AUTHOR'S NOTE: See Author's Notes at the end.

xXx

The rhythmic tides pushed on the rocks at their feet, small sea creatures lurching as the tide rolled them back and forth in the potholes in the beach rock. Escthta looked out across the wide-open sea and then at the grey-white sky. Perhaps he hoped to see the dropship returning, or maybe faces seek the heavens instinctively when looking for guidance. H'chak-di thumbed the straps of the shoulder pack anxiously, although there was no one to hurry or worry for but themselves.

She looked up at Escthta, the giant who had become her whole world. Everything she interacted with among the Hunters passed through his lens, and with him, she'd come to understand them as a group of proud, fearless individuals that expected only the best out of themselves and others; the weak were not tolerated. She hoped that now, on the leading edge of what could be a metaphorical cliff, she could prove herself worthy.

"What will we do?" Her voice was soft, tucked into the receding tides.

"We will head east."

"How do we know which way east is?" A strange world, a strange star; who knew if it even rotated in the same way? She struggled to tamp down her fear and panic. Escthta looked down at her. He had been given his mask for use on this planet, its diagnostic tools invaluable. It hid all his emotions from her, leaving her guessing as to his true emotional state.

Few words had passed between them since the sentencing a week or so ago. Escthta had been working through his own kind of loss with barely a thought to H'chak-di's comfort. He realized with sudden clarity that she had been content to follow him through any and all madness, trusting him implicitly with her life. He watched her face, hoping that the directions Hir'cyn gave him, spare as they were, might help him get back to where he needed to be.

"East is where the sun rises." Escthta's voice had a surety he did not feel. He felt broken down, torn apart and alone. It had been months since he had been with his Clan, but he had always expected to go back when this was all over, when his mission was carried out. And then H'chak-di fell into his life and the Clan's absence was filled with her curiosity, her shrinking acceptance, her small kindnesses. Human words issued from his mouth with a carefree ease, Paya Herself had asked his help – who might refuse a god? – and the Council had branded him a threat, kicking him out of yautja society without a second thought. Is this really better than an honorless death under an executioner's ax? he wondered to himself, rather wishing he had been given the choice.

They made their way inland, the coastal rock giving way to a series of meadows dotted with scrub. The grass rippled green-blue, glossy stalks flashing in the wind, the air lashing it like water into tides. H'chak-di tugged Hir'cyn's cloak closer around her, and tucked her head down, walking behind Escthta as he lead the way toward the distant black line of trees and slightly higher ground. H'chak-di's short stride length limited his speed, which agitated him, but he could do nothing for it. They plodded on, reaching the forest just as night fell.

The night was cooler than he'd expected and it took some time for the fire he built to take; the wood was moist and failed to burn with anything approaching gusto. H'chak-di sat close to it, her pale skin painted orange by the low fire, glad she had kept her bodysuit from Craxan. Escthta's face was passive, a mask of nothing, but inside he struggled with blame for himself and her. Unable to decide who deserved more of it, he breathed in a shock of cold air and stood. "I'll bring food."

His terse words were all he said before he vanished into the darkness of the wood, leaving H'chak-di alone with the fire. She tended it carefully, mindful of her dependence on its warmth, and it soon grew into a robust blaze visible for more than a mile. Behind her, the forest was quiet. No bird or animal calls broke the silence of the night; even the wind forsook their small camp, although it was more because this was the lee side of the forest than any sinister plot H'chak-di could imagine. The hour was growing late; by her estimation it was two hours after sunset, and the chill deepened into a bone-numbing cold. She pulled the cloak tighter around her, hoping that Escthta would return soon. A twig snapped behind her, and she turned her head with a small smile.

A large thing, for she could not distinguish its shape in the night, leered at her with lantern-like eyes. Below the eerie eyes, a mouthful of teeth glinted dully in the firelight. H'chak-di's smile faded, and she dropped the cloak, her heart beginning to race. One hand reached out and grabbed a large branch, its end deep in the fire. She shifted slowly, and the creature tensed; she felt it more than she saw it, an intake of breath on both their parts as they stared each other down.

With a yell, she ripped the branch out of the fire and brandished it toward the beast, whose face was lit horribly by the burning wood, its lantern eyes extinguished and made into dark sockets by the torch held aloft. The snarl that had first curled its fleshy lips eased out, and it watched her, a thrum issuing forth as it began to perceive that she was no longer prey, she was something to be feared. She was a threat.

She screamed at the animal, a war-cry that humans long ago forgot how to make, and swung her branch at it. It leaped back, snarling at her, its toothy maw agape. It crept forward and she made to club it with the brand, and bits of wood ash fluttered away as she swung and missed. The creature began to circle around her, and though she made pains to face it, a third feint with the burning branch did not deter it nearly as readily as had the first. Its legs tensed to spring.

There was another roar, much closer, and a dark shape leapt onto the creature's back. Raising the torch higher, she saw Escthta astride the monster, his huge frame made small by the sheer size of the beast. His wrist blades glinted as they rose and fell in the firelight, but even with the number of stabs he was making, the creature would not fall. It turned to bite at him, trying to nip at his feet with its dagger-teeth, to pull him into the reach of its mouth with a heavy paw. It shook him, its ridged back hair wobbling, but Escthta had some kind of strange grip on him, and could not be moved.

Mad with pain, the creature turned for her, for the fire, sensing on some level that the attack was meant to protect her, his only Clan. It stumbled toward her, and the lanterns in its face were lit again, glowing brightly as it drew closer. It roared, its voice a deeper echo of Escthta's, setting her internal organs shaking with its stentorian call.

Escthta loosed his grip, falling forward and catching the filth-encrusted fur near its shoulder. He swung down, his blade arm stretching, and punched his wrist-blades into its throat. A gout of black-green blood gushed over his hand, and he jerked his arm back around, half-decapitating it. Bubbles formed in its mouth and spluttered out of the wound as it gasped for air. It wheezed once and then fell. The beast collapsed on the edge of their camp, its long tongue lolling out of its mouth, eyes glassing over. Escthta fell off the side of it, his fingers cramped into claws.

H'chak-di dropped her burning branch back in the fire, running around the behemoth corpse to his side. He lifted his head wearily and then she heard his familiar chuckle. "Not exactly what I had in mind, but I guess we can eat it."

"Are you insane?! You might have gotten killed!"

Escthta propped himself up on his arms, wincing as he got to his feet. "I might have." He stood up, rolling his shoulders and then looked at the carcass, appraising it.

H'chak-di spluttered behind him as he moved away, and she began to lecture him, her voice growing shrill.

"Be still, H'chak-di," he said quietly, but firmly, and to his surprise, she obeyed. "I am old enough to know what risks I take, as well as which ones are worth taking." He looked at her around the massive head of the beast and his face was serious. "If I had not broken off my hunting to follow this creature, you would be dead."

Blood drained from H'chak-di's face as the nearness of her scrape with death caught up with her. He was right, of course; his presence alone had saved her from becoming an evening meal for whatever it was that lay dead at the edge of their camp.

"Thank you."

"You do not need to thank me, H'chak-di," Escthta said, his voice half-lost in the filthy side of the animal. There was the thunk of blade through bone, and then a wet noise as he peeled out a slab of meat from the haunches. He brought it over to the fire, skewering it and setting up a makeshift spit.

"It's a pity," he said slowly, "that we have no way to preserve the meat, but it won't be the last one we see."

"Won't be… it won't be the last one of those?" H'chak-di was confused; how could Escthta know anything about this creature?

Escthta grunted, settling back in front of the fire, his forearms rested on his knees, hands black with blood and ash dangling in the air. "I don't think so. It is a sr'keth, a native animal of my homeworld." At the look on her face, he raised a bloody finger and preempted her question. "We seeded several hunting worlds with them in ages past, before the Hard Meat became the trial for the Blooded."

Escthta lifted his head and watched the blue-gray smoke vanish into the night sky. After a long pause, H'chak-di spoke. "So what does it being here… what does it mean?"

Escthta shrugged. "It may mean nothing." He turned the spit in the fire, rotating charred meat out of the flames.

"It bothers you that it's here, doesn't it?"

Escthta looked up at H'chak-di. Her face was worried, the strange wrinkles of human concern on her forehead. He nodded slowly. "It does."

He looked back into the fire, the heat drying his eyes so that they stung when he closed them. "I can't quite place why it makes me uneasy, but it does."

H'chak-di smiled and sat down next to him, pulling the cloak up around her shoulders again. She looked at the dead sr'keth and then into the fire. "Will it attract scavengers?"

Escthta drew in a breath and then let it out. "Hard to tell." He paused, his breath white in the air, and then relaxed some. "If it were any other animal, probably so. It won't begin to smell dead until tomorrow, and we'll be a long way off by then."

xXx

Hir'cyn's body ached in the most satisfactory way, and it was only with extreme reluctance that he raised a clawed hand to halt Rathde's advance. "Enough, enough! I am twice your age!"

Rathde stopped, his fists dropping slightly, his toes buried in the sand of the kehrite.

Hir'cyn rose to his full height from the stooped fighting stance he had assumed, and he pressed a hand to his side, where bright green blood seeped from a shallow scratch.

"I will need a permanent medic if we continue to spar on a regular basis, Rathde," he said, rolling his other shoulder and groaning inwardly at the stiffness that was already beginning to creep into his muscles.

"What you need is more sparring, not less. You're out of shape," Rathde chided. He picked up his towel from the benches around the kehrite, brushing the sand off his arms.

Hir'cyn hmmphed. "At my age, sparring is hardly necessary."

"At your age, it should be required."

Hir'cyn gave him a sour look. "In any case, I would think you fit for Hunting soon." The Elder looked down at the transplanted foot his young protégé stood on. It was fit and muscled, and they had only been training lightly on it for a few weeks.

"But how could I get into a Hunt? I have no Clan," Rathde countered, his expression darkening.

"A good point." Hir'cyn wrapped himself in his own towel, making steps toward the baths. That was something that would need work. An Elder's influence would slick the track, so to speak, but he sensed that the young Rathde would much rather earn something on his own merit. He was eager to regain his honor, and it troubled Hir'cyn the lengths he might go to in getting there.

The bath chamber was thick with steam; Hir'cyn began walking toward the back, his feet sure on the stonework. He eased into the mineralized water, still thoughtful, and Rathde stepped in on the other side. These were artificial hot baths, circulated and cleaned daily, although a fine grit of sand from various sparring rings dusted the bottom of the hot pool. A contented sigh hissed out between his tusks as Hir'cyn settled into the hot water, and moments later, a similar noise of relaxation hummed out of Rathde.

Though he was emancipated, Rathde insisted on staying with Hir'cyn, which was difficult for the Elder. Having to treat a slave as a Blooded hunter was a change of pace that required active effort on his part; Hir'cyn's little experiment had worked better than he'd planned. "We shall think on it, then. How to get you on—"

Hir'cyn broke off, the sound of voices echoing down the stone halls reaching him. These training grounds were reserved for Elders and their comrades, and he had been the only one on the schedule today. Hir'cyn frowned, the intrusion unwelcome. One of the voices was distinctly familiar, but Hir'cyn couldn't place it right away. Rathde's face, dimly obscured by steam, looked concerned, but at a motion from Hir'cyn he stayed mute.

"It's your fault," one voice growled, and the other made a sound of protest.

"Hardly my fault. I wanted him executed."

"And what good would that have done me?" Indignant. Shrill. Hir'cyn narrowed his eyes. Thtarok.

"I don't really give a damn about you. You had your chance. From now on we'll do things my way." The volume rose and the echoes vanished as they entered the rock-lined bath chamber. The steam all but obscured them, but even Hir'cyn could recognize Kvar'ye's burly frame.

What now? Cough loudly so they'll know we're here? Or stay quiet and listen to them? A split second and his decision was made; he would stay quiet and see what he might learn. What could they be talking about? Rathde was staring intently at him, almost willing him to leave, but Hir'cyn moved his head imperceptibly side to side and hushed him.

"Your way isn't much better," the scientist hissed. "I'd have never gotten any data at all if you'd had your way." A small yelp and a splash heralded the scientist's entrance into a spa near the front of the room. A heavier step and splash was made by Kvar'ye, who made no such yelp.

"My way will keep us from being liquefied in our skins," Kvar'ye snarled. "He nearly killed you, all because you and your… " A groan of revulsion slipped from the burly Councilman. Thtarok made no reply.

"Don't give me that look." Kvar'ye snapped. "Humans are alright for Hunting, if we must—you know my feelings on that—but fucking one is beyond the pale."

"As if your tastes aren't any more vile, Kvar'ye." The scientist's voice was soft, barely audible, and Hir'cyn strained to hear it. "Yes, I know about your little kink, Kvar'ye. Don't give me that look," Thtarok mimicked back at the Councilman.

"…Take care that no one else hears of it," Kvar'ye said in a low voice. "Least of all Ren'da. The last thing he needs is more ammunition against me."

A small growl of rage escaped Thtarok, who dashed the water with his fist. "Damn that Ren'da! Not once, but twice he's done this to me!"

"You did it to yourself this time," Kvar'ye murmured. "You shouldn't let your lusts dictate your actions."

"That's some advice, coming from you."

"Mind your own matters before attending to others'," Kvar'ye said, a sinister undertone lacing his words. Thtarok said no more on the subject, but switched instead to something they could agree on.

"Something should be done about Ren'da," the scientist groaned.

"And what should we do, Thtarok? He's far too cautious for an assassin to get very far."

"You and your assassins! You tried to kill Escthta twice, and both times he saw right through it!" Thtarok's voice grated Hir'cyn's nerves to powder.

"I haven't had to deal with a clairvoyant before, Thtarok," Kvar'ye spat. "Besides, the Psionic is in exile on some Paya-damned world at the end of the galaxy."

"We have no idea where they chose to exile him, Kvar'ye. Ren'da could have put him anywhere."

"Relax, Thtarok," Kvar'ye said, sounding for the first time pleased with himself. "It's not as if they'd just take him up into space for a week and drop him right back down here."

Thtarok paused and then gruffly conceded. "I suppose that's true."

Hir'cyn could barely believe his ears. Two attempts on Escthta's life? He knew about the strange animal in their bedchambers, but was that the second or the first? He looked at Rathde, who had seemed to space out, his eyes unfocused, pretending to be somewhere else. Hir'cyn was beginning to feel the same way, but the next words grabbed his attention and held him hostage.

"And what of the Matriarch?" Kvar'ye's voice had become a lazy drawl.
"What of her?"

"Is she or isn't she dying?"

"She'll only allow her own attendants to examine her, not that it surprises anyone." Thtarok sounded slightly bitter. "To be honest, I don't know."

"Hmmph."

"Although the headscarf is damning. If her hair has greyed, then Paya has already left her and found a new avatar." Silence stretched and then Thtarok spoke again. "It might explain why she has not left the City, even though the Psionic has been dealt with. It would also explain Hir'cyn."

A chuckle broke from Kvar'ye. "Indeed, it would explain him nicely."

"And when she passes?" Thtarok said cautiously. "How shall we know the new Matriarch?"
Kvar'ye shrugged, rolling his bare shoulder in the warm water. "I am not sure. We were barely Clan Leaders when she was selected, and from what I understand, hers was simply a glorious appearing."

"Appearing?"

"Literally. The Council was convening on the Matriarch's death, and her attendant stumbled in. Paya descended on her in front of them, so there was no doubt as to her claims."

"What does a goddess look like without an avatar?" Thtarok sniffed delicately.

"I don't think we'll have any problem knowing her." Kvar'ye sounded sure of himself.

xXx

Escthta was right about the smell. It was rank by the time she awoke; the dark of night had not fully yielded to dawn when Escthta moving around the camp woke her. The sr'keth had attracted a significant number of buzzing flies, in spite of the fire's smoke and the chill. They were on their way in moments, having little in the way of possessions to weigh them down. He shouldered the pack while H'chak-di walked beside him.

The forest posed little problem, even for H'chak-di; A recent fire had charred the trunks of some trees black and killed all the underbrush. Escthta briefly explained that this was what had kept him so long the night before; the prey available had been slim, when the sr'keth had entered his awareness, manifesting itself as a numbing hunger for carrion roasted by fire.

"Have you figured out what makes you uneasy about the… animal?" H'chak-di's voice was quiet, nearly swept away by the breeze that they walked against.

"It doesn't seem right, to put me on a world with sr'keth. I can't believe the Council would grant me a boon like that."

"A boon?"

"A target familiar to the yautja is not something you give to him when you want him dead."
"But you're in exile."

Escthta shook his head. "It is the same thing, the end of life in the yautja society. I am all but dead to them."

"I don't get it," she said with a huff, obviously exasperated at the yautja thought process. "If they wanted you dead, why didn't they kill you and get the job done?"

"I don't know," Escthta ground out bitterly.

The crunch of their feet in the blackened leaf litter was all the sound they heard as they forged ahead. It wasn't long before H'chak-di spoke again.

"So, what if this is your homeworld?

Escthta looked at her as they walked. "What if it is?" He shook his head slowly, turning his eyes back to the horizon they constantly sought.

"Well, doesn't that change things?"

"I don't see how," he said quietly. "I am still in exile." The word was painful for him, and he choked on it.

"But if you get back to the City—"

"Nothing will change." He continued walking, although H'chak-di had stopped when he cut her off.

"You can't mean that. They'll have to accept you back if you get to the City."

Escthta paused to wait for her, his mandibles working slowly under his mask. "It's a point better not argued," he said finally, wearying of this line of thought.

xXx

Hir'cyn watched her eyes open and close, ignoring the weariness that ached in his bones; he hadn't slept in a day and a half. His body struggled with fatigue and the duty that required his presence. He sensed the Matriarch was near her end.

Her hair was unbound, long silver-white lengths on her couch, ready to be braided into dreadlocks for her final rest. She smiled softly at him, her breaths small and shallow, seeming to require great effort. "I am not long," she said shortly, her voice a wheezing sound, not at all like the Allmother's voice should be.

"I know," he said, enclosing her hand in both of his. Her hand was chilled, icy in the warmth of his palms. He chafed it, working to get the blood back into her limbs, the warmth back into her eyes. She moved her head only slightly to the side. "We must not be afraid of death, Hir'cyn. It comes in its time, and I have lived a full life." The words creaked out of her slowly as she made pains to speak. When she stopped, her eyes closed for a long time before opening again.

Hir'cyn dipped his head, hiding the grief that threatened to betray his eyes. Part of him had wished desperately for a reprieve, for a window opened where a door had been closed. But this was gritty reality, where pain could only be postponed, never ignored. "I am deeply honored," he said finally, raising his head and meeting her steady gaze, "to be at your side."

She smiled, a ghost of her former smile, and then nodded slowly, settling into the cushions behind her head. "The Psionic," she started, as if she suddenly remembered something about him. Hir'cyn's mandibles quirked. It had been almost six weeks since he had left the Psionic Escthta and his human charge on a rocky beach under an overcast sky. "He will need... your help," she rasped, and Hir'cyn, feeling rage and sorrow twist his heart at her dementia, nodded. She smiled again, and Hir'cyn held her cold wrist to his forehead. She breathed even more shallowly, air barely passing her tusks. Hir'cyn watched helplessly as her face blanched. She slipped away from him, her lungs quitting their lifetime's work, and her heart beating its last.

The Consort, a noble and dignified figure, crouched over her and closed her eyelids with a tender hand. "Paya be blessed," he said softly, "For now you are truly free."

He granted himself a few moments with her, a small silence only the two of them shared before he found the strength to begin her mourning call. He tilted his head heavenward and opened his mandibles; the ululation that rose from his throat, a haunting howl that wavered with grief, summoned the attendants outside. The females, huge and imposing, stood at their dead mistress' side as her Consort's cry announced her passing. When all the air had passed Hir'cyn's tusks, his howl dropped to a hoarse whisper and his head fell forward. He was silent as the medics entered the room. One of the females chittered approvingly, resting her hand on his shoulder.

Hir'cyn looked at the medic, who nodded slowly to the other medic, and they looked to her attendants. "The Allmother has passed from this world," the first medic said.

"Paya be blessed, for now she is free," the senior attendant replied gravely. The responses were scripted, but delivered with no less meaning or weight than any heartfelt outpouring of grief. The yautja way was not to avoid grief, but not to shame the dead with weakness. Hir'cyn lifted his head slowly, the weight of the past months settling heavy on him. The senior attendant turned to him, and smiled weakly.

"Consort, take your rest. She is at peace now."

Hir'cyn didn't even open his mouth to argue, but turned and stepped down off the dais, pushing through the curtains that were hung for the Matriarch's privacy. He lifted a hand to his face, rubbing some of the strain away, and lesser attendants going to the Matriarch's side pretended they did not see the Consort weeping.

xXx

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I have decided to post this chapter and cut down the hiatus to two chapters instead of three. I felt I was being unfair in keeping this chapter, which is less 'loaded' than the other two, from my faithful readers who have been waiting so long for this. I hope this is enough to take the edge off your hunger, and that you'll stick with me for the rest of it.

Thanks to Chocobo Goddess, my steadfast beta, and Sara, both great friends and valued support.