Hannah had gone to sleep after he finally agreed to go on a hunt, as well as after eating some meet, sparring, and failing to meditate. She thought he needed a distraction. She was worried for him, he could see that clearly. And she wanted to know why, but how could he tell her? That the reason was because he kept thinking about how she was going to die? That he was watching her body deteriorate seemingly before his eyes and knew that in no time at all she would be gone? That once more he would lose a friend and be left alone?

Finding his sister among the Guan-mi had been no sort of consolidation. They were still yautja, still hunters, still followed the Path, a path he was so dangerously close to abandoning.

He paced in the training room, unable to meditate, unable even to sit still. The room seemed so unbearably small walking from one wall, turning and walking to another; his pace brisk, his muscles tight, his fingers flexing and curling into tight fists. His mind went back to his dream, of an old woman standing at the brink of darkness, smiling as she went to have her final hunt, and his dreams before them, of her smiling at him as he killed her.

He felt a painful hollow in his stomach at sight of his wristblades or glaive slipping into her flesh, her small hands resting on his arms or shoulder, or touching his face as blood poured from her mouth. Was that how it would end? He had thought once long ago that if worse came to worse he would be her final hunt, that she would adorn his wall as a trophy, another reminder.

He stopped.

He looked over his shoulder at the trophies behind him. Rattling, he turned, walking to the wall slowly. He stared at them, his human trophies. He lifted a hand to one, stroking its smooth surface. Butch is what Hannah called him, though she admitted she didn't know his real name. Beside him was Guy, the one who had shot Hannah in the stomach.

He slipped the skull off its mount and looked at it, into the hollow of its eyes, then back at the wall. Other humans he had hunted sat around them, above those were the members of the Kure Iradandaanya, their chief Biraragowe above them.

The female human yautja from the Guan-mi clan came to his mind. The last of her tribe, the yautja hunters. She was not old enough to be the woman he had spared, so she must have been the unborn child he had spared her for. She had thanked him for giving her sire an honorable death.

Something Hannah had wanted for her dam long ago.

Beside Biraragowe, John's skull, William's skull, Adam's skull, Tariq's skull, above all of them, in the center of the wall, Hidemitsu, his 'ototo.'

The emptiness in his stomach twisted as he reached out to touch the skull, claws glancing against the surface. That was right, he would put Hannah's skull next to his if he killed her. Another friend who he would be their final hunt. His claws slipped away from the samurai's skull, looking down at 'Guy' in his hand. His tusks clicked together, he felt heat rise from his chest to his eyes, the air felt solid as he tried to breathe. He couldn't. The thought of cleaning Hannah's skull. The thought of putting it on his wall. He didn't want it.

He didn't want it!

"NO!"

A roar tore through his chest, feeling like it split him apart as he smashed the skull against the wall. His body all but fell onto the trophy wall in front of him, tearing off Butch's skull and flinging it against the wall opposite him, roaring. His fists beat other skulls off their mounts, toppling them to the ground. He tore at them. Threw them. Humans whose names he knew, whose lives he took. Any of them could have been Hannah. If not on his wall on someone else's.

Panting for breath he ripped Hidemitsu's skull from the wall, whirling from the force of wrenching it free. He slipped on bone fragments, tumbled to his knees and elbows. He roared, pushing himself up, lifting the skull above his head. His eyes bored holes into the ground. He moved to smash the skull into the ground.

It was suddenly snatched from him.

Breath hit him in his chest and he snapped his gaze to Hannah, hugging the skull to her chest. Her wide eyes stared into his.

His chest heaved, his mandibles, spread wide, slowly closed over his mouth and he closed his eyes, rumbling as he shifted to his knees, looking away from the human.

He heard the sound of bone touching metal and felt Hannah's hands on his shoulders, asking frantically "Jar-hidda? What's happening? What's wrong?"

He rumbled again, his breathing finally slowing, but he didn't open his eyes. He felt her hand on his crest, she was trying to read his emotions in the way she knew how.

"Tell me what's wrong Jar-hidda," she pleaded quietly when her searching provided no answers. Rattling slowly he leaned forward and just rested his crest against her forehead. She didn't move away from him, but made a worried, uncertain noise.

Slowly, her hand slipped from the sides of his head to around his neck, something that should terrify him, but he trusted Hannah. The warmth of her cheek slid to his.

"I wish I could help you Jolly."

He was still for a long while. Just breathing. Fighting with himself and the heavy stone in his stomach. He couldn't explain to her what he was feeling. He didn't have words for it. There was pain from memories that hadn't hurt, shouldn't hurt, there was guilt where there should be pride, there was fear where there should be none.

At a loss, he moved his arms up and returned the gesture she was giving, wrapping her in his arms tightly, almost engulfing her. His tresses falling over her shoulder as he pressed against her. With great shame, he felt himself quiver and sounds of mourning resounded through his chest and his throat.

Like she was already dead and gone.

"Jolly...," she whispered after a moment, after his moaning had silenced. She leaned back, his tresses sliding from her shoulder. His eyes remained tightly closed as he loosened his arms. If she wanted to leave he'd let her. He wouldn't blame her, listening to a yautja weep so shamelessly. Had she been yautja, she would have reprimanded him for his weakness.

She did not, though, nor did she leave. She stood in front of him, and the heat of her hands moved to his shoulders, pressing against them and kneading them. His arms moved so that his hands alone rested on her back, and he forced his eyes to open, looking at her. She was barely taller than he in their position.

The grimace of her face told him of her concern for him, and he looked down, away from her, in disgrace. He heard her breathe heavily, then felt heat and the softness of her lips on his crest. His breath caught in his chest and he froze, feeling her lips again in a spot barely down from the last one. Again and again she pressed her lips to his crest, until she reached his brow, just above his spines.

He lifted his head, meeting her eyes with his. Hers were bright spots of heat, brighter than any other feature of her face. He heaved a breath, suddenly remembering how to do so. He felt her hands slid from his shoulders, moving again to his neck, her fingers resting on the rings around his neck, a thumb brushing against the bottom of his mandible.

She had kissed him. It was a human gesture but he knew what it meant.

Affection.

You're ugly.

Those were her words, but she wasn't looking at him with disgust.

His throat tightened as he began to form the first syllable of her name, then lost heart. What could he say to her? Explain what he was thinking? Or feeling? After everything he had taught her, after all his times reprimanding her for her behaviors for her emotions, for being against the Path, he was going to admit to his moment of weakness? That would be hypocrisy.

You don't know how to take care of a creature who feels.

Hashi's words came to him again, staring into her eyes.

"Come on Jolly," she whispered, stepping back her hands moving from his neck to his hands, pulling on him encouragingly, "you need to rest."

Rattling hesitantly, he slowly got to his feet, and she led him by a single hand out of the room, before her other hand slipped away from him.

It felt as if all his energy stayed behind with his trophies. He watched Hannah's back, occasionally looking at her face as she looked over her shoulder to check on him. He couldn't respond, not even to rattle encouragingly, to even lie and show that he was well.

Hannah led him to their room, to the bed and stood to the side to allow him into bed first. He looked to her to be sure, and she nodded.

He felt heavy as he crawled into the bed, giving Hannah enough room to lay behind him. He stayed on his side, his back to her, he couldn't face her. He closed his eyes tightly, begging for sleep to take him soon. He felt Hannah's hand on his back, rubbing gently in circles, soothing the tightness in his muscles.

Slowly, the heaviness in his body lifted, his muscles eased, his breathing leveled out. He still couldn't face her, but exhaustion finally settled in, and the blackness of sleep took him.

The best he could hope for was a dreamless night.