"With fire and steel did the gods forge the Klingon heart. So fiercely did it beat, so loud was the sound, that the gods cried out, 'On this day we have brought forth the strongest heart in all the heavens. None can stand before it without trembling at its strength! (Source: Memory Alpha, Wikia).

Kolo's voice boomed throughout the arena.

"WARRIORS PREPARE!"

Meara and her opponent stepped forward to the centre of the arena to face each other. The Klingon was a good two foot taller than her and built to withstand an avalanche of rocks. Dressed in battle attire, holding her Bat'leth, she made a reasonably opposing sight. At least Malcolm thought so. If Meara could dominate her opponent using the sheer will and energy emanating from Reed, Hayes and the crew right now, this would be a walk along San Francisco Bay. The Klingon leaned down. "Prepare to meet your maker, Human. I will tear out your heart and feed it still beating to my Targ." Meara met her eyes with a steady, unwavering look. "I hope your Targ has a taste for Klingon kidney, because that's what he'll be dining on tonight in the Great Hall after I remove yours from your bowels." The Klingon frowned. She wasn't expecting such a show of defiance from this puny female. "ARGHHH!" she spat out. Stepping back, she assumed an offensive stance.

Kolos words rang loud and clear. "baH yoDSutlIj naQ je tlhIngan tIq forge luchenmoH. vaj fiercely moq, vaj HoS jachpu'DI' wab 'e' jach luchenmoH. jaj strongest tIq yIqem yIra' maH chal Hoch. laH Qam pagh pa' 'oH Hutlh DeSDu' HoS trembling! YINISQO' CHUGH VAJ BIHEGH TAGH TRIAL!"

Meara stood still just shy of the centre of the arena and waited. She had opted for minimal clothing, enough to ensure modesty but close enough to her skin to guarantee her opponent would have difficulty grabbing anything that wasn't a limb or a head, and Meara had no intention of standing still long enough for her to pull off a move like that. She knew she could out-wait the Klingon. They weren't exactly renowned for their patience. Meara was quickly rewarded. With a roar, her opponent lunged forward, swinging the sword above her head, much to the delight of the watching crowd, certain that this human's minutes were numbered. When she was nearly upon Meara, Meara parried and dived through her legs, snagging her inner thigh deeply with her own Bat'leth as she slide through. With a cry, the Klingon went down on one knee, more from shock than pain.

"You fight like a bIHnuch!" She hissed as she turned for another run at Meara. "I fight. That's all I have to do. And send your laH'e' to Sto-vo-kor. If it will take you, of course…," she added with a touch of relish.

The noise from the crowd was deafening, but Meara focussed on her own heartbeat, measured, calm, strong. She was planning on being comforted by that sound for a long time to come.

Hayes was feeling a little naked without a weapon in such a highly charged setting, but as all weapons were stowed just outside the arena for the trial and the only ones were those in the hands of Meara and her Klingon opponent he thought it safe enough…

…Well, as safe as it can be surrounded by an arena full of blood-thirsty savages, thought Malcolm.

Hayes' heart lurched in his chest. Not for the first time since the start of this mission was he treated to the sight of Meara's skill in combat and unparalleled stealth and grace. The woman could probably shoot herself through the eye of a needle from a half klick away.

Ever alert to their surroundings, a commotion going on in one of the stalls opposite them above the arena distracted both his and Reed's attention from the main event. Meara was certainly gaining the upper hand. Her opponent's warrior friends evidently weren't too happy about this unexpected change in the Klingon wind so had decided to up the ante. Feeling the bloodlust and catching the scent of battle in the air, one of the targs had conveniently "broken free" from his chain. The beast scrambled eagerly across several spectators in an effort to leap into the arena. No one made any move to stop it.

The entire Enterprise crew were on their feet shouting for a halt to the trial. Kolos raised his hand to quiet the surging crowd. He looked over at Archer. "In battle, Captain, a warrior must be prepared for anything! ANYTHING! CONTINUE COMBAT!"

Archer looked at Meara, his face marred with concern, but she hadn't taken her eyes off the animal. The targ paused, breathing heavily from excitement and the exertion of fighting his owner to get off his leash. Obviously, he was curious about this creature having never seen one before. Malcolm was wondering if the animal was seeing a slab of succulent meat he was moments away from sinking his teeth into. He and Hayes exchanged a glance, but in this situation, they were powerless to intervene. This was trial by combat. This was the Klingon Way. When Meara had asked him to watch their backs, she hadn't been referring to the trial. It was the aftermath with which she was concerned. Many would not be happy with the outcome and they might be hard pressed to use a diplomatic solution to extract themselves from the situation. The aftermath mostly hinged on Kolos and his scant number of supporters.

Standing behind the Targ which was ignoring the Klingon, Meara's opponent had paused to take stock of the situation, eager to see how the human would handle this turn of events. Maybe the Targ would do the job for her. She hadn't relied on the pale, little insect being so quick on her feet, but a Targ, quick and vicious to its very bones? It may well make short work of this "Meara." She'd have to adopt the Targ, maybe they could eat the human's heart together…

Neither animal nor Klingon were prepared for what Meara did next.

"Don't move, Meara." Her Uncle's soft voice soothed her momentary fear, which she somehow, got quickly under control. The animal could definitely sense it, his snarl widening to reveal even more of the jagged canines and strong jaw that had sunk teeth into its fair share of game. Meera took control, subconsciously reaching out to the animal. She mirrored his breathing, relaxed her body, softened her eyes. There was no threat to be felt from these humans. Heartbeats began to synchronise. Meera slowly lowered her body so that she was eye level with the wolf. He lowered his head, eased his body gently, warily forward. He was mere feet away. Meera lowered her body even further and tipped her eyes towards the ground. The next thing she knew, a rough, wet tongue carressed her face.

She was eight years old. Young enough to tap the instinct that would one day meld with the intellect that she was destined to develop and possess. Her Uncle had taken her hunting for the first time. Never to kill. Getting close without the animal's knowledge was the real goal. Mastery of self, the real achievement. Not to dominate but to embrace the animal within; understand the DNA that lay dormant in all humans, but could be woken. If one knew how. And who better equipped to do that than the next step in human evolution?

Meera stood. The targ was lying at her feet in submission. Now, it was the silence that was deafening. Meara couldn't help but give a small smile as she reached down again and patted the animal's belly. He smelled worse than a pit of decomposing innards but Meara had made a friend. And was now standing opposite a very worried Klingon…