Chapter 107: And Yet There Was Nothing
The moon was rising, taking stage as the sun clung to the horizon, reluctant to abandon the sky to its lunar counterpart. The initial assault was repelled, and precious moments ticked by as Atmo ferried those needing critical care past the High Huntress’ group to the den of the Grand Hunter for treatment.
The clinic before her was little more than a stopping point for triage—somewhere the wounded were sent to be patched up and sorted. Some with lesser injuries would be mended and sent back to the defence, others would be reassigned to duties befitting their current state, and the rest would be sustained long enough for transport to the den for emergency care.
A few arrived on the cusp of the Void and needed to be given their final rites. Luckily, the priest and his mate were assigned there to do such, though neither let the wear it was taking on them show. The enfeebled male did a surprising amount, considering his disability; he was applying healroot to the wounds and otherwise caring for those who could be sent back to the front. It was quite the contribution, considering he would not be blamed for seeking shelter further away from the conflict, but every pair of paws helped, and she couldn’t help but respect his dedication.
It was only when the flow of wounded slowed did she allow herself a moment to breathe, the constant evaluation and stress straining her system. She wished to be fighting for her kin at the walls, but the fact remained that she was...lesser.
Her training was for plasma-casters and counter-intelligence, not bows and swords, and she had hardly the opportunity to train since landing. Head Jax and Head Sahari made it abundantly clear that her duty was to seek out those who would feign the seriousness of their injuries, so she had been relegated to organizing the care for them. She also acted as an intermediary for reports during the incursion—assessment of the settlement and its forces passing through her muzzle to various runners.
She could almost laugh at the absurdity of it; the ‘treadmill’ that powered their more advanced production machines had actually prepared some members of the pack for the strenuous demands of the position, though even those were exhausted after so many trips. It had her wondering how many of the Human’s strange decisions were made with these circumstances in mind, though the time to muse such was limited.
The reports came in quickly. They had confirmed that the Grand Hunter’s ‘excessive’ walls around the settlement had proven to be exactly what was minimizing casualties, funnelling the majority of the first effort into the gateway and meeting considerable resistance. Though she had watched the male propose, construct, and distribute his odd armament, it was only now that she openly admitted that his alien nature had kept them alive this long. His tools of warfare proved paramount when they lacked the ability to craft more advanced options, and it was giving them an edge in the onslaught—their foes assuming the items they possessed and numbers they touted would simply triumph over them.
That, and the Blades at his behest. They were everywhere, yet nowhere, informing the pack upon the walkways of where they should concentrate their efforts to discourage flanking.
“High Huntress,” a pack member called. Mi’low twitched her ear, motioning for the group she was instructing to continue on with rearming the front defences. They bowed before quickly leaving to distribute the arrows and bolts to the prescribed positions.
“Speak.”
The male—a member of the security force under Head Jax—shouldered their polearm, his chest heaving. “The second assault has begun in earnest. Despite our efforts, they have surrounded the settlement. Our lines are spread thin.”
She cursed. Though she had been in command during the war-games several times, the numbers were never skewed so heavily in the attacker’s favour. Even when it came close, they needed but protect several strategic locations, not the entirety of the settlement.
“Understood. I will distribute the mended evenly throughout the points.”
The male nodded. “I must inform Head Nalah.”
Mi’low sent him away with a wave of her paw, grimacing as Atmo deposited wounded in the clinic before hurrying away to give those worse off to the den. One of the insects sat itself on the ground, tired and pushed to its limits. Another relieved them of duty, allowing their other rest as it followed the distant cries for medical aid.
She clenched her jaw. She hated feeling useless. Powerless.
A Lilhun argued and pushed aside those in charge of tending to their wounds as they stomped outside, words of vitriol and venom pouring from their muzzle. They sought to avenge their kin, injury be damned. Mi’low stepped forward, her glare daring the member to strike her as she blocked their way.
“Move. I must—”
”—You must prevent yourself from hindering those around you,” she snarled. “See your wound tended. Then you might be given the chance to strike the enemy.”
“But—”
“—You. Will. Obey.”
The cold stare she delivered upon them was filled with pain and rage. She had lost a settlement to the carelessness of another, and that male now worked tirelessly to ensure they did not lose this one. Be it her pack or not, she would not be tied to the downfall of lives she sought to sustain. She took a breath to continue addressing the cowed Lilhun.
“The Guardian will not bless those who selfishly seek violence. You are defending his domain. Seek treatment so that you might continue doing so.”
She watched as they allowed themselves to be dragged back and armour removed. It was as she suspected, an arrow had broken off in their stomach—likely severed to hide the wound. They would not be fighting at the front like that; they would only be a liability.
No matter how much she tried, she couldn’t help but feel that the same helplessness in their eyes was reflected in her own.
She took a breath to steel herself as more Atmo returned. Fuelling his forces was her task.
She would perform her duty.
For the one who she once mocked. For the one who sheltered her kin. For the one who brought life to the defeated.
For the insufferable weakness that gave them strength.
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Nalah grunted as another arrow soared over the walls to slam into her shield. They would be vaulting the barrier en masse soon. It was inevitable. The stray shots may have brought hesitation, but they were naught but prodding and suppression. She simply held her shield proud to inspire her pack members to do the same.
If she didn’t, they would fear what had befallen them.
The security upon the wall were routed—injured or pushed to areas less defended. Her assigned forces were not the foremost of their combatants, but they need not be; they were to delay any that tried to flank the defensive positions which were preventing further advance—even if their own number was paltry in comparison to what sought their ruin.
Reports stated that Sahari and Jax were to their limit in what they could repel, and the number of critically wounded kept increasing—though it was thankfully still within the number that could tend. Her forces contained several who had been injured, but they were given shields and crossbows, forming a defensive wall that moved to where the Wraiths requested them.
Heads would peek above the edges of the wall, only to be met by bolt and arrow. Some completed their traversal regardless. Those were dispatched quickly with spear and blunt trauma, assuming they survived being open targets.
She just wished that the number of those successful in climbing the wall would stop surging.
“Incoming!”
The blond-furred female swallowed, brandishing her shield along with the others towards the plasma-caster that sought to mow them down from on high—the weapon poked over the top of the wall to cover the advance of others. The impacts on her defences numbed her arm. Every part of her thanked the smith that Joseph had allowed an opportunity to atone, his creation in her paws absorbing the rounds with little more than a sizzle of protest as the ironwood beneath the metal prevented the material from warping.
A crossbow slammed on the top of her shield from behind for stability, the weapon recoiling and swiftly ducking back so that her pack member could reload in safety. The shots stopped, a scream sounded, a dull thump of body on ground inside the walls ended the agony of the wounded invader. Subsequent silence signalled a moment of reprieve.
A blur of black and brown snatched the rifle of the defeated, slipping further into shadow before reappearing nearby.
“Head Nalah,” Raine voiced from her side. Nalah refused to remove her eyes from the walls, but tipped an ear to acknowledge the Wraith. The masked female presented her spoils—the very weapon used against them, as well as two spare batteries.
Nalah nodded her thanks, sliding her pike into a hasty holster forged into the back of her armour as she accepted the armament. “My gratitude, Raine. Any news of the Grand Hunter?”
The Wraith shook her head. “The stealth units he had trained are watching that section of the walls for his return, but they have been forced to engage with the enemy as they expand their area of attack. They have begun spreading out well before our forces can discourage it and are slowly encompassing the settlement.”
She grit her teeth. He was late. Soon, there would be little in the way of light as the moon rose and clouds obscured, but the most important part was that their symbol of hope was absent. Their leader wasn’t there to spur them onward, and it was taking its toll on morale.
Several of her unit shrunk at the news, their turned ears betraying their feigned lack of interest. She couldn’t blame them. Nalah took a breath, putting power into her voice.
“Rise!” The members jolted at her command, straightening their posture as they warily glanced at her. “You claim yourselves members of his pack? You who cower when not coddled by his presence? Need you his paw to hold your own when your livelihood is threatened?”
Several exchanged looks—some abashed, others bitter. A familiar red insectoid walked up from the pathways, clad in iron and every bit a warrior. She nodded at Rose, somewhat surprised that the Atmo was not guarding the den. The insect displayed a tablet that had been prepared for it.
[They wish to help. We will not lose what father has given us. Believe in him, as he does you.]
Nalah stared at the script along with everyone else. Violet was tasked with assisting the wounded at the den, yet she allowed those who were to defend her move outward. The Head laughed, gaining volume as it progressed. She spread her arms wide to grin at the other members.
“A kit has foregone her protections! A kit has given all that she has to mend those on the cusp of the Void, and has now made her own journey shorter so that yours may last past this moon. You cower in uncertainty when a kit depends on you? You bow to outside forces when our Grand Hunter has entrusted you with defending what is his? What are you!?”
The pack grimaced, none meeting her challenging gaze.
“Answer me! Who do we fight for?”
“The Guardian?” one questioned hesitantly in return. Nalah smirked.
“No.”
Her flat denial was met with confusion. Nalah gestured for Rose to cut her shield, making a shelf for her new armament and a view-port. It was done swiftly, reminding her why it would behoove them to keep the insects by their side, and thankful that the pack had become so close with them. She turned back to the members, her modifications completed.
“You do not merely fight for him; you fight for yourself, for your kin, and for the pack.” Fire lit behind their eyes as she spoke, waving her shield arm towards the red Atmo. “You fight for the chance to be proud of your own kits. Look at what his has given us! Young, yet seeks to assist in your plight! Innocent, yet steeling herself to see you safe! See what one not of our own is willing to part with so that you might fear the known! She is not scared, but proud! Be what she thinks you are—what he knows you are.”
Voices crested the walls. They vaulted in small numbers, some landing on the walkway, others barely preventing the breakage of bone as they surpassed it. She brought her shield forth, slapping the barrel of her new gun into the slot and viewing the flashes through the newly-created window. The rifle recoiled lightly as plasma was sent to dispatch the incursion, making swift work of the enemy. Continued shouts beyond the wall warned of more encroaching in but a moment.
She glared at the stunned pack as she reloaded, snarling her words.
“You fight for what he has given you! My mate—the Torch—put our lives into his paws when we made our vows. Not because he provided, not because he was going to save us, but because she saw in him what we should be. What we could have if we followed his leadership.”
She straightened her shoulders, ignoring the sounds of incoming reinforcement and doubtful murmurs from those unknowing of Sahari’s Aspect. She didn’t blame them for not being informed—the ex-Grand Huntress didn’t advertise it—but it was time for them to know why the Heads showed absolute loyalty.
“What is it you see for us when we defend our dens and continue on after this moon? Prosperity? A rise in technology? A freedom from the wars of our past—a life devoid of prejudice? A life where a defective kit is not a mark of shame, but one of pride, knowing that you have birthed one of the Guardian’s chosen?”
Growls of affirmation came from her number, the pained eyes of a female surreptitiously meeting her own. A glance to her stomach showed the subtle evidence of new life growing within. The female nodded discreetly, glaring at the first signs of successful climbing. Nalah bore shield towards the enemy, matching with her others to form a bulwark as the remaining loaded ranged weapons behind them.
“What are we fighting for!?”
This time, not one had a shred of doubt behind their answer. It roared out of them as arrow and bolt were loosed, as pad and claw gripped the ground beneath them, and as they met the charge from the opposing forces directly—those not mowed down by the rifle finally noticing the Atmo that sought to assist them as Rose charged the flank, leaving corpse and crimson in their wake.
“Fight for our kin!”
A sword clashed with shield, an arrow ending the enemy.
“Fight for our allies!”
A male kicked away one who sought to harm Rose, driving their weapon cleanly into the chest of the attacker and nodding thankfully when the Atmo deflected an arrow aimed for his head.
“Fight for our territory!”
Rose cleaved a Lilhun in two before they could harm a pack member engaging with another, buying time for two more to press forward.
“Fight for our future!”
Nalah retreated a step, lining up the barrel of her rifle with another surge of forces, smiling despite the dwindling odds. She listened to each shout their convictions, every utterance renewing the vigour of their kin. She whispered her own reason, her silent creed.
“Fight for him, for he has given us everything.”
The rifle flashed as plasma exploded forth.
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“Severed artery!”
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
“Coming!”
Harrow held down the female, the bleeding beneath her paws only slightly hampered by the force she applied. Idee ran up, accepting a needle and thread on the tray held out by one of the young Atmo. Carefully, she poured ethanol over the wound, gaining visibility long enough to see where she needed to work. Though the seamstress had not received much medical training, her sewing made short work of the hemorrhage, finalizing the task and swiftly running to another patient. Harrow applied the healroot with the Atmo’s assistance, calling over Mama for help with transporting the patient to the medbay for rest.
A morbid thought considered how pointless it would be to give them a place to recover when the pack might be slaughtered wholesale before the moon had passed. A breath gathered her thoughts, thankful when she looked up to see that there were no new arrivals.
A moment’s rest.
She crashed into a chair, her legs weakening now that the adrenaline had fallen away. Volta came forward, cleaning the ‘operating’ table that had been cleared of board games earlier in the sun, then set off to tend to her other duties. Ferra, Atrox’s mate, bandaged burns from an incendiary weapon, her experience with animals transferring over to the medical field. She was hardly qualified for any intensive care, but even the smallest overlap was appreciated.
The hub lacked its usual beams of light, instead supported by the dim glow of moonlight peering through the glass, darkened by the rolling clouds above. Not even the torches placed throughout the pathways were lit in fear of giving the enemy additional information. Lilhun night vision was excellent, true, but blinding one’s self by alternating between bright and dark was only something a fool would consider.
It also allowed them to quickly identify the source of fires that sparked on occasion—the Atmo tasked with transporting the injured equipped with a parcel of water to douse the flames.
She watched the members assigned to the den as they restocked their materials from wherever they needed. Most had barely spent time inside of their abode—save for the few that were a part of Tel’s cooking classes or Volta’s rotation—so the looks of wonder and curiosity were saved for the tiny fractions of respite afforded to them as they were given free reign to most areas.
It drew a sardonic smirk to see them express the same emotions she had felt when she was escorted here so long ago. Back when Joseph was some strange alien they should be wary of—kin of two insects she had come to treasure—instead of the honorary blood-father of her kits. A paw moved to her stomach as fondness and fear swirled in her mind. He had yet to return.
She held no delusions about the Human solving their problem by merely arriving, but she wished for him to be there—to assure her all would be well, and that Jax would return whole. That they could repair the damaged, mourn the lost, and heal the injured, then continue crafting their settlement into a place where her kits would run and play. She pictured how Violet would coo and rush to help at every cry, completely enamoured by her den-siblings, just as Harrow herself did long ago.
[Are you okay?]
She blinked off the haze, reading the English presented by the young Atmo. A genuine smile graced her tired face.
“I’m alright. Just taking a break.”
The purple insect wiped her tablet flat, pausing to watch Daisy rush out with more healroot to distribute amongst the other kits.
[Do you need something to eat?]
She snorted a laugh. Violet had been tirelessly helping wherever she could since the alarm was sounded, and even after all of that, she was here making sure that Harrow was fed. It was hard to say if the inclination was from Joseph, Pan, or Mama, but the three of them shared the desire to see the pack happy—even if the facets they oversaw were different.
Harrow reached out and scratched at the young Queen, thankful for her efforts and care. Rose and Cobalt—along with a few other Atmo who seemed confident in their combat abilities—had apparently approached her for permission to help beyond transporting the injured and tending to wounds. Somehow, seeing the den-kit forego her unofficial protectors made the whole situation feel real.
When the flare went up, it was curious. When the pack was alerted to the threat, it was strange. When she was delegated to the den to provide aid, it failed to pierce the wilful veil that all would be well. Oddly, even the first injuries coming in to be tended just floated atop her threshold. Violet painfully committing to sending those she cared about—those she was tasked from birth to lead—directly into danger?
That struck true. Everything she held dear was at risk once again, and yet, she wasn’t panicking. Not yet. She just went through the motions, identifying what needed to be done to the best of her abilities.
Joseph trusted them to manage themselves until he got back, and he had his mates with him. If anything happened to him with them around, then all was lost anyway.
Volta’s blue coat caught her eye, the female bringing out more cleaned and sterilized materials for them to use—from towels to thin quills and thread. She wore a determined look that was rare on the cleaner’s muzzle. Harrow hadn’t seen it since the newest Head had awoken to Joseph’s restful habit of cuddling with whoever happened to be near, and at the time it had been in response to Scarlet’s jests that she missed an opportunity to bed him.
The memory drew a smirk; Volta had seemed almost offended by the assertion, and more than a little abashed by the Wraith’s teasing. The two had been seen on their breaks together more often now, instead of the blue-furred female spending her time alone, while the servant simply skipped any designated rest periods. Often, the pair of them were spotted eating quietly or conversing—though Scarlet never stopped her pestering.
Harrow glanced once again at the skylights, wondering how long it would be until the Wraith returned with news. They sought assistance from the soldiers that the pack begrudgingly tolerated, but none knew how that would go. For all they knew, the ship had already been surrounded and their members disposed of in the woods.
A clamour of clicks cracked through the air, breaking the tepid silence that had established.
More Atmo burst into the hub, the Lilhun atop the flat equipment on their backs burned and bleeding, groans being the best indicator of their condition for the moment. It meant they were still alive enough to feel what was happening to them.
Harrow bolted to her feet as Violet let her tablet clack against her torso and rushed to grab another tray of materials. She hurried to assist the others pulling the wounded onto various tables, recognizing one as a male assigned directly under Jax. He murmured and groaned, clutching his ribs. Carefully, herself and another eased him onto the surface while Idee set about sealing a pouring gash on another’s throat.
“Easy, easy. You’re in the den,” she assured the male quietly, examining him for external injuries. Internal would be another issue, but luckily, most everything that had come in so far could be treated with what they had. Finding nothing seeping out of his flesh, she was forced to consider the area and the possible effects. Broken ribs could puncture organs, or just cause general havoc—Jax had experienced as much during his conflict with Joseph.
A quick pat and soft touches confirmed her fears. Two ribs had broken, a clear separation.
“Mama!”
The Hatcher appeared from the facilities wing, likely having been trying to make more splints and slapdash casts after depositing the mended; they had used far more than expected. Harrow waved her over urgently.
“Ribs snapped. We don’t have any accelerant and I need you to open him up. We need to set it and clear out any fragments.”
The massive Atmo nodded, rushing off to speak with Violet. A moment later, and her blades were wiped down with alcohol, rejoining the table while being careful not to touch anything. Violet repeated the cleansing, helping by shaving around the indicated area before heading off to assist as she could.
With practised motions, Mama set blade to flesh, Harrow steeling herself to do what she must, silently asking for forgiveness as she held the patient down. They had long since run out of painkillers.
The male cried out as his skin parted. Harrow set her jaw as she prayed for him.
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Idee finished sewing up the male, one of the Atmo kits dutifully took away the blood-soaked towels to be cleaned, and Mama left to wash off her blades. Harrow just held the paw of the male drifting in and out of consciousness, speaking softly to the others so as not to disturb him too much.
Several had come through while they were occupied, but thankfully, none were in dire condition—relatively speaking, anyway. Many needed to be cauterized or sewn up. Some needed to have legs or arms set, splinted, and then bound.
Overall, the number of those requiring more advanced care was slow, but steady.
She could only imagine how many were being given less careful care before being sent back to the front. Their only solace was that the battle would eventually end, one way or the other.
Occasionally, a wounded member would inform them of how things were going. Though not all that much time had passed since it all started, the steadfast defence had given the enemy pause, and thus, the pack time to recover. It was a hectic pace set out of necessity.
And she was watching it wear everyone down to the bone.
There was a very clear line between those who had been under Joseph for a long time, and those who were recent additions. The former were determined, unbreakable defenders who shouldered their burden admirably. Countless spars and training regimes had increased their stamina in ways that their military training never accounted for.
Lilhun warfare was expected to be decided in quick, brutal conflicts that barely lasted as long as the current siege—explosives and firearms dismantling one force or the other in vicious displays of violence. From what Joseph knew of it, human warfare was often a much longer affair. Both sported brief clashes, but humans would err towards slower or more methodical approaches only described to her by Tel during the odd chance that the Wraith could be convinced to continue their lessons. Instead of waiting for your foe to slip, or bolting in claw and fang, humans would drag encounters out over many suns of peaks and lulls, peace being but a facade for silent aggression.
She questioned how their Human would react to the current situation. Would he be as weary as the ones coming through for treatment? Or would he be as spry and sharp as he was after rounds and rounds of sparring, sweat dripping between panted breaths as his eyes scanned potential foes? When did the savage violence of Lilhun give way to the unflinching vigilance ascribed to the Guardian moniker?
The pained paw she held tightened as the male gained clarity, his eyes focusing properly through flinches of pain as his heart pulsed the wound beneath the healroot. His voice was rasped and strained from the screams—enough so that she needed to lower her ear to his muzzle.
“Head... Jax...,” the male wheezed, chilling Harrow’s blood to ice. “Injured... Help...”
She waited for her breathing to free itself from the grips of horror overtaking her. Without a word, she pulled her paw away and walked to the doorway, gazing out into the settlement. There were a few flashes of fire, then smoke as Atmo extinguished them on their way to and fro. Distant yells and plasma rounds lit the sky before sending the outside into its dim normalcy, only to be replaced by more.
It itched at her. Something was wrong with the image beyond conflict that she wished had never started.
It was far closer than before.
It was inside the walls.
They had pushed the pack back.
They had gotten past her mate.
Footsteps preceded thought, her instincts screaming at her to be by his side. To assure her bond safe. What was once her den, was now the passing dens of others, her legs pushing her forward towards where he was stationed and feet gripping dirt for traction.
It was the unfamiliar voices that sent her nerves on edge; they were far too close. Far closer than where he had been. Far closer than he would have let them.
By instinct drilled into her by Tel, her steps lightened, suns and moons of agonizing training in the Wraith’s free time coming to bear despite the stress. She slipped from building to building, edging closer to where her mate might be. Her heart hammered in her chest at the prospect of him laying in the grass, broken and unmoving. Again, her innermost desires pulled for her to join his side, to snarl and fight for his well-being.
She needed to find him. There was no logic, no thought, and no way she could calm down until she saw that he was well. It was a need, not a want, and every iota of her being made that demand clear.
Plasma scorched the air in front of her as she peeked around a corner, her yip of surprise exposing her position, yet drowned out by the ever growing din of combat. Shouts, curses, and orders barking from voices both foreign and familiar.
She timed her burst across the pathway carefully, shadowed by the moonlight. The flash of a plasma-caster illuminated the pathway, the projectile whipped past, then she ran.
A glance both lightened her soul and weighed it heavily, followed by panicked breathing as she replayed the situation she faced in relative safety on the other side. The cool wood of the den drew little of the warmth her body constantly produced in its effort to supply her burning blood.
Jax was alive, but he and four of the pack were engaging in tight quarters against thrice their number. His axe had severed limb from form as soon as she found cover. She shunted her eyes closed as shouts grew vulgar and primal, declarations of violence and dominance assaulting the air.
He needed her—of that, there was no question. He faced an enemy far greater than himself for the pack. For her. For their kits.
She waited the breath it took for another set of plasma rounds, charging out to the next barrier of cover and throwing herself against the building. She cursed herself for continuing to watch the fight in fragments, compelled to simply swipe and claw at those posing threat to her bond. To take him away from the threat and nurse his wounds like she had when she first became his.
The last rational portion of her mind argued that doing it would only doom the final evidence of their pairing—their unborn progeny fading with their mother as she joined her mate in the Void. She couldn’t do it alone, nor directly. She needed an approach that would work. She needed to surprise them. It came to her through repetition—a skill that Tel had her fail and fail again until she could do it without thinking. Climbing.
The dens.
Her quick movements had her kicking off the adjacent wall and turning to grip the edge of the roof, pulling herself up in one swift motion. It was higher than she had learned to do, but adrenaline filled in the gaps. All she needed now was a way to help.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a paw covering her muzzle, an arm attempting to wrap around her throat. She forced her own claws to her neck, deflecting the arm upwards and spinning as she ducked away. Her arms brought up into the trained stance, weight spread evenly and fists clenched. Her assailant sighed, the moss-wolf skull drooping with the lack of enthusiasm. Harrow’s ear flicked.
“Raine?” she hissed through barely contained rage, her whisper coated in poison. “What are you doing!?”
The female glanced down at the fight below, pawing at her weapons below the scarce armour. “Head Jax requested you be removed from potential combat.”
Harrow stood frozen, mind clinking in the background as the connection forced itself below reason.
The female was trying to keep her from her bond. That was all she formed as a thought before she lashed out. Fortunately or not, Raine backed away out of range with her paws raised, uninterested in a full-scale fight over the matter.
“Any dispatch would require injuring you,” she explained calmly, bringing her claws to a pocket slowly. Despite the hiss directed at her, she slowly unveiled a vial and presented it. “This is a chemical smoke bomb. Kaslin procured it without Toril’s notice. You may buy time for your mate by throwing this between him and them. Do nothing foolish.”
Harrow cautiously reached out for it, gingerly grasping the fragile container. She looked at the tiny device in her paw, shooting a glare back up at empty air, Raine having slipped away. A roar of pain and rage had her head snapping towards the conflict below.
Jax stumbled back, swinging his axe to fell his foe, but struggling to pull the haft of a pike from his leg. Whatever she had missed, there was the distance between them she needed.
No thought was spared as she leapt from the roof, chucking the concoction to the dirt below. With a pop and a sizzle, the mixture combined, billowing a dark black cloud of concealment for her mate and the surviving pack. She hit the ground running, uncaring for the redirected shouts, nor the new volley of plasma rounds that singed her fur as it narrowly missed her.
She needed to get them away from him.
The attackers pursued her, though only a few. The rest coughed and sputtered as fumes reached their lungs, calls of retreat from Jax’s pained voice making her heart soar. He didn’t notice her, so he wouldn’t put himself further in harm’s way. She bought him time.
Her enthusiasm faded shortly after, the peril she placed herself in finally winning out against protective instinct. Her body—worn from near ceaseless activity since she had awoken—protested the exertion, even endorphins unable to support the constant abuse. Her legs ached, her lungs scorched her chest with each breath, and her unending strain wore on her senses.
She ducked a corner, the dull thud of an arrow impacting the wooden wall sending a jolt through her. Where else could she go? She didn’t keep track of where everyone was or what points they had decided to fall back to. Why would she? She was assigned to tending to those in need, and yet she was bringing foes she couldn’t contest wildly throughout the settlement.
Another corner brought her face-to-face with yet more enemies, a scrambling retreat forcing her paw as she blindly ran between buildings and pathways. More shouting. More footsteps. More arrows. More options closed down as she had to adapt her pathing. How far had they invaded? How many? Why did it sound like they were looking specifically for her?
Again and again, she bought precious moments, leading her pursuers away from where she thought the others might be. Blind turn after dead sprint. Stumbled step after hasty pivoting. Where was she supposed to go?
Sprinting into the main paths, she skidded to a stop, her chest heaving to supply the speech. “Mama?”
The massive Atmo clicked in relief to have found her, moving to embrace the orange-furred female. Shouting increased in volume, what little distance she had gained was eaten quickly by time. Harrow ran up to the insect, pulling her by the blade.
“Mama, we need to go. They’re coming.”
The Hatcher looked beyond her, then brought her eyes back as the evidence of their peril became louder and louder. Mama glanced at a den nearby, new and sturdy.
“Mama. What are you—”
The Atmo picked her up with the large blades, hurrying to the building. She used a leg to pull the large door open before roughly tossing Harrow inside and slamming it shut. Almost perfect blackness overtook the room, the recent construction’s windows set high into the structure—closed and out of reach.
Harrow pushed to her feet, charging the vague outline of the door, only to bring up solid. Why? It opened outwards and locked from the inside. Her ears flattened as the shouting grew distinct. More shouts to find the orange-furred female.
Her fists pounded on the door.
“Mama! We need to leave! Now!”
Soothing chitters passed through the door, close and soft. Why was she doing this?
“MAMA!”
The shouting was muffled by the material between them, but the distance was clear. They caught up. Her pounding became frantic, heart hammering in her chest as blood screamed through her ears. The scent of ash and smoke lingered in the air, the small voices of kits calling for their sister echoed through memory. Again she was powerless to reach the voices. Why couldn’t she get to her?
“MAMA!”
Two bangs resonated out, the door and floor pierced by large insectoid blades, locking the entrance to the very structure it was supposed to allow access. A chip was missing from one edge, the almost indecipherable blue colouring blending into the darkness. The shouting ceased, replaced by the discharge of a plasma rifle. The chittering and clicks continued, but slowed. Tears welled in her eyes as fear overtook her. The Atmo couldn’t fight—didn’t want to fight. She just wanted to love and care for others. Why didn’t she leave?
“MAMA! RUN!”
Her fists sent shocks of pain through her bones and her bruised tissue, each impact with the unyielding ironwood door returned with the constant purrs and comforting clicks. Each slam of flesh on the barrier bearing no progress, yet still she tried. Still she cried out for the mother of the pack. Still she begged and pleaded, her voice scratchy and hoarse, threatening to bleed as she screamed for the Atmo to heed her warning. Why won’t she listen?
“MAMA! PLEASE!”
A roar of Lilhun rage preceded sicking cracks, the insectoid language falling to but a mere pin drop amongst the blackness. It was still soft and reassuring, just painfully weak. Why was this happening?
“MAMA! PLEASE DON’T!”
Another report of weapons fire, and the clicking faded, then ceased.
She dropped to her haunches, burning trails running rivulets down her cheeks. Her cracking utterance slipped through absent sobbing, her eyes fixed on the doorway that would open at any moment to show that Mama was okay. That it was all a misunderstanding. Why was it taking so long?
“Mama...”
There was laughter. Taunting. Jeers. Calls for an orange-furred female to be brought to their leader.
She heard nothing. Felt nothing.
Just the expectation of that percussive language she had come to equate with unending love for the young, and the excitement that was voiced when the Atmo had learned more would be brought into the pack. The familiar purring and chittering from the one who helped bring her world together after so many years alone. Of the one who learned English with her so that they might communicate, but have yet to find the time to talk at length. The sound that represented the unity of three species, bound by care and compassion, always present under Joseph’s rule. The auditory evidence of the one stable certainty that all members accepted wholly.
She listened so closely—strained her ears to the point of pain to hear even one click of reassurance. For an answer to the simple question that haunted her.
Yet there was nothing.