Page 6 of Tharn's Hunt
A smart move to escape the pack. But as my eyes scan the base of the rock again, a cold dread settles deep in my gut, heavier than any fear of shadowmaws.
Circular patterns trace through the sand, barely visible even to my trained eye.
The sister-female didn't just face shadowmaws. She attracted the attention of something far worse.
And she survived.
The lifeblood trails away from the outcropping, staggered, but definitely made by something still alive.
A sharp flicker of respect cuts through my alarm. This is no simple, fragile thing to be coddled. This female has a fighter’s spirit that burns brighter than Ain’s own light. She's proven herself worthy of the hunt.
No. Not hunt, Tharn.Rescue. I must remember she is not prey, despite how the tracking of her makes my lifeblood sing.
Her trail leads to a rock face, cracked and weathered by countless cycles of Ain's wrath. At first, I see no sign of the female. Then I notice a dark opening halfway up the stone—a cave mouth, perfectly positioned to catch Ain’s last light while providing shade during the harshest hours.
And there, leading up to it…more lifeblood.
She is in there. I can feel it.
I scale the rock face easily, claws finding purchase where her small hands must have struggled. At the cave mouth, I pause, scenting the air. Yes, there is her strange smell, mixed with the metallic tang of lifeblood.
And there, curled against the far wall beside a tiny pool of water, lies the sister-female.
Jah-kee.
She is smaller than Jus-teen, though similar in form... dressed in similar torn hide coverings. And she's damaged. Badly. Her breathing comes in short, sharp bursts. Her body trembling with each inhale, each exhale.
“Do not fear,” I project into the silence of her mind. “I am ally. Not foe.”
When I move closer, a wave of heat rolls off her small body. Too much heat. This is not just venom-fire.
The wound on her leg is deep. Swollen. Angry. My eyes see this. My mind knows it is the threat.
But my eyes betray me. They wander.
Her face. It is… soft. No sharp angles. No battle lines carved into the jaw. Just smooth curves. Her mouth is full. Her head-fur, dark like deep canyon sand, is tied back, but strands cling to her skin like dark vines.
No scales. No hard hide. Only skin. So soft, it looks like a thorn could tear it. Her legs are long, but thin. Not shaped for a strong stance. Not made for this world.
How did my ancestors come to worship such fragile beings?
And yet… a strange feeling twists in my gut. A tightness. This softness… it is beautiful. Not like the dawn. It is the beauty of a new, sharp spear tip. The beauty of a shadowmaw’s eyes before it strikes. Dangerous.
Something inside me stirs. A deep growl. It is a feeling I do not know. It tells me to back away. It tells me to stay. It tells me to… guard this place. This female.
By Ain’s light…What is this madness?
I force my gaze from her face to the wound on her leg. The wound is the only thing that matters.
She needs water. Sustenance. Care for her wounds. The dried lifeblood on her leg concerns me most. Shadowmaw venom festers quickly, even when not directly bitten.
I reach for my waterskin, uncorking it with ease. Her condition worries me. Even Jus-teen wasn't this damaged when Rok found her. Fire isn’t meant to be trapped within.
I reach forward, careful to be gentle as my claws brush her head fur. The moment my claw makes contact, light explodes beneath my skin. A violent, golden radiance erupts from my hand, searing up my arm in a blinding wave.I jerk back with a startled snarl, claws unsheathing as I stare at my hand. The light pulses, a frantic, silent beat that matches the sudden, wild hammering of my dra-kir. It races across the patterns on my shoulders like a fire with no heat, consuming me.
What—by the Giving Stone—what is this?
The female moans. It’s a soft, yearning sound. Her back arches slightly, her lips parting as if my light has seeped into her dreams.
