[Flashback] Pest Control (I'sona)

[Razkar]

31st Day of Summer, 508AV

They moved by night, and cautiously. Not because they feared what the vines and trees held. They were Myrian warriors: they were the ones feared, not the other way around. But while a hunter does not fear a deer, he doesn't want to spook it, either. During the day the squad scaled the trees, many of them so wide they could be hollowed out and made into house, and slept in the branches high above the ground. They buried their waste and the remains of their fires. They walked single file and carefully, not disturbing the teeming jungle floor or so much as breaking a vine or spider web

But that would change soon, as Razkar knew. After three weeks of sneaking through the unforgiving jungle, they were nearly at the coast. And their targets.

The Fish People were a constant thorn in the Goddess-Queen's side. Abominations who had survived the Great Catastrophe, repulsive amalgamations of fin, scale and flesh, they soiled rightful Myrian beaches with their presence. Several times the Myrians had sallied forth and pushed them back and back, but now their quarry had truly gone to ground.

Or sea, more accurately.

The young warrior glared at the treeline from a hundred feet in the air as if it had done him an injustice. Just beyond it were his enemies. He knew it. He could feel it. Disgusting creatures that had no right to these jungles, the sea, the beaches, none of it.

This was the land of the Goddess-Queen. No others would be tolerated. But as their enemies tactics changed, so did theirs. No long columns, no marching through the jungle for all to see and hear, and run from. Now they moved in small groups, closing in slowly on the beaches the Fish People were known to frequent. They would watch, and wait, make their traps, plan their ambushes and then-

Cleansing.

Razkar was still as stone save for the slow, steady movement of his whetsone over the length of his gladius. The eighteen-inch blade was already honed to perfection, but one of the first lessons in the Garrison was there was no such thing. Anything can be improved. The hilt, for example. Once a simple wooden stick wrapped with leather, now it was a polished and smoothed thigh bone that Razkar had... acquired.

He smiled at the recollection. Elanosa was her name. A fierce warrior. When he took her left hand, she fought with her right. When he hamstrung her, she fought on her knees. And even when he held her down and scalped her, she snapped and clawed and spat like a cornered Tiger.

A worthy victory. He hoped for more of the same, but...

He grunted softly. Like the movement of the whetstone, the noise was so low even a rabbit wouldn't be disturbed by it. They may have been out of sight, but sound and smell are different. Though not yet in the service of the Taloba army, Razkar's clan held itself to their standards in all things military. Draksyl, their leader, was a scarred veteran of many a campaign, and knew just how to infiltrate these southern forests.

Razkar pocketed his whetstone and examined the blade. Many had fallen to it. It and the handaxe on his belt, its shaft on the reverse of the blade lined with teeth of another warrior whose life it had ended. Other trophies were in his nose, his ears, his lips. More were commemorated on his body with ink and ash.

"You need to wash more thoroughly," his raspy voice growled, and behind him the younger Myrian froze with his hand outstretched to tap Razkar on the shoulder. "I smelled you coming and you aren't even downwind."

T'Umka pursed his lips but stayed silent. He waited for Razkar to actually turn around and T'Umka nodded at the sun, barely visible through the vines and canopy. It was setting. Meaning his time on guard was over. Four years older than him, T'Umka was learning the ways of war slower than the rest, but he was making progress. This expedition was meant as a test for most of that. If he would just keep his attitude in check, Razkar had told him, he would make a good warrior.

Case in point:

"Leave some water," the younger Myrian said as he the two of them shifted position, he getting comfortable as Razkar sidled past to where his kit and his squad were resting. Except he would be, because just as he sat down he felt fingers like a snake curl around his throat from behind-

-and something sharp poke into his back.

A low, rasping voice in his ear mutters, ""Leave some water", what?"

"S-Sir."

"And?"

"Please."

Razkar loosened his grip and T'Umka let out a shuddering breath. He's only just aware of the leather water-bag dropped next to him. Those unseen fingers pat his shoulder in a way that makes a mockery of parental concern.

"Respect your elders."

Razkar goes to sleep. It will be dark soon. Then they will hunt, and his boredom will be at an end.

[I'sona]

Stupid is as stupid does. That is what charoda had always been told that but she never did realize her mother had been applying the saying to her daughter. Thunk! Colors swirled in front of her eyes when her body smashed into the side of something. The scent of fish and blood mingling with the salt, burning her nose like no sand ever could. It was slow torture, what with the constant swaying, the barnacles biting into her skin and the roaring in her ears. There had been nothing wrong with sky was dark, farther and farther and then race back on the water’s surface, feeling the drips splash behind her. Nothing wrong at first. But this time she had gotten caught and then there was heavy torrents, slapping weight pressing all around her, threatening to crush her as the water surged up from the depths. Bringing her to her current point of awaiting the inevitable. And to top it all off she was hungry and her sack strapped to her back slapped her as much as the water did. What did she have in there anyway? Her eating knife and a net. More pressure around her and for once the Charoda felt like she couldn’t breathe in the water, it suffocated her. Pulling her from all sides and then shoving her away and tugging her close. Fear gave way to a sort of blissful panic at the acknowledgement that she might drown… Smack. Thick warmth flowed freely from her nose and she could nothing to stop it. Only gasp like a creature thrown to land and wonder how long until her vision cleared away the rainbow that burst in front of her eyes. She wasn’t sure how long ago the storm had started or when it had ended but the cool air of night met her and made her shiver, clenching the sand beneath her fingers and watching in shock as her nose bleed into the sand. Trembling she rolled onto her back and stared at the sky, a helpless giggle bubbling forth as she tried to get a grip on the fact that she wasn’t dead or in danger but everything hurt a sure sign she was alive. Her stomach clench uncomfortably and she was more on her front, heaving up liquids and moaning quietly.

[Razkar]

Years later, when Razkar was far from Falyndar, he would still say that the storms in the rest of the world were a damp squib compared to the fury of an honest-to-Goddess monsoon. The barbarians of those further-flung lands would roll their eyes and doubt his words, but they had never experienced them. If they had, they might share his opinion.

The raiding party made slower progress as it seemed like an entire sea was emptied on their heads. Forks of lightning miles long split the sky like dagger thrusts, illuminating all as clear as day for mere fractions. Thunder followed fast on the heels of every flash, roaring like an angry god and shaking the slick ground they walked on.

But the Myrians did not slow. This was a gift from the gods, this sound and fury. They could have marched a company through the jungle tonight and not been seen. The rain was pelting down so thick and fast even they had trouble seeing through it, and they covered their distance quickly.

But when the tang of slat was heavy on the air, piercing through even the thickest trees of the jungle, the storm moved on, suddenly uninterested in them, and rampaged off to the north for richer pickings.

The silence that followed was eerie. Even the usual cacophany of animal noises was struck dumb. Monkeys stunned, insects hidden, birds huddled and larger, meaner creatures under shelter. All but the Myrians, who kept their steady pace towards the beaches.

Dripping with sweat and rain, Razkar's face was impassive, but his eyes were fixed and intent. He'd blocked out the pain and the cold, the sore limbs and stiff muscles. They were so close. Not time for weakness. His sword was held ready in his hands, blade blackened by charcoal to distort any gleams in the night, like everything else he wore. He could here the crash of waves on the beach, almost see the shining field of water beyond those ahead of him-

A bird call from the front, but at ground level. At once a dozen Myrians froze in their step, weapons ready, silent as statues. They knew the call from their leader: halt.

Seconds past, dragged out to seasons and then years. Had they been spotted? Or their prey? A danger? A fresh enemy? Razkar felt fit to burst when another bird call emanated from Draksyl. Two tones this times, lower and then higher.

Scout ahead.

Razkar stepped forward on bare feet, no risk of crinkling or cracking dry underbrush with the rain soaking everything. He moved slow, and low, almost bent double until he reached the head of the column. One remaining eye staring intensely ahead, Draksyl turned to him in the near darkness... and tapped his nose.

Razkar inhaled... and his eyes widened in shock and elation.

Blood. A smell all Myrians came to know and love by the time they had their first teeth. The salt was nearly overpowering, but it was there, fresh blood and the tang of... fish?

A moan resonated at the very edge of hearing, and Razkar saw the flash of Draksyl's eye, followed by a briefer flash as the wolfish party leader grinned. That was no animal. And this far south...

"Put eyes on the creature," he said, voice a memory of a whisper, "We will fan out to either side. And remember, Razkar: if there is but one, we take it alive."

Razkar grimaced at the order, wanting nothing more than fresh scalps and trophies, but this was a sad necessity of their war against the Fish People. They were so few now and so scattered that whenever one was caught alone, information was their main purpose, not just spilled blood and an eaten heart. A live, sentient being to be... questioned.

Contrary to what many would expect from him in later years, Razkar did not crack an evil smile, nor did his eyes glitter in dark enthusiasm for that bloody business. Even then, before the army and his life as a mercenary, he had difficulty understanding torture. It was a necessity, true, and he would carry out the orders he was given... but some part of him was repelled by it.

Death, war and victory were his idols. But the infliction of pain? That was... something else.

"Yes, sir."

Draksyl blinked a few times, and by the last, the tall warrior before him had vanished, not even a shadow remaining, just a few swaying vines that he had brushed. No sounds were heard, except those occasionaly moans from the beach.

A final call, like a monkey calling to his mate. Eerie in their silence, the Myrian squad began fanning out, single file becoming a semi-circle, jaws slowly advancing on the beach, with the unseen figure they had heard and smelled at the center of it.

And ahead of them all, Razkar crept through the vines, heart thudding against his ribs, ancient prayers on his lips and blood pumping in his head. His bare feet tickled and scratched as dirt gave way to sand, the crashing sea became louder... and he slowly looked from around a tree at the creature lit by the moonlight in front of him.

[I'sona]

When she finally managed to overcome her panic, when her nerves stopped tingling and poking as if she was being prodded with fish hooks, she stood. Wobbly and shaking but otherwise feeling mostly fine. Only sticky, very sticky and very uncomfortable. Inching back to the water the Charoda carefully rinsed her face, cringing at the sting of the water but it felt better than the tightness of dried blood on her skin, it was as bad as drying out. But there was a sense of trepidation halted her from diving back into the water. Her gaze unknowingly searching the sky for any sign of rain. She had almost drown. Her people were not meant to do that. A small shiver went through her and she could feel the cold, damp air keeping her from baking even in the night. Her mother always warned her about going on land but land seemed safer for the moment. Her body stung with plenty of tiny cuts but mostly she was only bruised and tired. Not tired enough to stay put though. Rather than do something like that she crept forward, enjoying briefly the way the sand curled under her feet and peering into the trees. She wondered if humans had horses, clothes like hers and did they eat those green plants? Her arms unwrapped themselves, the distraction of land loosening the tension in her stomach as she crept forward. I’sona wasn’t a fool. Most days, other Charodae would tell her different when she did something spectacularly foolish but she only wanted to touch the plant. Take a piece home. It wasn’t as if she would go in the forest. The forest had Myrians! She had no idea what they were but she heard stories, horrible, scary stories they all told each other before bed to see who would get scared. But it wasn’t a joke either, she had seen woman and men grow lines on their face when words of a loved one going on land and not returning. Maybe she was lucky, maybe there weren’t even Myrians on this land. They couldn’t be everywhere. That was like saying Charodae were everywhere and her people weren’t, they had their home and that was it. Nodding at her own reassurances she walked a little calmer now, an obvious limp in her gait and reached out to pluck at the plants, humming happily. It was cool enough to where her skin felt damp, like she had only just left the water, if she was lucky she could stay all night and leave in the morning when the sky didn’t look like it would make the sea angry again. They felt strange in her hands and lacked the silk and at times slimy feel of the aquatic plants, curious she placed a piece in her mouth and promptly spat it out, letting out a chirp of disgust. Absolutely not edible!

[Razkar]

Myrians were raised to have excellent senses, but contrary to what the stories said, they couldn't see in the dark. They did, however, train their ears and noses to a degree where eyes would not matter. The figure Razkar saw on the beach was just that, at first: a figure. Wobbling, probably injured, lither and shimmering, but blurred. Indistinct.

Then the Moon came out from behind the retreating storm clouds, and...

Razkar blinked. This was... not what he had expected. Well, it was and it was not. He knew that the Fish People were, well... fishy. They had scales and fins and gaping mouths and the dead eyes of fish. All this and more he had heard, and stories of their cowardice and laughable martial skills. But this was the first time his own eyes had been laid on one.

It was female.

He could tell by the delicate features on its strange face, the lips below the weird slits it had for a nose. Her eyes, too, shone too brightly for a male, and the rest of her body was-

Ah. Well. That answered the question about clothing.

Rzkar waited for disgust and hatred to rise in him like bile, but they were taking their time. These were the days before the Taloba army, before a boy barely a man saw his mother fall in battle, before his Goddess blooded her proven warrior and all he sought was war and carnage. Razkar was a soldier now, true, and a loyal fighter of his clan and his people. But he was not a fanatic.

Not yet.

Razkar felt himself take a step to the left of the tree, curiosity getting the better of him. Ah, not completely without scales. A crown of them seemed to slick back from her forehead, curving backwards in shining arcs that ended in points sharp enough to skewer an apple on. And she was moving towards the treeline.

She seemed almost curious to his eyes, unafraid, even enraptured despite her injuries. Blood shone from cuts in her legs and he assumed she had wounded herself in the ocean and beached to avoid... could they even drown? He did not know.

A traitorous though sprang into his head for a single second, and then it was gone. But it would stay. For a time.

So much hate for that which you do not know...

Razkar grit his teeth. Enough. He knew his squad would be in position by now, watching the same creature, waiting for his signal. It was an honor, to be chosen as lead scout. And he knew that if they broke cover and tried to run her down, the creature would just jump back into the water and they had no hope of pursuite. So he watched as she meandered, innocent as a foal in a hunter's sights, closer to the trees...

With something approaching regret, Razkar knew what he had to do. No, more than that: what would happen. He knew what would happen even though he could not see it. An axe or sword or club would not disable the creature; but an arrow could. A shot to the thigh or shin, and she would fall. She was needed alive, for... questioning. All he need do was make that sound, a birdsong with three tones that would tell the archers in their party to aim low, and take their prey alive. Disable, not kill.

One noise, and an arrow of bone and tiger tooth would bring this creature down. And her pain at that moment would be the sweetest they would give her.

Razkar lowered his eyes briefly... but when they raised again, all light had left them. Darkness remained, and a clear, cold determination.

You are Razkar of the Shorn Skulls... and she is your enemy. Now stow your weakness and do what must be done!

A moment later, a bird song erupted from Razkar's throat.

[I'sona]

It wasn’t the cry that startled her for the land was never quiet, the sea seemed nearly without sound at times when she swam far from home, land on the other hand held the crashing of waves and the steady cries of the land animals. No, it was the flash of what could have been a bird the corner of her eye, the tremble in her leg, the repeat of red covering the sand and a searing pain drilling up her spin. She didn’t cry out. Couldn’t do anything for a tick but stare at the arrow in her leg and then towards the trees, children’s voices laughingly teasing her about the horrible Myrians. But now they just weren’t stories. Now they crept from the trees, shot her with arrows and were just ahead of her. Now the Charoda did cry out. A pathetic little squawk that did nothing but remind her of the pain and the swirls of white chasing around the edges of her vision. I’sona wanted to run, to flee but she couldn’t move, could barely think. All she knew was the sound of her trembling breathes and soundless moans as she let her body give into the pain and sink down completely. Her hands inched toward the arrow and her body cried out its protest, heavy crying gasps leaving her throat but she didn’t cry. Oh how she wanted to but she couldn’t. Inside the pit of her heart there was only body freezing terror and pain, pain that exploded from her leg with each throb and attacked another part of her each time she tried to move. Now that I’sona paid attention she could see them. See them and their horrible weapons and their eyes that were unlike any she had seen. These were not unfriendly sea animals who were looking for a meal or curious. They were looking for blood, blood and battle that she vaguely remembered learning about in their history lessons. Once more she felt the bile rise, her throat swallowing convulsively and she could only just her the sound of her own babble in Char. “I didn’t mean to pick the plant. I can grow it again. I won’t come back. Don’t shoot me. Don’t shoot me…” Her eyes squeezed shut and this time she did cry, hearing her own words making her panic as she scrambled to remember how to say ‘friendly’ in Common or to force her body to move. Rather than a sudden jolt of energy she found the quiet behind her lids welcoming and didn’t want to watch the shadows creep around her, likely to drag her off or end it so quickly.

[Razkar]

She was so scared. That was all Razkar would remember for months after that night. The fish-woman was so very scared of them, looming over her helpless form, blood pumping from her leg wound and staining the white sand. A babble of words that sounded like sea water to him spilled from her mouth, pleading with them, begging.

And when she gestured wildly at the plant, Razkar was sure she was apologizing.

"Gag and bind her," Draksyl snapped, two of his men striding forwards to do his bidding instantly. The older warrior leaned down and jerked up her chin like he was examining a new horse. He grunted. "A young one, I think. Good. She knows not pain. We will teach her."

A chorus of dark laughter rose from the group of shadowy warriors. Razkar was late joining it.

----------

They did not do it on the beach. It was soo exposed, too obvious. It reeked of blood and fear, perhaps even to un-Myrian senses. The last thing they wanted was for them to be seen carving up the creature by another of her kind, raising the alarm in whatever aquatic village they had. No, no, no, it would not be that easy for them.

So they dragged her inland. Into their jungle.

Razkar, in recognition of his work, was spared the task of carrying her. Two other, Paxai and Kul, were given that duty. They threaded a tree limb through the creature's hog-tied limbs and carried her like a slaughtered deer, grumbling at their work but not too loudly, or sincerely.

Like the rest of them save Draksyl, this was their first time they'd had one of the Fish People to play with.

And they were looking forward to it.

"You did well, boy."

Razkar was jerked from his own, different toughts by his commander's deep, resonant voice. Draksyl gave him a pat on the shoulder as he strode past him, the Myrian column moving single file through the winding not-even-a-real-trail. He glanced up and saw that one good eye looking down with cool, calm authority.

"Thank you, elder. But it was T-Umka that bought the creature down, not I."

"True." Draksyl agreed, nodding thoughtfully. "And he shall be recognized for his skill. You all shall."

Razkar nodded again and watched the man move off, feeling ill at ease. Draksyl hardly ever doled out praise to anyone. A hardened warrior and veteran, he always said that surviving a battle with scalps and all your limbs was reward enough for anyone. So why single out Razkar? Why not T'Umka, who had proven his worth tonight?

Unless... did he suspect weakness in Razkar? Some affinity for the abomination? Was this his way of saying he was being watched, studied?

Judged?

"Here!"

The sharp bark from Draksyl stops the column dead in the small clearing between two monstrous, vine-covered trees.

"We make camp here. We won't waste more time dragging this... thing up to the trees. Make a fire. Post guards. We will do our work and rest here." The one-eyed leader turned to their prize. "Drop her."

He was obeyed instantly, and the impact jerked the wretched Charoda out of her blissful sleep. Green lids snapped open and rather than struggling as Razkar thought she would, she simply went rigid in her bonds. Draksyl squatted over her and pulled the branch out from her limbs. The sound of flin striking flint chipped through the darkness, and moments later a flame was sparked in the clearing.

It grew. Steady and hungrily, echoing the dark gleam in Draksyl's eyes. Once the fire was large enough to fully illuminate the captors and captive, he pulled a short knife from his belt.

"Speak Common?"

A terrified nod. Razkar forced himself to watch from behind his commander, his clan elder, his... his own people. They were were people, he told himself. Not this... monster.

he shook his head. Could he even-

He sniffed. Sniffed again. A scent in the air, pungent and rotting and familiar. But why? He knew it, and he had an excellent memory. Then why was all he could remember was...

... fear.

"Tell us where you people are. You live."

Tears dripped from her eyes. Even behind the gag he could hear her muffled begging, desperate and lost. Razkar gritted his teeth so hard he felt one of them crack. Somewhere to his left one of his clan-brothers chuckled at the plight of the creature, and Razkar had to quell the urge to open his throat.

She shook her head. Razkar's eyes nearly popped out his skull. She refused? Draksyl ripped the gag free, not troubled in the slightest. Instantly the bubbling babble started again and he cut it off with a hand clamped over her face.

"Then you have pain." Draksyl said with a smile, yellow teeth and tattooed face the Charoda's entire world. "Until you do."

Razkar closed his eyes when she started screaming.

[I'sona]

They were shallow but she didn’t know it. Shallow but tiny spikes of pain as if she was back in the angry waters. Most were running over what was already there on her legs, reopening what had finally stopped bleeding. For a brief moment her mind whirled and she wanted to snap at the fingers, bite them for having touched her, for having approached her. It was angry and dark and gone swiftly at the actual realization of her thoughts. She had thought those things? Thought things like they did? Had a face like they had? Her tears were not for pain but for them, for her for having wanted to do that to another person. It made her sicker than her cuts, threatened to drag her back into unconsciousness. She would not deny that she had thought them but never would she do it. She couldn’t. Perhaps she could imagine it but she would never do what they did. And she didn’t understand. Didn’t understand what they wanted, they told her ‘Common’ but their words were strange even for Common, likely switching back and forth between their own. The stories reared up when a thin piece of flesh was sheared away and her eyes turned away, watering from pain. They would eat her. Gut her like a fish. But all she could feel was the burn. Burning through her whole body, as if she had touched warm sand for too long and it had crept inside her. The Charodas body jerked and made cries and her mind longer to be gone to think of something other they the weapon digging into her flesh with precision. But she couldn’t, she would have to wait, wait until they grew bored or she said something that made them happy. Her mother had always cautioned her that. Give what they want and maybe she would get lucky, never fight and never run. Anything other than those meant death. She just needed to wait. Be patient. They would stop or her heart would. Not that the thought gave her comfort but rather than silence she found herself shouting her name in Common, trying to introduce herself. Anything to just make them stop. “I am I’sona. I’sona. I’sona. Hello.” But it didn’t seem like they were going to stop. They would probably never stop. She would be waiting forever for them to stop. Her head felt heavy and even the stings and burns seemed to fade as she went lax, her eyes rolling over to the rest of the Myrians. Some watched, some met her gaze even but one held his eyes shut. Pity perhaps or disgust at watching her but he didn’t stare and staring at someone who wasn’t driving a blade into her flesh took away the pain, gave her something to focus on. Her words seemed to direct at him, babbling her same sentence over, her voice hoarse and her eyes seeing colors on him that couldn’t be real. Maybe it wasn’t. Maybe she was dreaming. But the dangle of her own skin in her face told her that no, this was a not a dream and the only escape was sleep not waking. But even with her mind beginning to lull she couldn’t sleep because even sleep seemed painful.

[Razkar]

Draksyl was an old hand at this job. If he could carve information out of Myrians, he could certainly get it from this mewling abortion. The cuts were shallow, for now. Preludes to a symphony, hor d'ourves before the entree. Just so she knew that the pain was real, and so was he.

Razkar knew that the secondary point was to teach youngsters like himself these lessons. But all he felt now was...

He opened his eyes and those green orbs stared into him. Not even in the dying prey he had hunted had he seen despair like that. Misery and sadness so deep that it made his throat tighten. She babbled the words in Common, over and over, her name.

I'sona.

"Stop!"

Oh, krok. He'd said that out loud.

Nearly a dozen pairs (well, excluding Draksyl) of Myrian eyes turned to him, glittering like black stones in the firelight. Razkar felt pinned by them, accused and degraded, as if they could feel the traitorous pity worming his way out his guts to be seen by all. But his eyes had seen more than just something to be pitied.

"Why?"

"She's dying."

Draksyl blinked a few times, then laughed. A few of the others joined him, and eventually the campsite had shadows tossed around it as the warriors all joined in mocking him. Draksly threw the knife into the ground next to the Charoda's head and cocked an eyebrow.

"Oh? And when did you become a healer, Razkar? I've barely even-"

"She's a Fish Person." Razkar said, but knew it would need more than that. "Fish need water. We were marching for... an hour? Maybe two? She won't last much longer."

Emboldened despite his youth and the veteran facing him, not to mention his peers on all side, Razkar stepped forwards and looked his elder in the eye.

"If she dies, this march was for nothing. There should be a stream near here. We find it, submerge her and keep her alive. Then we get to questioning again, until this bitch tells us everything."

Draksyl stared at him for a long, long time. Razkar stared right back.

"... I remember a stream over there." The older Myrian said, pointing without taking his eyes off Razkar. "When we came through her today. Should be deep enough for her."

Razkar was already moving towards her. "I'll take her and-"

"-you'll take T'Umka, Uxlop and Feryna with you."

Razkar kept his face impassive as he bent down. Questioning that now could easily get him killed. Besides, he would have done the same thing... if not for the same reason.

He doesn't trust you. Don't give him reason to turn that distrust into a judgement.

"Of course." He said, grabbing the branch and threading it back through the bleeding Charoda's limbs. Her tears are somehow different now, almost... hopeful. His hand shot out and grabbed under her chin, eyes impaling her. "We take you to water. Heal you. Run and I kill you. Understand?"

A terrified nod is what he gets, and the Myrian gets to his feet. Uxlop and Feryna, grandson and grand-daughter of the woman who birthed Razkar's mother, are already standing at either end of... it.

"Grab her." He said sharply, heading where Draksyl's finger was pointing. "Make this fast."

Leading the way, the brother and sister carrying their captive and an overly-smug T'Umka bringing up the rear, Razkar kept his mind on his objective. He was a Myrian warrior, and he needs their captive alive and lucid for interrogation. Anything else is a waste of resources.

And as long as he didn't think of her as "I'sona", he would be been.

[I'sona]

Stories seemed much better than this reality. Stories couldn’t hurt you. For a moment, a moment the feelings stopped, only the throb of already made wounds gave her pain. Reminding her of when he wound start again. Even the thought of it made her want to curl inside herself. But her relief was short lived. Brief because she was being lifted and it was as if her entire body was being split open. Something had been said, her point of focus had moved, eyes opened and spoken. She couldn’t focus on him anymore. Couldn’t find any more words to tell them to stop. But she head water, heard the word and could almost feel it over her skin. She wanted it. Wanted it so much. Then the feelings returned, the burn coming back as the water touch her skin, turned pink the moment she touched it but there was no screams left. Her throat felt raw as if it too was cut at and her body spasmed, torn between her minds comfort of being in water and the pain of the icy water touching open wounds. The drift-wood like post she was attached to was jerked away, rubbing uncomfortably but it took the sting away from the water. To her there was silence, nothing but her body laying uncomfortably in the water and the continuous throb that the water could only freeze over so much. Once more her eyes sought out the Myrian who had his eyes closed, he had been the one to take her to water. But she didn’t feel thankful, not as she should. A deep seated part of her that she tried to shove back desperately hoped the water froze them. To hurt them. Her thoughts rounded back once more, clinging to this thought and this time she had energy for a helpless short scream. How could she want them too? She didn’t want to be like them. Have that comfortable look while someone else died. Was she dying? It felt like she was dying. The Charoda didn’t want those thoughts, didn’t want to think about how she had them. It made her feel as if someone had cut out something inside of her rather than outside. In the end she watched them all. Pretending she didn’t have those thoughts and it only took one glance at her legs to solidify that. The brief imagining of them looking like her and her standing above them…if her stomach could have emptied anything else it would have. She felt like a smolt. A cold, floundering smolt. “Cold. It's cold. Cold.” She didn’t know if they would listen. But she needed noise, something besides their stares. I’sona looked at each of them in turn. Something inside her giving way as she spoke, “I’sona cold.” OOCA smolt is a baby Salmon