Chapter 34: Beautiful
“Are you okay?”
The voice stirred her from her ruminations and brought her consciousness back to the moment at hand. Sahari held her arm over Pan's shoulders, her voice strained with suppressed emotion. They had left the gym, it seemed, and have since moved to the dormitory wing of the den. Pan took a breath, her legs shaking from the effort to have her remain standing. The last while had been a bit of a blur. a mix of sound and movement.
“I think so.” She managed as the lingering chemicals freed themselves of their grasp on her. Fragments of moments flickered into memory. Her throat hurt to voice the words of her worry. “I hurt him, didn’t i?”
Sahari flinched, her grip tightening for a moment before she nodded. “Yes, you did. He placed his person in the way of the kick before anything unfortunate could occur.” Pan felt a new wave of despair wash over her.
The spar ended when the panic began. From there it became a fight for survival, albeit fabricated by the bond. She was gritting her teeth through the pain that radiated throughout her stomach, the largest part of it being beneath her scar, when she felt the connection flicker. It was a complicated concoction of signals that snapped to blind fear immediately. Her body shunted all attempts at thinking through her actions as it simply moved to protect her.
It wasn’t the first time her uncertainty in a situation had been met by her body entrusting itself to the bond. When Violet was in danger, her entire world was dominated by the fractions of time that seemed to melt as Joseph’s anguish and rage built within her. She stood there, shocked by the events until a simple compulsion was presented. Protect the young one. With little else in the way of a plan, her body accepted it without further question. It saved the den-kit’s life and spared them of mourning at the cost of her own injury.
This time it had saved Pan the likely injury or broken bones, but she had not questioned the urge. The directive to eliminate all danger. She knew, somewhere in the nebulous recesses of her mind, that the threat to herself had passed. Yet she sought to ensure that such things would never push her bond so close to despair again. She set out to destroy what threaten his mental well being in accordance with his plight and in the process almost harmed it herself. She did harm it. She harmed him.
Sahari shook her, the jolt bringing her from her contemplation. “He protected you as well as Harrow from the consequences of his inattentiveness. He was merely acting as a Grand Hunter should.” She accented the assertion with pride, albeit weakly.
Pan raised her gaze from the blood on her foot. “What would he be protecting me from?”
“Yourself.” She replied plainly. Her expression darkened as they slowed their pace. “You would never forgive yourself if he had not intercepted that strike.”
Pan whimpered, her paw clutching itself. “I do not know if i can forgive myself for hurting him.”
“You need not do so.”
“What do you-”
Sahari stopped in front of Joseph’s room, forcefully gripping Pan by the shoulders. There was a deep sadness in her eyes that was easily peered into through her widened pupils and forced bravado. Lingering scents of her mate’s emotions weighed heavy on her soul, the feeling of a sputtering candle surrendering to the void and depths of the cold permeated through her.
“He needs you to forgive him.” She explained with a pained expression. The surge from the bond in the closer proximity suffocated Pan, her core cooling far below what would be acceptable and her muscles slackening as they gave up one by one. Sahari momentarily loosened her grip before clutching her paws tighter, the force applied stopping Pan from giving into the feeling. “When you panicked, drowning in sympathetic terror and pain, he worried for you. He was told it was all his fault. He accepted it and now he resides within himself while tearing open old wounds to reinforce the assertion. He needs absolution, to know that you not fear him. That you will not leave him in an attempt to free yourself of his influence.”
Pan’s eyes widened, the implication that she would ever even so much as consider doing something like that stirring a small spark of an emotion she held under strict control. Ashes long subdued began to revive. “I would never abandon him.” She edged her voice with hints of malice. Sahari smiled.
“Then we are in agreement.”
With little else in the way of explanation, Sahari opened the door to the room to reveal a quiet Joseph. He sat on the foot of the bed, absently staring out the window behind him into the meadow past the production building. The starlight highlighting the sorrowful expression that his emotions conveyed all too well. He twitched when the light from the doorway reached his face, the new illumination showing his puffy eyes and sullen complexion. He forced an empty smile as he turned to them.
“Hey.” The cadence of his voice gave away the dryness in his throat and the stress he was under. Pan froze on the spot, conflicted between the relief she was feeling and the guilt he projected. The longer she tried to separate the emotions the harder it got to distinguish from whom it came until they melded into a single entity that governed her mind.
Sahari gave her a push on the back as she closed the door behind them. She leaned in to whisper into Pan’s ear. “Waste not the time to sort your feelings from the bond. They are one and the same.” Having said her piece, she offered Joseph a short wave and laid herself on the bed. “Forgive me for intruding, but i thought you could use the company.”
He snorted weakly, waving a hand to the bed. “Have at it. Not like I’ll get sleep tonight.” He shot a guilty glance at Pan. “How ya’ feeling?”
Pan wasted no time taking his acknowledgement as permission to be in the room, her quick stride to him eliciting a brief bout of surprise until she wrapped him in a tight embrace, his head pressed into her breast. “Better, now.”
The cold wind that blew through her abated to be replaced by the warmth she has grown so addicted to within him. Joseph reached his arms to match her action, a small flinch occurred when he braced his hand on his injury, but the affection never faltered. “I’m sorry. I can only imagine how disorienting it is to deal with me, given the bond.”
Sahari reached over to slapped him across the back of his head with a scowl, the impulse was weak but enough to draw a sputter in his resolve. Pan tightened her hold on him and glared at Sahari as she spoke. “Your emotions are powerful, Joseph, but they do not control us.”
“But they made her-”
“They can not make her do anything. She felt your fear for her well being and she surrendered to the desire to protect you from any harm. That includes protecting you from afflictions of the psyche.” She asserted. “You stopped her from taking action that was too far. Her subsequent panic was merely your own and the confusion of loosening of her hold on herself. It is not the fault of your bond nor will any of us fault you for it.”
Joseph shrunk under the chastisement. “Nalah does.”
The feeling within Pan sparked again, this time holding a momentary flame. Sahari’s expression hardened as she averted her gaze. “I will speak to her later. She had no place saying that.”
“Saying what?” Pan barked, her grip becoming a protective shell for her fragile mate.
“She blamed him for your actions while you were busy calming down.”
The long forgotten cinders of true rage gained their ignition. Far from a roaring fire, but now a source of heat within her that refused to be extinguished. Sahari interrupted her before she had the chance to commit to any action.
“She has been through much, Huntress Pan. Forgive her for her impenitence. I will talk to her later in hopes of salvaging her misplaced anger.”
Sahari’s subtle plea dulled the indignation building within her, the smouldering smoke of clouded judgment receding. Pan took a breath to steady her once building heart rate. “I will task you with the management of Head Nalah. I pray for your success for returning cohesion to the den.”
Joseph tapped Pan on the hip, drawing her attention to the fact that he had been buried in her fur for longer than he had breath to support. She quickly released him, the male taking a deep breath. “So fluffy.” He stated as he exhaled the initial gasp of air. Pan felt his turmoil lessen. “If I’m going to go out, can it be that way? It’s a little uncomfortable, but i think it’s nice enough.”
Pan laughed, the humour returning with the small warmth she loved. “I suppose i could arrange that, though Robert may be upset with me.”
Sahari, catching the change in tone, reached over and pulled Joseph onto his back while she shifted herself. Once he was firmly on the bed, she rolled onto him, the faux yell of surprise that was muffled by her fur made Pan giggle. “Surely if he passes due to myself, Robert will have no reason to be cross with your mate, no?”
“thaf nof hao dis worfs.” The muffled protest spread the laughter to Sahari as well.
“Come, Pan. We must bury the late Grand Hunter to honour his service.”
“I ken fink ob worse weys to go” Joseph relented to his fate, his free arm flopping onto the bed.
Glad that the situation has been shelved, if not somewhat resolved for the moment, Pan joined in the piling of her mate. Seeing as how Sahari was covering most of his upper torso, Pan straddled his waist and flopped onto Sahari. A quick check that he was able to pat for his release assured her that nothing unfortunate would happen, so she settled into her spot with a gentle wiggling to get herself comfortable.
Joseph twitched under the pile, a shot of embarrassment mixed with something else conveyed itself through the bond until exhaustion overwrote the sensation. “fup it! Thif is comfy.” He proclaimed in his muffled voice. It took little time until his breathing slowed and his minor resistances ceased.
“He fell asleep.” Pan giggled, lightly poking her bond’s leg to confirm.
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“That he did.” Sahari snorted in reply before gaining a smirk. “Though, i think i know now what caused you to hesitate.”
Pan tilted her head. Sahari shook her head. “Best we rest as well. Let tomorrow and clear heads guide us forward.”
Pan nodded, still curious as to what Sahari apparently figured out, but rolled to her side to get herself comfortable. Sahari moved to leave but was quickly captured by the sleeping Grand Hunter in his usual absent embrace.
“Um.” Sahari looked to Pan for assistance as Joseph rolled onto his side to entrap her.
“Looks like you’re joining us for our rest. He will not release you for a while.” Pan responded with a laugh. “Though do mind to cover yourself.”
Sahari looked concerned for a moment but Pan waved her off and spooned into her bond’s back, her tail wrapping around his leg. Sahari tried to wriggle out of the hold, but it was one of the instances that Joseph’s strength out performed Sahari’s, so she eventually resigned herself as well with an amused smile. “Rest well, Pan.”
Pan giggled, remembering Joseph’s sleeping habits. “Rest well, Sahari. Good luck.”
Sahari struggled to glance over at her, confusion in her voice. “What?”
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Mi’low watched the plumes of smoke abate again, it’s size having increased as they continued their march. The clouds on the setting horizon promised rough weather on the morrow, sowing trepidation throughout the pack.
She paced through the camp, the number of soft shelters they had managed to bring with them numbering less than the wanderers she had convinced to support her endeavours. Her pack of thirty-six had dwindled to its current paltry force of ten. Many lives were lost in the process of discovering the methods of survival on this land, and many more abandoned the den with claims of incompetence. She mourned those who were lost, regardless of their method of exodus.
Some had fallen to starvation in the early days, others to the wildlife as they constructed their burrows. When they started gathering proper production members, the hunters were the next to go as they were ambushed one by one by beasts of ill repute. Those who were with kit, either due to inadvisable decisions on the ship or after, quickly succumbed to the hard reality of the surface.
It was a mortuary of a planet that they found themselves inhabiting.
So, she claimed control. Her actions to rally her compatriots, promises to lead them better than her competitors who sought the world as a foothold to power and influence that she held no interest in. She wished not to repeat the barbaric conquest of those like Sunundra. She sought not servants, but strong workers who would uphold their dignity and craftsmanship to ensure a prosperous community. She knew the true strength of infrastructure over force.
Their numbers were small, of course, only so many of the second and third-years were within proximity of the shuttles when the fail-safe alarms activated, and fewer would willingly join such a small force of one such as herself, but she worked to consolidate the spurned ensigns and the few of her own years. The third-years branched off to abuse their power with their own packs, though agreements were given to non-aggression as long as they were given ample territory to rule as they sought fit.
The issue was that they always sought more.
“Grand Huntress, the camp is settled and the pack is requesting you to oversee the rationing.”
Mi’low shifted her regard away from their destination that gave signals near the moonlight hours, not sparing a glance at Atrox’s mate. Astra, the pale grey female, had only agreed to follow under her command due to her mate’s decision. The female would often feel detestation of any other that comes into contact with him, save for her sister-mate, Ferra. Of course, Mi’low was not spared from hearing the subtle, if distasteful, claims that spread around the pack regarding her own character. No one paid them any mind however, as the reputation was one that was well known by now.
“I suppose i should.” The Grand Huntress replied, waving off the gossiping female. “Gather you and yours. Bring the stores.”
“Yes, Grand Huntress.” Astra bowed lightly before leaving. Mi’low would have exiled her long ago if not for her, albeit transparent, demonstrations of respect when around her, but Atrox was valuable enough that she supposed she could tolerate them. The male was an excellent artist and it would not do for their heritage as proud people to be washed away due to petty foibles such as rumours.
She waited by the fire to recount the supplies they had remaining. They had rationed what they could salvage after giving those who decided to chance their lives to servitude their share as a show of faith. It was an act of mollification for the pack more so than any attempt as maintaining good will with the dissenters. The pack was in a precarious placement at the moment; They were hungry, scared, den-less, and growing desperate as the circumstances deteriorated.
Atrox had warned her that assaulting the base as they were would be near suicide; the den had nothing but able bodies trained in foreign combat and held ranged weaponry far more lethal than a single use javelin. The addition of supplemental fortification as well as a structure consisting of steel and hardened glass made annexing the complex near fantasy for her worn pack.
They bested them in only number, and even then, only in theory. The insects were beasts that none of her pack could gauge their worth against, only having received sighting reports from the occasional messengers that acted as spies to ensure that Mi’low had not expanded towards the other pack’s territory and to keep tabs on their progress while supplying trivial information themselves.
That left them out-gunned with little hope of even laying siege to the buildings, the cold wearing them too weak in a war of attrition. The suggestion of crippling their supply lines was dismissed as they had none in which to sabotage, their stores stocked with food and water was recycled within the complex. The ways of war fell flat against an enemy that they could not gain purchase against.
Which left diplomacy.
The pack nearly rioted upon suggesting they turn themselves to the whims of the alien, their worries of servitude and torture apparent in their volumes. Several even suggested calling their Grand Hunter to parlay, only to assassinate him and take the den. A vehement warning that such action would surely spell the doom of their numbers sounded from Atrox and it was an opinion Mi’low found herself agreeing with.
She once prayed quite often in reverence to the Hunt Mother and the Great Hunt with her departed kin, the devout within her offering herself to her guidance and being recognized as an Aspect of such by the church. It was a momentous occasion for her den at the time, swiftly snubbed by the bombings and planetary annihilation that she was lucky enough to escape. She was well aware of the significance of the appearance of an Essence, though blind claims to such should be extinguished before they could make a mockery of their teachings.
So all of that left Mi’low in the unenviable position of trying to satisfy the more... aggressive opinions of her pack with the obvious course of action they seemed so opposed to. She must negotiate terms of a merge or vassalage.
Believe as she may in the scriptures, they are not a comprehensive detailing of every Aspect but merely an outline in which one may manifest. An Aspect of The Stars may propagate knowledge, but the secrets of the world that they pursue may be nefarious in nature. As such; The Guardian may protect, but there is no telling what it considers a threat to those it holds behind its guard, nor how it deems sufficient to protect them. Should the alien deem that servitude in desolation while locked in shackles is the optimal way to ensure their ‘safety’, then they would be trapped underneath the weight of their new leadership. That is to say nothing of if it deems life itself harmful to them.
“Half portions.” She announced to the pack as she finalized the count. Of course, she would only take a quarter portion so that the rest may subside on slightly more. The heads of her pack had left with the dissenters, so she must personally bear the weight of the responsibility though the pain that gnaws in her stomach.
One of the carpenters cursed under his breath, unaware that Mi’low possessed keener hearing than most. She ignored him, feigning ignorance as she handed out the dried meats and scraps of vegetable that they managed to salvage from the meagre field they had been experimenting with. Some thanked her, others quietly accepted the morsels, and others directed their misplaced anger on her head so that they need not mourn the losses alone. Mi’low accepted it all, silently watchful as others consumed what they would need to brave the storm brewing in the distance. It would be rough and freezing upon the sunrise and they would need their strength to trek towards their goal.
“Grand Huntress,” Atrox approached her from behind, the softened footsteps displacing the snow. “Have you decided?”
She sighed, keeping a close eye on one of the females whom seemed to be edging closer to the supplies. She gave a subtle paw signal to the guard for him to move the stores somewhere under his vigilance. “I am of two minds, Atrox.”
It felt odd to confide in the male, him not of a Head nor Paw, but he was the foremost expert with the circumstances.
“And to which dichotomy has one such as yourself uncertain?” He abandoned his stiff stance, relaxing as he joined her at her side.
Mi’low glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “We must sate their desire to be led by the strong as well as the competent while ensuring their autonomy. It is rather rare that all can exist within one leader.” She pivoted on one foot to face him. “What say you of his disposition?”
Atrox tilted an ear in thought. “I am of the unlearned in such subjects, unfortunately. I cannot comment to a degree in any direction besides mentioning the brief altercation i observed.”
She tapped her toes against the ground. “What of your uninformed opinion?”
He turned his head to watch the fire, the soft crackles of the moist wood punctuating their conversation in time with the soft chatter of those eating beyond it. “Then i remain ignorant. He relies on people as translators, but was described as affable, if a bit casual. The shift in tone between members suggests that they all were supplementing his words in one way or another. The blond one spoke as a diplomat; polite and curt, while the Paw spoke as a lofty superior. It is very difficult to gauge a character when filtered through many lenses.”
“I see.” Mi’low exhaled, frustrated at just how blindly she was entrusting the fate of her own to uncertain variables.
“He was beautiful, though.” Atrox commented, a wistful smile adorning his visage.
The Grand Huntress cocked a brow. “Fancy yourself a paramour?”
He chuckled. “Far be it, Grand Huntress. I merely appreciate the beauty of the macabre.”
“Care to enlighten the dim?”
Atrox took a breath. “The Void, Grand Huntress. It is a beautiful thing to be faced with your end by such a being, as terrifying as it is.”
Mi’low shifted her weight to her other foot, leaning into it in curiosity.
“The deepest of black, the coldest of silver. Yet the finality of its grasp gives comfort to the stilling heart that pumps ice under its influence. It would take me in but a moment, yet wished me living, so it freed me from its clutches. I am ashamed to say the sensation is addicting, if not inadvisable.” He looked at his diminutive Grand Huntress. “I am not alone in this addiction, for there is another in his retinue that shares the thrill of the void.”
Mi’low furrowed her brow, her tail coaxing its way up her back. “Is that so?”
Atrox chuckled. “Of course. There exists another whom has bathed in the maelstrom of carnage, the destruction of one’s self, and returned. Damaged, but thriving. Chaotic, yet ordered.” He exhaled deeply with fondness. “She is almost as beautiful as that in which guides her in her piety, as twisted as it is.”
“You are peculiar, Atrox. Also, it is inadvisable to fall for one who may be our enemy.” Her tail uncoiled itself as she relaxed with the jest. She knew he had also seen much of the unspeakable, having been from the same doomed world as she. He had broken down amongst the corpses and painted. It was seen by many as the last gasps of sanity from a faltering soul, yet here he was. Irreclaimable, but wise in ways others may never be. His inclination for the more ghastly aspects of the world was at odds with his projected personality, but he knew who he was and the scars he bared.
The reaction drew a hearty laugh from him. “I fall not for the female, my mates would be furious. As i said, i merely find the sensations captivating.”
“So you are of the mind of vassalage?” She prodded, dragging him back on topic before he started drawing in the snow.
Atrox tipped an ear, his attention refocused. “Perhaps. I believe we haven’t much choice in the matter, in all of my honesty.”
“We could offer a merge.” She suggested, sweeping her gaze over the pack to ensure none were listening. “You stated they have not agriculture nor metals. Surely they would consider it if we offered our expertise.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps that would be only enough to ensure our lives.”
She tilted her head to stare at him, his brown fur lightened by the fire light. “You believe it folly to fall under his rule?”
“I believe him... different. I know not how he will perceive us encroaching his territory as we are, but i know exactly the result if we are to lay claim to it by force.”
“And that is?”
He turned to her, a sorrowful smile spread across his muzzle. “Beauty, Mi’low. We would witness true beauty, for as limited a time as that would be.”
She recoiled at the assertion for a moment before recomposing herself. “So we broach negotiations then. How do you suggest we approach it? The pack would revolt if i were to simply lay down arms and beg to be heard.” She tipped her head towards the small gathering of the less faithful among them.
Atrox hummed for a moment. “You said you wish to test him, no? What say you duel him? Should you come out victorious, you demand yourself leadership and absorb them.”
“And if i lay defeated?” Mi’low countered, the lack of aggression signalling her genuine curiosity.
“You claim him victorious and present yourself and your pack as prize.” He explained with a skyward glance as if it was the obvious course of action. Mi’low followed his gaze and admired the stars. “Even the less devout would accept the rite of the olden ways.”
“If i perish?” Her voice felt faint as she whispered.
The question hung in the air. She had been trained in combat, proficient even, but she held not her weapons nor her peak. It was a risky endeavour. Lost would be the many of those in which she carried on her back, and they, the hope of survival.
The stars above reminded her of home. The second planet to be annihilated in the invasion. Her mate was among the losses for the first wave of casualties and now he rests in the Hunt Mother’s embrace in his own glorious war against those who doomed so many of her kind. She wished not to join his side until she has done all that she can to save as many as she is able. The Hunt Mother may be benevolent, but she cares not to be magnanimous.
Mi’low was know as The Smoke; Aspect of Guidance. The one whom obscures. A being of subterfuge and secrets. It seems fitting for her to wager her life on vague notions of piety and honour to sate the desires of many while adhering to none of their convictions. She would fight for peace, not violence. She would negotiate for protection instead of power. She would offer herself to secure what others need rather than her own position. Nothing she did ever reflected what would normally be the motivation. A curious being of the recondite.
So, what if she were to fall and her smoke dissipated against the future she had chosen? To the light under the moon of the fortress in which she harbour ill will and pierced by the claw at it’s behest?
She felt a paw on her shoulder, Atrox having come to an answer to her internal monologue. “Then you die beautiful, Mi’low.” He left to rejoin his mates, his piece of the conversation concluded.
She maintained her peering eyes to the nebula above, the swirling gasses illuminating the accents of planets far beyond what she could hope to reach without rescue. It was breath-taking.
Beautiful.
Perhaps it would be.