See Author's Notes at the end.

xXx

"The human is no longer useful." Thtarok's voice was still scratchy, his throat not completely recovered from the compressive forces Escthta had brought to bear on him. He was reluctant to give the whole story about why the Psionic had attacked him, and so far, the Council had simply accepted the attack as part of a Psionic's latent danger.

"I could have told you that, Thtarok." Kvar'ye was unimpressed. "I believe I made my feelings on the usefulness of human experiments obvious when we discussed the Psionic the first time."

"You hardly spoke at all that day!" Thtarok shot back.

"Have I ever been less than crystal clear, Thtarok?" Kvar'ye growled. "Humans are not worthy prey, sentient or no. They cannot match us in physical strength, cunning or intelligence. They're dumb animals." He threw his hand out to the side, gesturing to an invisible example. "Look at how they flock to new worlds when they know the kainde amedha have already established hives on the surface." He flicked his hand, shooing the idea away. "The worthy prey among them are few and far between, hardly worth bothering with."

"We are not all as privileged as you are, Kvar'ye," Noskor said amusedly, his clouded eye leveled on the hulking yautja. "The tsavir and weyk are simply too challenging for the rest of us." The compliment had the air of an insult; it might have been hidden in there somewhere, but Kvar'ye was not nimble enough to pick it out. The tsavir and weyk were both deadly adversaries and the skulls of the juvenile tsavir alone were valuable beyond measure. Kvar'ye possessed two.

The weyk, however, was the large predator of their own world, the only hunter more fearsome than themselves. The increase of active weyk had been one of the driving forces behind the construction of the City so many centuries ago. Since the walls were completed, the weyk had all but vanished from the yautja consciousness, although their size and ferocity were told in the friezes that lined the entrance to the Great Hall the biannual Council convened in. A few yautja went on Hunts outside the City walls, including Kvar'ye, but most were content to Hunt on other worlds and return to this one only when the Council required it.

"This is getting nowhere," Ren'da interjected. "The important part is to decide what to do about him."

Kvar'ye shrugged. "You're the Arbiter, you know what to do with rogue yautja."

Ghanede lifted a cautionary finger. "But he hasn't actually done anything wrong."

"He nearly killed me!" Thtarok hissed.

"But it was not unprovoked," Ghanede countered. "The Matriarch charged him with the human's protection. We knew that when they came out of that room months ago," he said, pointing at the closed chambers of the Matriarch. "Since she had not released him, he was completing the task he was assigned."

"When will his task be up? When will she be gone?" Bruyaun was nervous as usual, always fearful for his position in the Council. His fat hands crisped together anxiously.

"Thtarok tells us her role in experiments is completed," Tjat'le said, speaking for the first time, acknowledging the scientist's previous statement. His silence was unusual; the boisterous Tjat'le usually enjoyed a good fight, but he was quiet these days. Whatever had weighted his mind, it weighted the Council as well, and Bruyaun's fidgeting was quieted by the gravity of the statement.

"Then she's gone?" he asked hopefully.

Tjat'le leaned back in his chair. "It is up to the Matriarch to release her. The human requested travel to any planet she chose, and we will abide by that."

xXx

"How are you feeling?" Escthta watched H'chak-di's eyes open. She had been awake many times, but there was alertness in her eyes, a restlessness that wanted activity. It had been nearly a week since the attack, since the mating, and the sex and blood was still vivid in his mind's eye. There had been no call from the Council, no summons to a trial; no contact came from Da-kvar'di either. He did not dare assume he was safe from prosecution, but he hoped he might be reasonably safe from another mating.

H'chak-di had recovered amazingly well; yautja medicine, though far from optimal, had proven itself invaluable in her treatment, and the edges of the scratches on her ribs were already beginning to turn that new-pink of human scar tissue. The scratches themselves were not so bad, not compared to the deep furrows on his leg that Da-kvar'di had carved with her spurs. Those, too, were scarring over, his own accelerated healing rate plugging the canyons in his muscles with new material, new fibers, and new nerves.

"I know it wasn't your fault," she said.

"You didn't then. It was a betrayal."

"Maybe. But I don't hold any grudges."

"Even when I allowed you to come to harm? Even when you might have been killed?"

She shrugged easily. "But I wasn't."

"But you might have."

"But. I wasn't." She grinned. "No blood, no foul."

The idiom was lost on Escthta. "But you did bleed. Quite a lot."

"Head injuries always bleed like that." She rubbed the bandage on top of the set of claw-marks, which were stitched closed. It itched like mad now that the skin was beginning to close.

"So, was it good?"

Escthta blinked and then coughed roughly. "That's not your concern."
"That good, huh?" She smiled and then it faded. She jerked her chin at the sumcom, lit with a request for entry. "We have company."

Hir'cyn and Rathde stood on the other side of the door, and they stepped in quietly. The younger yautja gave H'chak-di a cool look, but then looked at Escthta.

"Hir'cyn. I haven't seen you in a while," Escthta greeted the Elder warmly.

"There are several reasons for that," he replied. They clasped forearms and shook each other heartily, and then Hir'cyn took in Escthta's injuries. "Only a female's spurs leave those kinds of wounds, Escthta," he smirked. Escthta's mandibles curved in a kind of embarrassed look, and he brushed off the comment. Hir'cyn then saw that H'chak-di was bandaged as well, and frowned.

"She is injured? What's happened?" His tone bespoke his concern, but it was not only for H'chak-di, as Escthta might have guessed. Escthta related the whole tale, including Thtarok's bizarre behavior and his own ability to press him against the wall using only the power of his mind. Hir'cyn's expression grew more and more serious, and he looked at the human, resting his hand on her shoulder before looking to Escthta.

"With the experiment over, she's technically Thtarok's to do with as he pleases unless the Matriarch says otherwise."

"She's not just a test subject. We're connected." Escthta tapped his temple. "Here."

Hir'cyn sighed and then sat on Escthta's bed, looking across the walkway to them. His brows were heavy, his voice weary. "You know what you are, then."

"I don't care what I am or what went on. I know that H'chak-di is safe, and I haven't really gone much beyond that." He paused. "I know the word for yautja like me is Psionic, but everyone seems to have this surge of fear when that word is said; I have never explored further."

Hir'cyn steepled his hands and then clapped them together. He couldn't tell him too much, especially when warned against it by Ren'da. But Escthta had asked, and most of it was public knowledge, so he could allow some discussion.

"A Psionic is someone with the power to do things with their mind. Sometimes it is simply feeling what others feel, or hearing what others are thinking. These are simple things for a Psionic to do, so I've heard. Some Psionics can do more than just mind-read. Some can speak with their minds directly into the minds of others. Others can move things without touching them." His voice had taken on a hushed quality, as if he was telling stories to frighten young sucklings.

"So why the fear?"

"The upper limit of such abilities is not known. At least one Psionic could make projectiles with his mind. Not just pick things up and throw them," he said, heading off the question before it could leave Escthta's mouth. "These are missiles created with their mind. They leave no mark, no holes, no blood. They are fragments of the user's will, and if the Psionic is bent on murder, then the yautja hit with such a fragment will die."

"It's happened before, hasn't it?" Escthta's voice was oddly flat.

"That and worse. Thio-de was the third in a group of three Psionics about 324 years ago." The fact was out, naked and hanging in the air like a body. Surely he would realize it, connect the points and learn his parentage. But if he knew, Escthta's face did not change, nor did he speak.

"Thio-de," Hir'cyn continued, "was an honored Warrior, but a rival poisoned the Council's mind against him. He was accused of everything from cannibalism to sex with humans." Hir'cyn sighed, his eyes flicking to H'chak-di, suddenly embarrassed to admit that she was on the same level as consuming the flesh of one of their own. He shook the thought away and continued, "What his rival didn't know was that the truth was far easier to use against him."

"Near the end of the Council, he was stripped of rank for these supposed crimes, although no one ever found any evidence against him. On the last day, as Leaderships were awarded, he killed fifty yautja with his mind alone." Hir'cyn gathered his thoughts and put them into words. "Some of them were turned inside out, others liquefied inside their skins." Hir'cyn remembered the panic that had briefly seized the Great Hall, the shouts and screams of yautja as they found their comrades turned to misshapen bags of fluid, the indignation at the attack, and finally, the fury that seized them until they found the culprit.

Escthta had closed his eyes, the images that broadcast themselves from Hir'cyn's mind too clear, too bold for him to stand. "They never found all the pieces of him after they ripped him apart." He huffled softly, staring at the floor. "And the body was burned." Hir'cyn nodded slowly, knowing the information had been pulled from his own memories, the sight of Thio-de's shattered skull, a bloody bolt, and the crowing of yautja vindicated in murder. It was nothing less than the sentence he would have received at the hands of an Arbiter, but even that might be too cruel for an Arbiter to orchestrate.

However deserved, since Thio-de was murdered without challenge or trial, his murderers became Bad Bloods. Distasteful as it was, laws on the matter were absolute, and the Matriarch would grant the murderers no shelter from their actions. Fifteen more yautja were tried, convicted and summarily executed. There had been but one execution since; the populace did not support dishonorable death. Escthta shook his head slowly, the information coming from Hir'cyn's own mind as freely as he might have his own thoughts. When he attempted to find out more, he found the way blocked, and decided not to push the issue; Hir'cyn was apparently already at risk even sharing the information with him.

"You have news of your own," Escthta began.

"Yes."

Escthta frowned, but even Rathde's mind was not open to him. As it was, he waited for Hir'cyn to share the news with him.

xXx

"What should we do with him?"

"We kill him, of course. People won't stand for a Psionic running around loose. We should have killed him in the first place," Kvar'ye spat.

Bruyaun nodded hastily in agreement. "We don't know what he could do," he said, anxious and fearful.

Thtarok seethed quietly, stewing in his chair with his arms folded across his chest.

"He is dangerous," Ren'da started. "But I don't think killing him is the answer."

"And why not?" Tjat'le pressed his forefinger to his temple, leaning his head on his hand. The whole discussion was getting to him and he was growing more bored and depressed about the whole business. "I have three votes for death. Explain to me why mine should not be the fourth."

Tjat'le's eyes were clear, direct, and Ren'da knew he had to make his case well.

"There are multiple reasons. He seems to be a favorite of the Matriarch; I do not envy the yautja who earns her displeasure." His grey head seemed almost white in the sunlight that streamed from the skylight. He rested back in the chair, and he curled his hands around the chair's arms, stroking them thoughtfully. "You have all seen the rings, haven't you? The ones around his tusks? It's a divine gift not awarded in centuries, the Gift of Tongues; proof that she favors him over all others."

Noskor closed his eyes, bad and good, nodding in agreement.

"But she is weakening," Kvar'ye said, leaning onto the table and pointing a finger at Ren'da. The silence was thick, and Kvar'ye satisfied the curious quiet. "My spies have seen the Elder Hir'cyn making frequent visits to her living quarters."

"That means nothing," Noskor began.

"Taken along with her refusal to appear before us to discuss matters of government? Does she fear we will see her in an aged state?"

The Matriarch, as a vessel of holy power, did not visibly age. So long as the Goddess remained rooted in the Matriarch's body, no wrinkle, nor gray hair, nor ague might trouble her. But as the body began to reach its limits, even the power of the Goddess must seek a new container. When the Goddess left the Matriarch to seek a new avatar, the Matriarch would age rapidly, and die within months. The new seat of the Goddess, a female selected by divine providence, would become the new Matriarch.

"If Hir'cyn is her Consort, and I'm not saying he is, but if he is, then why bother not upsetting her?" Kvar'ye tapped his claws on the tabletop and the noise grated on Ren'da's nerves. "She'll be dead in a while anyway."

"Gods do not forget slights against them," Ghanede warned. "Do you think the new Matriarch will not have Paya's memory, and the memory of all Matriarchs that went before her? Why do you think she continues to rule over us? Because she has the wisdom of thousands of years, granted to her by Paya herself. If you think the new Matriarch will leave the old Matriarch's business unfinished, you're a fool, Kvar'ye."

xXx

"I didn't know anyone did that anymore," Escthta said. "Consorts, I mean."
"You're just not old enough to need one yet," Hir'cyn retorted. "It's a serious undertaking. I have known others who have done it, but to be the Consort of a Matriarch… there are three days of funerary rituals alone."

"So you're responsible for her as she dies, and until she's laid to rest?"

"Yes." Hir'cyn looked tired and his next sentence was halting. "It is not something I am looking forward to; she's a remarkable creature." He was quiet and then looked at H'chak-di.

"You know, Escthta," he started, looking at the human and her attentiveness, even though she could only half-understand them. She smiled, that weird curving smile that looked as if she was in pain. Hir'cyn shook his head. "Forget it."

xXx

"I'm not convinced," Tjat'le said after a moment. "The Matriarch's favor doesn't grant one immunity from the consequences of one's actions."

"But he didn't do anything wrong. A Blooded warrior does not have to make a formal challenge to address wrongs committed against him." It was Ren'da's voice, the voice of the laws of their people, and it was true.

"Were the wrongs committed against him or the human?" Tjat'le wondered out loud, and then he turned to Thtarok, who was suddenly looking ill. "Which is it, Thtarok?" he asked.

"The human. Her purpose was fulfilled, so I didn't see any harm in using her to obtain other data."

Tjat'le narrowed his eyes, fixing them on Thtarok. The scientist was lying, but why? What was he carefully omitting from his story? "Was she harmed at all in your quest for data, Thtarok?"

"Minor flesh wounds, Liege."

Tjat'le's probing had elicited the response he sought from Thtarok, an admission and a recognition of rank. It was an engraved invitation to lambaste him for his overreaching.

"And yet you knew of the contract that was struck here months ago, that established him as her Protector?"
"She's only a human!"

"Human or not, the contract was between the Psionic and the Matriarch. It is not your business to test its reaches or question its validity." Tjat'le finished in a loud, deep voice, but the words stung Thtarok, a public reprimand not easily endurable by any yautja. He boiled with hatred inside and burned Ren'da with a look of pure vitriol.

Tjat'le also turned his head to look at Ren'da. "Since Escthta was provoked and the human, technically his property, was protected by contract, I see no reason to declare him a Bad Blood. Though there is considerable pressure to execute him without regard for his right to defend himself," he said slowly, looking at Kvar'ye and Thtarok in turn, "you have convinced me that there are no legal grounds to do so." For which I am very thankful, he added mentally, unwilling to deal with the rioting that would ensue if an execution was allowed. Ren'da bowed his head respectfully.

"But that doesn't solve the main problem. He's a Psionic. These three," Tjat'le said, gesturing to Thtarok, Kvar'ye and Bruyaun, who looked puffy and anxious, "want me to execute him regardless. Considering the history of Psionics, I can understand their… concern." The other six members of the Council watched him, each measuring the words in their minds and finding their approval or displeasure with parts of it.

"So," he said at length, "tell me what I should do with him instead."

xXx

Hir'cyn looked at Rathde and then at Escthta. The time had pleasantly passed with a drink, but it was time to get down to the real reason he had come to Escthta's quarters. Escthta sensed the change, the loosening in Hir'cyn's mind, and instead of forcing his way in, sat back and let his friend do the speaking.

"Escthta, the Council knows what you are. And now that you know the history behind Psionics, it will come as no surprise that they want to kill or control you."

"Control me?" Escthta frowned, a grimace of bewilderment. "But what have I done?"

"Nothing, except this last little skirmish with Thtarok. That's just enough to get them worried. Remember that Thio-de didn't give them any warning either."

"But they can't kill me either. No one will tolerate an execution, even if it's a Bad Blood."

"Execution?" H'chak-di interrupted their conversation with a timid voice. "Are you in trouble?"

Escthta chittered softly at her, shaking his head. "Everything's fine. No one's going to execute anyone."

"To that end, Escthta, the Council is holding a meeting to decide what to do about you." Hir'cyn's voice was deep and serious.

"When?"

"Now."

xXx

"You will not budge, Kvar'ye?"

"Of course not! What a ridiculous idea! We should kill him and be done with it."

"But we can't execute him, Kvar'ye." Ghanede's measured tones, calculated to calm him, only angered him further.

"He's a Psionic! The normal rules don't apply!"

"The rules do apply. We cannot make exceptions as we see fit. The law is the law."

"Damn the law!" Bruyaun had finally erupted under pressure, his fear tangible. "I remember the bodies that day, I remember the bags of gore shaped like my Clan members. I won't let another one of those monsters loose, not when I have the chance to kill him!"

The frothing Councilman startled Ren'da and Ghanede, who began to realize the purity of the fear that reinforced the convictions of their opponents.

"Do you think we are not afraid, Councilman Bruyaun," Noskor said quietly, "of that day so many years ago? Do you think you are the only one who saw people turn into puddles and splashes on walls?" He threaded his fingers together, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair. "Of course not. We all remember that day and what it brought. And as the law was firm then, so it is now. If he was put to death, it would be a tragedy, an invitation to chaos, and as the stewards of this civilization, the protectors of stability, we cannot let that happen."

"What have we come to when we cannot eliminate one who threatens our very existence? Are we a kinder, gentler Council?" Kvar'ye sneered. "Should we give him a plush suite and bow and scrape for one so young, simply because we lack the spine to do what is right?" His voice grew to almost a roar in the Council's chambers.

Noskor's blind eye narrowed. "On the contrary, Kvar'ye, it is because we have the spine to do what is right that we will not execute him."

The silence between the Councilmembers hung in the air; each side had said their piece. When the quiet grew too heavy to support itself, Tjat'le said softly, "To a vote, then."

xXx

Rathde hesitated at the doors of the Council Hall, but only for an instant. He straightened his shoulders, walking behind Hir'cyn, side-by-side with the human. She walked double-time to keep up with their long strides, and he found himself almost pitying her. If Escthta was executed, would the Council keep their word and ship her off to the planet of her choice? Or would she end up a slave or worse? Her fate depended on the Psionic that walked in front of her, and it was a precarious position he did not envy her.

The doors to the Council's chambers loomed large and graven in front of them, and Hir'cyn stopped for a moment, looking at Escthta, and then gripping him on the shoulder and shaking him, the closest thing to reassurance he could offer. Escthta pushed the doors open, walking in with H'chak-di close behind him.

It was very different from the last time he had been there, the presentation of a human female to a room full of yautja males. In that action there had been an admission of weakness, not just to females, but to other species, and that in and of itself had set the Council on edge. But now there was not just the threat of capitulation to females. Now they worried about corruption of their system from within, a rogue yautja, a Psionic who could destroy them all.

The panic registered on their faces; none of them had expected to be disturbed in their deliberations, least of all by the subject of their debate. There was anger, fear, panic, surprise; a toxic miasma of violent emotions assaulted him, but he only steadied his shoulders, stopping several paces from them.

"Escthta." Noskor was the first to acknowledge him.

Escthta bowed his head to his former mentor. "Noskor," and then to Tjat'le, a deeper inclination of his head. "My Liege."

Tjat'le stood, facing the young Psionic and looking him in the eye, though Escthta was at least a hand taller than him. "If you're here, then you know." The Elder Councilman cast a long look at Hir'cyn, who stood near the door with Rathde. "I think I can guess how you found out."

"You don't have to be a mind-reader to figure that out," Escthta offered.

Tjat'le chuckled darkly. "Indeed." He turned and gestured with a wide wave of his arm at the other members of the Council. "We were just discussing you, as it happens."

"I know."

Tjat'le's widened smile closed, and he regained his seriousness. "So you do." He paced, surreptitiously glancing at Kvar'ye and Bruyaun, Thtarok the scientist gripping the arms of his chair with his skin stretched tight over his knuckles. "Then you know what we were discussing."

"Whether or not to kill me."

"That is correct." Tjat'le leveled a sinister look on Escthta. "You must also be able to divine the result with your… gifts."

"I avoid places I am not wanted."

"And what makes you think we want you here?" spat Bruyaun, unable to contain himself anymore. A look from Tjat'le silenced the rotund Councilman.

"Nothing. I'd rather not be here, but there are things being addressed I can't ignore. She won't either," he finished, nodding his head toward the other end of the room.

The door to the Matriarch's chambers opened, creaking inward and revealing the avatar of Paya. Swathed in heavy robes edged with embroidery, she was no less mysterious than the first time Escthta had seen her, if less revealing. She was hooded, her head draped with a silk cloth, each fiber almost luminescent. An intricate design that made use of the yautja's love for three-sided shapes bordered the scarf, which trailed from the crown of her head smoothly. A simple diadem was visible on her forehead, and delicate tasseled chains trailed from it, hanging underneath her upper tusks and gathered back under the scarf. Her lower tusks were still belled, and they chimed softly as she opened her lower tusks in a smile.

"Councilmen," she greeted them, with a small bow of her head. The thrum of divinity was missing from her voice; she was only the Matriarch, and Escthta realized with more and more clarity that he could not sense any sort of holiness about her.

Of course you can tell, being one who Speaks, said the Matriarch's voice in his mind. But do not tell the Council. They only suspect.

Escthta blinked and then nodded. Yes, Lady, I will keep your secret.

Thank you, Escthta. Her eyes were still dark and warm, but the sockets they were set in had deepened and were edged with wrinkles. The more he looked at her, the more he saw the ages creeping in on her like a hunting pack. He bowed his head, afraid his face might give him away. He felt both her sorrow and her relief. Everything will come to a head in this room, he thought, and in a few minutes, all of our fates will be sealed.

"You have been meeting regarding the fate of a young Blooded warrior," the Matriarch said, interrupting his thoughts, and Escthta was pleased to hear that she had lost none of her warm serenity to the advancing ages yet.

"Yes, Lady," said Tjat'le. "We were only just about to announce our results."

"After you called him here," she added. "You wouldn't make such a decision without him present, would you, Councilmen?"

"Of course not, Lady."

"Very well. You may proceed," she said, walking slowly across the room. She towered over them, and even though Escthta was the tallest male in the room, she was still taller than he.

Tjat'le drew himself up to his full height, a nearly meaningless effort in the face of the giantess and her favorite.

"The Council, bound under oath to uphold and maintain the stability of the City in which it is housed, has reached a decision regarding Escthta, a recently discovered Psionic. In previous incidents, Psionics have proven dangerous to the populace and to themselves. Based on these incidents and written law, the Council feels it necessary to enact upon Escthta the following restrictions. One, that he be stripped of rank indefinitely. Two, that he surrender himself to the custody of this Council immediately."

Tjat'le paused. There had been no cry for justice, and Escthta's face remained stony and unchanging. The Matriarch regarded him with her solemn gaze, the one he had come to loathe as a Councilman; even he felt like little more than a suckling when pinned with that look, and it made him feel all the more guilty to be under that scrutiny and finish reading the verdict.

"Three, that he shall remain in permanent exile indefinitely."

"Exile!" Escthta could not contain the outburst. Stripped of rank was bad enough, but exile?

"Is that your judgment, Tjat'le?" The Matriarch watched him unblinkingly.

"We reached it through a vote," Tjat'le replied.

"Ah," the Matriarch said, and then said nothing else. Her silence filled all the Councilmembers with a kind of child's guilt, and even Kvar'ye looked down at where his hands rested on the arms of his chair.

"Do you accept these terms, Escthta?" The Matriarch said. "Will you give yourself up willingly?"

"I don't see what I have done wrong!"

It wasn't right that he should give up his rank because they were frightened of him. How could they do this to him? It wasn't fair! His anger seized him and he looked on the Council, even Noskor, with a red rage lashing the backs of his eyeballs.

"Escthta!"

And like that, it was gone, the rage dismissed like smoke by a strong wind, and even the lingering hint could not last long. He looked at the Matriarch and understanding reached him.

It is not about what is right or fair; such a life is not promised to us. We are only given a life, and how it is lived depends as much on us as it does on the whims of fortune.

Her voice was gone, and then Escthta looked at the Council, and even the hatred of Thtarok, an almost visible aura of malcontent around Kvar'ye, even these he was able to accept. He shook his head, feeling his sinuses sting. "Yes, Lady. I accept these terms." He paused. "But H'chak-di…"

All eyes turned to the human, and she, who had been quiet the entire time, stepped out from behind Escthta, her brow wrinkled with concern.

"You have fulfilled your promise to me, H'chak-di," the Matriarch said slowly. "I have fulfilled mine- we will never again visit your home planet."

"But Escthta," she said, looking up at the giant who had been responsible for her safety all these months. "Where will he go?"

"I will leave that up to Ren'da. He is the Arbiter on the Council and he enacts all of the decisions involving the laws," the Matriarch explained gently. "Tell me instead where you will go. What is the planet of your choosing?"

She didn't hesitate. "I have no family but him. Where ever he is exiled, that is where I want to be."

The Matriarch smiled softly and then rested her enormous hand on H'chak-di's shoulder. "So it shall be."

xXx

The time in the ship was both long and short. Escthta and H'chak-di were put into a room containing two beds, and H'chak-di (for this was now how she thought of herself) missed the plush comfort of the bed in the ziggurat. Hir'cyn had apologized, but his clout had already been stretched to the limit keeping them out of the cells. Days and then a week rolled by, and H'chak-di began to get used to the ship's food again, finding it nostalgic of her first days with the Hunters, the fear and uncertainty replaced with resolve and even a little despair.

Ren'da had delegated the task of transporting Escthta to his planet of exile to Hir'cyn at the subtle suggestion of the Matriarch. Hir'cyn had contested the issue in private, but the Matriarch had insisted upon it, Consort or no. Thus, he found himself adrift in the endless blackness of space, looking down at the planet upon whose mercies he would cast Escthta and H'chak-di. Although he didn't understand the location or the reason, he would follow Ren'da's orders and set them down here.

The landing was rough, as landings always were for Hir'cyn. The dropship following Ren'da coordinates had pitched them down on a rocky beach, overcast with a heavy layer of clouds blocking out the sun. The smell of saltwater stung the inside of his mouth, and Hir'cyn closed his tusks, as did Escthta. The beach was approached by a forest several hundred yards away, and there was a chill in the air, for winter had just begun.

Escthta was allowed to keep his wristblades and a spear, and H'chak-di carried a small pack with provisions. They said nothing for long moments; H'chak-di stared at the sea, mesmerized by the wave action upon the sand, and Hir'cyn and Escthta watched it for a moment as well before Hir'cyn sighed.

"You have to leave." Escthta had been trying to read his mind, find his location, unwilling to totally accept his exile, but Hir'cyn was bottled up, all his thoughts kept close and private.

"Yes."

"Thank you. For everything you've done."

Hir'cyn nodded and then looked at the human. After a moment's regard, he reached up to his shoulders and unsnapped his cloak, letting the blue unfurl in the wind off the ocean. With a motion, he swept it around H'chak-di, who drowned in its length, but smiled weakly. "Thank you," she said, and although there was no translation, Hir'cyn understood her.

He turned to go and then turned back, leaning close to Escthta. "Head east, then south," he said quickly, and then the ship was closing up with him inside it.

The awkward pair watched it until the fire from its thrusters disappeared into the cloud cover.

xXx

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This chapter will be the last chapter of Quality of Resonance for a while. This is the dreaded Planned Hiatus, during which I will be writing Cthinde's story.

Cthinde's story will be, as one reviewer put it, one of those godawful pred/human romances. Perhaps not flowery. And perhaps not accepted. It's a dynamic I wanted to explore in this story, but found that the more I wrote it, the harder I was going to have to work to shoehorn it into the story. Which is not to say that getting Cthinde into a relationship of any kind with a human will be easy, or even possible. But that's something I want to look at. If you're not cool with that, don't read it. You can look at it as "Cthinde went and did some stuff".

About the Hiatus, I will be writing three chapters alongside with Cthinde's story. Rather than publish each one on its own and have certain plot points misunderstood or even bemoaned, I will publish all three at once, so that the entirety of the chunk can be digested by the reader and perhaps my twists and turns will be a bit easier to swallow.

Thanks to Sara, the faithful and patient beta for this chapter. And here's hoping that Masurao will stop playing WoW and come back to our fandom, which so dearly misses her. Also love to the CG, Sol and Drakon, the original fangirls.

If you have any questions about things thus far or simply want to chat, IM me and I'll be happy to explain anything.