Flashback To Catch a Thief (Razkar)

[Turrin]

*** Leaning up against a tree trying to catch her breath, Cira stared at the sack on her side and thought to herself, “Was it worth it? Will the Dhani even take me? In their eyes, I am just a half-breed with no home anymore...” Suddenly, the thief unsheathed her broad sword when she heard rustling in the trees. She immediately ducked into the foliage trying to stay out of sight. Waiting a few ticks, she sees a man dressed in green camouflage staring at her. When she looked closer the man wasn't Myrian since he was way to pale to be a child of Myrian. She noticed the man wasn't making any move towards a weapon, so she crept out of the brush. When he moved adjusted the way was sitting on the branch, she could definitely tell the man wasn't Myrian or even human. She noticed first that he hand slightly longer limps than the average human and the skin on his face was ashen color. He had a mess of long silver hair, but the feature that stuck out the most was his eyes. The iris of his eyes were blood red, and his pupils were wide and black. The sight of him made the half-breed shuddered when he realized that he was Symenestra. Wondering if Matriarch Narla sent a bounty hunter, she put a hand on the hilt of her broad sword and said loudly to the creature, “Can I help you?” The Symenestra tilted her head and gave her amused look and answered her question with a question, “No I am quite alright, Cira, but can I help you? You seem to have quite a burden on your shoulder that I can help ease for you.” Cira scowled at him and said with a hiss, “How do you know my name, Symenestra?” The Symenestra just stared at her with his read eyes and said with a small laugh, “You can say that we are both being paid by the same man, so your success is my success Cira. Besides, do you really think the Dhani would let a Myrian half-breed into Zinrah. I doubt it.” Cira shook her head and said with frustration in her voice, “The Captain told me that he could barter a deal with them if I retrieve the general's skull for him.” Her voice was in a near panic as she tried to explain, “He promised me.” “He promises a lot of things to pretty women on cool nights.” “Petch you, Spider!” The Spider laughed out loud and said softly, “Oh you have some fight in you...would you like to join me in Kalinor?” Cira flush of anger started growing in her cheek, and she decided to ignore the Spider as she walked into the forest. The Spider said loudly, “Your lost love as sought the help of Shorn Skulls Clan to catch you. I am sure, Marrak found a way to finagle a Fang out of their Matriarch, and I am sure your “old” friend, Yurta will be eager to reunite with you.” Closing her eyes at the mention of the Fang and Yurta, Cira whirled around and glared at him in silence, “How in Hai does he know of Marrak or Yurta for that matter? I knew Marrak traveled to decade after he term in the army was over. Could they know each other? Maybe he was a mercenary?” Cira looked at Symenestra and said softly, “Since you work with the Captain, I will accept your help, Spider.” The Symenestra nodded with a smile and said softly, “Good. I have been following you for a time, and I noticed that you going straight through the jungle towards your destination. A child could follow you, Cira, so I want you to travel south for a few miles.” Cira blinked for a moment and said simply, “That will take me towards the cliffs of river. The land is mostly rock and scrub brush. There is no place to hi...” Symenestra cut her off and said sternly, “Do not think, Cira. You just need to do what I say. Understand?” Cira was taken back by the Symenestra's commanding presence and said simply, “I understand, Spider.” *** Marrak gave showed know emotion on his face when Lawax agreed to help them. Turrin was surprised that she was so eager to help the two wayward warriors from the Twisted Vine Clan. However, being Marrak's son, he knew his father quite well, and he knew that his father won a victory over the Matriarch of the Shorn Skills since she gave him everything thing that he needed to catch the traitor a Fang, permission to venture Shorn Skull Territory, and chance for the Twisted Vines and the Shorn Skulls Clans to work together in a common goal. Something that hasn't happened since the uniting of the clans under the Queen Goddess. Marrak said with a nod, “Thank you for your assistance, Matriarch Lowax. Matriarch Narla will owe you a great debt when we retrieve the Dhani general's skull.” The Twisted Vines were known as elegant warriors throughout the lands of Myri, so Marrak pulled out his wavy long sword from his sheathe on his back, put the weapon to his chest, bowed his head to Yurta, and said formally, “My blood, my life, and my sword is yours War Mistress Yurta. Please accept me into your Fang if you accept me?” Knowing his own place in the Twisted Vine Clan, Turrin unsheathed his talon sword, placed it on his own chest, bowed his own head to Yurta, and said formally, “My blood, my life, and my sword is yours War Mistress Yurta if you accept me?"

[Razkar]

Cloaked in urgent, crackling anticipation, the War Party prepared itself for the hunt. Speaking low and hissing, as if raising their voices would break the spell of latent excitement, the males and females readied weapons, refilled water skins, discarded or fetched clothes for the journey. Those unlucky enough to be left behind fretted over their kin and comrades, supplying weapons, rations, advice, anything needed.

Yurta alone seemed to have not attendants, but that was not unusual to Razkar's eyes. Everything she would need, others already carried. Food and water were all she required to survive; what she needed to hunt, was her mind, and no-one had that but her. Instead she sharpened her blades and beckoned her son over curtly...

"Yes, War Mistress?"

"You and the pup-" a quick toss of her head indicated the milling Turrin, staying close to his patient father "-and take the lead. We will follow."

It was an honor, to be sure, but a grave responsibility, also. Razkar's eyes popped and he swallowed hard... and again... but no, the tension still choked him and he barely managed to stammer, "B-But Neko or Canum, they are b-better trackers, shouldn't-"

"And you will not learn unless you practice, will you?" Her growling tones cut him off like a rock slide given pitch and timbre. Razkar looked away wretchedly and his mother put a hand on his shoulder, steadying him, but not much more. "The boy and his father have been tracking the traitor. They are pledged to follow my orders, and my orders will be to assist you in tracking. From what Marrak has told me, the trail has been clear and arrow-straight so far."

Yurta's eyes clouded with confusion tinged with cautious suspicion. "Which I do not understand. Any Myrian worthy of the title is taught to track, and hunt. If any were to go on the run, they would know how to avoid leaving such signs of passing... but this... thing?"

The word was spat with the same tone as "traitor", as if the very syllables were dirtying her mouth like fresh shit.

"A straight line. Almost... desperate. Without plan or purpose. If our luck holds, that will continue, and we'll catch up. If not, well... you won't be the only one in the Party looking for tracks."

She straightened, shoulders set, and Razkar resigned himself. Ah, he knew that look of old: the set jaw, the flinty star, the air of "that's that, so deal with it". He nodded his assent.

"Go see the Twisted Vine boy. We'll be leaving shortly."

"Yes, War Mistress."

Razkar jogged over and the jerky movement of his bow and blades jumping around his gangly form was enough to draw Turrin's eye. With the wary greeting of one who has yet to decide if Twisted Vines really are worth trusting, Razkar introduced himself and attempted a shaky smile.

"So, ah... we are to track, the War Mistress says. You are me. Alone. Up front." He really didn't try to make it sound that bad, but knew with every word that he was. Well, bugger it. The fact was, it was a rough duty, but it was just that: duty. "So... what have you seen so far? How fresh are the tracks? Where are they leading?"

[Turrin]

Filling his water skin, Turrin watched the rest of the Shorn Skull warriors prepare for the hunt. Apart of him wondered if he was in over his head coming with his father to find the traitor. He knew that he wasn't a coward, but he never took a life before, and if they come across Cira, he might have to kill her. It was something that excited him and saddened him at the same time since he always considered the quiet woman a second father to him since she filled the role of his father when his father was out on hunts and patrols. Unlike Ceela, Cira was raised myrian, so she had the same drive and tenacity as a full blooded myrian. The half-Dhani would take him out on personal hunts into the jungle and helped Turrin use his body as a weapon. She was a mentor and a friend, and now, he was on a hunt to kill him for betrayal of his clan. Looking up at his father, Turrin corked his water skin and said simply, “We will have to kill her when we find her won't we?” Tying the water skin to his belt, the teenager looked up at his father and waited for his answer. Marrak eyed his son for a chime and said softly, “Yes, she will have to die for her crimes against the Queen-Goddess' people. Treason is a serious crime in Taloba, Turrin, and Cira has crossed that line when she decided to bring back the general skull to the Dhani. She will die for her when we catch her or days after we catch her.” Trying to process everything his father said, Turrin just stood their in silence and nod slowly. He wasn't sure what to say. His father confirmed his fear that he will have to kill her. Now he just needed to mentally and emotionally prepare himself for such a task. He knew Myri would guide his weapon, but he needed to harden his emotions if he was going to kill his mentor. Marrak put a hand on his shoulder and said with a smile, “Turrin, I know you have the kind heart of your mother, and I want you to know those feelings of hesitation are perfectly normal, but you are Myrian, so you need to accept that killing is apart of your soul. When you accept both sides of yourself, you will be a great warrior and not just a mindless killer.” Looking at Razkar and Yurta, Marrak said to Turrin, “Yurta's son Razkar will be talking you to scout out a head of the group, so I want you to accompany him.” Turrin looked at Razkar and said to his father softly, “You mean the teenager with the scowl on his face. Father, I have been watching him, and whenever you are talking to War Mistress, he seemed to be giving you foul looks.” Marrak smirked at his son and said with a hint of amusement, “The boy is just concerned for his mother. You would be too if a strange man took in a interest in your own mother.” Turrin was about to say something to his father, but they were interrupted when angry looking teenager started to approach them. The half-breed noticed that the young man must be a couple years older than him, and Turrin was sure Razkar would be old enough to join the army soon. When he approached Razkar seemed to have a forced smile on his face, but he seemed to be trying to friendly, so it was enough for Turrin to accept his gesture at face value. Turrin listed to Razkar explain the situation to him, and Turrin said with a nod, “Got it.” Turrin picked up his quiver and short bow and secured them to his back. Turrin strapped on his talon sword sheathe and decided to answer his questions about the traitor. Turrin looked at Razkar and said with a nod, “Our prey is moving west in a pretty straight path to her destination. She has a two day head start on us, and we think that she is trying to get in Dhani territory as quickly as possible. My father and I have been noticing broken branches and leaves along her path.” Trying to think of any other details that can help Razkar, Turrin said with a smile, “Cira is shorter than most myrian woman, so she has much smaller strides than for example the War Mistress. When we were stopped by the War Mistress' Fang, the traitor was heading to your village, so she might have stolen something during the night. We might want to look around the village for tracks.”

[Razkar]

“Our prey is moving west in a pretty straight path to her destination. She has a two day head start on us, and we think that she is trying to get in Dhani territory as quickly as possible. My father and I have been noticing broken branches and leaves along her path.”

Razkar nodded as the visitor spoke, absorbing the valuable information as he prepared his own weapons. Shortbow, quiver... yes, all good... his other weapons... hmm... he wanted to keep his weight down... so he left his gladius behind and took up his father's ax, sheathing it on his belt.

Aside from them, his loincloth and his water skin, the young male bore nothing. Once the chase began in the sweltering mire of Falyndar's foliage, you didn't want anything slowing you down.

"Two days..." He said, as if the words were a curse. "That means our pursuit must go through the night, as well." He winced at the idea, but saw no other alternative. "Sleepless nights, ceaseless days... with that kind of lead, that's the only way we'll catch up to the prey."

Turrin may have caught that last word, for he had heard it before. Not just from Razkar, either: ever since judgement had been passed, Cira was no longer "the Dhani" or "the Myrian", not even "the female". She was just "prey". Something for predator's to run down and slaughter.

“Cira is shorter than most Myrian woman, so she has much smaller strides than for example the War Mistress. When we were stopped by the War Mistress' Fang, the traitor was heading to your village, so she might have stolen something during the night. We might want to look around the village for tracks.”

Razkar frowned at the words, and the implied criticism of their pickets and defenses that lay underneath them. The young, proud male almost bristled at the idea that a Dhani (well, half-Dhani) would be able to get so close to their village and not be noticed? Did this outsider have any idea how often they patrolled, how many eyes were on the jungle at any given-

"He might be right," a voice that passed by said; one of his second-cousins, Ferria, checking his blow pipe darts and loading up on jerked baboon for the hunt ahead, "My mother said that there were five fish missing from the frame behind our longhouse last night. But the frame itself was untouched. Someone took them down, instead of pulling the whole thing... and they were fish from the top rung. The lowest would have been easier."

Well... could be a coincidence-

Oh, shut up!

"Show us."

Ferria did as Razkar did, recognizing his younger cousin (for the moment) as the forward tracker of their hunting pack. He lead the two of them to the back of the longhouse, where a rude frame of bamboo and vines was still standing. Ferria's family were the closest to the creek half a mile beyond the rim of the village, and thus best-disposed to catch and prepare the daily haul of them. Several dozen of them were hanging from bone hook through their jaws, staring with glassy eyes into infinity.

Razkar frowned. He saw the hole in their ranks... and the clear cut where a blade had cut the pilfered fish free.

Kerria was blathering on about his mother blaming him - "I mean, what did she want? For me to stand out here all night?" - but Razkar stilled his tongue with a single raised arm. More surprised than obedient, Kerria's jaw sapped shut, watching his cousin crouch... touch indents in the earth with a delicate touch, then beckon Turrin over.

"This... looks like her..."

Focus. Focus. Use your eyes, and don't draw undue conclusions. Look, observe, and draw the right conclusions from those alone.

He saw feet... small, slight indents. Obviously a female. The stride... yes, it certainly was one who didn't have long legs. Razkar squinted a touch and saw where the heel dug in, the shape of the foot tapered out...

That was where she came... and she stood here, cut her stolen rations... and then turned... headed back...

"... that way."

Silence answered him, so he turned... and instead, a dozen staring Myrians stood there around. They surrounded Turrin, with Yurta standing right behind him, towering over the young male, flanked by Marack. All were armed, but not festooned; all were clothed, but only just.

Speed was what they needed now. Speed, and a trail. Yurta cocked an eyebrow and gestured to her son, keeping her voice level. She knew the burden she had put on his shoulders was just that... but the boy had to learn. He had to rise to life's challenges, or they would crush him.

"You have a scent, boy?"

Razkar felt his throat tighten, words strangled... then he swallowed the sensation and nodded. The sharp imperative that he could not fail them all was focusing him now. He had thought it overwhelming but now...

When there is no choice... when the inevitable is clear to you... there is peace. Peace, and purpose.

"Yes, War Mistress. Heading north-west, by the looks of it." Razkar peered down at the series of tracks, sandaled feet that led away into the foliage, squinting as if he could see the distant fugitive. "She was here last night, so she really has a day ahead of us... maybe less."

"Where is she heading?"

Razkar took the opportunity to let a slight, tight smile crease his face... and then he shrugged.

"Where? I do not know, War Mistress. I know which direction, though... and we should go. Now."

"Take caution with your tone, boy..."

He heard the words; they all did. Growling, snarling, every bit as warning and prophetic of pain and punishment as a tiger's low rumble... but only he saw the gleam in her eyes. The fierce, private pride in her son.

Razkar took the warning, but kept his head tall... then his mother made a single gesture with her hand, pursed her lips and a quick, four-tone shrill broke from her lips. Razkar grinned and nodded to Turrin and his father, who looked confused.

"That's the call for pursuit." His gaze switched to take in Turrin alone, and he jerked his chin over his shoulder at the receding trail. "C'mon. Let's go..."

"No pause, no rest, no slacking!" Yurta's voice lashed her minions like a slaver-driver's whip, only far more persuasive, backed as it was by their knowledge of her ferocity. "You want to eat and drink? You do it on the run. Same thing is you have to relieve yourself, and make it quick. Those left behind stay behind."

Her son and Marack's vanished ahead of them, heads bowed, looking down, assiduously keeping the constant thread of their prey's trail before their eyes. She knew of old and countless hunts how easy it could be to lose the trail... and they would need to stay thick and fast on this one.

"Begin!"

The Elders of the Shorn Skulls watched with stoic faces and hungry eyes, as War Mistress Yurta and her upright hunting dogs vanished into the jungle, running behind her son and the Twisted Vine boy.

On the trail.

[Turrin]

Turrin noticed the young man named Razkar was displeased as he told him about the situation. The young Twisted Vine knew the Scorn Skull youth had thoughts and opinions about the situation, but he seemed to keep them to himself. Turrin inwardly groaned at the thought of pursuing her at night, but he knew if Cira was to be intercepted, the War Party would have to be forced marched through the jungle. When Turrin told Razkar about the second part about her possibly coming to their village, Razkar seemed hesitant to accept it, but he was approached by a woman, and she told him that there was two fish stolen over night hours. The half-breed followed the more experienced youth, and when they got to the location of the rack. Turrin watched Razkar talk with the two other youths, so he started to look around the ground for tracks. He wasn't as experienced as his father, but the boy noticed a few sets of tracks. The first track was a creature with a oval indent into the ground with a small triangle groove in the front of the track. He saw these type of tracks before in his village around the clan garden, His father said they were made by a wild pig. The other track was differently made by a boot, but it was definitely to big for a woman's track, and it was facing in the direction away from the forest edge and continued into the village. The third set of tracks Turrin noticed was made by a boot to small to be a man's boot. Turrin back tracked the boot to the forest edge, he turned around a found it lead to the rack where Razkar and the three teenagers were talking. The half-breed followed them to the forest edge, so he looked up at the Razkar, but he was about to say that she went in this direction, but Razkar already made that assessment because he was already telling the War Mistress their prey was heading into the forest. Staying silent, Turrin nodded to Razkar when he told him to follow him. As Razkar jogged into the dense jungle, the half-breed behind him. He decided that it would just be better to follow the experienced tracker. The burgundy haired boy saw a fallen branch in front of him, so he jumped up on top of it and jumped off a tick later. Razkar seemed to gaining more distance, so the Turrin had to pick up his speed to keep up with the Shorn Skull scout. The half-breed saw a medium size rocks laying on the jungle floor in the path, so he slowed his run and jumped on on of them. A tick later, the boy hopped to the other one than he jumped to the third, but he slipped and fell to the dirty ground in front of him. He dusted the dirt off and noticed no serious injury, but Razkar seemed like a unrelenting force as he moved farther away from him. Turrin started to sprint to try to keep up with Shorn Skull youth. The Twisted Vine could tell that he was starting for feel slightly winded, but he needed to keep up with Razkar, so he didn't come off as weak. Suddenly as he was running, Turrin started to smell on of the foulest stenches that he ever smelt. Turrin saw Razkar in front of him, so he called out to him, “Razkar! Stop. I think I want to check something out.” Unsheathing his talon sword, Turrin crouched low as he walked into the high underbrush. Using his hands to move away the large palm leaves, Turrin walked through it for a about five chimes. When he came to the edge of undergrowth, he noticed in the clearing that a large rat was chewing on the leg of a woman's body. Looking around, he noticed that two heads of the Shorn Skull women were sitting on a branch above another headless body leaning up against a tree. The young Twisted Vine knew beheading their victims heads as presenting them as trophies to the Matriarch was a Twisted Vine tradition. Leaving the heads out to rot in elements was considered a grave insult to their enemies. He wasn't sure if the Shorn Skull knew Twisted Vine traditions, but his father will know when he saw the scene. Standing up, Turrin walked to the giant rat, lifted his talon sword, and swung down and across at the rodent. However, the rat saw him and jumped out of the way of the talon sword and scurried into the jungle. Walking over to the bodies, Turrin noticed the first woman body had large bruises along her side of her abdomen and her arm was broken backwards at the elbow. Kneeling down, he noticed a throwing knife was deeply embedded in her chest with a boot shape bruise around the knife. The other woman's body was missing her left hand, and her neck was cleanly severed at the neck. Their was blood smear across her stomach, and he was curious what happened here? Looking up, he saw something holding open one of the jaws of the skull. In the mouth, he saw a piece of cloth. Reaching into the mouth with his hand, he pull out the piece of cloth and read the words written in blood. Marak, Do not follow me. Your mother trained me well, and I won't hesitant to kill you or your skin wearer whore if necessary. C. Turrin knew that he needed to show this letter to Razkar, War Mistress, and Father. He knew that Razkar would come following him, so he reached out and closed the opened eyes of two Shorn Skull warriors and waited for his allies to arrive.

[Razkar]

Focus... focus... focus...

The male repeated the mantra in his head as he ran, the words growing faster and blurred as his heartbeat increased along with his pace. Tracking game was a much easier process: you didn't have to chase it down quite to thoroughly, because it didn't know it was being hunted. Even if it did, it ran for a league or so... then assumed you were gone.

Cira knew she was being hunted. More importantly, she knew who was hunting her, and what they'd do to her if she was caught. Razkar was sure his mother had already started thinking things up.

That meant she ran swift and relentless through the jungle; her pursuers had to do the same. Razkar's eyes were half-fixed on the ground as he ran, tracking the imprints even as they whizzed past. He dared not even blink too often, just in case, but those tracks, the scrapes on the ground and fallen trees... they led them.

Just have to make sure she doesn't double-back or zigzag, then-

“Razkar! Stop. I think I want to check something out.”

"Mind your voice!" Razkar rasped in a tone that, he had to admit, was nearly a cry itself. "And what do you mean!?" He veered off after marking the tree nearest to the tracks, vowing to return to it soon. "What in the hells and heavens are you..."

He knew them, of course. When you live around two hundred people for most of your life, you get to know them all, to some degree. He knew their faces and their families; their children or lovers or friends. What they did and how they did it, the foibles and failings that made them all they were and threw into sharper relief their virtues...

Now gone. Dead and stiffening in the muggy jungle, gnawed by rodents, surrounded by halos of flies and both silently screaming into the abyss.

"I... I knew them..."

The young male's face was disturbingly immobile... but that was only his face. White with shock and grief, not a muscle twitched but his eyes were turgid pools of sorrow. Emotions warred in them, trying to gain dominance, and none of them were good. His mind tried desperately to batter its way to reason but fell on deaf ears.

"She... She wove pelts." Razkar's voice was a whisper as he pointed at... what did he even point at? The body? The head? "Her name is... was... was Awanleah. The... The other..."

"Peace, male."

He knew his mother's voice, weirdly soft though it was. Recognized the touch of her hand on his shoulder as any son would his mother. Reassuring, strong, the two things he needed most right now. Awanleah and Rix were not his blood (well, not directly: only two hundred people, remember?) but they were his people, his clan, so they were as good as, and now...

"We cannot stay to release them, boy." Razkar's head whirled around, eyes moist, but Yurta forced herself not to let the mother she had been for two decades rule her heart in this crucial moment. "The traitor wasted time killing them, writing her note, leaving her... grotesque and debased threat. We must take advantage of that. We must go."

"But... What about-"

Yurta snapped out two names over her shoulder and two reluctant-faced but quick-bodied females stepped forward from the War Party. She gave her orders with grave tone and clear diction, despite the sorrow and, yes, tears on the faces of a few of her warriors.

"Take the bodies back to the village. We have enough to make this hunt."

"They stopped to eat." Razkar's voice was hushed, mind picking up on the little things to stop it spinning off into insane, raging grief. He nodded at the still-open leather bag of smoked dear, now licked clean save for grease by scavengers. "That... That was why they... they were late getting... getting back."

Yurta regarded her son in the ticks they did not have, wanting to say so much more than she could at that time. Around her, the War Party grew restless, despite of and because of the atrocity before them. The rites had to be observed, pyres erected, ceremony conducted... but vengeance... vengeance was just as important.

"Can you find her tracks?"

"W-War Mistress?"

The strength in her hands became unyielding in a blink, gripping his shoulder as an eagle would a rabbit and jerking him around, bodily forcing him out of his funk and into her baleful gaze.

"Focus, boy! Her tracks! Find them again! Now!"

She watched her son move with slow, shuffling motions... until he came to and the lessons she taught him took over. The ground was disturbd, of course: not only by them, Cira, the struggle, the legion of carrion-eaters that came after... it was hard... but he found them. The same imprints he'd seen before, deeper where she'd planted her grisly warnings... then leading off again...

"Yes. She continues to the north-west, War Mistress."

Yurta nodded and the War Party prepared itself behind her, the two named warriors not pausing as they gathered the heads and trunks of their kin, whispering prayers and blessings as they did.

"Then we move again. Lead the way, boy."

Activity exploded again from dozens of waiting, eager limbs, growls in their throats as they exploded outward... but Yurta's hand shot out like an arrow from a bow, gripping Marak's shoulder until the male looked at her in shock.

Cold, dripping fury shone out of them like torches in the deepest night. Her words matched it, seeming to freeze and glitter on the air like daggers.

"She has killed our kin, Twisted Vine," she said, the use of Marak and Turrin's clan name telling them this was no longer just a favor for a friend, but a matter of honor. "Shed the blood of two worthy females. Her life is ours, now. Should any but a Shorn Skull end it..."

She left the rest unsaid, but once again, a Myrian would see her meaning easily enough. Cira's life was theirs; no mention of her death, nor the manner of it. Because at the point of capture, she was property to the Shorn Skulls. Something to be used and abused and ripped slowly apart until they were satisfied, and then thrown away like any other refuse.

Without waiting for a response, she loped off after her warriors like a tanned and upright panther.

[Turrin]

Turrin stared at the grisly scene and every fond memories of Cira crumbled into dust. She was his teacher, his friend, and a second mother to him, but now... since she murdered and dishonored the lives of probably fine warriors of Myri. She was nothing to him other than a monster. The scene was sickening and the stench of Cira's wake was starting to make him feel nauseous. The half-breed looked over at Razkar and his mother as he overheard their conversation. Razkar seemed in shock at how ruthless Cira was to her own people. No! She wasn't Myrian anymore! She was just a monster. The half-Dhani pissed on teaching of Myrian and shyked on the traditions of the Twisted Vine clan. Turrin knew their was ritual and prayers for taking the head of Myrian, but normally, the person already left their body. What she did to the Shorn Skull women were tradition left for murders and rapists of the clan. Even the Twisted Vine clan extend their traditions and respect to there enemies. Turrin had to turn around away from the scene. He didn't want to look at it anymore. When Turrin turned around his father, knelt down and put both of his hands on his son shoulder. The half-breed boy looked up at his father with tears in his eyes and asked quietly, “How could she do that to them? It was horrible!” Turrin wiped the tears from his eyes and said as he bite his lip trying to keep himself from sobbing since the memories of Cira that he knew died today, “That Monster didn't even them the proper ceremonies, Father. She shamed them for the sake of her own....” Marak squeezed his shoulders and said gently, “Turrin, you need to calm yourself. Anger will not bring them justice...” Marak gave Yurta and her son a concerned look and turned back to her son, “Cira is a smart woman, Turrin, and yes, she did a despicable thing, but she did it for a reason.” Marak paused for a moment and said quietly, so only his son could her, “People think less clearly when they are angry. She knww that we are a passionate people like your mother's people, so she trying to get into the mind of enemies. It is something my mother tends to do when she encounters a barbarian enemies.” Marak saw Razkar run off into the jungle and said quickly, “You sword brother will need you son. Now go!” Marak watched his son run off after Razkar, and he was approached by Yurta. The grown man knew her enough to see the loss in her eyes, but she was a War Mistress, so she needed to bury her feelings to get the job done. Regardless, the Twisted Vine wanted to comfort his friend, but she was bent on blood lust now. When she asked if he understood. The male warrior nodded slowly to his friend and said softly, “She is no longer Myrian, Yurta. She gave her rite to call herself one when she betrayed my clan and dishonored yours...” Marak was about to say something else, but Yurta ran into the jungle after the rest of her fang, so Marak said out loud for only the wind to her, “You know that she did this on purpose, Yurta. Don't let your anger cloud your judgment my friend...” *** Turrin ran through the jungle trying to catch up to Razkar. What did his father meant by the term Sword Brother? It was term that he never heard used before, but as he ran the boy looked up for a moment and noticed Razkar duck behind a tree. Suddenly the half-breed boy tripped over a exposed root and fell forward skinning his knees. Slowly, Turrin stood up, and he lost the trail of Razkar. Turrin looked around, and he found the young man's bootprints in the mud. The half-breed started to follow the tracks much slower as before, and he started to jog keeping his eyes on ground looking for Razkar tracks. He started to jog through the jungle, and he could feel the warm of the day starting to increase, so he had to stop every ten chimes to take a drink of water. Turrin started to jog again after Razkar, and he came up to a slow moving stream. He knew large reptiles like to make their home in the slow moving water, so he unsheathed his talon sword and looked up and down stream for any signs of wild life. He noticed a long red and orange snake swimming down stream, so he stayed to the shore till it passed him. Taking off his boots and socks, he put them in his backpack and walked to the water. When the snake was out of sight, Turrin held his talon sword over his head as he waited into the water. The current was slow, but he could feel his heart start to race, as he heard something splash into the water. The half-breed quickened his pace through the stream, and he quickly scrambled a shore. When he turned around, he noticed to large reptilian eyes staring at him, so he quickly backed away from the river. He said a prayer to Caiyha thanking her for sparing his life, but he noticed that he lost Razkar trail again. Swearing to himself, he looked around for his track or any signs of moment. He noticed his own footprints, but he didn't notice any other foot prints other than animal tracks. Suddenly, he noticed a broken fern leaves and woman's boot tracks leading into the jungle. He looked around and noticed a pair of male boot prints following after them. Putting on his dry boots and socks, he sheathed his talon sword and jogged into the underbrush. When Turrin heard some movement in front of him, so he ducked into the underbrush and unsheathed his sword. He didn't know who or what it could be, and he hasn't seen any signs for Razkar for a bell. He crawled under the large leaves as he made it to edge of the clearing. When he looked up, and he saw Razkar walking around the clearing. The young man must be looking for the trail. Getting closer to the edge by a tree, he noticed a white strand of hair laying on the ground by the tree. It was obviously not Myrian, and he was curious what or who's hair it could be. He reached out a hand and quickly snatched it with his hands. Turrin knew that he needed to let Razkar know of his presence if he already didn't know that he was here in the first place. Standing up, Turrin sheathed his sword and said quietly with a shake of his head, “You know how difficult it is to follow you when you are sprinting through the jungle like a puma? Did you encounter the crocodile in the stream too? Sorry I am rambling now.” Turrin never really said anything to young Shorn Skull before, so he was kind of tongue tied at the moment. Walking out of the underbrush, Turrin held up the long white piece of hair to Razkar and said questioningly, “I have seen Grandmother's hair, and she is starting to grey, but I have never seen hair this white before? Have you?” Turrin looked at the clearing, he noticed their was tracks everywhere in the black dirt. It was hard to make out any direction or path of any of them. The half-breed frowned to himself as he walked over to Razkar, and he handed him the white hair. Taking out his water skin, Turrin took a drink of water and said softly, “I know it doesn't mean much coming from me, but I am sorry what that monster did to your clan sisters. Twisted Vines do have our traditions of taking the heads of our enemies, but even us respect our enemies better than what she did to your people. What she did... was a abomination to our teachings as a Twisted Vine and the teachings of Myri.” Turrin paused and said softly, “I promise you that I will help you make her pay for her crimes, Razkar.” The half-breed stared up at him with his golden eyes, and the look on the boys face told him that he would honor his word. occThis is the clearing that Cira encounter the Symenstra, I just want to let you know.

[Razkar]

It did not make sense, but there it was. Clear as the muddy and stymied rays of Syna could make it in the udnergrowth, which was quite acceptable cinsiderng the clearing had shorn at least some of the foliage above it. Here and there golden pillars kissed the ground, and Razkar idly guessed it would take only days for a fresh clutch of green beasts to take root in those precious spots.

But most of him was not wondering on horticulture. Or on the half-breed crashing out of the jungle after him, sputtering words he cared not to hear. Razkar forced, bullied, shoved his grief away and wrenched his focus back on the hunt. Dents in the earth, snapped branches, moss patches ripped from the bark or with scrapes in them... the scent of her on the breeze, though that was fainter, and... and...

Something was different. The tracks had led to this place, and then changed direction. Razkar followed her trail, the scrapes of her feet and the marks she'd left on bark and dirt, straight as an arrow, headlong for Zinrah... and now she'd changed direction. Her feet had stopped... and now the young male circled that galling section of the ground.

The imprints... she'd shifted around on her feet. Stayed in the same spot. Not sat down... no marks from her hands... and then she started walking... south? But why? Where could she hide by the cliffs? It will make her journey longer, and-

“I have seen Grandmother's hair, and she is starting to grey, but I have never seen hair this white before? Have you?”

The words battered their way through Razkar's thick skull, some hands tugging at the insides of the male's mind and yelling "this might be important!". So he turned... and the frown only crushed down deeper on his eyes.

"No." He said as he sniffed the strand of hair, whiter and far more silken than could be growing from any Myrian he'd even seen. "And Cira was not old enough to have had this hair."

This was a clue, like in the stories they told around the campfires. They were like... hints, to the solving of a great riddle. Heroes used them to deduce things, but they always made Razkar's head hurt and he just stolidly, patiently tolerated the endless wordiness until the joy of the kill finally arrived (a staple of Myrian oral entertainment). But he wasn't by a fire now, and he scowled at the hair, trying to think logically.

"She changed direction." He said as the rest of the War Party began to emerge. He looked up at his unusual partner for this hunt, but if he required Turrin's input, Razkar's tone gave little sign. "But why? She knew she would have less places to hide... though it would be harder to track her over the rock."

He wandered back to where Cira had stood just a few bells before, mind racing, feeling the impatient bloodlust of his clan members crackle in the air around him. He followed the new trail, heading south, to the cliffs... to the treeline...

"She could have changed direction after what... what she did earlier. It would have been an easier route. But she decided here... after... standing... shuffling..."

The word came to his mind as one of the aforementioned golden pillars, struck his head, realization damn-near a hammerblow.

"... talking." He said, whirling on Turrin and snatching up the thread. He sniffed it deeply, scented nothing that was a good and honest Child of Myri in it. The frown became a scowl became a snarl, and he turned to his mother. "She has a partner, War Mistress. A barbarian..."

A ripple of surprise and anger went through the group, but Yurta only cocked an eyebrow. "You surmise much from so little, male. Knowing she changed direction is one thing, but why? And at whose bidding?"

"Perhaps a Dhani, though this-" he nodded at the white hair with his nose crinkled "-stinks not of them. Someone else. Someone that could move fast an unnoticed in the jungle... or above it..."

Razkar looked up and saw the endless, multi-floored canopy rising up and up above them. Entire nations o monkeys and apes live there; the Elders even said there were species of them that Myrians had never even seen, for they lived so high that they simply never came down. If one could travel from tree to tree, then one could traverse all Falyndar... but who would be so bold to aid a traitor to Myri and thus risk the wrath of her children?

"South." He finally said, shaking his head from further thoughts, concentrating on what he did know. "Towards the cliffs and stone shores of the river."

"Lead on."

Razkar did, Turrin by his side, and now the Shorn Skull had his bow in hand, arrow notched, eyes flickering up now and then instead of on the ground. But the tracks were steady; all that changed was the position of Syna's faint glare. Once they were alone again, Razkar remembered something.

"You talk too much," he said sternly, channeling his mother for a brief and queasy moment, but his gaze was a touch softer, "Myrian need not pledge to each other. That they saw they will do means they will do. And we will have time later to discuss our tribes... differences."

He squared his shoulders and crouched a touch lower, already hearing the faint, distant crash of the waterfall crowning the river, leading to the vast Kandaktu Basin. "But for now? We hunt, and that is all our hearts and minds will know... though I hope your eyes prove fruitful again, my friend."

A compliment and an endearment in the same breath. Careful: you'll smother the male...

[Turrin]

Marak walked over to Yurta and said softly, “During my mercenary days, I traveled to Riverfall to find work. I met many different kinds of barbarians in Akalak city. The only two major races with hair as white as the one in your hand would be Konti or Symenestra.” The middle aged Twisted Vine said simply, “Your son might be right, Yurta. Cira could have been talking to someone in the trees. Symenestra are excellent climbers and their acrobatics abilities are second to none on Mizahar. We might want to keep a eye to canopy, War Mistress.” Turrin stood there looking at the white strand of hair in suspicion. He remembered Grandmother telling stories of fantastic races like the Tupahi and Ukantsu, but he never heard of race with white hair. Maybe it could be one of the more fabled races like the konti his father and mother talked about in Riverfall, but he doubt the peaceful race would venture this deep into the heart of Falyndar. The boy looked over his father and saw a frown on his face. The young half-breed wondered if he knew something, but his father was already walking to the War Mistress. Turrin saw Razkar take his short bow from his shoulder and arrow from his quiver. The young teenager felt his heart start to race with quiet excitement for a possible battle. He knew if the fang caught her the battle would be over as soon as it started, but he was still Myrian and thirst for blood and victory was what he lived for. Taking out his short bow, Turrin pulled out a arrow from his quiver, grinned at Razkar compliment, and said nod, “It must be a trait given to me by my Inarta mother, but you are right. We need to focus, so lead on my friend.” As Turrin stay low in the underbrush, he could hear the sound of falling water off in the distance. The half-breed looked up and saw Syna was already low in the sky. He would guess maybe three more bells and Leth would take her place in the night sky. Ducking under a large palm leave, he noticed the land around them seemed to be devoid of sound other than the sound of the waterfall. It was a eerie silence especially in a jungle full of life. Rubbing the shaft of his arrow with his thumb, Turrin noticed the terrain was starting to get rockier and hard to traverse. Turrin noticed Cira's footprint weaved through the terrain, but the strides were not as wide and carefree. Cira's footprints seemed to be moving from undergrowth to large trees or large rocks. The half-breed wondered if she was trying to avoid contact with something in jungle. Crouching low in the underbrush, Turrin started to smell camp fire up the hill. Turrin let out a bird whistle to get Razkar's attention, and he started to motion with his hands to signal the camp fire smell was coming from the hill. Turrin looked up and noticed the from the campfire was thick in the trees. The half-breed crept slowly up the hill. He was sure Razkar was close behind him, but as he got top of the hill, he heard sound movement on top of the hill. At the top of the hill, the young hunter quickly crouched behind a tree. Turrin noticed at first glance the top of the hill was a fishing camp. Turrin noticed a couple metal stringers dangling from the tree filled with many different variety of river fish. The camp looked small, so it must only had a single occupant Peering out behind a tree, he noticed to humanoid figures huddling over a tanned skinned body. Turrin's eyes widen when he start to tear a rib out of the open ribcage. Looking closer at the humanoids, he saw their most dominant feature was their cracking skin that was embedded with rocks and dirt. Laying at there sides were two crudely made weapons. Leaning back behind the tree, Turrin placed the arrow on his bowstring, and he waited for Razkar to come up the hill.

[Razkar]

His mother had a name for the jungle when it became so hushed; she called it "Caiyha holding her breath". Every creature was stilled, which simply didn't happen in so verdant and varied a place. Insects chirped, birds swooped and cawed, animals prowled and called, monkeys, tigers, tapir, deer, hounds, everything and anything, even the very trees...

But only they muttered softly now; wind between their higher branches, not a lick of it down in the fetid gloom where they walked, but nothing else.

The world around Razkar and Turrin was holding its breath. The young man did the same... and then heard the bird call. He looked over and followed Turrin's furtive but concise movements, and realized as he crept forward to join him that he knew so little about the young male. So far he'd treated him to sullen hostility and grudging respect; but why did it have to be grudging? They were both Children of Myri, and those were not the Dark Times when clans warred and exterminated each other for the slightest infraction and they truly were savages, before the Light of Myri saved them from barbarism.

He has earned more than your enmity.

Not at that moment, however. They were focused on their stalking at that moment; crawling low, from shadow to shadow, rock to rock... and Razkar realized they were following the same route Cira had taken. Her footprints were always ready for them, sometimes where she'd leaped or crawled from cover to cover...

What had she been hiding from? What had she-

Yuk-yuk-yuk... yuk-yuk...

-seen...

Both males froze instantly. Both knew that sound, for it could never be considered language. Only in the same way that roaring tigers or snarling dogs conversed. Low, guttural, like they were chewing the stones carved into their flesh. From under palm fronds the two of them gazed at a ruined fishing camp, waterfall purring beyond it. Fresh water... spray... burning wood, and... fresh blood.

Razkar opened his mouth but before a word could be uttered that was the sharp crack of a rib being removed like a prize shank. Two of the beasts growled but the larger snapped at them with jagged, uneven, black teeth, snarling until dominance was reasserted and it could enjoy its meal...

Razkar nearly gagged. He'd feasted on enemies before, but... Earth Demons... devouring a body of one of Myri's Children... denying them rest and release in the Next Place...

"We... We can take them," he murmured, eager to raise his bow and begin, "They were only two... three... four, and if we-"

Then his words were strangled off by fresh barks from the right. Another clutch of the creatures emerged, bare bodies festooned with blood and viscera. Another stand off; another growling match. Finally the two ragged groups just shucked around each other, looking for more to destroy, scraps to devour... and then more barks...

"Ruros' balls..." Razkar breathed softly, heart now pounding in his ears. "There's... half a horde of them... But how could Cira have-"

The question died as his mind answered it. Why did she come this way? Because she knew she was being followed. Because she wanted to lead her pursuers through this nest of abominations, thinning out their numbers, wasting their time, increasing her lead...

"Shyke... Shyke-!"

One of the monsters grunted and looked their way, but Razkar had already ducked to cover. How could they solve this?! They couldn't defeat them all, two weak males without females to help. They could run back, alert the War Party, but... would that be so much better? They have to waste time developing a new plan, a new route.

Or... ah, fuck...

"We can lead them away." Razkar muttered, not believing his own words even as he spoke them. "Follow her trail... where it ends... lead them... I don't know..."

Finally, the stoical facade Razkar wore had fallen. Turrin would see him as he felt: roiling with emotion, pained, confused and paralyzed by the simple fact he wasn't his mother, always so sure and confident. He was... just a male. He sighed and shook his head, readying his bow, managing to shrug as he looked to his unlikely partner.

"Well... any better plans in your head?"