Chapter 109 - I'm Sorry
Pan held Joseph’s paw as Tersa led them to Harrow and Mama, though the persisting silence and tension in the air did nothing for their reassurance. The two Queens followed, staying close to Sunundra and Tel. Something about the way the group separated gave an air of unease, and the lack of conversation only added to the stress. Maybe it was how they carried forward, how her mate tightened his grip on her own, or the unspoken gravity of whatever they were about to find, but his mind only barely stayed intact after all that happened; she could feel it.
The rest of the den declared that they wished to make sure that the settlement was free of enemies before they did anything else, and Pan wanted to do such as well, but nothing short of another wave of attack would separate her from her bond right now.
Not with how much he needed her.
Joseph was nervous. Anxious. He had already asked why the pair had yet to return, but had only received avoiding eyes as his answer. It was bad news, but none of them were ready for how horrible it truly was.
They were led through some of the alleys between buildings, coming to their destination as they walked into one of the main pathways. Her eye was drawn to several fallen behind the building as they passed, but only because her mind refused to acknowledge why they were there. It tried to note everything else first. The building had a large amount of wood chips spread out from the back, but she couldn’t quite tell why from her current angle. Scorch marks from plasma pockmarked the front of it; round after round having been shot at some target.
Finally, she was forced to look at what they fired upon.
Mama.
The blue Atmo was slumped against the door of the building, her two blades almost entirely embedded into the frame and entrance, rendering it locked in the most physical way possible. Her... Her form was...
Tears ran down her cheeks as she swallowed back a sob. It was too much.
Melted carapace. Cracks and chips from both sharp and blunt instruments...
So much blood... So much of that green, sickly ichor that Pan had only seen on the abused Atmo previously, now pooling beneath the one that helped her realize her feelings for her mate. For the one that reassured her and comforted her during the long moons she awaited Joseph’s return.
For her first friend that looked at her not with pity, but with silent kindness. The one who chose to give her a kit, and the one who had given her the chance to meet her bond. The one who was there for her in her darkest moments before Joseph became her true light, then persisted as a comforting glow, supporting her at every turn and through every struggle.
Harrow sat curled up against the form of the Hatcher, clutching the tablet that had only just barely survived what happened. Her tears had run out long ago, but the dry heaves of sorrow remained. She sheltered under the limp upright torso, like a kit hiding from the sky in their blood-parent’s shadow. The orange-furred female didn’t notice her fur soaking in the life-fluid spilled on the ground, nor registered that there were others at all. Instead, she leaned against the insect and muttered, the one-sided conversation of emotional turmoil begging for it all to be a nightmare as she held the one method of communication tight to her chest, her eyes cast downwards and swollen.
A brown-furred male sat on his ankles a distance away, a paw resting on the ravaged base of the Atmo. Atrox smiled. It was a lifeless show of joy—his gaze almost vacant as fresh mourning dripped from his fur. Astra and Ferra stood some distance away, unsure of how to behave in the situation, but giving their mate the time he needed. Slowly, the male blinked, sending new tears on their way as he turned to smile at Pan and Joseph.
“She’s beautiful, no?” He chuckled to himself, a broken mind fighting reality. “A kindred soul that sought the arts through a lens much like my own. Even now she...remains radiant.”
The thin veneer of stability cracked, his smile harder and harder to maintain until his eyes closed painfully and he fell onto the form of his friend, muffled gasps of grief staining the air with their agony—quiet, but potent. His mates pawed for each other, unable to keep their aloof disinterest seeing him break down. They had always begrudgingly accepted his time with the Atmo, but it was no secret that the two were viciously jealous females. Only now did it become real how much the Hatcher meant to him, and his muted howls of torture made sure they could never forget.
Footsteps. More of the pack wandered over at the noise, curious and worried. Soon more followed. Then more again.
Some cried. Others clutched their mates and friends. A few quietly mourned the loss before them.
All felt the loss of the pack’s mother, in one way or another. From the unpleasant aversion of eyes belonging to those who had spent little time around her, to those that interacted often weeping openly—the language barrier still translating her care for all around her.
The pack silenced as Violet approached the fallen form. Pan’s breath hitched in her throat as her kit moved forward.
There was no screech of agony. No refusal of the fact placed before her... Just reluctant acceptance.
The young Queen stood before the end of one who raised her until others might take on the task, then continued to do so out of love anyway. Quietly, she removed her tablet and placed it aside, lowering herself to the ground and hugging the fallen. Almost imperceptible whimpers somehow cut through the air louder than gunshots. Violet curled up on herself as she tried to bury into Mama, the joints of her blade slipping and hastily placed back on cold carapace as strength left her. There was a single expectation that hung in the mind of the kit—a single wish to be held one last time by the one who acted as a den-mother. One last affection.
She cried aloud as it never came.
Pan rushed forward, not knowing when Joseph had released her paw, but the desire to comfort her kit outweighed the question. She wrapped Violet in her arms, sitting on her ankles as she rubbed the insect’s back. Teardrops felt hot against her fur, but she did everything she could not to detract from the comfort she gave as everything else faded.
She had expected to be overwhelmed by the bond—rage, grief, sorrow, hopelessness—any single emotion or combination flooding her system and amplifying her own feelings, until all that kept her sane was the small kit in her arms. As she looked inward, she found...nothing. For the first time in so long, there was nothing in her bond. No anger. No sadness. No hope or love. Just the emptiness that had been all that she knew her whole life before meeting Joseph. The absence of everything she had grown to cherish from him, both good and bad. Fear gripped her soul. Her focus shot to him.
He stood where he was when he first laid eyes on Mama, his expression unreadable. His gaze was razor sharp, his jaw set and muscles tensed. He watched as Harrow gasped for breath. He observed as Atrox slowly ceased his keening cries to hold what remained of a friend. He stayed silent as Pan leaned against the Hatcher with the kit they were given, and as those gathering mourned.
Slowly, those around him noticed the lack of movement from the one who had threatened their lives if they sought to harm the blue Atmo so long ago, and that smiled so brightly once everyone started accepting her as kin. Even the newest members in their ranks knew how close he was to the insect, and tension grew as he remained silent.
None besides Pan noticed Tel a few paces behind him. None said anything as Daisy followed after her sister to approach Mama. None saw the grey-furred female close her eyes and relax as the yellow insect tapped the motionless adult, each moment passing growing more frantic as panic set in the kit.
The visiting Queen fell where she stood, broken, and Pan reached out to offer comfort. Her arms were soon filled with two kits, both giving only the smallest cries as strength left them.
“Tel.”
Every set of eyes shot to Grand Hunter as he turned and walked away, the Wraith whistling a single short, sharp note as she followed, adopting the servile posture the others were known for. There wasn’t a single hint of grief from the pair.
They were calm. Collected.
And still she felt nothing from him.
“Where are you going?” Sunundra called quietly, her tone defeated as she watched Daisy sink into the Paw between soft screeches. Pan stroked the kits in her arms as she listened for the answer, but her fear settled as a single mote passed through the bond. An urge. A drive. A command not meant for her, but another. The illusionary sound of chains crumpling to the floor was followed by the creak of old hinges—imagery brought to mind while she processed what she was given.
Even that speck in the vast ocean reminded her of a comparison she made to herself some time ago; a small voice quietly asking the raging storm around it to quell its vigour, and it did, but only just. The difference this time was that the voice had stopped its protests, and the maelstrom itself went still as it awaited the plea of peace that never came. Eventually, it did speak—equally as quiet as before. It asked of the storm but one thing.
Tel paused in her step while Joseph continued without her. She turned her head to look back at the Grand Huntress, the other Wraiths collecting on the rooftops. Wordlessly, she waved a paw, and they slipped into shadow as silently as they had appeared. The grey-furred female’s face betrayed no emotion, cold and unfeeling. Her eyes flicked to Pan, Mama, and the kits. She inhaled, stopping herself short of speech before facing forward after the Grand Hunter. Her weight shifted, standing on the precipice of movement. A single mirthless huff left her muzzle.
“To hunt.”
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
It flowed and thrummed through her blood, sapping all but the singular purpose she had been bred for. The world around her had gone pale, leaving her navigating a monochromatic environment of greys and black. One point of colour remained; Joseph walking through the forest in the moonlight towards his destination. His goal.
Their target.
Scarlet and Faye slipped and burst through the branches, leading them to where the opposing camp had set up. Kaslin and Raine stayed at the flanks, already dispatching curious wildlife in fluid motions without thought, for they needed none.
They were tools—extensions of Tel’s very claws that sought to grip and choke the life of all that stood against them. Her subtle directions caused them to flow like liquid mercury, moving without question. So too did she.
Her Sheath demanded recompense. Justice.
Vengeance.
When Sunundra had asked what the Wraith might be reacting to most strongly through the possible bond, Tel honestly couldn’t provide an answer. She had been finding herself drawn to his other mate, and retrospectively acknowledged that his anxiousness had affected her, but nothing quite felt like what was described in the documents they had received.
Until now.
It whispered, yet deafened. Caressed, yet choked.
It commanded her, and she would obey.
It sought blood, and she would quench its thirst. It sought to sever that which had trespassed with its own claws, and she would provide. It sought all that opposed it to be removed.
And so she would do as it wished.
Movement below caught her notice, but not her worry. Faye’s moss-wolves prowled the edges of the ground, sentinels of the Grand Hunter as wished by their leader. They moved almost as silently as those they were beholden to, but they retained a laser focus on their task. Perhaps once, Tel had thought the effort of training them to be folly, but now she simply bowed to the wisdom of her mate.
A flicker of red in the desaturated trees—two Lilhuns patrolling the outskirts not of their own.
The beasts at their behest snapped their attention to the foes at a near silent beckon by their master.
They struck quickly, yet quietly, dispatching the first patrol almost as flawlessly as her Wraiths. The two males faded into the background of her notice as their blood spilled through muffled gurgles, abandoned as quickly as they were attacked by the wolves. The two animals sunk back into formation and Joseph walked over the corpses without a word.
As the Wraiths had reported, the vast majority of the assailing pack had been sent to the settlement, and only two were set free to inform Hasen of the losses. They were lucky enough to come within earshot as he bellowed his insults and struck the survivors in front of one of the few actual constructions, pulling out a pistol and executing the worthless messengers before him. Slowing his breathing, he turned and entered his command post.
Joseph paused at the edge of the perimeter, eyes scanning what they were to deal with after glaring at the display from the brush. Tel waved her paw to spread her Wraiths out, shouldering her Anti-Material Rifle as signals confirming the number remaining came in.
Eighty registered as foe. Eighty stood between them and their quarry.
Joseph took a breath, his expression remaining as detached as it had since laying eyes on the Atmo he had grown to care for. The Atmo that was harmed. Stolen.
He snapped his claws, the sound filling Tel with a burning need to bathe in the blood of the enemy.
It would be done.
The rifle kicked into her arm as the first round left a glowing trail through the dense foliage, the plasma searing leaf and bark as it skimmed the surfaces along its narrow path, passing through the head of a male and the torso of his kin.
Joseph walked forward, the wolves by his side.
Cracks of Kaslin’s whip polluted the air, each strike instantaneous before moving to a new target, never remaining in the same area. Raine blanketed the encampment with rounds, the CARD dumping its battery faster and faster and she corralled those too spread out, each flash granting a vision of the Void to those she leapt past, the vacant stare of amber eyes behind the skull sowing fear into the enemy. Faye worked in tandem with Scarlet, slicing tendon and bone while the dark red-furred female finished the job, the two of them moving like water through the environment.
And still Joseph walked.
Return fire started, those gathering their wits rising weapons towards the strobing images of the Void. One settled their targeting on the Human, calling attention to the lone figure they could actually keep track of. Their silence was earned with a single pull of Tel’s trigger, then another for so much as looking in his direction.
Unfortunately, the damage was done, and the dwindling numbers were alerted to the presence of the Grand Hunter. The shouting and cracks of whips drew Hasen out from his station, his furious expression remaining and clearly visible through her scope. She squeezed the trigger slowly to confirm the shot through the thin angle she was afforded, freezing just before tipping it to the point of no return.
Fear gripped her soul, the sensation of the moon itself threatening to fall on her position anchoring her in place. She cautiously glanced at her mate, seeing him stopped in his stride to stare at her with a slight shake of his head.
The eyes that had always regarded her with caution at worst, and love for most of their time together, had true ire for her decision. It was as clear as her devotion to him.
If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
Hasen was his, and woe be the one to take that from him.
Her heat burned like no other as she moved targets, fogging her mind on top of the oppressive desire to obey. Piece by piece, she gave more of herself to it; she abandoned training, instinct, and years of being a Blade.
She was but the claws on his paw, the Wraiths but an extension, and his will was their impetus.
Shot after shot became blurs of light and noise as the Wraiths continued to clear out the defences, Raine stopping to disarm a female for the batteries she held. The brown-furred female dispatched her target, freshly armed and prepared to continue. A noise caught her attention, her ears pivoting to something hiding in the bush. Tel followed the line of sight and saw a group of four hiding behind some trees; two males and two females shivering as they hid from the violence beyond their cover, weapons long since discarded as they held each other for comfort.
Tel’s claw eased off the trigger, and Raine slowly turned away from them, though the group knew they had been seen. With a few words from the Wraith near them, Raine launched back into the trees, heading to her next destination. One sliver of her remaining thoughts questioned it.
Why?
But the answer came as naturally as the disregard for the lives she was but a single shot from ending.
They were not threats. Fearful, yes, but not from the Wraiths. They exuded the air of those who had lost everything when Hasen forced them to be under his employ, and were now trying to spend their last moments with the ones they cared for before all was stripped from them for the last time. They sought not to harm what was the pack’s, nor be there at all, but were threatened to comply against their wishes—it was clear in the tears that ran down their cheeks, and the relieved cries when they were spared.
Tel shifted her focus from the group, her tension easing as more laid down their weapons and wept. Some watched others, listening as they lamented their fates. Others simply sat down where they stood while they accepted the inevitable.
Those watched with both terror and confusion as the masked agents of the Void walked past them without sparing a glance, dropping small leaf bundles before them and sending particles of dust to settle into their fur.
A gentle ticking worked into her heart, momentary solace from the screeching of metal on stone that had taken over her. It was familiar. Warm. It drew memories of the soft white fur of her other, and the caring nature she took to all of those that accepted her and their mate. The gentle touch and kind voice she had grown attached to at some point or another.
Those marked by what only one could scent were being offered a way forward, free of wanton violence, should they remain sinless.
Their opposition dwindled as shots became less common, more devoid of life slumping where they stood while those devoid of hope were spared. It was a precarious notion to her—how one could determine that those left to walk amongst the living would not simply seek retribution upon another sun was beyond her—but it told her that those given the choice were of no consequence.
They were beaten. Desperate for protections and forced to obey. The blood of her kin did not stain those claws.
Unlike the male who bellowed his rage.
Hasen stormed outward, ignorant to the dismantling of his forces and armed with a pistol as he shouted commands to those unable to hear him through the veil of death.
But he was alone in his desire to fight back, the others fleeing with their lives or lacking them.
All that remained was him, and Joseph walking calmly towards the black-furred male.
Hasen raised his gun, flinching when the crack of a whip sent it spiralling through the air to be snatched from its fall by the shadow of a Wraith. He stepped back, calling again for reinforcement, only to meet silence.
Be it spotting the motionless skulls watching him—them making no effort to remain concealed—or the bitter cowardice that came from suffering the consequences of a foe far more resilient than expected, the male turned tail and fled.
Joseph maintained his piercing stare, and walked.
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
The cracks and plasma halted his advance, forcing him to stumble and claw to his feet as he changed direction.
It was still following him.
Hasen had been outraged by the incompetence shown by his subordinates. One step closer to achieving dominance on this Void-laden planet and he could have gained a powerful bargaining chip to use against the UM. Just one measly settlement and he could turn to negotiations with Grand Hunter Trill, then acquire an army to continue what his own prior leadership failed to.
He would lead his forces to scorch the dens of the Union, steal their planets, and wipe all of them to extinction for their sins. For blowing his pack to dust and cinder while he was away, giving him nowhere and no one to return to. For taking his loved ones, he would personally see to it that they had none as well.
To say that he was irate upon hearing his larger assault force was insufficient would be an understatement. Not only had they failed to seize the additional settlement, but had been all but eradicated by those within it. Now, those that remained had abandoned their posts to sniffle and tremble because of some Blades? Those ‘Wraiths?’ There were only five of them, versus a force nearing one hundred. Not even the strange biped was worth the fear they showed.
He cursed as another AMR round punched a hole through the trees he knew led to better cover, ducking as he adjusted course away from the showering splinters. His breathing was laboured by now, but he was far enough away that he could chance a moment’s respite.
Every time he thought he had distance and there were none of those damnable skulls staring at him, he caught his breath, his legs burning from the prolonged sprinting. He would get a short rest, propping himself against a tree as he worked out where he would go.
He was an excellent runner—years of hard labour before the draft ensured that—but this was stressing his body beyond what even the most demanding work had asked of him. He had started his fleeing when the moon was still early in its journey, but now it was well past its crescendo, slowly drifting to the opposite horizon.
How was it still following him?
Snapping tree branches and an unbothered pace alerted him that his pursuer still followed. Still walked towards him with the same empty expression and scent, two of the beasts native to this death-pit of a planet on each side growling whenever they drew near.
Hasen gripped his arm to test if the gashes and bites were clotting, but the strenuous exercise ensured that even after all this time, blood still trickled slowly. The damned beasts had been far more enthusiastic in hunting him down at first, ambushing him as he slipped between the dense forest. He was surely doomed, but at a single snap of unknown source, the two released him and barked. He didn’t question it at the time, but it was a fact that whatever it was that was chasing him wanted him to suffer, rather than perish. The smaller pricks in his flesh from claws had stymied, but losing most of the feeling in one of his arms did not bode well.
He was just lucky that the biped was too Void-bent on this game to actually pay attention to the strain such a task would place. Even at such a leisurely pace, the exhaustion would be settling in—Hasen was drained, but few would outlast him. Such folly from one who seemed to command those wretched skulls.
The thought crossed his mind as he scanned the trees, his eyes catching sight of one. Then another. And another.
They had caught up, but he could spot the subtle bobbing that belied the wear that the chase was putting on them. Trained assassins or not, spending over half a moon chasing him down would leave them worn and haggard.
So why was the biped still approaching instead of having them kill him. They had many chances, and yet Hasen still breathed unharmed—save for the first altercation with the beasts.
“Done running?” the voice taunted, cool and baritone. Hasen remained silent, slipping from his cover away from the biped.
The flat muzzle unsettled him, but it was the cold behind those round pupils that made him anxious. Even the scent was muted, but not in the way he had grown to expect from the Blades he had the misfortune to get too close to, nor the ‘Wraiths’ that taunted and scarred his throat. It was as if that alien presence sapped everything from the air around it, replacing it with frigid Void.
The concept of demise personified, and seeking his end.
A small smirk spread on Hasen’s tired muzzle. A mere mortal was nothing to fear. No, he would persevere like he always had, then regain his forces. He lacked the number for a full army like he anticipated, but all he needed was to regroup with those sent to take Sunundra’s settlement and he would have more.
Then he would be able to at least plot his revenge.
With confidence in his stamina restored, he broke out into a jog, then a sprint.
He would outlast, and he would claim that accursed settlement.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
He ducked behind more trees, though the rising elevation of the path forward was taking its toll.
He was struggling to breathe.
Once more, he slumped against the wooden backrest, panting breaths coming out dry and strained. His legs were buckling and numb, his pads sore and bleeding. Eight more times he had run for as long as he could, crashing into cover to regain some semblance of composure. Eight more times that cold voice taunted him calmly. Eight more times he escaped the skulls and beasts.
His self-assurances had long since faded, replaced by building dread and fatigue. He was able to outpace any he had met—in both battle and general maintained labour—but still the biped followed, gaining ground with every stumble and gasp for air. The alien creature showed no discomfort for such an extended pursuit. The alien showed no wear.
It only asked the same question whenever it drew near.
“Are we done?”
Hasen glanced over to the biped standing impassively, the two beasts at its side growling. It stared quietly otherwise. He got to his feet, extending his claws. The biped did nothing besides watch as he swung, bringing up a bracer to deflect the blow.
Until a blinding pain in his stomach caused him to fall. The contents of his stomach were expelled onto the dark grass in the moonlight. Gasps of agony persisted.
“Get up.”
He did, fighting a body that fell apart, noticing the tightened fist that had struck him. A haze fell over his mind as he brought his claws to bear once more, lashing out again.
The ground met his skull after the impact, the flash of unconsciousness followed by his muzzle screaming in pain. Blood pooled in his mouth and trickled between his lips, the broken teeth and jaw grinding against flesh.
The biped remained still. “Get up.”
He struggled to push to his feet, the stun taking too long to dissipate. A kick met his ribs, cracking bone louder than the tree he slammed into.
“GET UP.”
The growled shout sent a pulse of fear through him as he dug his claws into the bark of the wood, pulling himself up and spitting out the crimson fluid on his tongue. Five skulls watched from the trees, one substantially closer—the glint of an AMR in her paws promising no escape.
He grabbed a fallen branch as he steadied himself, swaying on failing legs through shots of agony that each breath drew. A stumbled step disguised the thrust forward with the jagged end.
A paw grabbed the weapon, hauling both it and Hasen forward into the heavy hook, blackness taking over.
But not for long.
His shoulder became an inferno as the biped wrenched it out of socket, slamming another fist into his broken ribs, then again into shattered jaw. Each strike was accompanied by feral grunts and shouts, barely passing by the haze of unconsciousness he wasn’t allowed to take refuge in. Every time the end of his thought came, another bone was broken, stoic grit collapsing and setting loose slurred screams.
First, the other shoulder, pulled behind, then up—a sickening suction and pop spelled the end of its usefulness. Next, his face was driven into the dirt, his arm pinned by a heavy foot as the elbow was ripped backwards.
The scream was cut short as he fainted, the sweet release from the torture beckoning him onward.
The second elbow brought him back, then the wrists, then claws.
Tears flowed as endorphins failed to stave off the pain, and the biped grew increasingly irate. Each break was more brutal than the last, and each hammering fist shattered more and more, making every moment of lucidity a cry for the Void to take him—to end the suffering.
A paw gripped his leg, and true terror took over. He kicked outward, gaining purchase on the forest floor and scraping himself against it as he pushed away, only for a new grasp on his neck to haul him upright.
A foot bucked his ankle, another scream interrupted as his head was thrown against a tree. A stomp finished the leg at the knee.
“Just kill me,” he slurred, rivulets streaming downwards and blood pouring from where bone had broken free. His form was limp against the tree, the wood not letting him fall to the ground. Not even the promise of death before him seemed welcoming now, for this one would ensure the path there would take far longer than his sanity would allow.
The moonlight turned to shade, the biped standing in front of him, but the placid expression was marred by suffering, much like he was sure his own conveyed. The voice was quiet now, devoid of the enraged barking it had taken. Perhaps a reason was voiced, but he couldn’t hear it over his own desperate whimpering for release. The biped repeated himself.
“Why did you attack?”
“IT WAS FOR REVENGE!” he screamed, anger replacing fear. “For our kin stolen by the Union!”
“We weren’t getting in your way,” the biped replied sorrowfully, shoulders drooping. “We didn’t do anything.”
“You were in the way.”
The biped calmly wiped off the blood spit through the speech, his voice flat, yet dangerous.
“Was Mama?”
Hasen sputtered in indignation. “What?”
“The Atmo, insects, tools—whatever you call them. Was she in your way? Was that why she died? What about Harrow, the orange-furred female your group was told to retrieve? Was she?”
The gears clicked. “You’re the Grand Hunter.”
“You didn’t answer me.”
Laughter erupted, born from muddled consciousness and the true scale of why he was broken and bleeding. “You hunt me because I sought your mate? I needed a bargaining chip. It was supposed to be mutually beneficial, but I see now that such was pointless.”
“Mutually beneficial? How is attacking my pack beneficial?” the biped returned, starting to shake as rage built up beneath the surface. “How is killing those who depended on me going to help anything!? HOW IS KILLING HER JUSTIFIED!?”
Hasen offered a chuckle, slumping to the side as his mangled leg failed to hold the weight. The pain was gone; there was too much for his brain to register anymore. He was shoved and held back against the tree by his throat.
“That’s amusing to you? Trying to kidnap a pregnant female and slaughtering one of the kindest people you could have met!?”
“They are weak,” he replied lazily, chortling again. “The dead are to be forgotten, and the weak will join the dead. If more were to be spawned by that female, they should be slaughtered as well. We have no need for burdens when we should be exterminating our enemies. Only when we are strong can we thrive.”
The Grand Hunter loosened his hold, but kept Hasen pinned—not that he was going anywhere. Slowly, the biped nodded. “Letting you go was a mistake.”
“And yet you did, and now you are here lamenting your own stupidity,” the black-furred male goaded, the period of inaction allowing pinpricks of pain to surface. “And what did that mercy get you? Me? I captured and conquered! All that remained was your ilk and Trill, but at least he has the blood of the vengeful coursing through his veins! You would take others in and fester within your walls, never seeking recompense for their sins! You are foreign and deserve to join whatever monstrosity you have named to drown in her death!”
Still, the biped remained silent, coated in the blood it spilled, yet only gazing downwards while weakly supporting Hasen against the tree. The male grew impatient.
“What now, Grand Hunter? You seek to snuff out the last bastion of hope for our people, the last path forward with your complacency?”
The alien’s eyes rose, tired and weary. He brought a paw to the bracer. “Now I will fix my mistake.”
Five skulls watched as a claw found a place on the armour of the arm holding Hasen to the tree. Two beasts quietly observed as the light breeze died down. The black-furred male smiled as grief struck the alien.
With a moment’s hesitation, there was a click.
The piercing of flesh below his jaw.
Then nothing.
= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =
Harrow held the tablet close as she went behind the den. Joseph had returned not long ago, but he ignored everyone and disappeared to the roof. Pyres were lit and had mostly burned out by the time everything was said and done—save for one that nobody would take from him.
Pan eventually managed to coax the Queens away from Mama at some point, and the rest of the pack set about gathering the fallen or seeing to their wounds once Sahari came back to report that the settlement was clear. Even she choked up when she caught sight of the motionless Hatcher, and Nalah wasn’t much better. The two mourned for a while before tending to their tasks and getting the den fixed up a bit so that the chemical explosive which turned the tides of battle wouldn’t cause any rampant infections.
It was only when Jax embraced the orange-furred female that she came out of her stupor, resurrecting her weeping as his sorrow bolstered her own. Somehow, the second wave allowed her to move, but not once did she release the tablet; the final message which was given by the one who sacrificed herself, so Harrow could continue on.
She climbed the ladder that no one else dared—not even his mates. No one wanted to be near the male who exuded a silent request for privacy. Pan was caring for the Atmo, and Tel was busying herself by preparing food that could be eaten for those who needed it. Truth be told, no one could sleep—save for those too exhausted from battle to remain alert—or bring themselves to feel hunger, so the portion she had to prepare was smaller than if she was to feed everyone.
Harrow? Well, she just didn’t want to be in the den. It was crowded with most of the pack inside of it—the injured being tended to by those well enough to do so. It didn’t feel right to send them back out into the settlement as they were, and many needed constant changing of their bandages and others to see to their needs, so all involved were welcomed to spend the next few moons inside the safest building in the settlement—at least until repairs and mourning were taken care of.
That was the last thing Pan had managed to say with a smile, but not one person saw anything other than the kindness of someone they instinctively treated as lesser while she offered her den to those in need.
It was the first time that every response was one of heartfelt gratitude and solidarity.
Joseph sat on the roof, his feet dangling over the edge as his gaze lingered unfocused on the settlement. He didn’t even flinch when Harrow joined his side, leaning into him for comfort—though it was impossible to say if it was for her own, or his. She fixed the tablet against herself so that she couldn’t drop it, looking at his face as it remained placidly off with his thoughts.
“Hey,” she offered, her throat sore and scratchy. He blinked, finally noticing the visitor. He glanced at her, but slowly returned to watching the buildings.
“Hey.”
“Are you okay?”
He snorted, pain settling in his eyes. “No.”
“Hasen?”
He cycled a breath, any warmth in it fading. “Gone.”
She ignored the blood drying onto his clothing; her fur was soaked and matted with Mama’s, and neither of them felt up to washing it off at the moment. A long silence remained between them until she adjusted the tablet again, finally earning more than a flicker of acknowledgement.
“That Mama’s?”
She nodded, not wanting to put words behind the thought.
He opened and closed his mouth a few times, eventually returning his gaze outwards. A swallow preceded the choked voice. “What’s it say?”
She lowered it carefully, exposing the lettering. Even seeing it again brought tears to her eyes.
[He will make a wonderful father. I’m sorry I won’t be there to see them.]
Joseph’s face contorted, the stoic resolve cracking. “I see.”
Neither had much to say for a while after that, though the comfort of having the other there without digging into the issues at paw helped greatly. She hoped so, anyway. Losing someone was never easy, and though she had been suffering the memories for quite some time since stress had built up, when it finally happened again, they were gone, floating somewhere in the back of her mind instead of torturing her. She supposed current grief superseded the past.
Unlike her, Joseph seemed to be reliving his losses again and again. She could see it in his eyes; they had the same weight to them that she had grown used to seeing in her reflection.
“It was me,” she whispered, surprised by her own voice. He raised a tired brow, uncertain what she was talking about. She sheepishly lowered her head, eyes flicking to him on occasion. “I never helped those from a fire. Never listened to a kit cry as their sisters failed to wake up. It was… I lost everything.”
Clarity reached his expression as he made the connection. “Harrow, you don’t need—”
“—I want to.”
He stared, then nodded, accepting when she held his paw tightly and took a breath.
“We were still so small. Too young to understand….”