A few points to straighten up from the last chapter since I was worried they might not be clear:

1. O'joath is the name of the Yautja who killed Thwo-stba (clan leader and Riot's mentor) and nearly killed Riot

2. The white eyed Hunter is Vechaath's Hunt Brother, meaning they completed their Blooding Rituals together and share a close bond (and to those who didn't catch my awful introduction of his name, it's Ah'kiat (Ah-keeyaht))

3. Hwynn is pronounced by tacking an H sound onto the start of 'win'. There isn't really a better way to explain that, sorry

Reunions (and awh moments) ahead! Enjoy!

Waking in the familiar confines of the Yautja cruiser had been a surreal experience. Her first eyefull upon stirring had been Riot's trophy wall, the dozens of souvenir skulls staring back at her with their empty sockets, and beneath them, stored just as neatly as she remembered, both his armor and her own.

The damage she'd taken from the creature Vechaath had referred to as a skrullix and the scavengers who'd nearly done her in had been repaired by melding the same alien alloy comprising Riot's armor to her standard issue UAA gear, giving the set a ragged mismatch appearance she didn't hate. It'd kept her alive on more than one occasion now and she'd developed a sentimental attachment to the dented and scratched pieces. Even the purloined replacement helmet.

Pheist dragged a hand across her sleep encrusted eyes and gingerly rolled to her back in search of said purloiner of human equipment. The motion didn't leave her breathless in pain, but neither did it feel the best.

Riot wasn't far. Seated cross legged on the pelts behind her, he looked up from the dog eared book he held open in his lap, the pose striking her as such a human one that it served as a stark reminder of his ancestry. She was filled with the uncharacteristic urge to throw her arms around him and squeeze, an effusive gesture he probably wouldn't have known what to make of.

"Miss your books, big guy?"

At his questioning response of a canted head she couldn't help smiling.

"Such a nerd. Here, pass it over," she prompted with a flick of her hand, knowing he wouldn't pass up an opportunity to be read to.

The small chirp of unanticipated pleasure which left him as he complied filled her with warmth. It almost seemed incomprehensible that he'd nearly died, that she'd nearly lost him, and while she knew there were a lot of hurdles yet to come - Vechaath's words were already circling in her mind like an ill omen along with guilt over Jaele's plight - she needed this one short moment of solitude before facing all that.

Picking up from where his talon indicated he'd left off, she started to read aloud to him, reciting the dialogue with particular histrionics and grinning at his indulgent corresponding trills or grumbles. He put up with the theatrics for just one chapter before removing the book from her fingers and gently scooping her up from the furs to carry her into the wet room, something she didn't even protest. She felt gross and relished in the heat of the water sluicing over her, scouring the grime away while he carefully raked his claws through her hair. Had she been feeling more herself she might have pestered him to bring her to the healing pools, but that would involve possibly crossing paths with other Yautja, and those weren't waters she wished to test right then.

By the time he shut off the shower she was listing lethargically against him and wasn't even bothered by being tucked naked and wet in amongst the plush pelts again. Her eyes drifted closed promptly.

The mess was crowded, which was actually a relief. More bodies meant their arrival went unnoticed for several minutes, which was long enough to locate a table near the corner - the same one she'd first met Lola at, Pheist realized as she sat down beside rather than across from Riot. He'd seated himself with his back to the wall and she agreed with the precaution, having no desire to have a room full of Hunters - who likely resented them if Vechaath's pronouncement was anything to go by - out of her line of sight either.

Posture rigid and alert, Riot surveyed the milling and eating Yautja while they waited for an 'aseigan to bring them food.

After waking from another nap of indeterminable length, her stomach had made its empty state known - loudly. And not knowing how their presence would be received didn't change the fact there was only one way to procure sustenance on the ship. While she would have preferred not to be nursing broken ribs when potentially faced with multiple hostile aliens, she knew hiding in Riot's cabin for overly long would only diminish their standing further in others' eyes, if that was even possible at this point.

Riot issued a growl of consternation as a third 'aseigan passed by their table without depositing food.

Avoiding a scene had always been low on her list of probable outcomes, but if even the servant caste no longer respected them, the likelihood a physical altercation could be averted was basically nil.

Riot was starting to rise, his golden gaze locked on another approaching 'aseigan when a slight figure bounded in front of the alien suddenly and rushed up to the table.

"Jaele!" she blurted in delirious shock at the unexpected appearance of the other woman, drawing yet more attention and snarls from neighbouring tables. "How-? What happened? Are you-" Okay? What kind of question was that? Pheist gave up on coming up with something less crass and frantically examined her from the knot of coiled braids piled atop her head to her bare feet instead.

Ugly bruises were fading from her heart-shaped face, but the oversized robe belted around her tiny frame hid any other injuries from sight. She turned, looking between the two of them, then cast her honey eyes around the mess hall.

"He's not here - at least, I don't think," Pheist supplied, understanding dawning on her.

"But he's alright?" Her voice was so anxious, it redoubled Pheist's guilt. She hadn't asked Riot what had become of the others yet, mentally preparing to deal with the mess had been taking up all of her meager brain power so far.

"He's alive." More than that, she couldn't say and questioning Riot via the sign language provided only a disinterested grunt. "Sit down. Please," she insisted after imparting him with her most irritated glare for his unhelpfulness.

Jaele did so, and Pheist wasn't sure if it was her imagination or not that the petite woman's movements were tentative. Still, when she spoke her voice was laced with a resoluteness which hadn't been there before. "Tell me everything."

Pheist had warned her.

Somehow, the fact he appeared almost just as he had before the ambush made it all the worse. Apart from a few darkened splotches marking his mossy hide which she assumed to be bruising, he looked unharmed in the dim lighting spilling in from the hallway. She knew he wasn't expecting her to be there and that the few moments it took him to discern as much were owing fully to the fact her scent would have lingered even after she'd left the food for him on all those days prior. She greedily examined his shadowed silhouette as he stood in the doorway, listening, his soft inhalations as he tested the air barely registering to her inferior hearing. All of the beads were gone from his dreads, she realized with some surprise, and a few of the black tubules yet bore indentations from where they'd been clasped. His talons were ragged, as though broken off, and at least one seemed to have been ripped free. The imagined pain of such an injury caused an involuntary shudder which he picked up on immediately, his head whipping in her direction, dreads flying in an arc as he did so.

A feral snarl tore from his throat and his hands flexed, coming up from his sides. That was when she saw them - his eyes. Once so vibrant and exotic, now scarred and clouded over in a grayish film, his pupils indistinguishable.

"It's just me," she squeaked, unprepared despite Pheist's words. Her heart clenched sharply at the sight.

Rather than assuage him, the sound of her voice only agitated him further, lending a whole new layer of hostility to his threatening growling. His mandibles flared to their fullest reach and he took a single purposeful step, those jagged talons curling.

Jaele hadn't run the first time and she didn't run now. The display - and that was what she knew it to be - worried her only insomuch as she didn't wish to anger him further. He wouldn't hurt her. She was still unworthy prey. He didn't need to see her to know that. She went forward, treading heavier than she normally might so that he would recognize her approach and not be caught off guard a second time. "It's just me," she repeated, lower and with intent. "I'm right here."

She watched his body tauten as she stopped before him. The rumbling deepened and heightened in pitch in fits, the most erratic she'd ever heard him produce. Just as she lifted her hand he shifted backwards, clawed feet rasping against the deck.

Frowning, she followed as he haphazardly fell back into the darkness, raising his talons as though poised to lash out but never doing so. The cabin was pitch black and she shuffled carefully in his wake as he backed away from her, the continuously swelling and falling crescendo of his protests battering her eardrums.

The moment his heel hit what must have been the far wall he released a bellow so loud she threw her hands over her ears in alarm. It seemed to go on and on, the violence of it assaulting all of her senses, not only her hearing. When he'd finally depleted his lungs, his chest heaved with the spent effort and his harsh breaths sounded muffled to her abused ears. His head jerked minutely from side to side as though he'd deafened himself in the process and no longer knew where she was in the room.

Swallowing, Jaele dropped one hand warily from her head. She waited for a reaction, but he just stood with his back to the wall, slowly bringing his breathing under control. Before she could change her mind or wonder at her boldness in insinuating herself into his space, she laid her palm over his expanding ribcage.

He froze upon the contact, every aspect of his being stilling in an instant except for the twin thundering beneath her fingers. She left them there, waiting, not daring to press him further. The silence and the utter lack of movement dragged on so long she became uneasy - how long could Yautja hold their breath?

She reached out with her other hand and similarly pressed it to his chest, then slid it upwards as far as she could reach to the curve of his shoulder. His hide was hot - not just warm, but hot. Much more so than on any of the occasions their skin had touched previously. Was he ill? Was he less hale than he looked? Without the ability to see the hand signs, she was at a loss for how to communicate with him to ask.

"Let me help you." The words seemed to stir him somewhat. His mandibles twitched and drew in tightly. Riot's had done the same at times when he was in pain, it'd seemed. Apart from the bruises, though, she hadn't seen any obvious wounds on his tall frame. His heartbeats continued to thud heavily beneath her hand. She leaned in and tucked her face against his pebbled hide, rubbing her cheek over the firm expanse.

All at once, he released a shuddering rumble which reverberated through her entire body as his muscles quivered. Afraid he would throw her off now that he was no longer in a stupour, Jaele clasped herself to his torso. She heard a dull thump and glanced up cautiously to note his head had fallen back against the wall. She'd never before known him to behave in such a disturbed manner. Then again, she'd never forced herself into such close proximity to him either.

"Let me help you. Let me try." She knew he wouldn't understand the plea, but she couldn't stop herself from making it nonetheless - as much for her own sake as his. Life was less perilous now that she was no longer residing amongst the 'aseigan, but no less arduous. She laboured beneath a master armorer daily now for long hours, learning and refining techniques by observing and replicating the male's craft. She was fairly safe in the armory and in her quarters, but moving around the cruiser was still dangerous as a lone human. Hunters and 'aseigan alike disdained her, no matter that their leader - Vechaath, she'd learned - had deemed her worthy to at least attempt to earn her place. Why he'd done so, she still didn't understand. Nor had she laid eyes on him since to ask, though she understood now he'd been mounting an attack on the station Zihrait, Pheist, and Riot had been taken to. Pheist hadn't supplied many details of what had occurred, just that Vechaath had been less than forgiving of the three of them and of the events which had been the catalyst for the whole ordeal, labeling them as disgraced - which she suspected had just as much to do with Zihrait's altered demeanor as his vision.

The missing beads suddenly made sense. She'd noticed amongst the armorers that the number of adornments worn in their dreads seemed to correlate to their skill level and experience, the younger and smaller Yaujta possessing less while the older and larger had more. If it was surmised the beads represented accomplishments, then the removal of all of them must surely represent failure.

All because he'd wanted Pheist to train her. She'd explained the bargain some time ago, back on the planet with the twin suns.

Jaele closed her eyes and whispered. "You should have just left me there." The muscles of his abdomen leapt beneath her cheek, reminding her once more that he was not a willing participant in this interaction. The loneliness and uncertainty of the past weeks had left her strung out and starving for friendly contact, so much so she'd grilled Pheist to the point of exhaustion and now bullied her way into Zihrait's space.

Contrite, she eased back from his comforting warmth. It was obvious her presence had unsettled him, but she couldn't bear the thought of leaving him alone in the dark room. She went back to retrieve the platter of dried meat and nuts she'd gotten from the mess for him and carefully felt her way over to him once more. "Here." Extending the vessel towards him, she allowed it to bump lightly against his chest to encourage him to take it when he didn't at first do so and was relieved when a hand came up to accept it. Satisfied, she shifted to put her back to the wall beside him and slid down to sit on the floor. She wouldn't crowd him, but returning to her cabin alone didn't hold much appeal. He'd tolerated her company before - he'd taken her from the detention asteroid - and she still yearned to know why that was.

It took several pensive minutes, but eventually Zihrait lowered himself as well and she heard more than saw him begin to eat. This heartened her enough that she closed her eyes again, secure in the knowledge he was there with her.