Kalol'kan smiled, happy, as Endora's cold wind rushed into his braid, trying to tear off a few strands. He detailed the landscape. The burnt ruins of what had been a village long ago, sleeping under an eternal snow coat. The runner was smart. No one had lived on this world since the Endorians plunged it into semi-darkness and an endless winter with the help of countless fusion bombs. But he was also stupid. The snow was almost reaching his waist, and even if the runner had a good lead over him, his deep trail had not yet been cleared by the heavy flakes that were falling continuously. He came after him quickly and safely in a silence pierced only by the crunchy sound of his boots in the snow. The trail led him to the remains of a first house, then disappeared into a second one.
He entered cautiously, observing the clearer traces in the thin layer of snow that had engulfed itself from the gaping openings of the doors and windows. The human had blithely stomped around the chimney, and he guessed from the tracks that he had tried in vain to light a fire before coming out through the back door. He went back on the hunt with an excited roar.
There was a snapping noise, then a flash of pain exploded in his thigh, in which was stuck a shard of sharp metal attached to the end of a long rod, held by the thin cord that he had detached by walking on it.
With a grunt of pain, he tore the trap off of his leg, turning the pole to twigs before starting again, furious and limping.
Two hours, three traps and a village further, Kalol'kan was exhausted, hungry from regeneration and cold, and of the runner still no trace.
If he did not find it quickly, he would have to turn back, which wasn't an option.
He bragged in front of his queen and the whole zenana that he would bring back the runner's head. He could not fail without becoming the laughing stock of all the hive.
He had to find this damn runner.
He started walking again, hoping the movement would keep the cold at bay.
The trail led him to another ruined house. The seventh. A trap was surely waiting for him inside, or just at the exit. If the runner thought he was going to get caught again, he was wrong. With a wolfish grin, he sank into the thick layer of snow around the building, to reach the rear by which the runner had undoubtedly continued his escape.
He came to the height of the only window that opened, black well on the profile of the house, when he perceived a movement off the corner of his eye. Instinctively, he leaned against the wall, the eaves protecting him from an avalanche of snow and bricks clearly piled there to his attention. This vicious little prey had planned that he would not enter the house. He understood his mistake, a bit too late. With a furious beast-like roar, the runner threw himself on him through the window he turned his back to, passing his thick leather belt around the neck of the hunter before squeezing with all his might.
Kalol'kan tried to seize his weapon, sheathed on his thigh, but the runner, whose eyes filled with a murderous rage seemed to shine under the black mass of his long dreadlocks, tore it from his hands, breaking two of his fingers before throwing it into the snow where it disappeared.
Kalol'kan was trying to fight with his fists, feet, anything, but the runner was strong. Strong as a wraith. As strong as him. Oxygen was starting to lack. Every gesture became more difficult, more painful. As if a malicious creature attached a new weight to its members every second. And always that look, riveted to his, liquid hate hotter than fire. Rage, anger, despair sunk in a devouring desire to kill.
The contours of his vision were blurred, first vague and then darker, until there were only those black pupils locked unto his. A look that pierced him even more than the mind of the most inquisitive queen; then the darkness.