Za'dtea thrummed his golden-tipped talons against the console in his cockpit. He typed a few keys, presenting a new set of dashes on the screen that made him click his mandibles together in curiosity. The planet his ship was just hovering out of orbit before was one he had not been to since he had made his first blooded hunt with his sire. He did not particularly care for ooman prey- they were just so weak. There were much better things to hunt in this infinite galaxy.

The message more humored than it did trouble him. Ve'jab was old, much like his sire, and while he completely respected the Elite, he figured the misgiving harbored against Za'ytaele to be something more on the geriatric side of things. Sometimes, after older yautja had hunted everything, fucked enough females, and been just about everywhere, they tended to create small scenarios for themselves to keep their lives interesting. The old hunter should just take the mantle of Elder already…they both should.

Za'ytaele's ship records indicated he had been on this blue planet for at least a decade…what was so interesting to have kept him here?

The Enforcer made a few more clicks on the dash. He would leave his fellow crewmembers behind for this one; there was no reason to drag the entire spacecraft to the Earth's surface for his sire alone. He would take a small drop pod, land near the ship's last coordinates, and proceed from there.

Five days.

Five. That was the number he had given for when he would return. Her warrior never failed to make good on his word after she had mentally flayed him the last time. Five days…he should be returning sometime in the still of night, utterly silent like the shadow he was. Maybe next time he would bring her with him; she liked being out in the wilds, her blood pounding with the thrill of the hunt as he crept alongside her. It would remind her of the times she would spend stalking tracks with her father.

The thought of her father, as big and as burly as a bear, made her throat constrict. Even years later, she still could hear his booming laughter, rich and warm and a natural calling for others to simply gather around. If only she could have proved her worth to him before he had passed- shown she was just as much a leader to the people…but it would seem she would take more from her mother's side, a natural outcast.

The sound of footsteps drew her head up and focus awry- a fellow villager had knelt beside the stream where she was filleting fish for that night's supper, a small net in his hands proving the same.

"Horse-tamer," he addressed with a nod.

"Brodir," she spoke in kind. Her fingers deftly gutted the salmon she held; her eyes kept down to her work.

The brawny resident peered at her with dark eyes, loudly snuffing something up his nose as he watched her. When she took no interest in his company, he raised his stare to the gray sky and early winter winds.

"Odin sees to place us in the depths of Niflheim," Brodir remarked as though to himself. He began to methodically lay out his earlier catch on the rocks between them. "I just pray there is enough mead to endure it."

Soel softly snorted. "I am sure Sighvat prays the same-" She turned to him for a brief moment. "-there is only so much someone can endure with you."

A barking laugh rang around like the huff of a wolf.

"My brother knows this too well, for he is already filling our barrels to replace that of the mead hall's," he mused. He again turned his head to watch her. A lock of golden hair fell away from her braid, and he resisted the urge to touch it. "Your father would not wish to see you bear this winter alone."

The knife in her hand clattered against the rocks as it fell from her grip. She kept her breathing steady and her eyes downcast. With hesitant fingers, she reequipped her blade and began to make haste with her fillet. The entrails were scooped inside a small leather purse- perfect bait for the next day's catch.

"I am not alone," she said defiantly.

Brodir ignored her unease as he continued, his hairy and callused palm coming to rest on her forearm. "Thorgeir did not have the foresight for this. How long has it been now, Soel? The others speak of-"

"I care not for what the others may say of me," she spat. She wiped her forehead with the cloth of her tunic, the mounting apprehension she had felt earlier now crashing down in full force upon her shoulders. "I am fine."

He did not understand- none of them did. She could not blame them; she was well into her maiden years with no father or next of kin to speak for arrangements that she did not desire. She did her duty to the village as a skilled horsewoman; she sought no favors, no betrothed, and certainly no pity for her elusive status. Her father's reputation may have saved her from being shunned entirely, but she did not rely on others beyond her needs.

He had refined her hunting skills to be self-sufficient. He had her father's approval…he had also killed the last man that had taken a visible interest in her, and she had no wish to put others at harm.

They would not understand.

"I need to make haste before the storm comes." She licked her pink lips, gathering her tools and dinner without a glance behind her.

She trudged down the dirt pathways winding through the central hub of her village. The sound of a hammer clanged at the blacksmith's hut; the acrid tang from the leathermaker's tannin vats burned her nose. A few children ran swiftly by, ruffling her long skirts with their makeshift breeze. The main hall was abuzz with proud stories and supple laughter- she had not been within its great walls since the night her father had passed.

A great rumble echoed through the valley, a brief shadow overlaying the land as the sun hid away from the world behind a thundering of dark clouds. Her warrior did not like the rain, nor did he enjoy the cold. She would be sure her hearth was well lit and provided ample warmth for him to return to. A smile graced her lips as she neared her dwelling at the thought of him basking by the roaring flames, shaking the drops from his skin like a sopping wet dog.

A faint song was hummed around her home as she prepared some potatoes and greens to cook alongside her main dish, giving a sprinkle of salt for taste before the soapstone pot was nestled inside her fireplace and covered with embers. The soot was smudged into her hands, and she bustled around to prepare for the evening's tidings before he arrived.

Your father would not wish to see you bear this winter alone.

Brodir's echoed words struck a nerve as she finished restocking her wood pile. Angrily, she thrust the last piece to the side, almost wishing she had shattered something instead. She glanced up to her father's tribute on the wall- a deer skull with sizeable antlers. The first kill he had made when they had come to these lands. She had been so little then, but she remembered how colossal the slaughtered animal had seemed up close. It was as though he had slain a Giant.

Her fingertips lightly touched the white bone, tracing around the dark pits of its eyes and up to the sharpened points of its horns. Her warrior had been impressed with it, called her father a true hunter.

Thorgeir knows I am never alone, she thought fiercely.

When night had finally fallen and her meal had been savored, she braved the dropping temperatures for any sign he would be coming. But rather than the usual stroke of his claw or chittering purr rumbled from his chest appearing from thin air at her side, she heard a deep, vibrating call of a horn. The sky was briefly illuminated in striking golds and deep reds, outlining the clouds as clear as the midmorning sun. The rain was on fire.

They rushed from the tree line, howling like maddened spirits and swinging their axes into anything that moved. Soel could only stand in place like a fool, watching with mounting horror as the village tanner took a blade through his throat. The main hall became alit with licking flames, its greedy tongue lashing at the thatched roof until its gullet consumed it whole. A panicked mare stampeded on by, the crawl of fire through its mane drifting embers into the stormy sky.

The Northmen were here; she was seven years old, just watching, listening to the screams of her clansmen as they were butchered before her eyes. So much chaos, so much death- where was she, again?

A voice spoke sharply in her mind.

Move your feet, Soel! Go! Hide!

Her mother. The smell of her fear; the tight grip of her skirts in her small fists. The hellish yells just beyond their door.

This is not our day, my child.

Her father…the dark pathway to the longboats, the churning black water.

A distant voice. A rough tug of her hand. It snapped her reality back into place. Brodir was pulling her towards the stables, a large gash prominent on his face.

"Brodir!" she cried.

He untied her gray mount and hoisted her upon its back, his breathing heavy and brow thick with perspiration…his face was not the only place he had been struck.

"Valhalla awaits me," he gasped as he led her towards the dark roads. "Tonight is not your time, Horse-tamer…I will tell your father good tidings."

She stifled a sob as he turned back towards the fray of burning flesh and outlandish pleas. Her horse took off at the smell and sounds, thundering into the pitch-black of nothingness; the sky behind her a roaring entity of Helheim itself.

A nice, sharp wind cut right through his loincloth, and it took all of his willpower to remain in his place rather than hightail it back. He'd been rather spoiled lately…Ve'jab had been right, he wasn't acting as an Elite should.

The large yautja kept still through the freezing flurry of snow, silently watching his clanmate stalk through a village to pick his targets for a more laudable kill. Most of the humans were proving smarter than both of them at the moment, tucked away under their pelts with a roaring fire burning through the night. He didn't understand why the yautja was bothering with this pointless reconnaissance; the prey was asleep, and Ve'jab would not be able to identify the worthy trophies until daybreak after the human males began their own hunts in the dense forests.

Za'ytaele had made sure to not be seen when he started stalking Ve'jab from his ship. He was mindful to keep downwind at all times, relying on all of his past experience as a great sain-ja to keep hidden from even a skilled hunter such as Ve'jab. He went as far as to deactivate his thermal netting and expose himself to the elements, hindering the effectiveness of Ve'jab's thermal view should he suspect he was being tailed.

It had been five days since they had started this game. Five days of watching his clanmate do nothing but simply peruse through a couple of villages and some smaller settlements without making a single kill.

Not.

One.

They were making their way further inland to where the bigger game was normally found. Za'ytaele would have made his kill already and efficiently butchered the meat and cured the hide…but now he was patiently waiting out his fellow yautja's hunting choice. If Ve'jab continued on this route, leading him through the valleys and towards the snowcapped peaks, then he would conclude his little mate was safe from his boundaries and return to her.

He was still nervous about his gift, or more of her reception to it after being away for so long. He was exceptionally meticulous when it came to cleaning his trophies and fashioning presents for her; yautja females did not expect, nor were normally presented with personal things. He liked the feeling it gave him when Soel was delighted with his offerings; she was easy to appease, making him feel needed.

She was not looking for the strongest male to make the best-surviving pups with (even though he was); she did not challenge him constantly or demean his simple hunts. She liked his company and eagerly mated with him whilst she ignored the advances of the ooman males.

He puffed his chest with smugness at the thought.

While Za'ytaele was busy chuffing to himself (on a high branch and covered in snow) with his inner musings, his clanmate below came to the last dwelling that harbored a number of female prey. The scent was utterly revolting, but he finessed through the multiple strands before concluding she was not among them. Ve'jab had not taken notice of Za'ytaele following him since he began his search. His mind had been solely focused on finding this puzzling female his better was so guarded with. He had never killed a female ooman before; they were merely livestock for the better males, providing him with challenging game.

Why was Za'ytaele so obsessed, and yet had not decorated his wall with her skull? What was he biding his time for if she was truly that worthy that he would consider it a challenge to hunt her?

It didn't make any sense to the yautja…his last thoughts were ever to consider Za'ytaele pauking her, much less taking her as a mate. Humans gifted trophies for their survival were one thing…equating them as fellow yautja, was something else entirely. Did he perhaps witness her display some respectable skills and commend her for it? That was not unheard of…but why go to the lengths to hide that? A matter of pride? The Elite grumbled to himself as he began to make his journey upwards into the northern hills. There weren't too many human settlements in the area, and while he kept on his quest, Za'ytaele could have a moment with his son to remember what life was like outside the ooman domain.

The mentioned sire only watched as his clanmate continued on his predicted course. When Ve'jab's signature was out of range, he shook his broad shoulders to dispel the snow and chittered to himself as he spun around on the thick branch to head back to his ship. With a good pace, he would be back to his hunting grounds by morning...hopefully Soel wouldn't be too upset he was a little late.

One moment, his sire had pelted him in the shoulder, the next, Za'dtea had shoved him back. The angered words and snarls had been so clear…but now he felt dizzy, a groan rumbling deep inside his chest as he swayed on his unsteady feet in an attempt to rise. His old man may be old…but pauk him if he still wasn't capable of wiping the floor with him.

"Ve'jab put you to this?" Za'ytaele growled down at his semi-conscious son.

The younger yautja was clearly drifting in and out of reality, and despite the immense anger Za'ytaele felt, he also swelled with pride at his offspring's resilience. Not many yautja had taken a direct blow to the face from him and still maintained consciousness…but son, or not, Enforcer, or not, no one doubted his honor as a yautja.

Ve'jab was going to receive more than his fist when they crossed paths again.

Za'dtea couldn't click the response past his numb tongue. Paya. His entire face hurt. He should've been wearing his bio-mask…but he most certainly did not expect the hostility. He hadn't even been able to get past the respectful greeting before his sire had smite his wrath down upon him.

By the time Za'dtea was able to halfway stand, the Elite had brushed past him and strode up the ramp of his ship, completely ignoring him. Even if he was his offspring, he was still an Enforcer! The immense disrespect would have made another yautja think twice about their future actions…but his sire was stubborn…and even worse, he was seasoned and skilled. He mumbled an expletive under his breath as he began to follow. He made it halfway up the ramp until the airlock opened again, his sire striding out with some sort of fur in his claws.

"I do not have time for you," Za'ytaele dismissed him curtly. "If it is urgent, I will return later."

The senior yautja leaped high into the treetops, not bothering to glance behind himself to observe Za'dtea's reaction. He had done no wrong- committed no crime. He knew exactly what the Enforcer was here for; there was no other reason for him to come to this planet that was so devoid of Bad Bloods, no reason to not come directly to him if not for Ve'jab's uncertainties.

A curse was swiftly spoken under his mask at his rival. He must have known Za'dtea was in the nearby system; he must have sent out an informal request…

Za'ytaele halted on a branch, his thoughts clicking into place over Ve'jab's prolonged pursuance over these past few days. He wasn't pursuing just any prey, he was pursuing her! The Elite rushed through the canopies quickly. He felt so stupid!

There wasn't much choice left for him to take. If Ve'jab was so concerned over the female that he would have an Enforcer sent out to inquiry him, then he was going to have to ensure she would be safe from any and all threats between them. He had already marked her with the symbol of his clan…he would just have to make it official now with the council.

Ugh. What a nightmare that was going to entail for him…the bureaucracy of it, the scandal. An Elite taking an ooman female as a mate. He groaned aloud at the thought of it all, but he could handle a few Elder's hissing down his neck and questioning his sanity…what would really trouble him was taking her away from her little world. She would have to come live on Yautja Prime, be tested. He knew how much she loved this little corner of the universe, and he would hate having to take that away from her. She would not be free to roam as a yautja would on his home world; she would be contained to his dwellings when he did not take her off planet for a hunt.

If he thought he felt anxious about being a day late, now he was internally sweating at the prospect of her rejection.

He had made it to the edge of the meadow with the lone tree and flowing field of flowers when he looked up to the sky. Tendrils of smoke wafted heavily in the air, too much to be a simple bonfire that the humans sang and danced around. The yautja had to purr to himself to calm his unsettled nerves. What was this feeling? Was it fear? He had not felt that in a long time…not since his chiva.

When he came to a certain impasse in the forest, a thick cloud of smoke obscured him. It was almost like a wall, a heavy curtain that one could not simply walk through without being engulfed completely. The taste was bitter, thick.

His fear was mounting…something must have happened during his absence.

He only prayed to Paya that she was safe.

The last branch creaked under his weight, if it were not for the hues of his bio-mask, he would have been rendered blind.

Everything was quiet…ash was drifting down like snow. It provided a blanket over his shoulders and arms, visibly outlining his cloaking to anyone with an extremely sharp eye. The yautja stepped down, his landing the epitome of silence.

The faint outline of charred buildings became more prominent the closer he encroached. He deactivated his shielding as he walked among the once bustling village she called home. He had taken the path multiple times, knew the etchings carved over the doors and the sounds of the villagers' daily life from his multiple visits done in secret.

There weren't any bodies…where were-?

The Elite paused before the once great doors to the main hall, both wide and tall enough for a yautja to pass through. The building had been reduced to a skeleton of its former self, the large trestles overhanging like blackened ribs. It still burned, the edges glowing brightly in the haze. A dark mound was centered in the midst of it all, piled high and composed of-

He ran to her little house on the edge of the village, surely she was safe…the gift slowly slipped from his talons, the gray soot tainting the beautiful, rich tones.

There was nothing left of her. It had all been burnt to the ground…only the stench of singed flesh remained.

A soft, distinct whine bled from his throat as he went down to his knees, his talons gently grazing over the soft ash and foundation of stone. A loud purr rumbled from his chest, an eerie sound amidst the destruction and death.

Come out, do not be afraid!

She was not coming; she was not coming. His purr grew in intensity as he began to wander aimlessly amongst the wreckage.

There is no reason to hide!

A high-pitch keen stuttered his purr. He made sounds no yautja male of his stature should ever draw forth. With a thick rumble in his throat, he removed his mask, and desperately looked around. For the first time in all of his years here, he spoke her language.

"I have come back," he warbled, his voice quavering and full of barely suppressed anguish. "Little Hawk, where are you? I have brought you-"

Something hard pressed against his foot, cutting his trill short. He glanced down; there was white protruding from the ash. It was bone. His fingers gently dove through the buildup and into the eye sockets, lifting the deer skull to his chest. Her father's headdress…she would not leave something such as this behind.

He…he had to find her body. It was bound to be amongst the rest…he would have to give her a proper burial, a true hunter's rite…but he stood there, as still as stone, staring down at the skull in his hands that might as well have been hers. They had taken her away from him. The filthy, weak, primitive oomans had sought to claim her death as their trophy. Grief, anxiety, fear, they all ebbed away to give rise to a new emotion he had not felt in a really long time.

Bloodlust.

The skull fit perfectly over his crest; a wendigo given birth among the lament of the dead. He stood tall, an eight-foot creature with the body of a serpent and the head of a deer. His own bio-mask was carelessly discarded at his feet- he would not need it, anymore. Not after this. A fierce, bellowing roar belonging to something more prehistoric than alien rang through the valley, echoing all around for his prey to hear.

Cetanu would not invite him to his hunting grounds after witnessing this, for this was no hunt he was preparing to commit.

It was slaughter.