A/N: Thanks to all who are following this story and also to those who make the effort to review the chapters. Your encouragement is uplifting!

Chapter 7: Know Thyself

"Nothing is predestined. The obstacles of your past can become the gateways that lead to new beginnings." – Ralph Blum

Theron was dismissed from attending Sally for the afternoon. The penalty for disobeying an order not to fight Sig'dan had been doled out to him by a calmly-spoken, but stern, Matriarch, and he had immediately departed to see that it was done. She had devised an interesting 'punishment' for him by requiring that he go to the youngling's training classes and begin to instruct them in his method of fighting. He had thought to tell her that it would do the pups little good, but chose to sequester that information as he debated internally if this was really some sort of backhanded complement to his skills. Fine! He would show them a few moves and watch their too soft bodies try to accomplish what had taken his entire puphood and youth to realize. You cannot make a lethal fighter of efficient elegance out of such spongy, pampered flesh, he thought to himself, confidently advancing on the training kehrite.

Inside the arena he went over to a sideline bench to wait for his turn to work with the students. While he waited, idly half-listening to the trainer lecturing about honor, Theron's thoughts drifted to the floating scraps of memories of his own education…

The chilling grip of night arose from the solid ground, probing into his flesh and claiming the right to distress his body. This first night of learning to be a warrior was not a restful one. The hardness of Yaut's bare soil did nothing to lull him to sleep, nor did its coldness offer his body any ease. He lay awake on the bare ground out in the open with only a scant loincloth of thin poor fabric covering his body, determined not to advertise his discomfort by tossing and turning.

His Bearer and younger siblings had been left at their dwelling earlier that morning, without a backward glance, as he had been marched with the other pups of young age far from the city to the training site that would be his home for many, many years – assuming he lived. As he left his home, he heard the sound of his Bearer's voice growl after him, "Theron! Return to this dwelling a warrior, or not at all." He almost stopped at her command, but a rough hand pushed him onward. He would not see her or his female siblings again until he reached Cetanu's Hall. They were stricken within a long cycle by the disease of the Bearers that eventually would rob all civilization of all their females.

All the tramping pups quickly learned that the warriors that oversaw them did not coddle. Their current job was to get the younglings to the training facility. Once there they would instill the basics of survival, the Hunt and warrior training in hand-to-hand combat as well as weaponry. To those who passed this training the honor of learning strategy and higher techniques of both defense and attack would be given. Any pup not able to pass these basic lessons was weeded out of the group – permanently. He could die from exposure, from starvation, or be killed by a fellow student, or trainer.

As each young Yautja knew, the only rank in Dor'an society available to a male was to be a hunter/warrior who fought, and who eventually might be honored enough to defend the Clan, eventually proving himself worth enough to train pups and to breed. This was partly because there was no place in their Clan for any who failed in this training as females held all other roles including early pup-rearing, trades, agriculture and politics. Males who became too old to function efficiently as Warriors did not retire – they went on Last Hunt. It was also true that unlike other Clans, the Dur'an populace did not contain servants or slaves. All members did their own labor and traded for whatever else they might need. Manual labor was an honorable function and kept the body strong. Even pups began to work at a very young age in cleaning their quarters, preparing food or whatever they were deemed capable of.

The females were also put through rigorous physical training and expected to pass Chiva, but their training was not as harsh or as lengthy as the males. Still, fitness and ability was required for a female to earn her status as a Bearer. Females who did not pass the tests might still earn a living making weaponry or cloth, but would never bear pups.

With the unbalanced training between males and females, and the penalty for male failure being death, the number of breeding Dur'an females had been historically greater than the number of males. This was usually not a problem as one male was capable of servicing many females and the Yautja did not take permanent mates. If a Dor'an warrior was truly desirable, and the females impatient, they would spar for him with the winner taking him first and the loser either waiting her turn or taking another.

Now that the Yautja females were all dead, most of the Dor'an Clan had decided that breeding prey was a depth to which they would not fall. A few claimed ooman women, but were shunned by the majority and had to flee in their transports for fear that they, their females and pups would be destroyed. All in all, Clan Dor'an had become a tense and frustrated society. Their leaders met often, arguing what the best course of action would be and how to continue their lines. Desperate to preserve their way of life, new experiments in maintaining traditional female roles with the males who failed their warrior training arose.

Considering themselves racially purer than other Clans, the Dor'an had pulled away from the rest of the planet and formed another city on Yaut. From there they launched transports to service their many Clanships. They had membership on the High Council, but for most Hunters, the Council High Elders were the only Dor'ans they might hope to see, unless one happened to run into them servicing their ship at a deep space station or on a Hunt. If the Dor'an were hunting an area that you intended to hunt, logic prevailed over honor as your ship quickly departed the already claimed area. Most other Clans now considered them set in their ways, fixtures of long ago who still clung to their ancient ways and were more for themselves than the whole of Yaut.

Young Theron was determined to learn, survive and surpass his fellows. He put the cold ground and the gnawing hunger to the back of his mind, and practiced relaxing parts of his body trying to induce sleep, knowing that those who lacked rest eventually became vulnerable. As he laid there focusing on easing tension in his feet and then working up his entire body, he heard the faint whimper of a cold pup in the darkness. Cracking open an eye he saw the movement of large warriors around the sleeping group. Then another whimper weakly eked into the night air followed by the thump of a large fist hitting a small target which squealed in the dark. The rest of the night was silent as the pup gently rubbed his bruised ribs, now too nervous and cold to seek sleep.

Theron almost involuntarily shivered with cold at the vivid memory, but caught himself. The class was still attentive to the boring, droning trainer who recited a historic tale to further illustrate his lesson of the cycle. The Dor'an warrior shifted on the hard bench and let his mind wander again back to his youth…

He was hungry. The first part of the training was successfully ingrained in him and he had lived in spite of the harsh conditions and the painful lack of food. An evening meal was served to the students as their only nourishment for the day. The thin broth of ground nuts and fruit was only partially nourishing with not enough calories to sustain them when undergoing such rigorous training.

Every day before classes, he and the others ran. They ran the entire way around their city, Jan-en'a, on a rough dirt path, supervised and egged on by the heavy footfalls of guards who breathed lightly along side them. It was in the cool of the morning when they began each cycle, but it was in the heat of the height of the sun's zenith when they finally completed the circuit and were allowed to drink their fill of the first water of the day. No more would come until nightfall.

Theron looked at his body which had shed any water weight it carried and had consumed its stores of survival fat several cycles ago. He was leaner than he had ever been, but knew that if his muscles were to grow and he was to accomplish the training that lay ahead, he needed more food to survive.

He waited that night until all the others were asleep, and the warrior guards were quietly at their posts. Yaut's two small moons were not yet visible, making perfect blackness for stealing away from the sleeping area. Quietly, he rolled over onto his belly and scanned the camp. No one appeared to have spotted him. He was surrounded by apparently still slumbering forms. The guards, who were posted in twos around the perimeter of the sleepers, seemed to be more interested in speaking to each other than watching the students. Slowly he got to his feet, crouching low, alertly ready to duck beside a sleeping form to camouflage his heat. He kept his breathing steady and even - as though he were still asleep, lest the hearing of one of the warriors catch his exertion. He listened and scented the still warm night air for a time, trying to determine if any of the guards had spotted him. Detecting nothing alarming, he moved as in slow-motion out of the camp, slipping between the guards and out into the taller growth that would assist in hiding him. He headed back to civilization where he could find food.

He kept his pace to a walk, silent footfalls not betraying his position as he swerved through the clusters of plants. The training facility was located out of eye-sight of the city, hidden away in a wide ravine left from when water had formed small rivers on the surface of the land. He had followed the ancient dry riverbed away from camp knowing it led in the general direction of the metropolis. As the riverbed widened and the steep sides of the ravine gentled into a flatter landscape, he turned out of the prehistoric waterway, climbed the mild rise and found himself on a sparsely vegetated plain. Jutting his chin forward he tasted the breeze with an open mouth and soon found the odor of civilization as a trail to follow. Huffing, he dared break into a jog the rest of the way on the hard packed surface his stomach only occasionally betraying his condition with a low burbling complaint. e HTrusting his ability to figure the proper direction, he was soon rewarded as a few still-lit windows beckoned to him when the hilltop city came into view.

He changed his trajectory to the small gap in the stone walls that he and many other pups knew about. Too small for an adult to squeeze through, it had been the pathway for mischievous pups to sneak out of the city into the unguarded wilderness for an adventure. It now served as a lifesaving aperture to the sustenance that would allow him to succeed and become a warrior.

Once through the wall, he headed for the open market where the vendors would be sleeping near their laden carts. Silent as a thought, he crept into the square and scented the area where the flesh vendors' carts slept as soundly as their mistresses. No vendor heard or scented him as his body cut through the darkness like a knife, leaping from cart to cart above the ground. In the morning the females would find their stores of preserved meat broken into and not even a footprint in the dust to identify the thief.

But they knew. Stories of the hardships that their sons were forced to endure had made their way through the circles of females over time and the Bearers among them secretly hoped it was their offspring who was pilfering life-giving food. In fact, some of them simply pretended to be asleep and watched for the thin students to appear as they learned the art of stealth, only jumping up to confront one who was especially clumsy or loud. Usually a sound smack with an open hand would send the pup running off to give a better try another time. The other females who were also not really asleep would give chitters of laughter when the sound of a large hand hitting bare pup flesh rang through the market. They would assist in the teaching of their pups whether the warriors knew it or not!

A satiated Theron made his way back into the students' quarters as carefully and quietly as he had left. Creeping back to his place where he slept very soundly for the rest of the night. Early in the morning he was awakened by the growls of the warrior guards. They roughly snatched up one of the pups and as he flew through the air shreds of dried meat fell from his clenched hands and chummed nearby olfactory nerves with their scent. Theron was shocked to learn he had not foraged alone last night! The grabbed pup was immediately dragged by his locks to a nearby stone pillar, stood upright and then bound to the rock with his back to the audience. A stern warrior came at him with a lash and the dour warning – "do not make a sound if you value your life."

The warrior cracked the air with his whip, letting the trussed pup know what was to happen. Then he snapped out the first skin-rendering flick and the punished gasped for breath, tightening every muscle in his body as his flesh screamed in pain. The youngling took five lashes which left deep marks in his back with never a sound. With each strike, he clenched his tusks and never made even a whisper of pain as his body tightened and he held his breath each time the leather touched him. Green pools formed on the ground below, filling from the steady drip of the newly made ravines.

When the whipping was finished, the sinner was cut down and led to the Healers who would keep infection at bay. He would carry his scars for life to remind him of this lesson. The lead trainer turned to the pups and asked, "Do you know why he was punished?"

Silence was his answer, each pup too afraid of what would happen if he gave the wrong reply.

"There is no punishment for an incorrect answer, there will be group punishment if no one figures this lesson out!" the trainer barked.

A pup across the group from Theron bowed his head, thereby requesting to speak. The trainer rumbled, "You! What is your answer?"

"He was punished for stealing."

"Wrong answer!" the warrior boomed. "Who has the correct answer?"

The pup standing next to Theron inclined his head and, once recognized, boldly replied, "He was punished for sneaking out of our sleeping grounds."

"No!" growled the trainer, "My tusks click with eagerness to punish you all into thinking! What was the reason?" he bellowed.

Theron had been assessing and could come up with only one other plausible answer, so he slowly bowed his head.

"Ah, another brave thinker! What is your answer?"

"He was caught, Honorable Warrior."

"You reasoned this out, youngling? Explain yourself to this group!"

Theron stood with quiet dignity and replied, "He stole meat, but was not punished for that. He was punished because he was caught with the evidence of his crime. If he had not had the scraps on him, he would not have been punished."

"I believe we have a wise one in the group, fellow Warriors!" They all chortled and clicked and Theron fought embarrassment. Had he been wrong?

"You are correct young fighter, and you have saved this group from doing two laps of the city today. Mark my words young pups, the crime is NOT that he stole food – he was hungry. How do you think any of you are going to survive my training without stealing some food? But, if you are caught – ka! You will be punished. This will instill both bravery and stealth into your heart and bones. Those who are not brave enough to try – you will die! Those of you who try and are caught – you see what will happen."

With his speech finished he gave young Theron a pat on the head, making the youngling giddy with delight. He had proven himself to the lead trainer! This time anyway…

Theron was brought back to the present by the completion of the Hunter's speech and the assembly of the unblooded in the center of the school arena. They were trying not to stare at him. They had studied about the different Clans but had never laid eyes on or scented a Dor'an member before. He looked so different! Some would chitter later that he was reminiscent of their long-gone females with his slight mandibles, but not as muscular or tall. Some would wonder - if the Dor'an were too proud to mate with oomans, who or what did they mate?

Theron gracefully got to his feet and proudly walked over to the nearest half-grown pup and gave him a moderate shoulder shove – the youngling hit the ground. Theron laughed his clicking laugh and went to the next one who swayed but stood his ground. The lesson was on and many sore younglings with more than bruised egos would be seeking the healer's soothing salves later this cycle.


Sally sat alone in her quarters, intensely studying the translated text on the screen in front of her. She had looked up some information on Theron's Clan, and had found that his ancestral group also had a version of the bathe-together-naked ceremony as an act of confidence and bonding like she had participated in on Ulfr's ship. The ceremony obligated them to each other as Hunt Brothers, ensuring that they would act as a trusting team.

From her reading, she found that even as Matriarch she did not have the right to call anyone to join her in a binding ritual, however her Consort did. Her mind wandered about where to find a large very private bath, perhaps he would know where that could be found. And just where is Aldulfr? She contacted Sig'dan and found he was en route to a training session with his Sire. "Perfect! I wish to speak with both of you when you are finished, please come to my quarters later."

Sally kept studying about the Dor'an Clan and found their history fascinating. They were the founding Clan of the Yautja from which all other Clans had sprung over time. So had all Hunters looked like Theron at one time? She was reassured that he was a representative specimen as she looked at holograms of other Dor'an Hunters. All of them were leaner and smoother then any other Yautja she had seen. Did they still appear the same as they had when the other Clans were founded, or had they continued to evolve beyond brutish "cave-Yautja" more than their brothers?

She also watched several recordings of the Dor'an at spar. That their challenges differed from the few she had witnessed was an understatement. The shoulder shove was the same, the crouching, circling, mandibles fully expressed, and threatening growls were the same. However, once the action began the similarity ended. The two Hunters became a whirling graceful dance, nearly faster than the eye could follow as they hurled themselves at each other in the jehdin-jehdin, or hand-to-hand, contest. The ending was different also, at least in the several 'spars' she watched. They were all to the death. The victor lived; the loser would no longer spread his inferior genes through the race. It was very harsh to human eyes. Certainly all their spars could not end that way! There must be some allowance for the young to be trained, her logic reasoned.

And if they did not mate with human women, how did they plan for their continuation? That point truly puzzled her as she knew, firsthand, of the Hunters' strong instincts to procreate. How were the Dor'an going to propagate themselves?

As the Matriarch studied their deadly graceful forms she became more and more convinced that a connection needed to be forged between Theron, her Consort, her lover and herself – to protect her children and to keep Sig'dan from harm. She had not appreciated the young Hunter's inexperienced youth on Earth, but here, especially as she had witnessed Theron so easily best him, she began to understand the danger he was in as her mate and why Ulfr had talked her into accepting his Sire as Consort.

She wondered why Myn'dill had supplied such a potentially lethal translator. She would ask him at the first opportunity. For now she pondered on if a Hunt Brother bond could be created between Hunters of differing Clans? She sent her queries in that direction and soon learned that on a few rare occasions such a Hunt Bond had been formed in the past. Armed with knowledge and precedent, the indomitable woman waited for her Consort and Sig'dan to call on her.

The training pair entered her room in good spirits, Sig'dan having learned much this day and his Sire apparently pleased with his progress. Sally noticed how much more at ease the Hunter acted with the Elite Arbitrator, still respectful of course, but calm and collected rather than on edge. "Please sit," she motioned to the large table surrounded by seating cubes. She walked to the stepped perch created just for her and ascended to her place, while motioning for an aseigan to bring liquid refreshment.

Aldúlfr spoke and Sig'dan translated, "Honorable Matriarch, the Consort wishes to know something, and he asks it in a teasing way. He noticed that your language assistant is not here, and wonders if you finally tired of him?"

Huge mandibles waved a bit as the Consort enjoyed his little jibe. Sally looked at him and gave a familiar tooth-covered smile. Now that she knew his secret, tensions between them had greatly eased. "Please tell him that I have given my translator a few hours off, in order that I might speak with both of you privately. Let it be noted; however, that I do tire easily of my Hunters." She fixated her gaze and a smirk right at the Arbitrator.

Sig'dan spoke in Yautja to the behemoth beside him at the table as the Consort sat with his eyes fixated on Sally while her words were spoken to him. He clicked his tusks rapidly and chortled, enjoying her quick comeback.

"I need to speak with you of something important to me. Aldulfr, it is my wish, no…my order, that you prepare a Hunt bonding ritual ceremony for yourself, Sig'dan and…Theron."

Sig'dan nearly choked as he heard her words. He did NOT want to give his Sire this order from his Matriarch, fearing abuse of the messenger. He had no choice though, and turned to the Arbitrator and carefully gave him the order.

No sooner had the name of Theron passed through Sig'dan's teeth than Aldúlfr slammed his fist on the table, loosing a true threat from his throat while an unbelieving glower took over his golden eyes. Why in Paya's name does she ask this of me?

Sally calmly looked straight at him, unwavering as she received the beacon of glittering rage transmitted from them. He spoke clicking short words back to Sig'dan and Sally soon heard, "No. Hunters from his Clan do not bind with ours."

She cocked her head and stared at Aldúlfr, "No? You tell me no?" The Consort averted his eyes, knowing his blunder. He had publically sworn to obey her and she had sworn to submit to him. She had lived up to her side of the bargain. Sally ignored his discomfort, "I have studied this and there is precedent for differing Clans to become Hunt Brothers under certain circumstances. Well, we have those circumstances right now."

The Arbitrator looked fiercely at her his crown raised, jaws spread in threat and the gold turning to piss in his eyes. If she didn't know that he was her sworn defender and trusted him to keep his word, if only for his honor, she would have been afraid. He growled and Sig'dan translated, "What would those circumstances be?"

"I require it. Therefore, I am ordering you," she returned, smugly. "I will also order Theron to attend. He is sworn to serve me."

"But why would Theron attending the ritual serve you, Sally?" Sig'dan rudely jumped in, forgetting her title and his place in this conversation. He was reminded by a sound thump to the back of his head by his Sire.

"Because I will need his translation services. I am attending also." She looked Sig'dan squarely in the face and then moved her laser beams to Aldúlfr. "This conversation is over. Consort, you will do as I have commanded as soon as possible. Sig'dan attend me in my quarters, I wish to speak with you." With that she climbed down from her roost with as much dignity as possible, when going down steps with no handrail, and marched off, leaving the two Hunters staring at her, and then each other.

I'm beginning to see why Ulfr was attracted to her, Aldúlfr regarded her respectfully as she departed, and then mentally smacked himself for having even an inkling of such a thought. Then he huffed in anger thinking of completing a Hunt Bonding with rangy, prideful and painfully excellent in combat - Theron. True, the Dor'an did not mate with oomans, but if the translator ever challenged him for her he was not certain of the outcome. At least if he lost to the fine-mandibled one he could count on a quick death to separate him from the shameful scene.

What the pauk is she up to now, wondered Sig'dan, watching his Sire carefully. If he leaves to begin his task as she requested, I'm going after her. After all, she did order me to her quarters, he thought smugly.

But the Consort stayed to speak with Sig'dan. "Is there anyone who can talk sense to her? We are going to need more of an excuse to form this Hunt binding than 'she requires it'. That is either the smartest ooman I have ever met or she is crazy! She doesn't know what she's up against with a Dor'an," he chortled grimly. "But having one on her side would be quite a weapon in her cache. Ha! Can you imagine all of us on a Hunt together? I have not hunted anything but Badbloods since before you were born! Let us research a pretense, my honored bloodline Hunter."

Sig'dan could not think due to the enormous accolade his Sire had just given him. Plus, the Arbitrator had just requested his assistance. He was all he could do to not balloon his chest with pride. "I am honored to assist in this, my Elder." He bowed in respect as Aldúlfr scented his offspring's pleasure at his words.

"I will leave to begin this quest," his Sire offered, "you must obey her and go to her room. Just what does she have planned for you?" he jested in amazingly good humor. "I hope you can train tomorrow and the enchantment of her mouth has not depleted all your energy from you."

Sig'dan's enjoyment of his Sire imploded into the black hole of reality as he realized his Sire spoke from experience and felt once more that the Consort's dominion of Sally was being rubbed in his face. Scenting his irritation, Aldúlfr thought, you do not know the meaning of frustration, my grown pup. He nodded to the young Hunter and took his exit, leaving goaded Sig'dan to go to the Matriarch.

Sally was pacing the floor impatiently when her Hunter entered, explaining that his Sire had spoken with him. "Well," she challenged, "What is your opinion of my idea?"

"It depends on your purpose, Sally. Why do you wish for this to happen?"

"I believe that it would be…healthy…for all concerned if you three became Hunt Brothers. I want you to have each other's back."

"I heard about my Sire's attack on Theron. Are you concerned for your translator's safety?"

"I would not want him to be unable to translate for me, Sig'dan, as you are not always able to be at my side."

"You know that I would like to be," he moved closer and put the strength of his arms around her.

"You know I'd like that too," she murmured, "but it can't always be." She nestled her ear to his chest and heard the familiar thumping of his heart.

"And, are you concerned for my safety," he softly questioned.

"I don't want to…insult you."

"It is easy to see that I was seriously mastered by him. He won fairly. I respect him for his talent and skill, Sal-lee."

"And if he ever took it upon himself, he could easily injure or even kill you Sig'dan!" She pulled away to see his eyes, "How could I go on without you?"

"As easily as you go without me now, my Matriarch," he retorted, smarting to himself at his youth and inability to kick everyone's ass to claim her for himself.

"Sig'dan, that's not what I meant. Yes I have Theron as translator and I have a Consort to defend me, but I don't require their presence like I require yours. There's no other that I desire, or even want to be near, like I do you. If there was a way, I'd claim you for only myself. The thought of sharing you with anyone burns anger deep inside me. And the knowledge that I'll never bear you a child brings sadness to my heart." She looked downcast after her confession.

The Hunter placed his warm palms on either side of her face, "Sal-lee, do you resent Mel-an-ee?"

"Actually…I…like her. She is smart and quick, and outspoken, but…yes. I resent her because she is young and beautiful and she's carrying your pup!" she stated fiercely.

"You are special to me," he rumbled in a near-whisper. "You will always be the one who gave of herself willingly to me and was my first taste of the pleasures of mating. You were the one I dreamed about back on your planet and never thought I would have you. And when I did…female, you have no idea of what pleasure you gave, and continue to give, me! But our ways are not ooman ways. You now have a Consort, and you must pleasure him at his request. Still, I will be with you whenever I can. I will always want you, Sal-lee."

"I can tell you care for her, Sig'dan. For Melanie."

"I do care for her, she bears my pup and I owe her much after treating her so dishonorably."

"So there isn't more to it, Sig'dan? You don't want her – sexually?"

The Hunter gave the equivalent of a frown with his mandibles, spreading the lower ones wide. "I will always be truthful with you – she is…appealing. But, I would never force myself on her…like I did before. And, I do not believe she is interested in me. I have never scented her desire."

Sally couldn't let it go, "So, if she was interested in you then you would?"

"I do not want to upset you, and I sense this is a delicate topic for you." The Hunter looked at her with gentlest softness in his eyes as he ran the back of his hand fondly over her cheek.

"I'm tough, I can take it. Tell me."

Sig'dan ploughed through his hesitation at her order, "If Mel-an-ee wanted me that way, yes…I would. It would mean another pup in my line, Sal-lee. It is our way to mate with many. You are free to mate with any you choose you know."

"I know…I know. I'm just having a difficult time with it…when it comes to you. I don't want to share you with anyone. I'm very selfish about you. And I honestly don't want anyone else," she half-grinned at him. "When I'm with the Consort, it is out of duty – nothing more. Just do me a favor, please. If you do mate with someone else, I don't want to know about it."

"It would be difficult to hide a pregnant Mel-an-ee from your eyes."

"Well, if that happens, maybe it could happen after she goes back to Earth. Perhaps she can find someplace safe there."

"In the meantime, Matriarch, I intend to satisfy your greed for me at every opportunity," he growled, picking her up and carrying her to the bed. She let out a soft scream of mock horror and weakly struggled against him.

They reached her sleeping platform and Sig'dan set her down. As he bent over her, she took his face between her hands and looked into the depths of his bright brown eyes for a moment before reaching behind his neck to press the button that released his protective collar. She had studied this technique in the mating diaries of the Yautja females, and hoped he would enjoy what had failed so miserably, and understandably, with the Consort.

She scooted back on the bed and he joined her on the furs. As he climbed in, she pushed on his chest, silently ordering him to position on his back. How well he knew her wordless intimate commands for what she wanted. His muscles flexed as he easily laid back and then she pulled on a lock until he raised himself up questioningly on his elbows wondering what her plan was. Wearing a wicked smile, she placed a leg over his thighs and sat facing him upon his pulsing lap. Then Sally's delicate fingertips brushed ticklingly under his chin, teasing it upward. Breathless with excitement, Sig'dan tilted his head, baring the thin sensitive skin of his neck to her, while his huffs grew heavier and more excited, anticipating her attention to this most sensitive unexplored area.

Sally opened her top and grazed his chest with the softness of her breasts as she crawled over him, watching a vein in his neck pulse his thrill at the feel of her. Reaching his throat, she wet her lips with her tongue and then kissed his skin, moving the fullness of her moist passion against him. Grabbing his skin with her teeth, a growl of stimulation vibrated under her as she toyed with his flesh. Biting just hard enough to bruise, Sally then used her tongue to smooth and pet the abused place. Sig'dan groaned his pleasure as she first assaulted and then wetly petted his throat and they both felt the tension grow under his cloth.

Let it wait, he thought, wanting to savor every moment with her. There was no rush, no hurry as he relished every teasing nip followed by the coaxing tongue and pliant lips. They had all the time…where is the Consort? When will he return? Sig'dan's bliss was rudely interrupted by this vital nerve-wracking question. Pulling Sally away, he asked worriedly, "Where is my Sire?"

"Relax, my love – he is away following my orders for the cycle. He will not interrupt us. Now lay back and let me give you something else to worry about," she threatened.

"With pleasure and then I have something that I shall worry YOU with," he spread his face in sincere challenge to her and lowered himself down.

"Keep your jaws just like that," she asked, moving in so close he could feel her breath on his teeth. "Now, gently close them so they touch me."

He had never experienced this with her, or with anyone, before. It was an altered version of an expression of supreme Yautja intimacy, one he could not enact completely with her as she lacked the equipment.

Gently he enclosed the sides of her head in his jaws, and to his incredulity she completed the act in her own way – she moved her hands to just below his jaw line and then wiggled a single finger on each side into the small space left there until her digits reenacted the role of female mandibles, touching the sides of his inner face while pressed there by his larger side jaws.

He found himself emotionally moved as she lay on top of him, and his eyes closed while he simply savored the pressure of her against his face as he dominantly held her helplessly. With his eyes closed, it was easy to forget that it was her fingers pressing his face. It was easy to believe that Sally had grown petite feminine mandibles that grasped him in anticipation of ecstasy.

He grunted and began to tear at her loincloth. It gave easily and he grasped her body, quickly shifting both of them over and pulling her into a bent-forward position as she held herself on her hands and knees. She thrilled to his sudden desperate demand for her as the eager flush of wanting him took over her body. Oh God, I triggered his instinct! He's taking me like one of his own!

She felt him prod into her, not with the usual gentle pushes, but with a great thrust as he went into her body as far as it would initially allow. Sally groaned in pleasure at the sudden fullness inside but had no time to relax as the wound up Hunter grasped her hips more firmly and made yet another thrust forward, and another and another - going deeper and deeper until he was fully consumed by her.

Sig'dan was immersed in the moist tightness that clasped around him as he nudged the very bottom of this place of pleasure. He growled and began to back up a little and then plunge forward into the growing wetness, feeling the drag on his swollen head with each pull. The object of his passion began whining as he provoked her to the place of mindless desire, the place where the rut encompassed all feeling, all sensation.

He increased his pace, not allowing her any time to adjust or think, only to feel and react. His seed creators began to tighten, building tension in readiness to explode. He cast aside any logic regarding Sally's condition and pictured her womb entrance painted with his seed as his need to impregnate the vessel beneath him caused him to reach down and sink his tusks into the already scarred shoulder. Grunting through his closed jaws, he jerked his body into her as deeply as he could go. Then, raising his head to the ceiling, he bawled out in fervor, his seed bursting into her depths while she shuddered and whined under him.

Sally was breathless with the pace of his rut. She had mimicked the feeling of a Yautja female's tusks on each side of his face underneath his mandibles just as she'd studied in the library readings. He had reacted explosively. Almost throwing her to hands and knees he had entered her with a series of deepening jolts and then began a frantic pace that was nearly painful. His feverish hardness, his mindless taking of her, brought Sally such a peak of pleasure that she nearly fainted.

He caught her as she slumped under him, and gently withdrew to turn her over. Gently he petted her face watching her fluttering eyes under they finally opened. Her words came between pants, "Damn, that was…unexpected. Unexpected and…beyond good."

"Sei, it was. I am still trying to understand it."

"Oh, don't think it to death, Sig'dan! Just enjoy it."

The Hunter laid down beside her and was quiet for a time as his breathing returned to normal. "Sal-lee…earlier…you called me something different."

"I did?"

"Yes, you called me 'my love'. I am somewhat familiar with the word love, but used that way - what does it mean?"

"Oh, yes, I did. It means that I care for you deeply. It means that you are very, very, very important to me. It means…it means I have deep positive emotions for you, Sig'dan."

"I am pleased that I am important to you. You are important to me – very important and I have deep positive emotions regarding you also."

Sally smiled a relaxed happiness and forgot to hide her teeth, but Sig'dan knew that it was not a challenge from her. It was a sign that she felt good, and was pleased. He thought of a question for her, "Sally…have you ever told anyone else this? That they were important to you and you had emotions for them?"

Sally thought for a moment. "Only my parents…my Bearer and my Sire, but those emotions were those of a child caring for its family – not a woman with feeling for her lover – her mate. Do you understand?

"I know that you are very special, and that when I am with you I experience great enjoyment – whether it is in our conversation or our mating. And when I am away from you, I think of you often. And…" he turned his face away from her in anticipation of the verbal admission of his deepest thoughts, "if Paya would grant me one thing, it would be that I was older and stronger and could beat the c'jit out of any who would challenge me for you."

"You…you do understand!" She laid her face upon his chest and listened to the well-known song of life playing within him. "If you were my human mate, there are special words that I would say to you and to no other."

"Say them then," he softly asked.

"Sig'dan…I love you."

He pulled her up onto his chest and looked deep into her green eyes. "Would I say something back?"

"Yes, you would tell me the same words."

"Sal-lee, I love you." He paused as other thoughts intruded upon his mind, "We will need to explain to Theron that the Hunt ritual is to seal our bond as your protector's and to protect the pups. He may or may not see the logic in this."

"Then I must convince him, my love."

They embraced and then Sally relaxed into sleep by the lullaby of the beating of Sig'dan's heart. He remained conscious, turning over her reasoning in his head. Realizing that she desired to protect him from Theron a small growl of dismay left his mouth. He reminded himself she was ooman and meant him no dishonor, but the translator would probably consider it a joke to bond to him – what need did a Dor'an warrior have of a newly Blooded Hunter to assist him?