Chapter 4: Tooth and Claw

Jarek watched helplessly as the hunter bounced and tumbled down the rock face in a way that reminded him of his own painful plummet. Each time the hunter struck a rock it slowed his descent before he hit the ground below. His scream and the sound of him impacting the ground below was audible enough to carry across the gully to their position. It also alerted the herd of striders and the pack of Hounds. The small predators growled and began stalking through the tall grass, unsure where the crash had come from but knowing it was close. This encroachment by the small predators caused the striders to stamp nervously, but not quite enough to stampede.

Jarek could barely make out the young hunter amongst the roots of a fallen tree. He seemed winded and hurt but still alive.

"Buir, he's still breathing. We have to help." Jarek pleaded in a low tone aware that any loud sound could easily attract the pack of hounds.

Myler shushed him, pulling him back down below the ridge. "No, ad'ika," at Jarek's confused look he went on to explain. "There's not enough cover. If I go down there, I will be seen. The hounds will attack, and the herd will panic and trample us." He glanced back and sighed angrily at the situation. "Soon the hounds will find him and tear him apart. If I shoot into them the herd will still panic and stampede, killing him." The older hunter clenched his fists and Jarek could sense his frustration at knowing he had to do something yet unable to do so. He was just too large of a target.

The boy was of the clan, and Myler had just told him that even as Outcasts they still had a duty to their people.

Jarek knew what he had to do.

Before Myler could look back around, Jarek scurried to the edge of the cliff. He heard his father hiss in surprise and felt his fingers grasp at him. Jarek leaped feeling the blaster carbine slip off his shoulder into Myler's grip before landing soundlessly in a patch of long grass. He knew his father was spitting mad and could visualize him unslinging his rifle and preparing to jump down after him.

Jarek signaled up to him to stay and then held a finger to his lips. Remarkably Myler did as he bade him. Checking to make sure the hounds were unaware of him, Jarek slowly crept through the long grass. The green stalks would never have fully concealed the larger warrior, but for a small child, they were the perfect cover.

If Jarek could remember any of Myler's colorful swear words he'd surely be using them right now. Of all the stupid things he'd done in his short life, this was certainly the worst.

Jarek wasn't sure why he was sticking his neck out for the foolish young man. He was of the clan and would've probably ignored him out of spite at any other time. Ancestors, he didn't even know the boy's name. However, some part of him told him...no demanded...that he needed to help. To guard and protect the helpless.

Hopefully, Myler would understand his irrational mindset because he sure as osik didn't.

Having only to stop a couple of times to avoid running into a curious hound, Jarek eventually made his way to the side of the injured hunter. He was attempting to crawl to the shelter of the tree without attracting attention, but his left leg wasn't working properly. His right arm also hung limply at his side. At the rate he was going the hounds would find him in a matter of minutes.

Acting on instinct with Myler's lessons echoing in his mind, Jarek palmed a small rock and hurled it to the far side of the gully. It clattered off another larger rock attracting the attention of the hounds and sending the striders into a nervous frenzy, stamping their feet, tossing their heads, and snorting loudly. They didn't like a pack of predators being so close and even less at all the strange noises echoing about their gully.

Jarek moved forward and gripped the boy under his left arm, startling him. Jarek shushed him with a gesture before dragging him towards the fallen tree. The boy was nearly twice Jarek's height but lean. The beskar'gam, having taken the brunt of the fall no doubt saving the boy's life, added a significant amount of weight slowing their progress. Jarek was small, but a lifetime of hard living had made his tiny frame strong. He heaved with all his might and with the hunter's assistance managed to nestle beneath the trunk of the fallen tree.

That was the moment Myler had been waiting for. Standing from his hiding spot the older Mandalorian shouted at the top of his lungs and began firing his blaster into the herd of Striders, intentionally missing, and impacting the earth.

That was the last straw for the already nervous herbivores. Fear gripped them and as one they turned and charged toward the open end of the gulley. Unfortunately for the Kroot hounds, they were between them and the exit.

The first hound fell beneath the feet of the herd. The only sounds were a small squeal and the crunch of bones. The rest of the pack wailed in terror and bolted, an angry herd of prey hot on their heels.

Jarek and the hunter huddled in the hollow beneath the trunk until the sounds of rolling thunder faded. Slowly Jarek crawled out and checked to see if the coast was clear. All he saw was his father hurrying down towards him, carbine slung across his shoulder. He couldn't see his face but braced himself for the tongue lashing he knew was coming.

It didn't.

Myler merely took a deep breath and placed a hand on his shoulder...and nodded. In the world of his father that one gesture was about as good as being held aloft on his shoulders to cheers and adoration.

Just as quickly the moment past. Myler moved to help the boy out from under the tree. Even as the boy grunted, groaned, and swore every time his leg and arm were jostled, Myler remained silent. He laid the boy down and set to work checking his injuries.

"What hurts?" he asked simply.

The boy grunted in pain once before answering, "Right shoulder. Left thigh." Jarek looked on as Myler checked first the leg and moved up to the shoulder, prodding gently here and there. Jarek now saw a perfect example of learning field medicine. Noticing him, the young hunter looked up at Jarek. "Thank you little one," he murmured in a pained tone, "Ancestors bless your courage. Just as I hope they curse my idiocy."

Myler grumbled, and Jarek knew he was thinking something along the lines of, as well they should.

Out loud he said, "Leg's fine, just a bone bruise." Myler suddenly yanked down on the boy's arm causing him to hiss in a breath and then sigh as Jarek heard a click and pop. "Arm was dislocated," he stated as he placed it across the boy's chest and secured it with a length of rope in a temporary sling.

The hunter was breathing heavily but appeared to be grateful despite the slew of swear words he uttered under his breath. Helping him to his feet, Myler guided the boy to sit on the top of the fallen tree that had been their refuge only a mere moment before. In a move that surprised Myler, the young man clasped his forearm and said, "Bless you warrior. You raised your son well."

Before either of them could reply a voice rang out from the open end of the gully.

"Tebb! Tebb! Where are you?"

Waving his good arm, the boy responded, "Tekka! Over here!"

Moments later two men and a woman, all in full armor and armed, jogged up. The tallest of the three wore white armor with blue accents on a brown vest, the leader. He stepped ahead. Tebb, the young injured hunter stood and limped towards him.

"Tekka," he gestured towards Myler who had moved in front of Jarek, "I fell. They saved me."

Much to Jarek's surprise, the larger man smacked him on the back of the head. In his injured state, Tebb nearly fell to the ground, but somehow managed to keep his balance.

"Seal your lips, chakaar!" snapped the large man, anger evident in his voice. "You're lucky we're kin else I'd have left you to the hounds!"

"Leave him alone!"

The shout startled the group who all looked in Jarek's direction. He had stepped from behind Myler and was standing, fists clenched, ready to defend the injured youth. The white armored warrior, Tekka, growled menacingly but turned back towards the young man.

"I fell, Tekka," Tebb tried to explain, "hurt my arm and leg. The boy pulled me to safety. He" pointed the Myler, "drove off the hounds, and set my shoulder. They saved me."

"I said shut it," Tekka yelled looking as if he was going to raise his hand to the boy again but restrained himself. "Bad enough you needed to be rescued, but to allow these...outcasts to help you!?" He spat the word 'outcast' as if it left a bad taste in his mouth. Jarek was reminded uncomfortably of the mother from the day before. Tekka continued, "The stench of this will linger for sure!"

"But they saved my life!" Tebb bravely attempted to explain again even as the two other warriors moved to help him stand. He pointed directly at Jarek, "He saved my life!"

"They are Dar'Manda!" He shouted turning on the pair. Myler pulled Jarek behind him while simultaneously placing a hand on the handle of his pistol. Tekka didn't seem to care as he ranted, jabbing a finger at Jarek, "And he is a motherless cur!"

Myler's pistol was out and leveled at the man faster than anyone could blink. No one moved. No one spoke. The one warrior who wasn't supporting Tebb had his weapon in hand but hadn't raised it. She seemed unsure if the action would cause Tekka to have his face redecorated.

For his part, the larger Mandalorian didn't flinch or show any sign of being afraid. He merely stared directly at Myler, one emotionless visor into another. Myler said nothing, but his stance and posture spoke volumes. Never...insult...my son. The blaster barreled inches from Tekka's forehead seemed to emphasize that point.

In a show of good sense, Tekka gestured to his companions and together they took a few steps back before turning and walking away. Tebb, still being supported by the male warrior, glanced back, and started to speak but was cut off by Tekka smacking his head once more.

Myler waited till they were out of sight and a half moment longer before holstering his weapon and stepping away from Jarek. "He shouldn't have spoken to us," he stated softly still looking after the group, "He broke clan law."

His tone had an edge of disappointment; either at the boy's mistake or how the situation had devolved, Jarek couldn't tell. He was too distracted. Jarek had put his life on the line to save that boy. He did his duty to the clan, and what was his reward?

To be spat on as a 'Dar'Manda' and called 'A motherless cur!'

Scorned by a mother and now cursed by a warrior. And for what? What was his crime that deserved such animosity?

"We should not linger here," Myler said softly. "Let us return home."

Jarek needed no other encouragement. He wanted to be as far from the gully, from the valley, and from the clan as he could. He wanted the day to be over.

"I know the way!" he yelled out more harshly then he intended. Picking up his carbine he set off back towards their home. Myler followed close behind. He seemed to sense his son's growing frustration and so kept his distance to give him time to vent.

Jarek did indeed know the way home. Especially once he found the trail. He'd hiked the area many times, memorizing the key landmarks that could help direct him back to the dwelling. Even distracted, his feet moved of their own accord leading him back without conscious thought.

Along the way, he fumed over the situation with the boy Tebb. He'd been grateful for their help, not once caring whether they were Dar'Manda or not. And for his caring heart, the other Warrior, Tekka, had hit him. If that was the cost of being a member of the clan; to be punished if one didn't properly scorn Outcasts, then he wanted nothing to do with the Clan.

Unfortunately, Jarek's anger blinded him to the world around him. He hadn't noticed he'd outpaced his father, or that the trail had led him close to the settlement.

One moment Jarek was lost in thought, the next a sharp pain erupted above his left eye. Staggering back a step, he hissed in pain. Lifting a hand, he felt his head and winced. His finger came away bloody. Looking down passed his hand he noticed the small rock dotted with red settling on the ground near his feet.

Someone had thrown a rock at him!

Confused, in pain, and truly angry, Jarek cast his gaze about spotting four children from the village. They stood atop a hill just off the path. He recognized the tousled blond hair of the one called Gaegan easily enough. He was clutching another rock in his hand and was grinning with sadistic glee.

"Go away, Dar'Manda!" he yelled and threw the second stone. Jarek saw the rock arch up and down spinning end over end as if in slow motion. It was easy to calculate its speed and decent. With reflexes that surprised Gaegan, the other kids, and especially himself, he caught the rock.

The impact shot up his hand and arm, but his anger dissipated it. Jarek glared up at the blond boy. The emotions of the hunt and the day previous welled up all at once, seeking some form of justification for his pain.

Gaegan glared back picked up another rock and prepared to launch it. Jarek acted without thinking. Winding up, he took a step and let his projectile loose. The stone streaked across the opening and nailed his target.

The rock that Gaegan had been about to throw, shot out of his hand as Jarek's struck it in a puff of dust, narrowly missing his fingers. The boy looked at his now empty hand with no small amount of shock. The other kids also looked on in wide-eyed wonder, glancing between their leader and the Outcast boy unsure of what to do.

Gaegan seemed to shake off his surprise long enough to grab another rock. He was preparing to throw, but a dark-skinned girl stepped forward out of nowhere and slapped it out of his hand. It was the same one from the berry patch.

"That's enough, Gaegan," Jilo declared matching his look of outrage with a cold glare of her own. "Don't be mean!" She held his gaze just long enough for him to be cowed. Turning he fled back towards the settlement. The rest of the kids followed swiftly behind, eager to get out of range. The girl was the last to leave, she looked down at Jarek and seemed to offer an apologetic smile before waving and heading home herself.

Now alone, and coming down from the excitement, Jarek started to feel the stinging and throbbing on his head. He hissed and moaned as he presses his hand to the wound just as Myler arrived.

"Jarek?" If he had seen the event that had just transpired, he gave no indication. He knelt and looked at him, noting the blood, "You're hurt." he reached into his utility belt and pulled out some Salvebrush wrapped in a bit of cloth. Pushing away his son's hand he began dabbing at the wound.

"Why?" Jarek asked, but Myler shushed him gently as he worked. Jarek looked directly at him, ignoring the intimidating visor. "Why am I an Outcast?"

Myler paused in the mid-application of the salve. "Ad'ika...this is not the time."

"Who was my mother?"

"Jarek, I've told you before I don't know who your birth mother is? You were just a newborn when the Clan Chief brought you to me."

"So, the Chief," Jarek stated eyes wide, "Chief Teersa? She knows?"

Myler looked like he wanted to take back the words but couldn't. He stood and began to walk away. "It's not so simple," he stated.

Jarek wasn't having it and quickly stepped in his path. "But she knows?" he asked. He'd rarely asked about his birth mother because up until that point it hadn't mattered. Now he felt a sudden urge to learn and discover the truth.

"Jarek...we are, Dar'Manda," Myler sighed trying to step around his son and continue heading home, "Even if she wanted to, we cannot speak to her."

Once more Jarek intercepted him. "How do I make her tell me?"

"The Chief?" Myler sighed in exasperation, "...there is a way, perhaps-"

"So, tell me!" he pleaded.

"It... would be dangerous-"

"How?"

"It would take years of training."

"I don't care," Jarek grabbed Myler's hand and stared up at him, "How do I do it! Tell me!"

Myler sighed and removed his helmet and stared down at him with silvery blue eyes. His deep voice echoed the seriousness of the matter. "If you want to be able to speak to the chief you must be of the clan, there is only one way for you to do that."

"What way?" Jarek demanded.

"The Verd'goten," he stated. Myler knelt and looked directly into Jarek's eyes and explained, "The clan's rite of passage, held every year. Those that pass become members of the clan. It is open to all including children of the Outcasts. To the victor's though, the Chief grants a boon."

"A boon?" he questioned.

"Yes...whatever the winner wants. But" Myler held up a cautionary finger, "That privilege comes with a cost, Jarek."

Jarek was too excited to care about the cost. Here was a chance-a sliver of hope-that he might get the answers he so desperately sought. He stepped back away from Myler. "I'll do it," he declared standing tall and squaring his shoulders. "Whatever it takes. I'll win the Verd'goten."

Myler looked at him with a mixture of pride, exasperation, and a hint of frustration, but he sighed in resignation and stood. "I see...we best get started then. Your training will be hard, and it will take years. But in the end one way or another," he placed a hand on Jarek's tiny shoulder, "You will be a warrior of the clan."

"Start training?" Jarek's boundless childlike energy spilled over, "Yes! Follow!" and he took off at a sprint towards home.