Flashback Departure [Razkar]

[Ayatah]

It was a rather tempting image, Ayatah had to admit. It would just be the two of them, no annoying younger siblings to ruin their most private moments, no old women to joke and make jibes. Just her and him, and their tiger skin…

The image faded, though, replaced by a tight throbbing pain in her hand. His fingers clutched at hers so tightly, her already sore flesh ad turned pink with his white-knuckle grip.

"Too much like... abandoning everyone. Like the dark days before the Goddess-Queen. Still, it's nice to... Aya?"

She tried so hard to hide the pain; Myri only knew how much she tried to conceal it. But Ayatah had never been a great liar, let alone to the man she loved. He instantly saw the falseness to that smile plastered on her face, and then it slowly dawned on him what exactly was causing her wince and grin so insincerely.

When Razkar realised it was his own strength, his eyes widened and his expression portrayed a mixture of shock and disgust. Ayatah’s fingers groped his chest, wanting nothing more than to reassure him, to remove that guilty look from face and to simply… ease his pain, even if it meant she had to suffer her own.

If only, if only.

Fortunately he seemed to regather himself fairly quickly, and soon his fingers were on her hand again, but healing her muscles and joints now. Relieved, she smiled, and watched his face intently as he rubbed and caressed. She didn’t notice that strange slickness to his touch - though if she had, Ayatah would probably think it was sweat, and nothing else.

"I will feed you when the food is ready. Oh, don't make that face, my love. I know it's an old and stupid tradition... or sounds like it, anyway, but I want to."

It was certainly not her favourite tradition, but she nodded nonetheless. ”If it makes you happy, my love, it makes me happy.”

It wouldn’t be until long after they had parted ways that she would realize just how much truth lay behind those words. When those nights in Zeltiva were cold and dark, and all she longed for were his arms around her, Ayatah would be warmed by such private memories together, and she’d pray to their Goddess-Queen that her reaver was safe and happy.

But there were entire seasons between then and now, so for the time being she simply enjoyed his fingers brushing her face, soft and strong and…

…. Wet.

”Raz…?” She said his name as a question, head tilted to one side and the beginning of a frown wrinkling her forehead. Then she pulled his hand away from her cheek, looking down the sticky, glistening blood that absolutely covered it, from fingertips to wrist. ”The chef did not clean his hands.”

Light giggles escaped from behind her lips, and when she touched the side of her own face and then saw the smudges of blood on her fingertips, her chuckles turned into laughter. A very clear memory flashed through her mind; their first time together beside the body of that tiger, covered in even more blood and mud and tufts of orange fur: when they had completely ravaged each other.

She threw a glance to the cooking pig meat; it was smoking well, though it would take a few more chimes before it was cooked enough to be edible.

When she turned back to him, Ayatah pounced, knocking her lover onto his back and kissing him, lips pulled into a wide smile and laughs escaping from between her lips. ”I love you,” she whispered, overcome with a strange sort of glee that only cam from a woman truly in love, ”I love you, I love you.”

|| Ayatah's speech || Ayatah's thoughts || Others' speech ||

[Razkar]

"Oh, for the love of..."

Immediately he started rubbing his hands on... well... nope, the giggles seemed a much better idea. Some leaves were found and his hands scraped against them but soon they were giggling and shaking their heads and when Razkar looked back up he saw the viscera coating her face...

Slick with blood and gore and scraps of fur. Exhausted. Bleeding. Hearts pounding out of our chests and we... no. It was her. She crushed her lips onto mine and damn-near devoured me, and you know it. Oh, a fine, strong, take-charge male, Razkar. Still... you held your own after the first ten chimes or so.

Ayatah was obviously thinking about the same thing, face shifting to a wicked smirk and lunging at him just like that damned tiger from years ago. In a blink he was on his back with her hands pinning his wrists over his head and-

”I love you. I love you, I love you.”

For a long moment he just lay there and took every kiss she gave him. She still stunned him. Still struck the ongue from his head and stopped his heart. That she could lunge at him like he was so... worthy, of someone as beautiful as her, and say those words with such purity and devotion...

Razkar leaned up and kissed her deep, ripping his hands free and cupping her cheeks. At once she knew it was not a quick peck; he explored her mouth with his tongue and drank in the taste of her, eyes closed and lids fluttering.

Then his arms wrapped around her, holding her closely, smelling her glorious, befuddling fear-moans and roasting pork. Hearing her sigh against his neck and feeling her heart beat against his own chest.

"I'm sorry to be so serious with you," he whispered against her ear, "I know we'll be doing all that when we finally part but... Goddess... I have no idea how I got this lucky..."

Silence. A chime or longer. He didn't know. But he knew the meat was burning, so it was time to get up. He chuckled against her hair and stroked her sides lightly, still feeling that damn boar fat against her cheek.

"I'll miss your fear moans..."

[Ayatah]

"I'm sorry to be so serious with you.I know we'll be doing all that when we finally part but... Goddess... I have no idea how I got this lucky..."

She did not respond, but a small frown flickered across Ayatah’s face, then it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. How did he get lucky…?

How did I getso lucky?

She was a half-breed, a second-class citizen despite her sex. Sure, she smelt pleasant enough, and had killed in Myri’s name, but there would always be some pureblooded Myrians who would see her as… worth less than themselves. For as long as she had Eypharian blood in her veins, her actions - however Myrian-esque and however dedicated to the Goddess-Queen - would always be criticized, mistrusted. 'Were her actions really for Myri, or some desert God to bring the sands to the jungle?' - it was a question Ayatah had heard whispered behind her back throughout her life. She managed to see the funny side of it all now, but that had not always been the case. There was no changing her heritage; she was a half-breed, and nothing could be done about that.

And Razkar knew all that, and yet he loved her regardless of it. But being so intimate with a half-breed would surely create similar hostility towards him too -- albeit more subtle. There were bound to be some Myrian women (perhaps out of jealousy) who would take his love for her and perceive it as an active affront to their people and Myri. Of course their relationship wasn’t anything like that... which made the whispers and quiet jibes all the more frustrating. There had been no plotting, no calculation to their relationship. The two of them had simply met, hunted a tiger and then…

Returned from the jungle not as two strangers, but as lovers.

He was different from other males, and Ayatah had noticed it from the moment the two had begun talking that first night. Perhaps it was simply physical attraction that had made him steal her attention, but she likened to think it was not just the fact her mind was full of lewd thoughts as she nodded and laughed along to what he was saying. There was something else, something... more.

When she had mentioned her heritage, there had been no sign of disgust or perverted interest, just an invitation to come along and kill a tiger. Then they had come together, physically and in so many other ways, and they'd not parted since. Aya had never expected to find such acceptance and love, but now it was as crucial to her life as the jungle itself.

We are both lucky to have found each other.

”I’ll miss your fear moans.”

She smiled and shook her head - not out of humour at his mispronunciation, but simply because he made her smile. ”I’ll miss your fear-moans too.” Sealing their words with a final kiss, the two of them stood up and turned their attention to the pig.

The skin had caramelized nicely, and the aroma of herbs and pork made Ayatah’s stomach grumble lustfully. She picked both skewers up, placing them each on a large leaf to avoid the steaming meat burning either of them. The two of them sat down opposite each other, cross-legged with their food in their laps. ”I think my man can cook.” She poked the soft meat with a finger, and then winked at him, impressed with his culinary ability, "just another thing to add to that long list of why you're so impressive."

|| Ayatah's speech || Ayatah's thoughts || Others' speech ||

[Razkar]

Razkar felt himself swell with pride at her words. Curious how the approval of one female could stroke his ego so, and yet there it was. Fresh meat sizzling on the leaf in his hand, he gingerly pulled off a strip and offered it to her.

"I know you don't really go in for it," he said, almost apologetically, "Being fed like an infant, but... please?"

And how could she say no to that, after all? Of course, she took a tentative bite and when she finished, he was sure she deliberately pressed her wet lips against his fingers, just to see that shiver of pleasure rush through him. Razkar smiled and turned his eyes back to his own food and his own rumbling stomach.

A more pleasurable meal he had not had in quite a while, but he always knew such a feeling accompanied food you had killed and prepared yourself. The sense of accomplishment added a truly delicious flavor to the meat. The male moaned his enjoyment and licked his fingers clean before slicing off two more helpings and skewering them afresh above the flames.

"Keep an eye on these," he said simply, shuffling back to the rest of the half-skinned boar with his thin knife. "I'm gonna get started on what's left. I'll cut off some sides for us, and the rest we'll smoke and salt."

Razkar knew he didn't need to ask or throw out orders; she may have been a half-breed, but Ayatah knew that every Myrian had a job to do, chores to get out the way, a purpose in any social situation. His was to tend to the food; hers was the camp itself. The male hunkered down in front of the carcass and began his slow, patient labor again.

One hand gripping the thick fur, pulling back as... his other hand gripped the skinning knife, making slow, careful cuts underneath the skin to strip the hide from the musculature of the dead boar. Once that way done, he could use a heavier blade to butcher it proper. Hind quarters, rump, ribs, forelegs...

Razkar smiled in satisfaction to himself, raising his eyes to linger on the pale-skinned beauty enjoying the food he had cooked for her. She would be provided for on their journey, and he had ensured it. Was that not the point of giving yourself to someone? To protect and care for them, knowing they would do the same for you?

The male finished his work and Ayatah looked up at the whoosh and sudden shadow from where he rose. The pelt of the boar was thrown over a low limb, missing all but it's hooves and head.

Her male stood before it, hands on his hips and sheened with sweat, looking very pleaed with himself. Raz nodded to the meat.

"It's burning, love. I know you can't cook but Goddess, at least learn as you go." He chuckled at the flash of her pink tongue darted out at him and then turned back to the red and yellow mess at his feet. "Alright, brother... time to make something of you..."

The jungle chirped and cawed and slithered around the little campsite deep in the while, broken only by crackling flames and the steady thunk of an ax rising and falling... but the two figures dwelling in it paid Caiyha's domain no mind.

They had their food, their skills, each other and a purpose, a distant dock beyond the trees and a whole world beyond it.

What more could anyone wish for?

[Ayatah]

How she could say no to him? Despite her genuine displeasure at being fed - as had he so rightly put it - like a child, Ayatah found herself leaning forwards regardless, mouth opening slightly to take a delicate bite of what he offered her. The gesture clearly meant something of import to him, so she was more than happy to set aside her own embarrassment for him.

She nodded as she chewed the soft meat, and then swallowed with a smile. The pig was little tasty bugger, and Ayatah found herself once again agreeing with her wise Grandmother. Though not all credit could be attributed to the old woman’s ‘a pig in shit is a happy pig, and a happy pig is a delicious one’ theory. ”Very impressive, my love. You really are quite the cook… Though I think my fire is particularly good for cooking.” She glanced behind her shoulder, and scrabbled to her feet when she saw the yellow flames had turned into low, red embers. ”Oh, shyke!”

A handful of dried leaves soon had the fire back alive, but Ayatah’s annoyance at her herself would not shift so easily. She wanted so much to provide for Razkar, as he had done so for her. ‘Domestic’ was not a thing people who knew Ayatah would describe her as -- but she could change that, right?

Now the fire was alight once more, the half-Eypharian turned her attention to the rest of their encampment. It was close to midday now, though she knew that they would spend the afternoon and early evening trekking through the jungle, so she started by rolling up the skins they had slept on. Next came filling their water skins. There was a rocky creek nearby them, a slow dribble of water that took nearly five chimes to fill both of the skins. But they were replenished with fresh water; a necessity to any traveller, but especially one in the humid jungle where ever a slow gait would have you sweating.

She returned back to the clearing, and…

”What’s that smell?” Her nose wrinkled with confusion and disgust. It smelt like… charcoal..?

"It's burning, love. I know you can't cook but Goddess, at least learn as you go."

Oh yes, she stuck her pink tongue out to him, but couldn’t help but chuckle at her own hopelessness when it came to being a chef. ”I am far from a culinary goddess, aren’t I?” Taking the skewers, she rolled them in her fingers to reveal the blackened side to the sky and still-raw side to the flames. ”If you scrape those bits off, it might not be so bad…Not much we can do about that horrible burnt smell, though.”

Then an idea illuminated her face, and Ayatah delved into the depth of her satchel bag. She may be Myrian (or half-, anyway), but she still appreciated the more aesthetically finer things in life, such as foreign perfumes and scents. Her mother’s sister shared this quirk, so as a level present, her aunt had packed Ayatah off with two tiny vials of clear perfumes. Both could be used on the body, but they had another use, too.

”So I’m not a chef. I admit that…” Ayatah began, wearing the same impish grin she always did when an idea had sparked in her brain, ”but I can conceal my horrendous cooking with something else…” She poured four or five drops of one of the mysterious perfumes onto the waxy side of a leaf, which she then placed amongst the flame of her bonfire. As the leaf burnt, the perfume evaporated into a light mist and soon enough, the air was filled with a pleasant lavender aroma. The cooking pork, too, would have absorbed some of that mist and would (hopefully) no longer taste so burnt.

When in doubt, just make it smell pretty.

|| Ayatah's speech || Ayatah's thoughts || Others' speech ||

[Razkar]

Razkar shook his head slowly as he walked over to the fire and sniffed his secound course. It looked like meat, it felt like meat, and it even tasted like meat, but when he sniffed...

"Lavender-flavored boar." He said thoughtfully as he settled next to Ayatah. "Hmm. You never know, it might catch on." A light slap against his chest and he grinned. "What?! I'm serious!"

They ate slower and with similar satisfaction, watching the jungle around them and the reborn fire flickering in front of them. Razkar gazed at the strips of boar hanging from some low limbs, pinned by arrows from his quiver. Salt had been rubbed into them and once they were resting over the fire, they'd shrivel up, dry but retaining their flavor.

"Jerky", he'd heard it called before, though he had no idea why. It was probably an appropriated barbarian term.

"I don't think we'll need to hunt again until we reach the Shining Scales," he said, nodding to the row of leaf-and-twine-wrapped packages below the drying boar pelt, each one containing a hefty chunk of boar. "Unless, of course, you insist on us stopping for vegetables and fruit."

The male grumbled to himself as he ripped off another strip of meat with his teeth. "Your bloody choice, though..."

Razkar all but licked the skewer clean when he was finished, settling back and resting his hands behind his head. His repose was peaceful but his mind was still working over plans for the day. They'd need to give the hanging meat and pelt the rest of the day to dry and salt. That would mean they'd have to delay their journey until tomorrow...

"I think we can stay here today," he said out of nowhere, black eyes looking up at the shards of sunlight falling through the canopy, "We need to let the meat dry. The pelt, too. We'll lose a day's travel, but it means we won't have to stop and hunt until we get to the coast, so... I think it even out."

A brief rustle as he turned to her, studying her intent face. Razkar smiled despite there really being nothing to prompt it. Just her face, after all... and didn't that tell him much. Every decision to Aya was worthy of contemplation. She was a being of reason and learning, or at least halfway.

He smiled inwardly. Many thought that made her soft, or even slow in battle. He had seen things... a little differently. She wielded her daggers with cold and clinical precision, all the more chilling because there was little of the fiery Myrian bloodlust in her movements when she so mercilessly sliced up her opponents.

Even Razkar was unnerved by it. She fought, she killed, and she moved on. Without looking back.

"So... what do you think?"

[Ayatah]

"Hmm. You never know, it might catch on."

Ayatah winced. She wanted so much to please her man, even if it meant simply providing him with cooking that was not entirely repellent. But her talents could be found in writing, reading and literacy, not cooking and housework.

Men might come second to women in their society, but Ayatah still felt a certain pressure - a need, perhaps - to at least have the ability to provide for Razkar as he had done so for her just now. ”I’ll learn to cook, dear. Just to save your taste buds” She pouted, wanting to portray some kind of false sympathy for him, though her eyes said otherwise.

"I think we can stay here today. We need to let the meat dry. The pelt, too. We'll lose a day's travel, but it means we won't have to stop and hunt until we get to the coast, so... I think it even out."

She glanced to the hanging pelt just as he spoke, nodding slowly though she said nothing. He certainly had a point; with the fresh meat from the boar, whatever salted meat they would get out of it and the goods her family had set them off with, the two travellers would definitely not starve.

But could they afford an entire extra day on top of their already momentous journey? She slid downwards, mirroring him and lying on her back, on arm used as a headrest and the other tapping his stomach, as if to follow the rhythm of her thoughts. As she stared up at the jungle canopy, Aya imagined just how strange and exposed it must feel to have nothing but clear sky to look at, no jungle to shield you from Leth and Syna’s gaze. There will be nowhere to hide.

”So… what do you think?”

She lent up on her elbows, then shrugged and nodded. ”I think you’re right. We’re in no rush, really.” There was always a trickle of merchants coming and going from the eastern docks; they would only have to wait a couple days before they found passage to Riverfall, if they had to wait at all. ”We may as well spend tonight enjoying the jungle, or at least this part of it.”

It was a romantic idea, but in truth Ayatah’s aching limbs were the main reason she was so keen on the idea. Lying back down, her eyelids fluttered shut, and she became a vision of pure relaxation: one jungle woman enjoying the smells and sounds of her home. She would miss it, but she would return to it at some point. Neither of them were leaving forever.

”It’s nice here.” She murmured, her eyes remaining closed as she spoke. Nobody, other than the rare few travellers such as themselves, would pass through this part of the jungle, leaving it almost completely unrefined and untamed. ”You wouldn’t know there was anyone else in the world from here.”

|| Ayatah's speech || Ayatah's thoughts || Others' speech ||

[Razkar]

It was a rare thing for a Myrian to have nothing to do. There was always some chore or task or order or commitment consuming their time, and the novelty of just being able to look up at the canopy was an odd one for Razkar.

Odd, but not unpleasant. He had Ayatah with him, after all.

”It’s nice here. You wouldn't know there was anyone else in the world from here.”

He snorted softly, letting his head roll to one side so it rested lightly against the pillow of her hair. It was true: they had seen little signs of other travelers on their journey. Since the Djed Storm, the old trails carved by centuries of grit and determination had been obliterated in mere days. Tracks were devoured overnight; even landmarks were not immune.

Razkar let his eyes close and thought to distant past and future. Would there be any trace of them a hundred years from now, aside from dusty bones? What about a thousand? Ten thousand? Would Taloba still stand, the Goddess-Queen rule, and Falyndar will be patrolled by black-eyed Shorn Skulls or rib-burying Scattered Bones? Or would stone fall and jungle consume and there would be naught but a few decrepit, defeated relics to tell races yet undreamed of that "Here, once upon a time, there was life".

"I will miss this," he finally murmured, feeling his eyes from leaden as the suggestion of a nap became rather insistent, "It is humid and impenetrable and everything's trying to kill you." He said, joining her giggle with his own. "But... it's home. It's endless... eternal. Just like the idea of a real parent. We have three mothers, I always thought. The one who bore us into the world. Myri, who birthed out nation and our spirit. And the jungle. Not just Caiyha, but... all of it. Vast and inscrutable and uncaring and loving, all at once."

He took a breath, unused to such philosophy, especially late in the day. He opened his eyes again and closed a hand around hers, as if reassuring himself that she was there. A nap would be welcome... but unlikely. There was still much to do before night came. The food would need to be collected and hung from the trees, out of reach of predators. The rest of the boar carcas would need to be dragged at least a league from their camp, so the scavengers would not come prowling around and perhaps decide some live Myrian meat would be even better.

Water skins filled, arrows cleaned...

But Razkar still frowned. Something nagged at him, something from mere chimes ago. It was the expression he saw flit across her eyes when he spoke of her food, fast as a hummingbird but just as visible. The pout that she'd wore had been hiding it, just a little too exaggerated. He felt himself wince as if stung, then stroked her face from the side, gently turning it to his.

The Myrian smiled down at her.

"I meant no offence, about the lavender. No, you know I saw, and I know I may have sounded... unappreciative. Even critical." He kissed her before she could respond. "Twas not the case, my love. And I am sorry if it seemed that way."

Razkar got to his feet after a moment with a reluctant sigh, stretching out sore limbs.

"I'll finish up with the food... then we can deal with that mass of stinking bones. You can work on dinner for us, for tonight." He gave a short, humble bow, head jerking up suddenly to show a smile that was all mirth and mischief. "If that pleases my mistress, of course...?"

[Ayatah]

His words reflected Ayatah’s thoughts perfectly, and she ‘hmm’d along in agreement. With three mothers, who needed a father?

Despite such a proud Myrian thought, there was a tiny, child-like voice in the back of her mind who pouted and whispered: Well, it wouldn’t be a bad thing to know where you’re from. As a child, before her mother met her step-father, Ayatah had longed for a similar male bond. She had her uncles, and her cousins, but they had their fathers too, or even their own children. There was only so much that her male relatives could give Ayatah.

It was her biggest, most shameful wish; she wanted to know her father, and had since she was a girl. Every cell within her argued against this primitive desire; Paira had dedicated her entire life to bringing up her daughter, and done a damn good job (if Ayatah said so herself). Men were secondary citizens to women - so why should she yearn for the company of one so badly? As a teenager, she had assumed it was because she was not a true Myrian, and was simply not wired up correctly to properly fit into their culture.

But it was something different.

Her father - whoever the shyke he was - had been a scholar, and Ayatah certainly followed in his footsteps in that respect. He would be able to answer her questions, teach her languages and of the foreign lands.

Of course… the likelihood of Aya ever meeting him was about the same as her growing wings and the tail of a pig. And even if she did meet the Eypharian male who had sired her - who was to say he would believe her to be his daughter? What would she even say: You and my mother conceived me, now read me bedtime stories and teach me things, Daddy!

She snorted at her own stupidity, but sighed longingly all the same. ”I will miss it too.” Ayatah replied eventually, turning her head to look at Razkar. ”It will be good to return home after--“ her words faltered. After what? After he had slayed more barbarians than there were trees in the jungle, and she had dealt with her daddy issues? ”-- after we have achieved whatever we want.”

What exactly am I going to achieve, anyway?

"Twas not the case, my love. And I am sorry if it seemed that way."

Despite the weight of her thoughts, Ayatah chuckled and smacked his chest lightly. ”I just wish I could be more… domestic for you,” shrugging, she smiled sheepishly, ”it’d be nice if I could provide my man -- instead of burning his food and making it taste like a flower.”

She stood up with him, fingers brushing his stretched out arms and feeling the tension in his muscles. Yet another of her brilliant ideas lit up her eyes, ”I can give you a massage later, if you like?” The idea of touching him all over (well, maybe not all over…) definitely seemed one of her better ideas, ”After we have got rid of the bones and I’ve given you food poisoning, of course? It’s the least I could do.” Ayatah slid her body against his, arms resting on his shoulders and hands brushing his neck. When she next spoke, her voice was low and husky, his mischief reflected in her own eyes. ”That would please me.”

|| Ayatah's speech || Ayatah's thoughts || Others' speech ||

[Razkar]

”I just wish I could be more… domestic for you. It’d be nice if I could provide my man -- instead of burning his food and making it taste like a flower.”

Razkar's head cocked and his brow furrowed so low that it almost blocked out his eyes. He stroked his knuckles against her soft, paler cheek and then gave her a light slap on the arm. Well, light by Myrian standards, but that was half the point.

"Domestic? Female, don't be ridiculous. Think you I am one of those barbarians who wants his woman silent and pliant like a broken dog?" He snorted in undisguised disgust. He may have been a male in a female's world, but it was his world, damnit, and it had tamed the most dangerous jungle in the world. "I want you as you, Aya. Bad cooking, good cooking, it doesn't matter."

His voice softened slightly, and he licked his lips in a way she knew meant he would be saying something serious.

"I know that... that sometimes you feel like you... have to act a little... less Myrian." His words came out slow, carefully, as if tiptoeing around a sleeping tiger. "More like your father's people. But you don't, not around me, anyway. Just be you, Aya. Always try and be better. That's the way of all people, all races, wanting to be more than what you are."

He kissed her, softly and deeply as if trying to impress his words with his lips.

"All I want is you, my love. As you are."

”I can give you a massage later, if you like? After we have got rid of the bones and I’ve given you food poisoning, of course? It’s the least I could do.”

Goddess, she could move like a panther when she wanted. Delicate but sinewy arms snaking around his torso, raising goosebumps wherever they touched. When they came up to his neck he almost shivered... and when he felt her breath on his ear, and the tone they were spoken in, he very much did.

”That would please me.”

He gulped. He had to. Some vestige of self-control had to remain. For a brief, insane second he realized there was no-one for a league around them, maybe a dozen leagues. They could indulge every fantasy on this blind jungle floor, watched only by Caiyha (who would undoubtedly approve). Every carnal whim...

"I... I should..." He finally found his voice and... Goddess, where his knees weak?! "I should get rid of those bones. Then we can concern ourselves with pleasing one another."

She made a show of pouting as she stepped away, hips swinging far more than they should. His eyes narrowed and he shook his head, walking over to the carcass.

"Woman, you will end me one day..."

He smirked as he walked away but soon got his mind on task and his lips straghtened. Bereft of its belt and most of its meat, the boar was far lighter. The male gritted his teeth and gripped its back legs, facing away from it... and started to march. One plodding footstep at a time, gaining speed as he got used to the weight and the balance of the blood-trailing mess behind him. He made a note to cover the blood trail with dirt on his way back, lest they lead the scavengers they were trying to avoid right back to them.

The jungle spread out before him, growing louder as the bonfire receded. Razakr kept his eyes swiveling, his head moving, trained after decades to never let his guard down in a place that could kill him at any moment, but every blink bought fresh images to mind.

Two bodies, writhing and groaning and gasping. Fingers trailing over pale and dark skin. Thrusts and grinds and other things that would have made him blush only a few years before.

The Myrian smiled as he marched through the jungle, ravaged boar behind him. Night would fall and a day's travel would be wasted, but "wasted" was very much a relative term...