The sun is barely peeking over the horizon when Lex opens her eyes. She sits up, confusion written on her face. Scorvo stands at the entrance to the cave, watching her intently.
“You were supposed to wake me, Scorvo! I woke up during the night and you were gone. I waited up for a while, but I was so exhausted I fell back asleep. Where were you?”
Scorvo quickly crosses the distance between them. He kneels beside Lex, staring into her large brown eyes.
“I went back to the place where the ooman hunters—and the one you called a ranger—were killed. I destroyed all of the evidence that anything occurred. Now…There is no reason to hurry.”
Scorvo’s eyes search Lex’s face with an intensity which makes her uncomfortable. She stares back, concern etched on her countenance.
“Are you okay, Scorvo?”
“I am fine,” Scorvo responds.
Cupping Lex’s face, Scorvo lowers his mouth to her lips. Lex blinks with surprise and presses a hand to his broad chest. Scorvo reluctantly withdraws, his eyes solemn and his mandibles slowly opening and shutting.
“No. No.” Lex says, shaking her head to emphasize her point.
“I witnessed the look of n’fiis in your eyes. Do you deny that you feel anything at all?”
Lex draws her lips together in a pout. She averts her gaze, but Scorvo refuses to let her off so easily. He uses his hand to gently guide her face forward—so that they are staring into each other’s eyes.
“Can you honestly say that you do not feel a connection?” Scorvo presses her further.
“Yes. There is a connection. I won't deny it. But whatever you think you saw, Scorvo? You were mistaken. When I look at you…It's like looking through a window to the past. I don’t think I’m actually seeing…You. I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to say anything. It sounds so callous. But it’s the truth.”
Scorvo’s fingers flex with his emotion. How he wishes he had been part of the hunt team which descended on the Old Earth chuf'trhat. He would have been, had Chopper not been chosen instead. For many years, it had been rumored that the cha’l brothers would achieve a great victory together. That together they would bring honor to their family name by defeating the serpents in glorious battle.
At the last minute, the council had chosen to split the cha’l brothers up. Scorvo suspects that their decision was an act of jealousy. Nevertheless, many yautja accepted the council’s outlined reasoning. Only if the first team failed, would another be sent down. The backwater planet had not been culled in some time. Failure was a distinct possibility.
Scar had been assigned to the first team sent down to the chuf’trhat. The utter destruction of the chuf’trhat meant there was no need for a second team. And Scar’s death, at the end of a barbed serpent’s tail, had been the end of a glorious dream. There would be no honorable victory for the cha’l brothers. No myths and legends for young yautja to learn and pursue. Hunters could continue serving the whim of the aging and mediocre council elders without distractions or interruption.
Even if a part of Scar remains, in the shell of a yautja oomans call a clone, he will never be the true cha’l brother Scorvo knew all of his life. Will a clone remember all of the fights they’d had over food, weapons, and budding females? Will a clone remember the hunts they’d planned and undertook together? Surely not. How could it? Would a clone remember one it has chosen in a former life? A vil’par? And if not, what becomes of the chosen who is later forgotten and rejected?
Stolen story; please report.
Scorvo’s mouth twitches as he considers attempting to kiss Lex a second time, his tusks quivering almost imperceptibly. Lex watches him with wary eyes, sensing the turmoil brewing under the surface of the hunter’s psyche. She swallows hard as Scorvo gently caresses her face.
“My brother would never have harmed you. And neither will I!” Scorvo says reassuringly. “It was not just a mark that my brother put upon your cheek. It was the sign of his n’fiis. His love. That is why…There are those who now question his judgment. They say, he had no right to do such a thing. That the mark of our clan is sacred. Only for those of yautja blood. For many cycles of the moon, I have managed to convince everyone that Scar was no traitor. That the mark on your face was given as a warning to others. A warning that no harm should come to you because of your bravery in battle.”
Scorvo’s eyes soften and he takes Lex’s face in both hands. His amber eyes search her face and he draws in her scent. The words he has uttered are having a small degree of effect. Lex’s scent becomes almost sweet. However, she is still resistant to his advances—her mouth set in a firm line. With an aggrieved sigh, Scorvo continues his soliloquy.
“When I am alone, I know better. Above all things, Scar was a fierce and noble hunter. Nevertheless, in matters which pertained to love and loyalty, you would be hard-pressed to find any yautja more dedicated than he. I was his f’tyhu. Who could know him better? That is why he gave you the mark of our clan. With this new information, that Scar’s blood may yet serve as the undoing of our species…Angry rumors have once again begun to circulate. My wish is to save my brother, and restore his warrior honor. I also worry…What will become of you, his vil’par?”
“Vil’par? I don’t understand. I’ve never heard that word. In fact, he never said a single word to me. I didn’t know your species could talk. We only communicated through gestures. I was the one who did all of the talking.”
Scorvo chuckles softly. Lex scrutinizes him through narrowed eyes.
“What’s so funny?”
“Yes. That is the way it would be. My brother was very peculiar in that regard. Many yautja males grow boisterous and strut around boastfully when seeking a mate. If Scar felt enamored with a female, he would say very little. He preferred to let actions speak for themselves. He once told me… ‘Only the council and the aged have time for loose words. Hunters and warriors speak with the language of blades and combisticks.’ My cha’l brother is correct in this.”
A violent shiver causes Lex to hug herself, in an attempt to stay warm. Scorvo stands to his full height and crosses to the mouth of the cave. He retrieves Lex’s backpack and returns to where she sits on the rocks.
“You found my backpack? I never thought I’d see that thing again. The choice was either ditch the sack or get shot in the back. Thank you, Scorvo.”
“Don’t mention it,” comes the soft reply.
An uncomfortable feeling wells up in Lex’s chest. She rummages through her bag for a change of clothes. Her hand brushes against the ceremonial staff—combistick—buried amongst the clothes, accessories, and her tiny weapon. Lex pushes down her sadness and moves her hand away from the sacred yautja object. Embarrassment causes Lex’s skin to grow hot, as she retrieves her undergarments from inside the large backpack—Scorvo’s eyes watching every movement of her hands.
“I’m just going to change…Over there!” Lex says with a hint of warning.
“I will not disturb you!” Scorvo replies, his round eyes wide and full of childlike innocence.
“That’s not really the point I’m trying to make. I think you know what I mean?”
“I do,” Scorvo says. “I will turn away while you change.”
“Okay,” Lex says, climbing to her feet.
She makes her way to a shadowy part of the cave and begins to undress. Scorvo remains seated on the rocks. Curiosity gets the better of him and he turns his head ever so slightly. With his round eyes, he is able to see Lex clearly—even in the inky darkness.
Lex’s back is to him. Scorvo’s eyes follow the delicate curve of her spine until it meets up with the waistband of her underwear. She stretches out an arm, while removing the black garment covering her chest mounds, and Scorvo’s breath catches in his throat. He turns away before temptation grows too great. Yet, he finds himself turning back to catch a glimpse. Only to be disappointed. As if prodded to do so, Lex turns in such a way that Scorvo’s view of her chest mounds is obscured.
Scorvo silently sulks, turning away in a huff. However, a thin smile causes his mandibles to draw open, his tusks clicking softly together. Even Scar did not live to see this much of the ooman female named Lex. When they find the clone of his f’tyhu, he will be sure to rub this in his face. It is much different than staring at a lifeless diagram.