EDIT: 'Ello All! Thanks for reading. :) I'm just fixing some typos that were pointed out to me. Thanks very much for that. And I fiddled with the wording in a few areas as well, but it changes the story very little. So enjoy a hopefully error-free story!

Disclaimer: I do NOT own any of the Predator/Yautja universe. I just created Sar'idikk and Kwei from it. Peanutchan created the lovely Tituga and mentioned Tal'merc.

NOTE: I have a Deviantart account if you'd like to see what the characters look like ;)

JUST INSTINCT

Perched upon a high tree branch, a cloaked figure watched curiously.

All around, the once green and humid jungle now smoldered softly, the flames dying down as dusk fell on the area. What was once a bustling but secluded campsite was now all but deserted and glowing from the flames that had swept through it. What screams of panic there had been from this fire and mayhem had since passed.

Scanning the jungle floor, the figure checked for signs of life. The layout of the camp was fairly simple; a circular living area hosting half a dozen large tents with a few raised platforms for surveillance. Surrounding this living area was about an acre of very carefully tended crops. There were several decimated bodies strewn across the campsite – across the ground, in the surveillance lifts, and some hidden in the tents – but none of them had the bright, warm glow of pink and orange that registered life through the lenses of the beings' helmet.

What a disappointment…

Silently, the cloaked figure dropped off its' tree branch to inspect further. Clawed feet moved noiselessly through the leaves and brush of the jungle, the smoldering earth now cool beneath them. Its' helmeted-head turned and whipped around to check in all directions, but due to its' cloaking device it only appeared as though the jungle brush was moving from a breeze.

No signs of life….they destroyed themselves…

Stepping over one of the many bodies littering the jungle floor, the figure paused, cocking it's head curiously. Slowly, it reached down and lifted an arm of one of the lifeless bodies, tossing aside the automatic rifle dangling from it with an irritated snort. The body hung at a gross angle as the cloaked being examined it. The large, domed helmet that masked the figures face buzzed and hummed as it deciphered the now bloodied tattoo on the forearm before it.

The mark of a Brazilian gang. A leader's mark…

Absently, the figure reached it's other hand up to brush it's own mark carved into it's helmet, in the center of it's crown. The being chirred sadly.

On it's feet again, the cloaked figure approached the rows and rows of crop that had been aflame, plucking an un-burnt leaf from a plant. Pinching it roughly between a clawed thumb and finger, the being's helmet again whirred as it processed the chemicals oozing out from the finger's friction. With another muffled snort the figure shook it's head, discarding the leaf.

Clan-on-clan violence…for nothing. A plant with trivial side effects.

A beep-beep from inside the being's helmet made it straighten up. Lifting it's arm up, it hastily typed in a simple command into the control panel along it's forearm with long, slender fingernails. This typed command prompted an alien voice, communicating to the cloaked figure quietly in a language of clicks, growls, and hisses.

"Miss Sari'idikk…my scanner indicated that you're still on the planet below. We must leave this planet's atmosphere soon otherwise we will be detected by the natives. Please advise on your status."

Glancing around quickly, the figure spoke back in the same strange language, "Just observing the culture. It appears the Pyode Amedha here has the same loyalty as many others – weak. Just one of my traps triggered this particular camp to kill it's workers and lower ranking members. They burned their crops too….another narcotic crop. Paranoia is another odd trait they have. Needless to say I disposed of this irritating clan. I will be leaving shortly…"

"Received and acknowledged. Please advise upon departure."

Another short beep ended this conversation, although to any natives who would have witnessed, it would have sounded like words spoken in the devil's tongue.

Sweeping her gaze across the camp, Sar'idikk saw no items worth collection. Just primitive guns and hand held weapons, along with poorly made chairs and stands. Papers and garbage everywhere. She decided to check some of the few small tents that remained standing, knowing that the native's food was sometimes, and in it's own way, very tasty.

The first tent held two cots, a tiny table with a chair and a fallen gang member who had been sprayed with bullets from anothers' gun. The next was empty, save for a large black pot that held what looked to be food. Stepping closer, Sar'idikk chirred again, seeing a dim red glow of what once was hot food.

Tempted, she pondered for a moment before reaching across to her arm-mounted control panel. With a few button strokes the mirrored cloak dissolved, exposing her figure for the first time. Much taller than a native human, she was solidly built with womanly curves. Her head crest was small - only two curved spikes on either side of her brow, and decorated with a silver chain and a jewel. Dark, heavy armor tinted a deep green covered Sar'idikk's body, and her flesh was a sienna pigment with large, copper spots. Like those of a wild cat, only with an alien design. Her bright, cream-colored belly stood out in the dark. A few long, russet tendrils draped down her shoulders, decorated with silver ringlets. The rest of her dark tresses were cut very short in the back of her head, like an angled bob.

Reaching up, Sar'idikk snapped off a couple of clips on her helmet, steam screeching out of each plug that separated from it. Gingerly, she pulled the helmet off to expose her face – or better yet her mouth to sample the food before her. Four mandibles stretched and adjusted as the damp air hit them, the aromas of death and ash and sweat and fear seeping into the olfactory receptors that lay hidden along the webbing of her jowels. She thrummed slowly at the scents assaulting her sensitive glands, trying to calm herself - all the blood and adrenaline in the air tickled the triggers to her primal rage. Folding her mandibles back into place, she closed he eyes briefly, steadying her breathing and centering her being. All that history of her species in comabt and warfare and violence...their race had come a long way but those instincts still liked to creep up on her when she wasn't quite prepared.

Now calm, the Yautja leaned into the pot as her vivid, mint green eyes combed through it's contents. The scent receptors in her mouth picked up the meat and spices, and with a quick scoop into the pot with her cupped hand she sample the food. A chest-rumble of delight followed the tasting, followed by her eyes rolling delightfully back into her skull.

These Ooman's have a way with their cuisine!

Another scoop into the pot satisfied her for the time being, and reaching to the side of her armor's belt she deposited the pot's contents into the canister. Spinning around, she exited the tent in the direction of her space pod, flicking her cloaking device back on and holstering her helmet in one of her belt hooks. She idely checked the other tents as she went, pausing again at the sight of a plate of food in the last tent. She couldn't help but purr in curiosity as she approached and entered, picking up the food, apparently wrapped in another piece of food, and tasting it.

She could only savor the spicy treat for a moment – it appeared the two bodies in the corner of the tent, which she had deemed dead bodies, had moved. A low, guttural growl emanated from the Yautja and she immediately dropped the parcel of food. Instantly she felt foolish for keeping her helmet off and not being able to register live, warm-blooded bodies. She stilled herself, knowing her cloaking device was still active.

The bodies before her were crumpled on the floor in the corner of the tent. There were two – an adult female cradling a small yearling. Sari'dikk's eyes searching them meticulously, looking for a weapon, or threat, or trap, but found none. Years of hunting and battle instinct made her quiet her breathing, and the hand that grabbed her katana out of reflex eased it's grip. Another slow draw of air through her mandibles allowed her to scent the air, detecting blood, fear, and sweat. Softly, she could hear the woman whispering weakly, but very frantically.

Her guard still up, she dropped her gaze to the small child whelp held tightly to the woman's body. Big, liquidy blue eyes peered right at her. Glossy with tears but alert. Sar'idikk wondered if the yearling could see her. Curious, she leaned forward, causing the whelp to push into her mother and the mother's whispered words to get louder. Straining, the Yautja tried to decipher the native Ooman's words.

She's…chanting. Praying. Asking for her Gods to save her child…

Puzzled, Sar'idikk pondered why the mother didn't just flee. Tilting her head, her sharp eyes fell to where the woman's other hand was, understanding creeping over her. Deep, dark blood was bubbling from a wound she was hiding carefully on her stomach, just below her rib cage. It had spread and stained almost all of her clothing, and was still oozing out in throbs. It didn't occur to the Yautja that the pungent smell of blood and death was from her – the entire camp was stagnant with that particular stench.

She's dying…

Somewhat intrigued, Sar'idikk studied them closely. The little one never took her eyes off of her, even though the cloaking device shrouding the Yautja was still engaged. The mother's head was resting against the top of her child's head, her eyes tightly shut and her breathing heavy as she prayed. The breathing turned to gasping, growing weaker with every inhale, her light-colored skin paling…but the grip around her yearling remained firm. Even upon her last breaths, when her head slipped and dropped low and her arm fell from her wound, the arm around her little one stayed. And with each slowing breath, the child gripped her mother tightly, eventually turning away from the figure and burying her face into her mothers' chest.

Sar'idikk took a deep measured breath, already sensing through her ultra-sensitive glands that death had taken the mother. Conflict waged inside her stomach, making it hard for her to walk away. This Ooman's yearling's tear-filled gaze also jarred her, and with some difficulty she stepped back. Hesitantly, the Yautja shook her head shortly, trying to shake off this odd feeling swimming in her gut. She then turned to leave, confused at the new sensation to stay with the child.

Only a few quick strides out of the tent, a sound stopped her in her tracks. A long, sad whine rung out, followed by tiny, stuttered sobs. Without thinking, Sar'idikk hurried back toward the tent, stopping short at the entrance. She witnessed the yearling trying to lift her mother's head up, fresh tears streaking down her face as she whimpered and struggled. Little fists beat stubbornly onto the mother's chest, and with another pained wail the child sobbed.

The crying cut through Sar'idikk, and an instinctual drive made her step back into the tent. The little one paused upon her approach, her young eyes still somehow able to see the Yautja despite the cloak. After a few moments the child turned back to her mother, grasping at her clothing to try to get her attention. Another whine followed her failed attempt to rouse her mother, and another loud cry echoed. Frustrated and helpless, the yearling looked up at the Yautja as she sobbed, her confusion at her mother's stillness fueling her tears.

Again, the gut-retching feeling swept over Sar'idikk, creating an urge to reach out and assure the whelp. Shifting her mandibles nervously, she decided to de-cloak, exposing herself to the yearling as she knelt down again.

The child quieted immediately, watching carefully as it leaned instinctively into her dead mother. When no hand or gentle words soothed her insecurity, the little one again wailed mournfully, wrapping her arms around her face to hide herself.

Sar'idikk winced slightly, surprised as how a species with such a small hole for a mouth could make such a noise, but her sympathy remained. Unsure of what to do, the Yautja looked around for something, anything, to comfort the yearling. Her bright green eyes found the half-eaten food wrap that had lured her into the tent in the first place, and quickly she grabbed it. Offering a low, gentle thrum of her vocal chords Sar'idikk presented the child with the food.

The whelp peeked out from between her arms, her tear glossed eyes toggling between the food and the Yautja before her. Although the air was thick with fear, Sar'idikk could tell the scent was dissipating. Whimpering, the child still clung to her mother, unsure and sniffling. Sar'idikk purred out another placid rumble, trying to communicate, which seemed to appease the whelp for a moment.

For the first time, the child made eye contact with Sar'dikk. That connection created another surge of care to wash over the Yautja. Very softly, she decided to speak to the yearling, having learned the Ooman's many languages from her many visits to the planet.

"Utss ukay, child. Ay whull nut hhhurtd yhew…"

She tried her gentlest tone, watching the whelp's eyes widen as she spoke. After hastily putting away the food into her side canister, she gingerly offered her hand to the young one, again chirring out her most tender sound.

The child looked down at the hand before her, which was almost half the side of her little body, and stared silently. Slowly, the yearling looked back at what was once her mother and then at the Yautja, her lower lip quivering. Hesitating a few more moments, the little one reached and grabbed one of Sar'idikk's large, ringed fingers.

Whimpering, the child stepped forward, using the Yautja's hand to steady herself as heartbreaking sobs shook her tiny body. Little arms reached out helplessly towards Sar'idikk, asking to be picked up, and suddenly instinct flooded the Yautja's body. Smoothly, she scooped up the small yearling and stood. The small frame of the child continued to shudder with cries of loss in Sar'idikk's arms, and gently the Yautja pressed the whelp into her chest. Warm, pure, baby musk trickled past Sar'idikk's senses, fueling her actions. Absently she rocked her body sideways and tucked the little one's head under her chin, purring tenderly. Stuttered sobs began tapering off much sooner than the Yautja anticipated, and moments later the little one grew silent and heavy with exhaustion. Engaging her cloaking device, Sari'dikk disappeared into the forest toward her space pod.

EPILOGUE

Sar'idikk knelt next to the side of the bed, leaning on her elbows and gazing very intently at the tiny mound of blankets, furs, and the Ooman body that occupied the center of her massive bed. The tiny body was very still and silent, slumbering deeply. The Yautja couldn't take her eyes off the little one, and kept the child's tiny hand wrapped around her finger.

Behind her, the door to her private quarters opened with a metal hiss, and in walked another Yautja. Another female, only bigger that Sar'idikk with similar, smaller body patterns. Her hair was darker and longer with gold ringlets in it, and plush, bright animals pelts covered her, just barely. She was adorned with more jewels and gold than Sar'idikk, and had no horny crown across her brow. The female stopped shortly behind the other.

"The whole ship is buzzing with talk of an alien on board. A strange, tiny creature that was smuggled in by a high ranking officer. There's talk of public punishment for such a crime, and they're anxious to know who would dare go against the order."

"Let them talk…" Sar'idikk's tone was dis-interested and soft, her back still to the visitor.

"…You know this is highly irregular. And illegal."

A throaty snort answered the comment, "Well then. Arrest me Tituga."

Furrowing her brow slightly, Tituga switched her gaze from the bundle of blankets on the bed to Sar'idikk, irked that she was talking to the back of the other Yautja's head. She sighed and adjusted her mandibles patiently, moving to sit on the edge of the bed so she could face Sari'dikk. Tituga considered the Yautja for a moment, concerned by the uncharacteristic reply she had just encountered.

"I'm not here for that. You know I'm not. And I'm not looking for a fight. I just…wanted to let you know. The Elder's will hear about it. Prepare yourself."

Sar'idikk glanced at Tituga out of the corner of her eye. "Then I will plead to the Matriarch. She will side with me and ease the Elder's worry."

"…That is a lot to ask of your Matriarch."

"It wasn't when Tal'merc sought acceptance for his mate.", Sar'idikk chided.

"Tal'merc is our soon to be captain. And he made sure to alert the Matriarch well in advanced to avoid the situation you are in right now!"

Tituga's voice rang with warning and authority, her eyes glinting sternly. Both of their green eyes locked. Sar'idikk's shined with stubbornness, but pleaded with Tituga. The larger Yautja could only hold her firm gaze for so long before she exhaled sharply and broke their eye contact. Although their altercation was small she was starting to detect mild aggression pheromones in the air around them. She didn't want those feelings fueling her, or the discussion to go in that direction.

Lacing together her long, clawed fingers Tituga dropped her tone and spoke, "…I already spoke with the Elders. They are no longer concerned after they learned you were the culprit – although their annoyance with you was very clear. And just so you know…when Tal'merc heard about it he was prepared to speak if necessary. He clearly sympathized with these… Pyode Amedha."

"Oh…", Sar'idikk's voice let on her embarrassment. "…Thank you. Sister."

Sar'idikk's gaze switched back to the little one still passed out on her bed. Tituga watched her sister quietly. Leaning on her side on the bed, she began studying the small pink thing in the heap of furs, curious.

"So…can I see it?" Tituga's tone was now casual and comfortable.

"Her. And of course."

Sar'idikk happily but gingerly peeled back the blankets, revealing a naked, tiny creature. The larger Yautja leaned in, venturing one of her massive knuckles out to gently graze the child's soft skin. Its' delicate musk washed over her mandibles, tickling the primal, maternal instinct she was not accustom to. Her eyes softened and she chirred out at the yearling, now able to appreciate Sar'idikk's motives for taking this Pyode Amedha.

"It—She's so…small. Ooman's are frail.", Tituga rumbled out a mix of a laugh and sigh. "You're sure you want this?"

"Yes dear Sister. And she's tougher than she looks. I think for her age she'll pick up on our language easily enough. Although I'd like to keep her fluent in her own tongue."

Tituga pondered for a minute, watching Sar'idikk coo at the yearling before covering it back up.

"You have high expectations for her."

"Well wouldn't you, for your own pup?"

Sar'idikk's words confirmed what Tituga was suspecting. Although her sister had always been the type to bring home pets…this Ooman was much more. Offering a smile at Sar'idikk, the larger Yautja knew her sister would do the right thing. Even if everything else about the situation seemed wrong.

"I would of course…", Tituga rose to her feet. "So…what will you name the pup?"

"I decided a while ago. She is Kwei."

"Kwei?", Tituga raised her brows in intrigue. "A rather odd name. She's only a Ooman."

Sar'idikk chuckled, reaching over to caress the yearling again.

"Oh dear Sister…you will soon find out why."

FINIS