Vo'kuith released the mountain lion's corpse from his dah'kte, the wrist blades sheathing in his gauntlet. It fell with a thick thud to his side. He watched the creature's dying twitches and the blood that began to spread on the autumn foliage. Behind him was the soft rustling of dead leaves as the woman moved. He glanced over his shoulder, monitoring the way she scrambled back from him and bumped into a tree. She looked terrified and her scent revealed as much. He took a deep breath of it, recognizing those pleasant notes that were part of her scent, along with the citrus of her fear. His chest heaved with the deep breath, the leather of his armor groaning under the motion.

Odd she had not bolted yet. So many frightened animals, like the goat, would have. He studied her, noting the way her eyes darted along the dead mountain lion, and then up to him, taking in all he displayed. In spite of himself, he felt very aware of the female's gaze upon him. He sheathed his blades and turned to face her. He approached, his stride unhurried and purposeful. He felt his chin lift, his shoulders ease back. The woman pressed further against the tree. Her eyes, a rich brown, dashed across his figure and he felt it lick like fire over his flesh. Such feelings shouldn't come, he thought, but in truth, when was the last time a female appraised him?

The females of their kind were fewer, well treasured, and meant for chieftains and political powers now. It was a crime, in his mind, and certainly indicated something had gone awry in their system. Females were dwindling why? And to let them choose not the strongest male, the best provider, but to instead insist upon breeding based on alliances and status? The culture of life mating had already fallen away even before his own donor's time. Yautja had not taken time to ascertain why it was happening, only to respond to the crisis. Their numbers were dwindling, therefore the non-co di'ya, lifegivers, were isolated away. Even now, the culture changed to accommodate Aja'thwei, half-bloods, born from a Yautja male and a compatible female species, of which there were a few. He glanced to the the female. Oomani-di such as this were one of them.

He chuffed, shaking such thoughts from his mind. These grand worries were for later. For his campfire warming the outside chill and c'ntlip warming his insides. Not while he was standing in the forest, a kill faintly steaming at his side, and a small female shaking in front of him.

Further, he reminded himself, this was no powerful female assessing a potential donor and shivering with anticipation. This was a small, frightened Oomani-di.

He should just turn and go, but he recalled his donor. A follower of older and more honorable ways. A true warrior's mettle, he'd taught him, came not in his strength, but how his strength was utilized. Could he be tempered to a fine blade? Could he offer dignity to not only those of his standing, but those weakest to him as well?

Slowly, mindful of her fear, he crouched down. Her breathing increased, faster now, her chest heaving beneath her blouse. The scent of her terror grew and he saw her pupils dilate. He offered her a hand. She pressed back further still, as though the tree might swallow her up, and her gaze darted from his bio-mask to his clawed hand. This close, he could see just how rich her eyes were. Big, brown, doe-like. Her pupils almost consumed the ring of color in her fright. He remained still, waiting. She would bolt or she would stay, and he was curious to see which it was. He saw her mind seemed to race with possibilities, and then a strange resolve blanketed her. The scent of her fear remained strong, but her breathing slowed and her heart began to regulate.

Trembling, her pale hand rose, and flinchingly settled along the fingers of his hand. She was so tiny compared to him, he thought. So small indeed. He moved before she could change her mind and wrench away. He rose into a stand and swept her up onto her feet as well. She gasped and lost balance, stumbling forward into him. He remained where he was, unmoving, letting her regain her bearings against him. She took a deep breath, her small hand still captured carefully in his, her other hand settling on his arm. She was so soft, he realized, surprised by the texture of her. He knew Ooman's had appealing pelts for some of his kind, and briefly he wondered how much he could fetch for the softness of hers. But he was no cheap poacher and her kill would be without honor.

She peeked up at him, the top of her head only just meeting the bottom of chest.

"Th…thank you," she whispered.

Amused, he released her hand, taking a step back. He gestured behind her, for her to return the way she'd come. She swallowed, glancing over her shoulder, and then back to him.

"N-no," she said. "No, I can't. I have to—"

"Go," he said. The human word was odd in his mouth, starting from deep in his throat, but pronounceable. In turn, he saw the shock and awe light up her features at his use of her language. "Return."

He turned from her, picking up the mountain lion. He expected to hear the scurrying of her fleet-footed retreat, fleeing back to her little farm like a mouse fleeing from the claws of a bird of prey. Instead, he heard the sound of her approaching. The sweet cinnamon and vanilla of her natural scent washed closer to him. He paused and looked to her. She was ignoring him, striding to go past him in the direction the farm animal had gone. He watched her a moment, releasing a small breath of frustration. She was heading right toward his camping site. It would be no good for her to know where he was staying. It meant she could easily find him if she wished, and he did not desire to be disturbed. It was his hunting ground, his camp, his sacred terrain. She would—alter it with her knowledge and presence.

"H'ko," he growled, and she froze, turning back toward him. He shook his head. "No, female." He pointed back to her farm.

The female stared at him, a mixture of terror and something else deep in her eyes. She looked over him again, from his stature to his bio-mask to his dah'kte and to the kill in his hand. She knew the danger she could very well be in. Yet, he saw her jaw tighten. She turned again, ignoring him.

Ignoring him.

He bristled. He'd dropped the kill and had silently crossed the distance between them in the matter of a breath. He was in front of her the next moment, blocking her path, growling. She gasped, stunned at his speed, the silence of him. She stumbled back a few steps and then froze. The female stared at him and for a moment, they existed at a stalemate. He held his position, growling low and trying to intimidate. She should turn now, realize her error, her foolishness, and flee. Instead, she set her stance, her eyes heated, and her small hands fisted at her sides.

"No," she said, glaring up at him. The scent, still citrus with fright, burned with something else now. An ember of rage, fiery determination. It was rich, smoldering deep within her, and around her. He felt something within himself stir in response, but held his position, studying her instead. Her breath came out in a rush, and then she took a deeper one. Her hair tousled around her face, framing the stubborn expression. Her chest rose with it and her delicate shoulders mimicked his, pushing back. Were she a student of his, the punishment he would give her. But this was no student, no brazen little warrior. It was a damn Oomani-di who wouldn't back down from a legitimate threat to her safety. "No. I have to find the goat."

Vo'kuith contemplated her, taken by the intensity of her before him. So brave and frightened. He had only to swat her aside and she could very well shatter at the force of his strike. Her bravery was thoughtless, yet…

He chuffed, shaking his head. She went to stalk past him again and his hand rose to stop her. She halted right before they touched, and then moved to go around him on the other side. He raised his other hand, blocking her path. The citrus of fear was leaving her now, replaced only with the kindling of rage. It was beyond enticing. Fiery against the sweet spiciness of her natural scent. He chuckled, watching the soft flush begin to overtake her cheeks, the way her odd mouth pursed into a thin line.

"Female—"

"No!" she shouted, cutting him off. "No! I don't know who you are or what the fuck you are but no!" She glared up at him, shaking now. "No! I'm going to get the damn goat! Now move!"

He watched her temper, startled despite himself by such boldness. She was not going to stop, unless he forced her. In truth, the thought of harming her did not sit well in him. She was already wounded, after all, given the bruises he recalled from his initial scans of her. Finally, he drew back a step, then tilted his head. She would not back down. Outside of brute force, he realized, he'd be unable to sway her.

"Come," he invited finally. "I guide."

She halted, looking stunned. "Wh-what?" she swallowed, peering up at him in shock.

He beckoned her with two fingers, waving her forward. "Come."

He turned and began away from her, noting quickly the tracks of the goat. If he could not keep her from pursuing forward, then he would guide her around his camp. There was a moment of silence, and then the whispers of her following after him. As she came up behind him he glanced back, noticing she had picked up the shotgun, but held it loosely in one hand. Nonetheless, the awareness of it put him on alert. To allow an armed stranger to walk behind him—

"Come," he invited again. "Here." He gestured to his side, waiting. She hesitated where she stood, and he grumbled low in his chest. Her brown eyes widened and dark brows shot up in surprise, and then she scurried forward to his side. He resumed his hunt, mindful of the little female.

She was a quiet and curious companion. Her gaze scrutinized him, studying all she could see. Likewise, he contemplated her in his periphery. Her hair was thick and made up of pleasing waves. Some dried leaves and twigs had tangled up in it, most likely from her earlier fall. The color, he'd thought, was brown, but in the dappling of sunlight between the trees it glowed auburn. Her pale skin, he noted, was dotted with freckles, small versions of the mottling of his own kind's hide. Her face was fleshy, the protruding lips drawn into a worried pout, and blunt little teeth came out to worry at the bottom lip. It was a curious gesture, and he found himself wanting to watch and study more, however greater things called to his attention.

The goat was indeed near his camp, yet if he came along the eastern side, he had confidence she would not notice it. The ship was cloaked after all and only the heat and condensations as it cooled from landing would alert anyone something was different.

"Who…what are you?" the female asked, breaking the silence.

Vo'kuith glanced at her again, then back forward. He did not answer, hoping perhaps his silence would deter further exploration on her part.

It did not.

"Are you like…an alien? Or a— I mean, not like a sasquatch. A cryptid of some sort. You speak, don't you? You did speak. I remember."

He released a sigh of annoyance, ignoring her still.

"You were amazing back there," she said, and in spite of himself, the words did stir up a glimmer of satisfaction in him. "I-I've never seen anyone move like that. You were so fast. And you're so quiet. What are you? Where are you from?"

"Quiet," he said.

She blinked, paused a moment, then hurried her pace along. She moved to be more in front of him, walking at an angle to see him.

"My name's Willow."

He stopped, looking down at her balefully. But she seemed undeterred by the silence, by the emotionless bio-mask, his hulking presence. She waited for him to respond in some way.

He shook his head, then thumped his fist to his chest. "Warrior. Hunter."

"Warrior. Hunter," she murmured. "So you hunt? Is that why you're here?"

He nodded once, and then resumed his pursuit through the forest. They were getting nearer, the heat signatures of the goat's tracks warmer now. The simple answer seemed to have satisfied her, as she followed him without further words. She was not a born huntress, of that he was certain. Her movements lacked grace. Often she caught herself on tree branches. She crunched and swept the leaves with her careless steps. Her presence was noisy even though her mouth had silenced.

Finally, in the distance, he spotted the goat, standing near some bushes, shaking. The female, Willow, caught sight of him too. She gasped in relief and rushed forward.

"Oliver!"

The goat bleated, sniffing the air and recognizing her scent. She crested a small hill to reach him and Vo'kuith contemplated her from his spot, arms crossed. She crouched down and picked up the goat, a small noise in her throat indicating discomfort. She hefted the animal along down the hill, mindful in her steps so she didn't trip. More, Vo'kuith noticed the difficulty with which she carried him. It was cumbersome, holding both the animal in both arms and her shotgun cradled between them. He imaged the goat was not too heavy for her, but as she held it, the creature probably taxed her already injured abdomen.

He hesitated, then stopped her as she drew near. With care, he eased the goat out of her hands, easily hoisting it with one arm. She looked up at him, surprise in her expressive face, lips parted.

"What are you—"

He didn't give her time to further ask the question. Instead, he turned, and began his trek to return her to the farm.

Willow hurried after the strange— God, she didn't know what he was. He'd called himself a hunter, a warrior. She'd never seen anything like him though. She picked up her skirt with her free hand, to reduce it's snags on the bushes, and followed along behind him, until he paused. She recalled his preference she walk at his side. She drew up alongside him, tracing with her eyes the careful ease with which he held the goat. Further, Oliver seemed completely unbothered with the massive creature carrying him.

He was indeed, massive. The warrior towered over her, all broad muscle and power in his limbs. Netting covered parts of his body, along with armor that looked aged, worn, but cared for. Thick leather straps crossed over parts of his body, and some buckled the pieces of armor to him. On each arm were gauntlets, and she wondered at the wrist blades that had come from one of them.

He wore little in general and most of him was exposed for her appraisal. The skin was a different color, a greyish yellow with rich amber markings. It blended remarkably well with his surroundings, a sort of natural camouflage she supposed. It seemed harder than normal skin and had felt almost reptilian-like when they'd touched. Her mind flashed back to his offered hand, the way it hand so thoughtfully held her, how he'd been attentive of the black claws near her skin. Despite how careful he had been, she'd felt the raw strength contained in the touch. Heat radiated off of his powerful body. His muscles danced before her eyes as he moved and she found herself admiring the intricate interplay of them along his back and lower. She flushed, noting while he wore a loincloth, as he moved she could still catch glances of what looked like a well-toned ass. The scent of him was musky, rich and deep, like vetiver and tobacco. She took in a breath of him again, intrigued. She had to be out of her mind.

The warrior tilted his head toward her slightly, and she flushed, quickly looking forward. Ashamed she'd been caught ogling him, she quickly blurted out the first question that popped into her mind.

"What are you?" she asked again. "You're not—human."

"H'ko," he rumbled, the word unfamiliar to her, but she recalled him saying it earlier too, when he'd tried to make her leave.

"What are you?" she asked once more, hoping this time he might offer some clarity.

She sensed his annoyance, more than anything. She couldn't see his face, after all, and she wondered what he must look like behind the mask. She recognized the hint of tightening in his shoulders, and strangely it seemed like the thick dreadlocks rose some, not unlike the hackles of a dog. She'd learned how to recognize signs of irritation, she supposed. Hunter had trained her well in that regard.

She pursed her lips and then began to worry at the bottom lip, chewing it fretfully. God, she hoped Hunter hadn't noticed Oliver missing yet. She hoped he hadn't heard the gunshots either. Maybe she was asking for too much. Maybe her luck had run out.

Whatever path the warrior had taken her, it was different from the way they'd come. They had not passed the small babbling creek. In the distance though she spotted the treeline, and could just see her homestead through the distance. She released a breath.

They stopped not far from the exit of the woods and she turned to face him. With delicacy, he eased the goat into her arms once more. Willow peered up at the expressionless mask, studying. It was clicking in her mind now how frightened she should be. After all, this was something unknown to her, to anyone, she imagined. She should be terrified. But… he'd been nothing but gentle, if not a little intimidating. He hadn't hurt her. He'd helped her, saved her life even.

"Thank you," she whispered. "For…for everything. For your help and…" She shook her head, finding herself at a loss. "Thank you."

Willow noticed a subtle change in his posture – a slight straightening of his spine that suggested her words had not gone unappreciated. His fist rose and rested across his chest, over where she imagined his heart was.

On the wind floated little shrieks and shouts behind her, back toward the farm, what sounded like the pleased cries of her children at play. She turned to glance back at the farm, and when she turned around, the question of if she would see this strange creature again was on her lips. But he was gone.

"Hey!" she called, taking a step forward to the forest. She paused in her step. She wanted to investigate, to go find him. Surely he couldn't have slipped away so fast. But she recalled his speed earlier in the woods. Silence was the only thing before her, broken only by the brushing of leaves in a soft breeze. She hugged Oliver closer to her, her eyes scanning the treeline once more.

She swallowed and then resolved herself, turning to make her way quickly back down to the farm. She felt a prickling on the back of her neck, a feeling of being watched. It was an odd sensation, stirring both fear and intrigue within her.

The sound of the gate latching was the only thing that allowed her a moment of true relief. It gave her muscles permission to start unwinding, her heart an opportunity to ease, her stomach to unclench. She leaned against the weathered wood of the enclosure, crossing her arms along the top. She pressed her forehead to her arms. She filled her lungs with air, then released in a whoosh.

She did it. Now, on the other side of it, with her adrenaline finally beginning to ease out of her system, she noted the fine trembling of her limbs. She glanced down at herself. Her skirt was torn in spots and there were scratches along the legs. Her palms felt raw from when she'd fallen and there were abrasions across her arms. All of her ached. She was cool from dried sweat and pretty certain she stank. She just needed a hot both. An opportunity to curl up in warm water and close her eyes in the dark of an empty bathroom, maybe with a damp wash cloth over her eyes and a glass of bourbon to her side.

She eased up finally after a moment. The familiar surroundings of her homestead felt surreal now after her encounter. What did she do now? Part of her already ached to run back up to the forest, to find the hunter in the woods. She had her life here though.

"It's okay," she whispered, running her hands through her tangled brown hair. "It's okay. We're safe."

Relief continued to wash over her at the words. It was real. They were safe. And the more she eased, the more it highlighted how much she did hurt. Her muscles were so sore, her abdomen ached. As she looked down she noticed the scratches on her arms and how raw and torn up her palms really were. It was all evidence something had happened.

"Willow!"

She jolted at Hunter's voice, turning. He ran toward her, upon her in a matter of moments, his warm hands coming to rest on her upper arms.

"Hunter," she gasped. "Hi. I—"

"What in God's name happened?" he asked, looking her over. His eyes were vivid with concern and he surveyed her, taking in the rips in her clothes and the cuts on her body. "I heard gunshots but I thought, God— baby, what happened?"

"There was a mountain lion," she said. "While I was foraging. It came out of nowhere and I…I fired at it. I think I scared it off. I…"

"God, Will," Hunter gasped. He drew her forward into him, his arms wrapping around her tightly, holding her against him. "Baby, I'm so sorry. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," she breathed, closing her eyes, leaning into him. "Just shooken up. I think I need a bath."

"You're a mess," he laughed, his voice cracking with concern still. He pulled back some, his hands coming up to cup her face. "No more woods for you. At least not without me."

She felt a spike of fear at the thought. No, that couldn't happen. She wanted to go look for the warrior. She wanted to prove that had been real too, not some insane fantasy her brain had conjured up in the midst of a traumatic experience. She just needed time to go back up into the woods, find the babbling brook, and go deeper. And she couldn't do it with her husband.

"Sweetheart, no," she breathed. "It's fine. I swear. I promise I'm okay. I promise. I'm not afraid of nature. That's why we came out here, remember? Please, sweetheart."

He looked uneasy, shaking his head as he brushed tenderly along the side of her face.

"I just can't lose you," he said, and the fear in his eyes was so vivid, so real, so wild. He looked like a frightened animal. Something deadly and dangerous in its terror, but oh so terrified nonetheless. "You're everything to me."

She believed him. She was everything to him. She was his whole world. Her and the kids. It's why he held onto her so tightly, why his jealousy flared and why he worked so hard to make sure everything was perfect. Her, the kids, their life, everything.

"I promise," she breathed. "I'm okay. I love you."

He brought her up to him, his mouth sealing over hers in a searing kiss. It shot through her body, straight to her core. She kissed him back, tried to make the moment tender, but soon he was opening her mouth with his. She made a small sound in her throat, her hands pressing to his chest. He was unmovable. She turned her face to the side, gasping for air.

"Baby, n-not right now—"

"It's fine, Will," he breathed, pulling her along with him suddenly, toward the barn.

"No, the kids—"

"They're inside, they won't see a thing, I promise."

He had her around the barn and against the side of it the next moment. One hand found the back of her neck and brought her into him for another powerful kiss, the other grabbed her ass. His thigh came to rest between her legs, grinding up against her. She tried pressing at his chest again. The motions stirred up old desires, but she was so sore, so exhausted, and still she felt that watched sensation prickling at her.

"Baby, please, not right now, please," she begged.

"It's fine, sweetheart," he encouraged. His mouth quieted anymore protests, his hands pulled up her skirt, and he hoisted her up higher on the wall. She heard him fumble with his belt, his pants, and then she felt him fill her.

It hurt. She wasn't prepared enough for this and her body was already so tender all over. He swallowed her muffled cries of pain, filling her quickly, again and again. He pulled from kissing her to trail some down her neck, his teeth nipping at the delicate skin, marking at her. Willow found herself staring at a point over his shoulders, out into the woods. The pain in her body was present, but she began to feel disconnected from it. Detached. She saw herself and her husband, as if watching from a distance. Maybe from the warrior's point of view. She saw her husband pinning her to the side of the barn, the way he pounded and thrust into her against the wall, the way her face was flat and eyes distant. She heard the strained noises she made in her throat when he thrust too hard. She could smell the scent of sex and sweat. All of it from a distance. A mile away perhaps. Watching from the treeline it felt safer and unreal. She watched Hunter finish in her and smother her with another kiss. The way he feigned tenderness by fixing her clothes, kissing her cheeks where tears had started to fall, and as if from further miles away still, she heard his sweet 'I love you's.

Somehow, time slid by her, a blur she didn't remember. One moment she was staring at the forest, her husband fixing her clothes, and then she was in her bathroom, lying in the clawed foot tub. Steam rose around her. Numbly, she realized she held a glass of bourbon in one hand. The ice in the glass clinked as she shifted to inspect it. She didn't remember getting the glass. She didn't remember getting in the bathtub either.

She blinked a few times, her mind beginning to clear, though her body still felt far away from her. Looking to the picture window over the bath, she was able to survey the farm below her and the forest in its swaying, beautiful colors. The sun was setting, casting long, dark shadows over the farmstead. Downstairs she could smell something cooking. Had Hunter brought her in here? He was cooking dinner, a rare thing for the family. A shame, she thought without feeling, since he was good at cooking.

She looked down at herself in the bath, the array of colors marring her flesh, the stretch marks and loose skin of her belly, and the cuts and scrapes from the day.

The first thing she felt again was the tightness in her throat, a scratching ache that rose up. Then she was sobbing.