Za'ytaele switched between the hues of his bio-mask. A fresh set of footprints they were tracking led from the putrid stench of fish and seaweed at the docks up a narrow sandy trail and through the cliffside. The rain pelted his broad shoulders and ran small rivulets along the curves of his muscular definition. It was cold…and not exactly where he had imagined himself at that very moment.

He could feel the weight of Ve'jab's stare through the base of his skull. It angered him that such an indirect challenge was being so boldly made, his clanmate stalking him like prey. If there wasn't the presence of humans so close by, he would have thrown him down into the icy maws of the gray and blue tides, but not without a reprimanding taste of his blades in his side beforehand.

"You do not see to arm yourself with even your plasmacaster?" the other yautja huffed at him as they began their pursuit.

"It would not be a challenge otherwise," Za'ytaele coolly stated whilst simultaneously noting how many sets of prints lay before them. Their individual steps outlined their weight due to the depth and their height based on size. Three males, varying from six feet and over two hundred pounds.

Ve'jab made an indignant click of his mandibles together. "You sound like a freshly blooded."

Za'ytaele didn't turn his head to address the insult. "You sound as though you have been relying on your arsenal rather than your skills." His words were echoed from centuries of training youngbloods, honing their minds and bodies into the most capable of hunters before they partook in their own chiva that made them blooded warriors. "Complacency breeds death."

The dark green yautja growled low in his chest, promptly being ignored as Za'ytaele began the initial stalk up the slope. Despite their hulking weight, they made no noise as they crept along the sides of the rocky outcropping, their talons sinking through the soft silt for more solid holdings. They came around a bend, encroaching upon a wooden shack where the potent stench of fish was so powerful it nearly posioned the air. The rainfall did nothing to muffle the raucous commotion the three ooman males made as they emptied nets into large barrels, their boisterous voices doing well to aid the yautja's stealthy approach.

I will show him who is complacent. Ve'jab smugly thought as he briefly studied the situation through his bio-mask. He had partaken in a difficult hunt during his space travel here, having slain a scaly creature that was three times a human's size. While some oomans could prove as formidable game, most were easily subdued through fear alone.

Za'ytaele tilted his head a few inches to the side as he watched his rival take a leap onto the thatched roof, greatly stressing the wooden beams and making his presence known. The fisherman inside reacted as predicted, pausing in all work as they diverted their attention to the loud thud over their heads. The ebony and crimson decorated Elite had no interest in partaking this kv'var, and so he held back.

Ve'jab took special notice of his uncharacteristic aloofness as he made quick work of his prey. They hadn't even attempted to fight back, but screeched and threw feverish prayers to unknown gods in their ugly tongue as they tripped over their own feet and made to flee. The blades from his gauntlet sunk effortlessly through the leather pelts and soft flesh, eviscerating their hot insides to spill across the already slime-coated floor to waft tendrils of steam into the air. They were of no challenge, so he flayed their hides from their flesh and hung them up to dry amongst the multitude of suspended fish with their dead eyes.

Ve'jab practically stomped out of the shack, not caring in the slightest what human in the vicinity heard or saw as he deactivated his cloaking. Za'ytaele had not even watched the spectacle of his kill- his attention was focused down the sandy banks from whence they had come from. He, too, lowered his cloak after finally turning his head over his shoulder to him. The smaller yautja pelted his larger clanmate roughly in the chest- a direct insult, and one that was expected to be reciprocated in the form of a fight.

"You are not acting as yautja Elite!" Ve'jab hissed, squaring his shoulders and drawing himself as large as he could. "Explain yourself!"

Za'ytaele flared his mandibles testily behind his mask. He was a head taller than Ve'jab, and he put that on full display as he towered over him. He refrained from answering the challenge despite how much it made his blood boil; he was in no mood for any of this. The Elite kept his cool and simmered his tone to a growl. "It was not a worthy hunt for two. There are others."

"This female? Is she worthy?" Ve'jab snidely countered. "I am surprised the humans cannot scent you because of her."

A sharp crack sounded between them as Za'ytaele faltered with the reins of his mounting anger. It slipped through his fingers, building inside the crest of his skull and battered into that of his clanmate's. Both grunted from the sharp pain and fumbled a step back, but the larger yautja rapidly recovered his addled senses and drew his blades from his gauntlet.

"The female is mine, and mine alone," he snarled. "I have not spent cycles on this planet for you to come take her from me."

Ve'jab regained his footing and observed the unsheathed ki'cti-pa directed at him with ominous intent. They had fought before under many different circumstances, whether it was for trophy claims, female privileges, or bragging rights…but this drew a sharp shiver down his spine. The instinct for self-preservation.

Za'ytaele was a more than honorable Elite- an impressive sain'ja. He was worthy of the numerous titles that had been offered to him, but it was his dedication to the Hunt that Ve'jab respected the most. Za'ytaele always brought in his prey.

Always.

Za'ytaele was as still as stone, keeping his preemptive strike in place as he waited for Ve'jab to offer a counterattack in either speech or movement. Neither came, as the dark-green colored yautja instead bowed his head as a show of respect and defeat.

"I did not mean to intrude on your hunting grounds," he mumbled.

He kept his gaze to the dirt, just as custom dictates, while the rival came close to instill their dominance with the scent of their musk overpowering through the air. The spicy, bitter scent enveloped him quickly, and then the crunch of heavy footsteps through the gravel and sand permitted him freedom to raise his head. He watched Za'ytaele stride down the footed pathway with his cloaking still inactive and his ki'cti-pa ready at his side, his shoulders rolled back and gait screaming for anyone to dare challenge him. Only until the yautja shimmered away into nothing did Ve'jab mentally narrow his eyes. Whatever Za'ytaele was doing with his time here on this backwater planet with these primitive creatures was warranting the most suspicious behavior…an Enforcer was in the nearby system, and he could easily transmit the message to have his clanmate assessed unwittingly.

It also happened to be Za'ytaele's eldest and most decorated son. Surely the unpronounced visit would be a welcomed one.

Za'ytaele did not realize how close he was to his ship until he halted his mindless journey in the boughs of a large aspen tree. His ire had clouded his rational judgment and instead directed him on a straight trail to her hearth and bed full of pelts. If Ve'jab thought her scent was strong on himself, he could not imagine what he would think if he were to catch a whiff of him inside her home, particularly on her. His dai-shui seeped into everything. If the roles had been reversed…what would have he thought?

He chuffed irritably to himself as he continued at a slower pace directly to his ship. He knew those answers, for he had struggled for more than a few earthly seasons with them already. What he needed was a cool head, and perhaps more than just a few days away from his little mate so as to not attract more attention than was necessary. He would stalk Ve'jab during his duration here, ensuring he did not veer too close to this particular village. There were more than a few dotting the coastline, and he should find a worthy kill elsewhere.

Za'ytaele could only hope he would collect his trophies and leave soon, for he did not care to spend the coming winter alone. A snarl began to build inside his chest like a war drum- she was going to be most upset he would not be returning after his allotted time away, and he was going to have to experience the female ooman equivalency of when a female yautja expressed disinterest in his mating advances.

He was going to get the cold shoulder.

Paya. A beating from a large yautja female was much preferable to his little ooman's pursed lips and indifferent stare. He didn't understand the complete helplessness he felt from it. At least with an estrus-crazed yautja female in the heat of breeding season, he could attempt to soothe her with a force of submission through physical dominance…the first, last, and only time he had attempted to placate Soel the same way, she had swiped his ceremonial knife and held it directly under his loincloth against his gonads.

First: that was completely unfair. A dirty trick only employed by an ooman.

Second: he would deny any and all mention that the high-pitch whimper that had left his throat belonged to him. He would refute it to his grave and beyond. Cetanu himself would never pry it from him.

Third: he never tried it again.

The more the inevitable loomed over him, the more his brain began to fire away rapidly with ideas. The Elite began to seriously ponder over his future gift to her, suddenly feeling like a fresh blooded yautja hoping to impress a female to mate with him. There was nothing remarkable on this coastline to bring back- there wasn't anything he hadn't already hunted and presented her with. She was much more deserving than the limited selection he was given; perhaps something from his trophy room…

He was now entering through the airlock of his ship, locking it behind him and activating its cloaking with a few clicks from his wrist computer. He strode through a door that opened automatically at the sign of his presence, and began to carefully review the collection of kills he had amassed on his ship. It was nothing compared to his display back home, but it was still impressive enough, and more than satisfactory to impress a female and earn the respect of competitive males.

The sharp tips of his black talons glided over various creatures until he came to a halt before one of the most ferocious and difficult kills any yautja would hope to make- a xenomorph queen. That hunt had been glorious, and one of his many firsts after he had been blooded. The trophy had earned him his first female for the breeding season; he remembered how proud, and arrogant he had been all those centuries ago, when his fires still blazed with all the intensity of the sun as he gave all of his focus to hunting and fucking.

His hand fell away.

He knew what she really wanted…and by Paya, if he could give it to her…he would. He had more than enough offspring, all bred from the best of females and all raised to be distinct, honed warriors in their own rights, but he would be selfish and indulge himself in theirs. The pup would be raised under both parties, something entirely unheard of in his culture. Females cared for the young until they were old enough to be beaten around by instructors in the training pits, but he would teach their young how to be fierce, and true yautja from the beginning…

He growled at himself for indulging in this whimsical fantasy when it was a guaranteed delusion. Just a few cycles ago, he would be asking himself if these sorts of thoughts indicated his overstay on this planet. If he should return home, engage in a few mating seasons, maybe finally take the mantle as an Enforcer like his son. But his ship never made it past orbit…and he found his lust for the Hunt calmed into a sleeping lull that was replaced by the taste of her.

A beautiful, dark blue and violet pelt was pulled from his collection. The sharp claws of his thumbs delicately stroked over the impeccably soft fur, something no animal on earth could ever dream to match. He had never gifted her anything outside of her world before, or even brought her aboard his ship…maybe it was about time that changed.

The last fleece had been scrubbed and left to dance in the wind that blew from the cold coastal waters. She deeply drank in that bloom of ocean salt, letting it coat her tongue to wash away the metallic smell of blood she was presented with this morning. Another month, another day of stripping her bedding and heating pots of water to wash her lining.

Soel had to bite her lip lest she allow that bitter disappointment to rise bile in her throat. She didn't expect anything to change, for it was always the same as it had been these past years. She had tried the herbs the village healer had granted her, had sacrificed a boar to Freyr whilst on a hunt, restlessly prayed for fertility and the good grace to bear. Nothing came to fruition…perhaps she really was ruined, as she had grown to believe.

He had only questioned her once about her despair after he had returned from an extended absence, just pointing to her blood-stained sheets with a tilt of his head. The sight and smell of her cycle had never bothered him before, but when she had broken down in tears, it made his unspoken question clear.

"I…I do not know what is wrong with me." Is what she had confessed in a sob, emotionally devastated she could not provide what a warrior of his stature more than rightfully deserved. It was her greatest duty and honor to him…and yet, there was never sign of a child. "I am sorry."

She had expected him to leave, just as he had the right to. Instead, he merely stood there and made those strange sounds of clicking noises that she did not understand. A single word was then uttered, spoken in her voice from a conversation they once had long ago.

"Different."

That much was true. He was unlike anyone she had ever seen. At first, she had thought he was a God who had traveled from one of the Nine Realms to test her, but then she had seen him without his mask while he was in a deep sleep in their bed, and she knew…

He was no God she had ever heard of, but he was hers, and that was well enough.

The tips of her fingers brushed at the pendant she wore around her neck; a hawk's distant cry turned her head to watch it gracefully fall from the sky for a morning meal. Her own stomach rumbled, ready to dine on porridge and cheese and an assortment of berries before she performed her duties for the day. She briefly wondered what her warrior was doing, and where he was.

What sort of game was he stalking now?