A/N: My goodness. I took forever with this. I'm not going to bore you with excuses, I have my reasons for taking so long, just be glad I updated. On that note I saw that both DustTraveller and Sealink have reviewed this piece of boredom-killer. My idols. Here. Reading my fic. My bowels can barely control themselves. Oh god no...Oh god the mess...

Chapter 4 – Pencil Smears

Already the large package slipped from her hands for what had to be the second time in less than ten paces. Terry had underestimated the weight of her old anatomy and other art books and thinking she could just place them in a box and carry them to the open trunk of the taxi had been a bad idea to say the least. The shelves were beginning to become too crowded from Terry's bad habit of walking into the nearby book store in her city home every other morning for coffee and not leaving without a frapuccino in one hand and a new book in the other. Those books would always find their way into the cabin. Anatomy and art tid-bits were her favorites, but fantasy and sci-fi novels were also increasing in amount in her private library. Sometimes she would read a couple of pages from one of those and then begin to sketch that scene were the dragon enslaved the warrior princess or the alien had claimed yet another human victim. It was not so much the actual setting that preoccupied Terry those rainy afternoon days, but the monsters. The creatures that the authors would only hint about until the last moment and her mind would go on overload trying to capture the creature on paper without losing the same effect. Anatomy books to get the muscles just right. Novels to look back upon and get that sense of tension of if she got it right nor not. Now all of them had to go. Well, Terry didn't now if she could live without all of her books, but a good amount had to be sent back.

If she could get them into the car, that is.

"Need 'elp?" asked the heavily accented taxi driver.

Terry shook her head. "Nah, nah…I'm fine. A bit heavy, but I can do it. It's not too bad." With one final gulp of air, Terry held her breath and used all her might to walk (albeit awkwardly) the last twenty steps and let the box slip out of her hands into the trunk with a sickening thud. The car groaned under the weight like an injured animal pleading to be taken out of its misery

The taxi driver raised an eyebrow as thick as his accent. "Wha' yous got in 'ere? A bodie?"

"Heh, almost a body. Well, part of bodies. Hands, feet, torsos, heads…You know, a bit of everything."

If anyone could accomplish a look of fear, confusion, and shock, it would have been the taxi driver at that point. Not that Terry had been lying. All those anatomy books did indeed have feet, legs, hands, and various other body parts so in actuality there were several bodies in that box. Terry didn't want to freak out the driver too badly – after all, she needed him to drive him to the post office in the nearby town – so she assured him that the bodies in question were only pictures. Speaking of pictures, Terry had just reminded herself that she still had to rearrange all those paintings left around the main floor. She had already moved half of them to the guest room and a few in her own while the rest were scattered about in neat areas depending on their a) value, b) completion, and c) if she even gave a damn about them. Terry couldn't be expected to be rushed about the monster painting, even with all that money. Hell, they paid her to create a great monster, and that's exactly what she'll do. All in due time though, all in due time.

Terry got into the back seat. She had never been too comfortable up in front, even if she were allowed. Riding next to a stranger would be too weird. This way she can at least take out her cell phone and pretend to talk to someone and avoid the awkward conversation on the way to town. Now she would somehow have to pull about an hour worth of imaginary conversation out of her ass.

The driver got into his taxi, and the car zoomed away.

(-)

If it wasn't because the weather was appearing fouler than the look of an angry sai'binx mother protecting her cubs, Guan-da' would have been at the ooman's dwelling sooner. Before he had even begun to navigate this area for prey he had been too eager and too proud to check for suitable weather patterns and now he was deeply regretting his decision. Some days the weather was clear and warm, still to cool for his preference but then again the entire planet was too cool for a yautja's prefence, and other days the temperature dived to levels that were downright aggravating. The mesh netting easily protected from the frost's bite, but his body was still very aware that it was cold outside. He knew of some Leaders who had been blessed with wealth from birth and could afford an entire territory on the ooman planet for Blooding ceremonies alone. The students were as well-off as the teacher, and could pay for the better equipment. Lucky bastards. Though for some reason their great amount of money clouded their mind and they chose areas that were desolate, dead…and cold. Maybe it was to add excitement to the show for the warriors and leaders safely above. Guan-da' heard of a Blooding ground in this planet's lower polar regions that had been used by a community of wealthy clans for their private Blooding ceremonies. Something had happened to the area, and the territory was never stepped on again. Rumors reached his ears though – as a yautja could never keep a secret for long – that oomans had once again intervened and allowed the egg-bearing Kiandhe Amedha Queen to escape. The foolish student's answer to that had been to blow up the entire complex.

Once again proving that wealth and breeding had little to do with intelligence. One could be the greatest warrior in the galaxy but if you don't have the smarts to back up your brawn then one would soon find himself the biggest fool in the dance of the fallen gods.

Guan-da' found his legs pacing back and forth in front of the female ooman's dwelling. His scanners did not pick out heat signatures from the complex, but he knew better than to rely on his equipment alone. Yautja had a reason to reserve oomans for experienced hunters. Oomans were tricky, oomans were unpredictable. Give an unblooded student a burner in front of an ooman and the student would predictably charge headfirst towards the smaller being, but the ooman? No one knew what the ooman could do.

There hadn't been much activity from the dwelling. Nothing on scanner. All to quiet. Was the female even there at all? He took a few steps forward, then three steps back. It could be a trap, to lull him into a false sense of security and then hit him when he least expected it. Ah, smart ooman. Smart, tricky, little ooman. But this Hunter was smarter. Guan-da' went around the perimeter and used his thermal vision to see if he could pick up ghost traces of the ooman. Nothing. That meant that she hadn't been there in all morning. There was an odd scent in the air though, one like fuel burning. Yet if the fireplace was active then it would have shown up in the scan. Another ooman trick?

The shift suit gave a reassuring humming sound as it activated, covering him a blanket of the background. Trick or no, there was his entire honor in a painting he had to retrieve. His painting. His life. His honor. The pride that this spiteful female had the nerve to meddle with. She was mocking him! Ridiculing his courage and reputation! Oh, the nerve!

Calm down. Focus.

Right. The painting.

He edged closer, the dwelling appearing closer in front of him with every step he took. His muscles tensed, ready to leap back at the slightest hint that the ooman was around. The slightest. Much to the appreciation of his already uneasy nerves, the ooman was nowhere to be seen. Guan-da' could not hear anything. He was silent. No garbled laughter, no hideous conversations with that large piece she would place on her ear, no tapping on her keyboard controls. Was she even inside? Guan-da' did not even have control over his arm as his clawed fingers curled over the tiny knob that if twisted properly would open the back entry way of the house. His mind screamed in protest, but it was too late, the door was opened.

Oh dear Paya he will die right now!

Paya must have decided that Guan-da's demise was scheduled for another day because the yautja was already inside and still no attack from the ooman.

Scanning…

Nothing. The scans yielded nothing. Guan-da's head swiveled back and forth, up and down, looking for the ooman with his wristblades prepared to strike, but the ooman was nowhere near him. In fact, she wasn't even inside!

What did he say before about fools and the dancing gods?

Dance little Night Knife, dance.

(-)

"Thanks for the ride," was the least Terry could say after the taxi driver had to put up with a combined two hours to and fro of bullshit conversation on a deactivated cell phone, though she was sure the $5 tip would be more than enough to keep him from giving her that stupid smile of his. He knew he was being bullshitted. They both did. But as long as no one said anything about it, then it might as well not exist.

He nodded and drove away, that stupid grin still on his stupid face.

Terry walked up to the front porch and stopped to rummage through her purse and find the keys. Her purse was full of crap; old doodles from napkins, receipts, candy wrappers, a condom… The keys were in there somewhere. She wasn't even sure why the hell she even locked the cabin in the first place. There wasn't a hint of civilization for miles around. What was she trying to keep out? Monsters?

(-)

It wasn't here either!

Guan-da' had been careful not to misplace or knock anything out of order as he rummaged the ooman's dwelling for the painting that was supposed to be exactly where she left it last time but now wasn't. As far as he could remember, it was located on the main floor next to the book shelves where the many dyes where located. He walked in, eager to just grab the painting and put as many miles as he could between the ooman female and him, but had to stop dead in his tracks when in its place was an empty area. Many other paintings had been misplaced also, but he didn't even notice that until he started looking for his own.

Where could it be? Where could it be?

The main floor yielded nothing. It was obvious the ooman had been rearranging the place for some obscure reason but it was a trip to hell itself for Guan-da'. Was that it? Was this hell? Had he someone contracted some odd ooman illness and died in his sleep and was now punished to wander around searching for the painting he will never find? No, no, he was alive. As much as he didn't want to, he had to find that painting. He had to. Never mind what the oomans would do to it, never mind what the Elders would do to it. It was his and he wanted it back. The female's own work were clumped in different areas with no visible reason, but Guan-da' had to quickly peek under each one of those white coverings to see if it was his. Every one that turned out erroneous yielded a frustrated growl on his part. By Paya, he could go insane soon!

He checked the upper levels. The ooman must have claimed her favorites for her own personal enjoyment because he found a fair amount of paintings in her chambers (the one with the strongest foul scent) but none of them were his. Now he was insulted. The ooman did not believe that his work had value? She was blind. His work was widely recognizable amongst his kind, esteemed for their vitality and symbolism. Obviously oomans had little idea of what art truly was, especially this specimen. Why, his painting should have been at the head of her chambers, decorating her wall like the valued piece it was. Foolish female. Well, her work wasn't so great either. Realism could only do so much. It took a true artist to capture to vigor of realism into symbols.

A noise caught his attention. It was a light screeching sound. It was dull from in here. It came from outside.

Guan-da' pressed his back against the window and slightly parted the curtain with the end of his elongated fingernail.

It was the ooman.

Guan-da' nearly stumbled to the floor at the sight. It was her! It was her! He dashed towards the door and was in the hallway when he heard the unmistakable sound of the front door opening. Who knows what kind of horribale wrath this ooman female was capable of unleashing upon him! He was going to get caught! He was going to get caught! She's coming in!

A/N: Not bad for only two hours worth of work, eh?