turned, an iron grip catching both wrists and trapping them together before they were forced to her chest–Sja’s back hit something solid, a warm, rough bar of muscle pressing her into place while something sharp pricked the tender skin of her neck where her pulse was strongest.

Once the whirlwind settled, Sjajjende bucked, struggling against the restraining hold of the yautja until two of his fingers pressed into either side of her jaw, a deep, pleased rumble flushing her skin with anger and embarrassment. The computer was unable to decipher the obscure swears the snake let out as her companion sat, rumbling with amusement.

“I believe,” Lar’dha chuckled, his tusks flexing into the soft patch of skin at her collar that raced with her pulse, one hand holding her arms to her body and her body against his chest, the other controlling the movement of her head so she couldn’t turn to snap at him, “I have won our sparring match.”

Whatever she said in response likely had some rather inappropriate words appended to it that he wouldn't disagree with.

“You let your guard down, Sjajjende,” he said over her, feeling her tail thrashing about where it was trapped between her rear and his thigh, unable to clip him.

She tried again to free herself but in a contest of strength, he was the victor, always. After she failed, she sagged into his grip, clipping, “You are a cheater.”

He snorted. “We did not agree to end the session. It was merely a break.”

Again, her tail wriggled, seeking a way to punish him for his underhanded tactic. “Then how is this the end?”

“Because,” he squeezed just slightly, feeling her body tense against him as his tusks dug into her neck once more, “if this were a true fight, I could fatally wound you with my fangs from this position.”

“I will heal.”

“Before you bled out? This feels like a major vessel.” Even as he said it, he pressed the sensitive inner flesh of his jaw to her neck, feeling the rush of thwei in her body. It was strong enough to cause trouble, he was certain.

“I would bite you before I did and we would both suffer slowly.”

Her words were harsh and determined, but a faint lilt of amusement belied her annoyance. Either he had impressed her or she found his cheeky tactics to be in good fun–both elicited that quiet purr he was growing accustomed to making. Once she stopped struggling he slowly relaxed his grip, changing how he held her jaw from fingertips to a full palm pressed into her skin, still able to keep her under control but without the uncomfortable squeeze he’d applied to force the matter. It was not the first time they had been so close to each other, but unlike the moments spent carrying her around like a bag of root vegetables, his mind full to bursting with worry or single-mindedly set on a course of action, there was nothing now to distract him from how she felt when her muscles relaxed. Lar’dha’s body was firm, layers of muscle and bone and hide that gave very little in any place, yet Sja had strength aplenty to call her own but her body was soft, molding to his with little resistance now that she wasn’t fighting him.

Nothing to distract him from what the scent clinging to her skin tasted like against his palette as he kept hold of her in his lap—

— of field grass covered in morning dew, foggy mornings and lavender—

—it first struck him as a lurch in his stomach, as if he’d been caught failing a stealth simulation.

Then it was a tightness and heat, a burning coalescing in one area of his anatomy.

Sja’s back straightened, as if startled.

Then, he let go, nearly pushing her off of himself though the serpent seemed eager enough to tumble away once she felt his grip loosen, the tip of her tail flicking at him when she looked back with narrowed eyes. “You confuse me, Lar’dha,” she hissed, tucking her feet under herself but not rising from her perched position.

I’m confusing myself, he felt his mind seethe as he righted from his prone position, one hand supporting himself while the other simply lingered, raised as if to protect himself. “I am not—”

She didn’t allow him to deflect, her body shifting forward and tail raising in a predatory manner. “If you wish for personal closeness you need only ask it of me.”

His words choked off as he tried to decipher her meaning, scooting himself back as she made to creep closer to him. “I—that is not—”

Sja’s tongue flicked, her head raised in a way that did not read as sapient. It was too reptilian.

Blood burning in his veins, the hunter struggled to find a way to explain himself that was both true and that made sense to himself—having both at the moment felt impossible. His hesitation gave the serpent a moment of consideration, her head turned to one side to regard him with a single eye, wide and bright.

Once she mulled over whatever she was thinking, her body relaxed once more, folding up into a tip-toe perch with her fingers pressed into the floor. His own relaxed somewhat as the tension of being hunted faded. “You are different from your kin,” she stated, bringing him back to when he’d said something similar earlier. “My studies informed me that affection is not something you are accustomed to. There is distance between hunters, both physical and emotional, and that is both common and expected.”

He listened, carefully sitting up but prepared for her to still act.

“Yet you seem to crave this closeness.”

Lar’dha flinched, the words Do not release your truth, buzzing deeply and keeping his mouth sealed tight until he found something he could say. “It… is not like that. I do not…” Do not what? he wondered, clicking at himself.

“You behave as if this is an offense.”

Peering back over, Lar’dha saw the serpent still regarding him, however she was front-facing now with both eyes skimming across his form as he sat there like a fool. Hide burning in shame, the yautja finally growled, “That kind of closeness is how we show interest in mating. It is not for casual interaction.”

Tail plopping across the mat, Sja followed his statement up with, “So you are horny?”

“No!” he blurted with a suddenness that only felt more embarrassing once it was free. It also felt like a lie.

“Then you want closeness for other reasons.”

Shaking his head, Lar’dha rubbed his forehead, trying to find the words he needed. “That is not…” A lie. “I am… uncertain what else it could be.” When he lifted his gaze, the hunter jolted. Sja had crossed the gap between them swiftly and silently, still in a somewhat feral stance at his side but with none of the potential urge to stalk him like an animal in her body language. Her face was gentle, eyes shimmering with a warmth that he couldn't understand which mirrored her voice as she said—

“Comfort.”

Chapter Text

What do I say?

Time felt abysmally slow sitting there on the dojo floor, pinned in place by a gaze of brilliant seafoam with no mental faculty to command his limbs to move. Lar’dha dug desperately through his inner pile of questions, hoarded feelings and dust bins full of things he didn’t want to address, unsure where to sort the idea that he needed comfort and whether or not his unexpected partner-in-murder had just offered to service him in the way only a female could. That can’t be right, he told himself, her body almost perfectly still; had her tail not been swishing across the mat, he would have thought her a statue. We are not the same species, there should be no hesitation in denying this—there should be no ‘this’!

Yet he hesitated nonetheless.

Tongue flicking, signaling she was about to peel back his defenses with some sort of painfully observant statement, Sjajjende’s neck ever-so-slowly leaned back to give him space though the rest of her remained firmly planted at his side. “Lar’dha,” she said sternly, causing his hide to prickle. “Your mind is trapping itself.”

A reflexive, disgruntled snort on his part managed to shake him from his stupor. He wanted to be grateful for the course correction but he was mostly annoyed she’d been right. “Again with that,” was all he managed against his better judgement.

Despite the lack of context, Sja knew what he meant and stated, “Your gaze travels lightyears when you think too much,” before rising onto the balls of her feet fully, elbows propped onto her knees. This new stance was far more personable than the animalistic crouch she’d been in until then, but it did little to ease his inner turmoil. “Does this idea of closeness offend you so?”

A muscle in his jaw twitched. Looking at her felt painful and impossible.

“Or perhaps you worry about offending me?”

Only then did he manage to turn his head, coils pittering across his shoulders, unsure how she came to that conclusion. There was no denial he could muster either. “As I said, that is for mating. I do not want you to think—”

A sharp ‘ksk’ silenced him, defensiveness rearing with a fury that he only just managed to pin down before he said something stupid. It would seem he had finally managed to upset her, her tone nearly sharper than her fangs. “I am not a yearling who dreams of parra’tak and mistakes tjurr for tjuarr or vajjlk !”

Though he had no idea what that meant, she was indignant enough about it that it made his mandibles squeeze with regret for fumbling so egregiously to explain himself.

For a moment, Sja made to speak again however her tongue flicked, breaking her concentration. After a moment of looking away from him, the serpent calmed and her voice lost its edge.

What she said nearly made him bark with relief that his gods had shown him mercy at last.

“I felt the way your body rested when I spoke my verse to you.” Though she wasn’t looking directly at him this time, Lar’dha was immensely grateful for it. At least a small amount of his dignity could be recovered! “And again when you restrained me. I have felt that weight in others when they are held, when their burdens are shared to another so they may be less heavy even for a moment.”

Paya bless, the blue hunter found himself repeating, latching onto this chance to hide his true shame even if it meant allowing for a smaller, false one to take its place. Carefully, he muttered, “It is not something I am used to expressing,” while hoping he could convince her without walking himself into some sort of trap.

“And I am.” Still gentle, Sja finally looked at him; he feigned looking away, only mildly unprepared for the soft touch of her fingers in his tresses as she swept them over his shoulder. It got him to look back, finding her face barely a paw-width from his. Had he not already been trying to moderate his expressiveness, his heart would have jumped into his esophagus. “Burdens are not unknown to me and mine, be they of labor, or duty, or even that which cannot be touched.”

The constant simmer of thoughts in the hunter’s mind came to an abrupt but quiet stop. Surely he’d misheard…? Every ounce of will power burned itself out on keeping him from falling under that claim—of believing he’d heard acknowledgment of the very thing he’d long accepted would remain buried for his entire life.

Sja continued, unaware of the roiling emotions that wanted to bubble up now that the surface was placid and calm. “That is why we have bonds and enforce them through physical interaction. A single thread cannot remain alone or it will snap.”

The verse she’d recited said similar before he’d tuned it out by mistake.

“To crave and seek company, comfort and companionship is how one strengthens their bonds, which in turn strengthens them.”

Although he did crave knowing more about the process, to keep face he needed to push back somewhat. “My kind are the opposite. A hunter must be able to stand alone at all times. It is how we are raised.”

This did not deter her. The warmth of her palm alone as she held it to his cheek nearly crumbled his facade right then. “Yet this is something you desire, Lar’dha. You are not like your kin. This isolation no longer serves you in the way you need.”

Against all judgement saying it was a bad idea or shameful course of action, he closed his eyes and leaned into her touch, unwilling to even pretend to fight anymore. All effort simply vanished without warning, replaced only by the sensation of her hide on his—in a way, it was almost too much yet he lacked the ability to pull back. Strength, will—it didn’t matter in the moment what it called itself, he only knew he did not have it.

He did not want it.

But nothing could last for long. Not in this world.

The peace the serpent’s gentle touch brought flowed away only moments after it came, though not to make way for the shadows and whispers originally driven out of his mind. Rather, it was a simple change in awareness of where she touched him, fine claws and fingers gently curling around the metal rings that decorated his tresses with a kind of reverent softness that made him wicker curiously. With his attention came the retreat of Sja’s hands and a quiet apology.

He brushed it off just as carefully. “You may touch them, I do not mind. Do they have you curious?”

Sja’s weight shifted once more, bringing her a fraction closer to him, enough that her tail found its way along the curve of his thigh. For a moment, Lar’dha thought to slide away, but the usual sharpness of such urges never came. He was simply too tired of running to take another step away. “Not so curious as… finding them familiar,” the snake woman murmured after another chance to run her paw across one lock. A very small jolt raced down Lar’dha’s back as she did.

“Familiar?” he repeated, fighting the desire to lean onto her entirely to allow those clever fingers to rake through his tendrils at her leisure. That alone should have had him putting distance between them; every other time someone had dared to grab his locks, it came at the cost of pain. This, however, he enjoyed too deeply to wish for it to stop.

Sja was not yautja. Her touch was as she was—soft, careful, considerate.

Question for question, she wondered back, “Such adornments are permanent for your people?”

Lar’dha rumbled before speaking aloud, unsure if the translators would pick up on some of his kind’s less verbal articulations. “Yes. Once borne, they cannot be removed.”

“They are painful?”

“Incredibly so.” Explaining the exact traditions felt inappropriate, as even other clans did not know the ways and reasons for each ritual between each other. That was something for clan fellows alone to know and to earn. He half expected her to balk at the notion, however Sja continued to study the ornate rings that clung to his head for a long moment—if she kept on with it he might fall asleep unwittingly.

Thankfully, she found reason to speak again. “I would assume the reasons are not the same, but my people have some that choose to wear their songs as decoration upon their skin. The vuey’al prefer rings such as these, though they are shy about the pain it brings when first set.” Lar’dha hummed, acknowledging he was listening. “The… Sal’tutj …” The way she hesitated to speak the term brought his curiosity back in full but by now he knew not to interrupt if he wanted to hear everything. Conversation flowed in many directions when they spoke freely—it was a wonder how easily they could side track when at home he often struggled to engage at all once the humdrum caught up with him. “… are more endeared to the pain, as their hides are thick and so the metal allows them to feel our world more acutely.”

So many words I do not know, the elite thought to himself, certain these were names of some sort—clans perhaps?

Again, he found every answer to bring more questions—questions he enjoyed pursuing the answers to regardless of how much talking it required.

But there were already too many for him to keep track of without the new ones cropping up whenever one was weeded out.

Being asked, “You are well?” on top of them all only scattered what little organization he had as his tusks tensed. Sja seemed to pick up on his uncertainty at her question and added, “My presence near you—you claim it invokes desire or want in your kind. I am asking if this is too much?”

Right—that. Nearly forgetting his own half-truth, the yautja rumbled dismissively. “This—yes, this is fine. I am not a young blood, I do have some amount of self-control.”

That felt like a lie, but not one he would admit to.

Even so, Sja had the wherewithal to move back to give him breathing room, unwilling to push the limits they both were still trying to understand. “Has it… perhaps helped?”

There was no need to hide this reply. “Yes.”

The regal arch of her neck earned an approving click from him. “That is our way,” she said proudly. “Burdens carried by many are lighter for all to bear together.”

That he would not argue with after having felt for himself what he’d hoped for so long would be the case; perhaps one day he would say exactly what it was that plagued him in the restless night—assuming she would want to know. Even without that understanding, just those minutes of being allowed comfort were more than he’d dared hope for from his own. It invigorated his curiosity about her even more, yet he still did not know if she would answer personal questions yet.

Thankfully, he had plenty more beside that.

“There is something I am trying to understand,” he began, watching the way her head canted to one side and the small flicker of her tongue between her jaws. “You’ve spoken of a hunter’s song, of spirits and your gods.” A twitch of Sja’s tail had him fighting a wince while choosing carefully how to word his curiosity; it was evident something personal was wrapped up in the topic, whether he wanted it to be there or not. “I am still blind to the knowledge of this ‘song’ you speak of, as I doubt it is a true song drummed at the fire or in prayer.”

“It is,” came the soft reply as the serpent’s gaze drifted off somewhere distant, “and it is not.”

That did not help. Even so, Lar’dha waited a moment, eyes darting down to where her claws circled around each other; she was considering something else to say.

“A song is… us. All of us.” Softly, one paw touched the very base of her neck and lingered, though to what purpose he could only guess. “Who we are born as and what we will become. A harmony made of many voices, passed from parent to child and grown with every hunt and choice made by the hunter.”

“Voices?”

She blinked, those large, teal eyes turning to regard him sidelong with yet another indescribable expression he couldn’t begin to decipher. “Voices of our spirits.”

Lar’dha grunted a bit, allowing a curious flex of his tusks to hide that he was noticing how she danced around something ; how he knew that, he wasn’t certain but the gut-deep feeling all yautja knew to obey when hunting stirred, insisting there was more to it. Being well-wisened to how life saving this feeling could be—or in his case, leg-saving—Lar’dha did not ignore it, he just did not know how to use it yet. “You have mentioned them before, as well, but they are not gods?”

Sja’s head twitched in a half shake. “They are not, but our gods are a form of spirit that can bring their melody and empower a song if the hunter is dedicated.”

Songs. Melodies. Spirits.

There was so much to try and understand.

It would be a lie to say it didn’t excite him somewhat to have new things to learn, which muddied the already complex feeling of sensing more under the surface. “How exactly does one add ‘melodies’?”

Plainly, she mused, “By force,” which had him taken aback for a moment. “I am trying to find the words to better explain. I apologize.”

He whickered assuringly. “There is time. I am patient.”

Just barely, he thought he saw her mouth curl at the edges in some semblance of a smile. “So much of this we are given from birth and come to understand without words. Being made to find them now is… difficult.” A moment passed where her focus roamed across the room before a faint mutter registered on his translator. “If I had my ship, it would be no issue.”

Without thinking, the Elite wondered, “Your ship?” again which had her perking up, caught in her mumblings.

“I also have logs, as you do. Notes and tomes and stories of my people kept on the computer—it is so we are not without our heritage while off world.”

Same as us, he noted as a thought struck him. “Where is your ship?”

It was then in the way her gaze clouded for the briefest moment that Lar’dha felt he’d tread too close to a viper’s nest, the regal arch of her neck he so appreciated becoming hard and coiled, ready to snap. Only for a heartbeat, though. As quickly as it came on, the vicious wave passed, breaking on the rocks of her will as she kept herself settled. “It is… somewhere. Not in this system.”

Brow pinched, Lar’dha pressed, “You are certain?” if only because he hadn’t been taken far from his own—which suddenly felt like good luck on his part.

“The stars here are different.”

A fact, stated plainly and promptly, yet the same feeling that clawed at him to be careful—that whispered to him there was more that was unsaid in her words—felt an edge he couldn’t explain being there. Somehow, with all of his being, Lar’dha knew that something was wrong . Not from his own mistakes, but something else.

He deeply desired to know what it was.

“Then we will find it,” the yautja assured. “We—”

But Sja’s hissing voice cut in, “If it were only so simple—!” before she was up, talons clicking over the mats as she marched away from him.

Every muscle in the yautja’s body strained to keep him in place, instinctively avoiding getting in the path of an agitated female, until he pushed through it by rising to his feet to stay in pursuit. “How is it not?”

Her tail cracking as it whipped from one side to the other made his leg twitch—only for it to coil up onto itself in the same moment her neck bowed, muzzle sinking into her hands. A terrible, cold feeling slid across the Elite’s hide, drawing his breath to a still. Something was indeed wrong—he knew it—but how should he fix it—?

The answer was quick and simple: As Sjajjende did for me . He determined this after barely a thought despite being unsure how to execute it properly, and damning his pride for screaming in his veins to back away. Part of it was survival against a female’s wrath for his audacity, that much he understood, but Sja was not yautja.

Sja was alone.

Her people were not his.

Her ways were not his.

Yet he was all she had.

That feeling came again. The one that begged him to hold her close. To shield her from everything and anything that dared near her.

The same that had him feeling bitter and burning, wishing to gut every male that had ever laid their filthy paws on her, inexplicable as it was. She had borne children, same as he, though fewer than he’d assumed, yet the very thought of other males pursuing her… It stirred a feeling he did not expect. A feeling that should not be there.

Something truly was wrong with them both, he realized.

“Speak to me,” the blue hunter dared entreat with a careful, deliberate step toward her exposed back. “Tell me how it is not simple so we may fix it.” She did not move.

Another step.

Sja’s head whipped around, her jaws flexing open with a low rattle of breath that made him stop. A wild glint in her eye—the same as held when she leapt from his ship, spear in hand—faded as her paw came up to cover her maw until she had control of herself again. After a moment, she uttered, “I… cannot remember where it is,” as her head turned from him.

This baffled him. “How not?” Surely anything, even vague coordinates, would be better than nothing!

Her tail thrashed again, an agitated spasm as it looped over itself.

Whatever it was that plagued her, he would not let it get away from him, his tone harshening for lack of a better option, “Speak.”

Burning hot, the glint returned as she pivoted fully in his direction, gaze piercing right through his own as she took a warning step toward him, braced for conflict. “It is complicated , and I do not have the words to explain it!”

Lar’dha huffed, chest rumbling. She hissed back, turning fully away from him once more.

Only when heavy footfalls faded away did Sja’s head lift, a moment of regret passing over her face—but as she moved to follow her companion, the lavender serpent stopped just in time to catch a light polearm as it arced through the air toward her, her reflexes sparing her from missing it entirely. Across the mats, face stoic but eyes burning, the elite held one of his own at the ready.

“Then you will show me,” was all he said before taking his first stance.

This clash was not like the last.

This weapon was not like their last.

Light and long, Sja wielded it with familiarity and speed, while Lar’dha made use of a new stance the serpent did not recognize that kept him on the move, stepping with a grace that the heavier bladed ki'cti-pa did not allow for. This also let him strike with both accuracy and power. It rang through her bones the first time their staves met, nearly knocking her prone. He’d noticed the acknowledging flicker in her gaze as she recovered, head turning sidelong to regard him as she backed away from his reach.

“You are surprised,” he noted, tracking the way her feet moved with the cautious stride of a hunter crossing a treacherous path. ‘Elite’ was not merely a title and rank; she would understand quickly what set him apart from his fellow hunters.

Sja snipped, tongue flicking. “Learning.”

“That is both of us, then.”

He lunged, feinting with his staff—Sja sprang back a step, bringing hers to guard herself—Lar’dha changed his center of gravity and his grip, whirling. The metal rod swung with a hum, catching Sja’s with enough force her hold faltered.

She dropped her weapon, hands buzzing.

The Elite did not stop, moving again to snap the end at her. Forced to run, Sja darted away, abandoning her weapon.

What? Lar’dha wondered, ensuring his confusion did not cost him a misstep as he scooped her staff up and held them in an effort to fight two-handed—not easy with such long weapons, but he would make due. This is odd. He had not expected her to leave her only means of defense behind.

Was she not thinking clearly?

Regardless, he stayed in pursuit, crossing the training area with focus and intent. Sja’s posture had doubled over, her claws scraping the ground as she leaped and scrambled away from his strikes. A flash of her reptilian aura earlier nagged at him, all traces of the proud, intelligent serpent fading away as she continued to avoid him.

This is wrong.

Where she moved, he made to intercept. When she whipped her tail, he stepped back. But for every effort taken to put distance between them, she only fell further and further back into a corner.

He refused to believe she did not see it. “Why do you not fight me, Sjajjende?” the yautja’s voice reverberated, her name taking on a harsh clicking tone. “You can retrieve your weapon from me—I have seen you do it!”

A glimmer of black shone from within the serpent’s maw, sharp needles warning him back just as surely as the guttural hiss that escaped her did. Fury lit up her gaze, however he found it troubling she did not seem to focus on him but rather everything around him. Was she seeing something that he couldn’t?

What was she seeing that he couldn’t…?

“You have overtaken me once, yet now you run from me like an Unblooded!”

The next sound she made set his tusks and fangs on edge—a horrible keening sound that he’d heard once before, as she charged the blockade of guards, shrieking like a kiande amdeha in pursuit of prey. Sja darted past the moment he moved to strike, ducking under his arm with speed that felt far more suited to her ability. It would have pleased him somewhat had he not felt the need to agitate her to do it.

It hardly surprised him that her maneuver had been to gather momentum at his back, her feet pivoting as she launched herself—truly, her jumping ability was something marvelous—with talons extended. The full weight of her body drove itself into the twin-bar block Lar’dha made, his own feet digging in to keep himself standing under the sudden shift. Claws scratched and caught on the metal faces of the polearms, the large sickle claws on Sja’s leading digits hooking over the bars in an effort to seek something soft to embed themselves into. Her hands gripped the upper bar, providing a much needed hold to keep her in place; his stance shifted back to keep them both from toppling over hands occupied with keeping the poles in place and her talons away from his underbelly.

This left her head free and him with no way to guard against her gaping jaws.

The first snap came with a whistle and rattle of breath.

When she recoiled, missing him as he dipped to one side, Lar’dha was able to break them apart by shoving her back. She hit the ground with a stagger but recovered in the same number of steps it took him to correct his stance and replace his guard with an X-form.

The second came when she ducked under the unwieldy twin-staff move meant to control her path of action.

A spin to disengage brought him space, but also nearly lost him to the third, her blackened needles throbbing against the metal of his left-hand pole as it stopped her from meeting his flesh.

This, at least, gave him the opening he needed to sweep her legs out and drive her into the ground, the metal rods scissored over her throat and her body pinned between his knees. Again she snapped, the generous length of her neck giving her more reach than he could compensate for—he leaned back from those envenomed fangs, focus rooted in the frenzied glare of her eyes.

Whatever it was, this was not Sjajjende that was fighting against his grip.

This was pure survival bleeding through a wall that had worn itself to pieces attempting to keep it back.

Had it not been for this vicious teal gaze stealing all of his focus, he would have noticed her hips arcing—the way the muscles of her legs coiled—but too late he felt the rake of claws up his back as her sickle talons ripped upward from hip to shoulder. His thundering roar was loud enough to rattle bones and shake the frenzy from Sja’s mind, her maw inches from latching onto the tusks of the beast holding her down as he rocked forward under the searing pain of her swipe.

Shame crashed over the serpent the same heartbeat the poles released her from their hold.

More than anything the sensation had startled him; the angle was poor and his hide thick, thus he was spared the rending of those crescent daggers, but the effort alone stung quite a lot. Not that this mattered to the horrified female who slipped away the moment his weight eased off her body, hands making to reach toward him only to recoil instantly to her muzzle, cradling and restraining it as sense washed through her body. Giving himself a shake, Lar’dha’s gaze alerted to the motion of her feet as they scrambled over the floor—his paw found her ankle and hauled, dragging the distraught serpent back to him with a hissing yip.

“We are not done,” he growled as her free foot planted against his chest and shoved, knocking the hunter onto his tender back.

This time, the strain was evident in her toes as she ensured her long claw would not touch him.

“Release me!” came the demand he’d expected while half rolling into a crouch.

Sja scrambled again to gain distance but he was long of stride and able to close in on her sloppy movement with his own, clawing over the mats until he could grasp her legs and drag, forcing her under himself into an awkward hold that her her writhing as she tried to pull free. Chest-down into the ground, Lar’dha shoved his weight into Sja’s shoulders, spreading her knees to ruin her leverage; one forearm held her across her torso, the other pressed across the back of her neck which had bent itself into an uncomfortable S-shape. Beneath him, her tail thrashed, tip slapping and clipping the mat, his inner thighs and even across his back when it whipped up between his legs.

Try though as she might, she could not free herself of his hold.

“Lar’ dha ,” she snapped, giving one last full-body shake before stopping to rest her aching muscles. The next creak of her voice felt like a sharper cut than her claws, so choked with desperation and emotion he was not used to hearing from her that he nearly obeyed without question. “Release me, please! ”

Jaw set and tusks coiling, he firmly replied, “Not until you talk.”

Rather than do that, she went limp.

It would be a mistake to ease off her, he knew, but a worry he was choking her had the yautja rising ever-so-slightly onto his knees—just in case. As he did, a grumbling complaint snuck its way out of him. “You know of my kind and our ways yet insisted on putting me in a position where I had to permit my burden be shared. Why do you not allow me the same?”

For just a second, he saw acknowledgement in her eye—the one he could see anyway—then he felt her coil, bringing her knees up on either side of herself now that the pressure had eased off her body.

In the next instant, he was on his back with her weight driving her leg into his clavicle. “ I did not force words from you,” she finally said, teal eyes still intense and full of something he couldn't decipher but the wild edge had at least simmered down to a reasonable bit of static. “Not as you insist I do.”

Low and full of restraint, Lar’dha rumbled, “I insist because you refuse to share your burden as I did mine.”

Taking hold of that lush thigh coiled across his chest, the Elite crossed his arm over her hips and pulled, flipping them again so she hit the mat with a heavy whump , his chest pressed into her generous hips. Black flashed and his mandibles flared warningly, however this show of her maw held recognition and firmness that it was merely a warning; Sja’s neck relaxed from its coiled position as her jaws closed, tongue flicking once.

Just as low, she hissed, “That is more times than I wish to think that I could have bitten you.”

Lar’dha moved to sit up, grumbling about his lack of care if she had, venom be damned.

“It is not merely the venom!” the serpent snapped, distress finally catching in her voice as she slid back and curled into a ball, one paw wrapped over her jaws in what he could only interpret as a shameful gesture.

“Then it is something I do not understand,” he said back, voice harsh but softer than before. As he straightened, he felt the sting of her claws sinking in across his back, but he would not show it even for a moment if it would risk upsetting her further.

After a heartbeat to ponder, she agreed, “You do not—”

So he cut in, “I am trying to, though. As you said, you do not have the words, nor your ship to bridge the gap. I am blind and you are mute, trying to explain that which cannot be said.”

Sja’s tail wrapped around her feet and her neck curled, making her appear small.

He hated it.

“It is not fair,” he went on, frustration leaking through as he studied the shame and dismay in her body language. It did not suit her. “Why do you refuse to allow me to return what you have given me?”

Gaze widening, Sja’s hand dropped for a moment. “I do not—”

It snapped back up the same moment she realized she’d uncovered her face before she crumpled further into herself.

A deep, jarring growl shook the air between them as the Elite snarled in defiance of her behavior. “This is unbecoming of you.” Those words had not meant to come out, but he felt unable to hide them as he rose to his feet, feeling far too many unpleasant things to spare the effort to curb his speech.

Yet it seemed to work in unfurling her from the ball of shame she put herself in; she wanted to reach after him and had to get to her feet to do it, even if his sharp turn toward her had her stopping.

Forcing her into more distress ate at him from inside like the thwei of a kiande amdeha through metal ; he could only hope the results were worth it. Struggling against the knot within herself, Sja’s careful words fell apart into little more than emotional blurting, the translator stuttering in places to keep up as her pace quickened beyond its ability to decipher. “Our venom is forbidden—to hunt spirits, we must never do so with fang as it would sully our prey.”

Her claws touched his hand but he snapped it away, chittering, acid blue gaze locking onto hers. He could only hope she didn’t realize how much he wanted to punch himself right after.

A tremble found its way to the once-proud serpent’s voice. “You claim your people must stand alone—that there is expectation upon you. There is so for me—for all hunters—never use our fangs, for any, even a child of no skill, can win with such a tactic. I should never bare fang so easily. You are right.” Tail coiling around her leg, Sja’s posture folded. “It is unbecoming of me.”

Without considering the effect it would have, Lar’dha said, “Am I to be a spirit then?” which had her head up as she realized what she’d mistakenly implied. “Forced into your song like the Lanky One was? Is that what a chahv-nahn truly is?”

A flicker of confusion crossed her features, but Sja shook them and herself out quickly. “That is not—no!”

“You say much but share very little, Sjajjede,” came the next terse line, the glare that carried between them battering against the serpent’s will unrelentingly. “I feel as if, for all your words and wisdom, I know even less of you than when we began. My patience wears thin.”

“Of me?”

Pauk! She’d caught his slip of the tongue. “Of you and your people,” he snapped, gesturing at her dismissively to cover his tracks. “So much is spoken where I feel I must know things I do not to decipher it and nothing told clears up anything for me. All of that I can forgive.”

Sja’s shoulders and neck rolled back in surprise.

“But I cannot relent to the one-sidedness of having my burdens carried but yours left on the wayside to be taken up on another day.”

A curious flicker of her tongue as it slipped between her jaws told him she was beginning to sort through the tangled string of logic that he no longer had control over. “You…” she started carefully, head turned to one side to regard him sidelong. “You… wish to carry my burdens as I carried yours?”

The gruff breath he let out confirmed such.

Teal eyes narrowed. “Yet you demand for me to explain those burdens.”

Lar’dha’s tusks flexed. “Unsuccessfully, but yes.”

A quick retort came that only emphasized how little he understood after all of their talking. “That is not for you to be concerned of, you are not tjuarrna to me—”

“Again with that!” he half-shouted back, allowing himself to be exasperated though it made her flinch. “You have called me one of your bonds—yet that is not enough to aid you? As I am not the correct one?”

“One need not know what is held within the basket to aid in carrying it.”

With a disgruntled rattle, Lar’dha turned away from her.

This time, she spoke with a touch of aggression—more like herself than the pathetic ball of purple she’d been moments before. “I did not dig and claw for you to offer your words, Lar’dha!”

The way the truth struck him nearly had the yautja stumbling as his back straightened, caught off by her words.

Sja did not stop there. “Nor did you offer them freely—because I am also not tjuarrna to you! That is no crime and not a demand! It cannot be forced and should not be expected of another—only respected for what it is!”

“And what is it?” he snapped back once his bearings aligned, tendrils clattering as he turned sharply. “You have endeavored to tell me many words today and I know less of what they are than when I did not know them at all.”

The pair began to circle each other as they had before, predatory gaits keeping them at fair distance in case either became physical unexpectedly. Across the rift, Sja’s gaze searched him for something—a tell, a reason, something he didn’t yet know—before she closed them in a slow blink, focus dropping to the floor. “ Tjuarrna,” her voice started with just enough power to be heard but not a silver more, “is one who brings joy and lightness of heart and soul. One who understands and is entrusted with not only the burden of weight but what is being carried within one’s basket.”

The Elite considered this alongside how he was not doing a very good job and bringing her ‘joy’ at this moment. “You claim you knew we were chahv-nahn when we met, yet deny this bond outright. How does one know if they are thoo-ahr-nuh ?”

“Time,” came the first reply, which he snorted at. Then, “And shared pain.”

That had his attention in full purely from bewilderment. “Shared pain? How is one to become entrusted to share their pain if they must share pain to be trusted?”

Gently, she denied his words. The pacing stopped, allowing him to catch the way Sja’s brow furrowed as she sought what she needed. “It is when a painful experience is shared between both in life, not in words, such as two widows mourning their mates or the loss of a child, not—”

Instantly, orange-tinted memories flowed out of his jaws, the edge blunting to a tone just as soft as hers. “Not unlike being captured and forced to fight for our freedom?”

It was in the way the tension seemed to slip out of the serpent’s body. In how her gaze filled with something warm and confused as her voice whispered, “Yes,” with recognition.

Still, she made no effort to cross the gap between them even after understanding there was merit to this new perspective, so he took the burden of that first step for himself. Only one, as she started slightly when sensing his movement, but when she didn’t flee he took another which emboldened her to meet him halfway. Exactly as I wanted , he mused to himself, burning blue eyes simmering gently with renewed patience and understanding as she looked everywhere but at him. “You do not seem to enjoy this idea.”

Only then did she peer up at him, her posture slowly shifting back to her normal, regal curve. “Should one enjoy sharing a pain they know intimately?”

Ah. A reasonable feeling, at least.

“It is also… unfamiliar.”

“Is it?”

“I have not been blessed with a tjuarrna before now, my experiences have been my own to bear and none have demanded to understand them as fervently as you.”

A proud chuff had his mandibles spreading affably. “You do not make it easy.”

“I have not been allowed to.” Only now that the tension had eased did the underlying pattern make itself known to the female, her eyes widening a tick before narrowing at him, neck rising to bring her head above his just a bit. “You drove this answer out of me!”

An amused click told her all she needed about his mind games; she hissed sharply, but he did not sense true dismay within her. “I am beginning to understand what you meant when you asked what I have learned of you after our last spar.” Narrowing her gaze more, she waited for him to explain. “You speak beautifully and with poetry, Sjajjende, but anything of yourself is foggy. At least until you are upset.”

She folded her arms, annoyed but unable to rebuke his claim.

Wickering gently, he added, “I do not like making you upset just to speak plainly together. If I can, being this… ‘joyful one’ for you… if that eases your burdens I wish to try. If even just for this one thing—I presume much if I ask you to tell me every secret you’ve carried until now, so I will only offer to share this one because that pain is both of ours.”

Try as he might, Lar’dha still felt a wall form as she curled away, hugging herself; he expected some resistance after his viciousness, just not that it would hurt worse than her claws. “You did not need to lash out at me as you did,” she muttered, tail squeezing tight around her leg.

“As I said,” he reiterated gently as he stepped to her back, considering briefly to place his arms around her in comfort, “you did not make it easy. If I had thought you would simply talk, it would not have happened but when asked—”

Sja corrected him, “Demanded,” which he relented to.

“— demanded —you pulled back more.”

“And so you threw me to the floor.”

He did. “I offered a fair fight to meet on your terms, but you are the one who dropped your weapon and ran from me.”

“I did no such thing—” Both stopped as Sja’s neck craned around to regard him bitterly, only for both to pause with equal confusion, one at her words, one at his reaction to said words.

“I can review the footage on the security system,” Lar’dha started, watching the way her focus danced once more to everywhere that wasn’t him. “I knocked your staff from your hands and you abandoned it.”

Confused and concerned, the serpent regarded her palms while trying to recall what had happened for herself.

“You do not remember?”

“No.”

Concern deepening, the yautja offered, “Your gaze changed then as well. Became wild.”

Fist balling, Sja faced him fully. “Did I punch you?”

“Hardly. You tried to bite me.”

She shifted to one foot and back, wanting to pace but unwilling to move from her spot. “I am aware I tried once already this day—”

“You tried three times before then, Sjajjende.”

“ This day —”

Careful as he dared, Lar’dha’s paws found the serpent’s shoulders and held her still, forcing her to face him. “Sjajjende,” he rumbled with full seriousness. “This day—here in my dojo—you attempted to bite me three times as I pursued you with twin staffs. Then once more when I pinned you down. That is five in total.”

Had she not already been so pale, the yautja would have seen the color drain from the snake’s face and neck. Instead, he saw her paw come up and shamefully cover her maw again as her gaze darted this way and that in an effort to locate some fragment or memory of what had transpired—all she had was a vague feeling of panic and a desire to fight. To live. “Five,” she repeated at barely more than a whisper.

Something is still wrong, the Elite noted, finding that negging sensation as it returned. This time at least, it brought company with it. “The first time, you had a nightmare.”

He barely caught her breathy, “Yes, I remember that much.”

“Your eyes were like that then as well.”

“They were?”

Nodding, he felt and fought an urge—so strong it nearly overcame his senses—to rest his paw on her face. Why? He wasn’t sure, save for very faint memories of his maker and her careful touch. Of the safety he felt under it.

Safety it was clear she desperately needed.

He started, “I first witnessed it when we escaped and you—”

And her voice finished, “—when I leaped?”

“Yes. Do you remember that?”

Chest squeezing between her arms as her gip on herself tightened around her torso, Sja hummed, “Vaguely.”

After a breath passed quietly, the yautja’s grip loosened but did not fall away—nor did the serpent step back from him, her eyes regarding him tiredly but with warmth. Despite his actions and the distress he caused, she could still hold him in her sights with appreciation and tenderness—

—was that what it was?

Was this strange glint in her gaze… affection of some sort?

Or simply fatigue?

It would have to wait until later to be analyzed; right now, he needed to be present. “Do you remember what you saw when you wanted to bite me?”

Sja’s wide eyes closed, cutting off that smoldering warmth and leaving him feeling alone somehow. “No. Only… felt.”

“What did you feel?”

The hesitation and the way her head bowed told him she fought to get out her next words, the weight of this new bond dragging at her from within as she struggled to use it. “... fear.”

Even so, he understood completely. Admitting what had been kept hidden for so long within oneself was something he doubted himself capable of as of yet; Sja was very emotional and fluid, she would adapt readily to speaking her truth. As for him?

Becoming an Elite took work. Years of it, honing skills some would consider useless or trivial—it was no wonder they were not Elites themselves with that outlook. That effort sharpened his senses and his prowess, but dulled his emotional honesty and self expression to better guard himself against enemies both within and without himself. Moving past those barriers would be monumental work on his part, but if he could learn to dual wield long staffs on the fly, he could become more open with them both. He could relearn what he’d been taught about hiding his truth.

Sja needed this from him.

Her peace was worth all of his strength and more.

For her, he decided right then as his thwei hummed in his veins and time seemed to still around them, he would move the stars themselves to align in whatever way she needed if it would bring her even a moment of peace.