Chapter 37: Performance
The heat from the limb pulling her fur as it brushed past with high force was at odds with the stiffening chill of the winter air. The fog that escaped her muzzle spun as the vortex of empty air followed a fist that slipped past her vision. She willed herself slack after the initial impulse, allowing just enough kinetic energy to impart its way into her to give a tactile feedback to the biped while minimizing the damage to her jaw.
She was a living performance.
Eight strikes to her person. Eight times she had negated all but what was required to pretend that the hits had gained proper purchase and would have an effect. Eight times she had shifted her weight, loosened her muscles, and preemptively turned away from the direction the onslaught originated.
It had barely been ten seconds.
She was prepared for her taunting to incite him, to coax out the rage that would cause him to foolishly pursue an end to the conflict and expose himself to counter attack, but he was surprisingly well trained. Each short thrust was accompanied by another. Every damaging strike was sharp and recalled with the same speed it was delivered. The only saving grace was the countless moons she had let slip by as she practised combat choreography, the art of allowing a fight seem real to the audience. Her ingrained responses were blended with the training she had received and made her an expert at goading her opponent into a false sense of victory.
But the male did not revel in the effectiveness of his assault.
He merely replaced each faltered impact with another, every punch renewed with few rests in between. The crushing pressure throughout her body was a mix of terror and euphoria as she navigated the barrage she had coaxed.
The biped threw a jab, the strike being negated by her head turning in time with receiving it so as to garner naught but a light tap. A heavy arced strike came from her left, slipped by pivoting on her pads and letting her claws loose from the frozen soil beneath her while allowing her tail to act as a counter balance.
It was exhilarating. The biped re-centred himself to throw another straight left and follow it with his right paw roaring as the first punch returned, aimed straight for her stomach. She pushed her hips back and allowed her lungs to empty before it impacted else she find herself winded. A slight miscalculation resulted in it hitting harder than she had intended, but shallow enough to ignore despite the protests from her muscles. She watched as the fire in his eyes died out and the glacial freezing in her marrow subsided somewhat.
She smiled. He was getting tired.
This was always the result, person or beast. The key to her survival was to fool the aggressor into believing that they were delivering an effective assualt, only to exhaust themselves as they pressured themselves into finishing the fight. It had ended with her bloodied, bruised, and tired, but she had come out victorious with naught but shallow scars that marked her effectiveness.
The biped was more of the same. The attacks fell from their previous intensity, each spaced more openly and with longer intervals in between that allowed her time to plan a counter for each. Eventually, the gap she was waiting for had arrived. He threw a high-low-high with his right fist to her face, his left to her ribs, and another right to her temple. None connected with their reduced speed but it would allow her to spin with the final strike and land her pads into his head. She took the chance.
The muted thump she expected and the sensation of landing the counter into his skull was replaced by the biped retracting the right arm with blistering speed to be braced by the left as it intercepted the blow, the shot of pain on his face evident despite the lack of claw contact in which to sink into his skin. She pushed off the limb to renew her spin in the opposite direction, her footing needing to be reestablished for the fight to continue. He watched as she bounced back to the centre, her energy barely depleted and faux injuries faded. She searched his eyes for the moment of realization. That revelation of the ineffectiveness and wasted energy.
She found satisfaction.
It was not a warm elation, such as what one might find in the eyes of their mate, nor was it the kind gaze of a father affectionately watching their kit as they learned to pounce on their toys. It was the thrumming thrill of a warrior observing an interesting foe. He smiled. She reciprocated.
The rush began anew.
His energy burned, the strikes had taken on a more methodical approach. No longer placed to entrap her with their speed but spaced to ensure each thrust was as difficult to parry as the last and carefully timed to catch her off balance were it not for her dexterous tail subtly pushing the ground to steady herself. The punches were sharper than before as well, his aggressively forward posture leaving little space between his searching eyes and the fists that barely allowed them vision. He leaned in as he fired a right arced swing, his gaze locked onto her chest despite the angle. She internally scoffed. The fight must have roused some primal urge to mate for him to be so focused there. She prepared the return strike, her left paw loaded to slip below his and strike the unprotected throat.
The daze came without warning. The moment she released the blow, her claws extended and ready to rend flesh, he shifted. His legs turned, his hips dropped, and his right arm widened its path to encircle her head. He ducked the thrust and she felt the thumb of his paw sink under her chin. She was airborne, then grounded within a second, the hardened soil below acting as a solid surface that forced the air from her lungs in her failure to break her fall.
Her eyes tracked the new fist descending onto her after he had pulled her to the snow over his thigh. She pushed off with her shoulder and almost felt the ground shake from the blow that barely brushed her fur as she scrambled to her feet. With carefully chosen steps she distanced herself and pivoted to face him again, now with active caution. If he was learned in the ways of grappling, this fight was about to become more dangerous unless she played her paw more aggressively.
He watched her with a small grin of contentment, herself falling for the simple trap, and he adjusted his stance. Instead of tightly guarding his vitals, he allowed his left arm forward while his right hovered slightly to the side. Gone were the fists and tempered knuckles that were presented, replaced by curved palms to grip and push. Her ears and eyes scanned for the telltale signs of exhaustion but found none, even with her heightened caution. His breath remained even and full, each inhale measured and each exhale controlled. He had deceived her. He smiled, and a genuine place within her returned it. The male could act.
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“Must you pace?” Sahari’s mildly perturbed tone betrayed her own desire to reciprocate the action as she leaned on the table in Joseph’s room. “Violet is feeling anxious from the mere spectacle.”
Pan uncrossed her arms, the claw she was biting falling to scratch at the den-kit that had followed her into the realm of comforting smells. She drew a deep breath, soaking in the lingering traces of her mate to ease her nerves. “I recall someone having a panic attack the last time he was in danger.”
Sahari flinched at her pointed glance but shifted her attention to the Atmo as the kit weakly purred at the attention. “I promised an explanation for that, didn’t i?” She shifted her posture as she composed herself, a slow breath drew and exhaled. “I simply wished not to experience it once more, the pain of a lost bond.”
Violet rubbed into Pan’s paw when she stopped petting the insect’s head, prompting a renewal of the soothing gesture and a small smile for the benefit of the young. She lowered her gaze and released the slightly accusatory edge. “How did it feel?”
The black-furred female stared out the window, the wind having dissipated but the snowfall remaining obstructive. She opened her mouth before closing it while attempting to speak through seemingly painful memories. “Cold... It felt cold. As if all warmth was removed from everything in every possible way.” She paused to cycle a breath. “Joyous became mundane, torturous fury filtered to barely a sting. You become so dependant on their presence within you that losing it removes all that you are.”
Pan sat on the bed next to the Atmo and rested a paw on her carapace, more for her own ease than the kit’s. Violet nuzzled into her fur with reassuring clicks as Pan’s voice betrayed the pain behind her question. “How did he...”
She barked a mirthless laugh. “Pirates boarded our craft.”
“I’m sorry to hear.” The Paw whispered, clutching at her kit for comfort at the thought of losing her bond.
Sahari shook her head. “He killed most of them. We had a small shuttle, a small team. Many a sun spent delivering items between the planets so that we could afford the sight seeing we did while there. They caught wind of our venture and decided we would be easy targets. He always loved seeing new places.” She finished the thought with a whisper, as if speaking it louder would tarnish the memory.
Pan tipped an ear. “If he killed them, how did he pass?”
“I killed him.” Her voice fell hoarse. “They boarded us, swept through the crew. He hid me behind a maintenance panel. They needed someone to deactivate a fail-safe on some precious cargo we were tasked with bringing back with us.”
Pan’s ears flattened and her tail curled around Violet in a subconscious protective instinct, the kit passively watching the ex-Grand Huntress with rapt attention.
Sahari stared at her paws, trapped in the moments of holding something she once held dear. “He rigged a bomb to go off when they opened it on their ship using some discarded parts for the engines.” She laughed again, this time full of pride at her late mate’s actions before falling into remorse. “He needed me to open the boarding tube as soon as it went off so that i could bring him in before they had time to abandon ship.”
Pan’s eyes fell to the floor, the words of Sahari’s panic-attack replaying in her mind. “You hesitated.”
“I was scared.” The black-furred female nodded weakly, tears playing at the corners of her eyes. “I took too long to get there. A few of them made it into the tube before it was too late. I opened the door to see him... I don’t remember much after that. Everything felt so empty. I received a message from an anonymous source with the simple insignia of their faction and a location. Their base of operations. I became a mercenary to build up funds for my revenge.”
Pan held the Atmo close, her words whispered. “Did you?”
Sahari clutched her paws tightly, closing her eyes as tears fell to the ground below and her voice cracked with emotion. “I did. It cost me everyone i brought with me, each of them on the same sickening rampage as I. We killed every single one of them as they killed us. By the time the smoke settled, all i returned with was my life and a sickly female desperately holding onto me through the haze of her abuse.”
Pan tightened her hold on Violet, tales of mates who lost their bond ending their lives on the steps of the church or throwing themselves into war zones were brought to mind. “You never intended to survive, did you?”
“No.” She confessed. “What use is life when all the pain and elation is dulled to but a whimper? I avenged his death, but i felt no relief from the clutches of his absence.”
“But you bonded to Joseph. I know it would never replace your mate, but has it become... Warmer?”
Sahari smiled. “It will never fill the hole within me, but for the first time in a very long while, i can feel. His love for his pack, the amused irritation with Jax and Harrow’s antics, the pride he has in Violet... All of it is so vivid i couldn’t help but fear the emptiness again.”
Violet removed herself from the bed and Pan’s hold at the mention of her name to approach the sorrowful Lilhun, waiting to be acknowledged before embracing her with warm purrs of affection.
“Yes, den-kit. We all have come to love you as well.” She chuckled softly and scratched at the Atmo as she looked to Pan. “I have come to treasure the nebulous relationship i have entered with him, Huntress Pan, for without him i have naught. I know why others end it when they do, i was just persistent and of luck enough to achieve the impossible.”
Pan smiled at the female that saved her those few months ago. “Then why do you not worry like i do?”
Sahari dropped her shoulders. “I wish to, but i must believe in him. He sensed something none of us did and if there is anything i trust about him, it is his sense for oddity.”
“If Tel’s frustrations are anything to go by, yes, i agree.” Pan giggled into her wrist, Violet eased herself as she realized that the sombre tone of the room had lightened.
“She should be done soon.” Sahari commented absently, gazing back out the window with tension in her expression.
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“Do you believe his system will work?” Pan asked hopefully, Violet returning to her side to receive another set of scratching.
“I hope, Huntress Pan. I sincerely hope.”
A knocking on the door broke the collective concentration of the room. Sahari’s nervousness resurfaced as she opened the door to reveal Jax on the other side.
“How’s Joseph?” Pan blurted, barely keeping herself planted on the bed.
Jax refused to meet her eyes, his own fixed out the window to watch the storm ebb and flow. “It’s an inquisition.” He stated flatly. Sahari narrowed her eyes.
“They use his title as stimulus for incursion?”
Jax nodded. “They are engaging in single combat for the moment, Joseph had us set up a ‘boxing ring’ for them to use. I was instructed to prepare our weapons in the hub and await the signal. It would seem they seek to possibly remove Joseph before usurping the pack.”
Pan bristled, her fangs bare in a snarl but her weak words trickled out with concern. “Then why are we not helping him?”
Both of the black-furred Lilhuns glanced at her with worry and understanding. Jax responded first. “He explained that he is to buy time until Tel can let us know more information. He told me to relay that he ‘got this’.”
She felt her fur relax as the jovial tone of his words delivered the reassuring, if cryptic, message. Her eyes wet under the stress. “What if he doesn’t?”
Sahari walked over to her and pulled her into a hug, her words empathetic and soft. “We trust that he does. Nalah was taught the sign to use if he is in need of us.”
Pan murmured her concern into her chest. “What do we do if he is?”
Sahari’s voice growled out through her teeth. “We be ready.”
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Blood dripped to the snow below the Grand Hunter in sporadic droplets that soaked through his sweater. The deep red colouring of the garment covered the rupture of the wound he had began the fight with, the blocked kick dislodging the healroot holding it closed. Nalah eyed the armed guards as the two closest had joined Atrox in their viewing of the fight, none watching the ground to see the crimson stains before they were covered by new snow as the wind picked up.
Joseph had switched from his boxing posture to one which seemed to be the origin of Pan’s combat stance, the paws working to deflect and halt strikes before they could do damage. He pushed a clawed swipe towards his right eye outwards, briefly gripping her wrist to pull her into the knee that awaited its chance to strike. The impact seemed effective but the expression on his face seemed annoyed rather than victorious in the moments. He was pacing himself well, but Mi’low looked to be as fresh as when she began despite the numerous hits landing to her body, save for a slight weakness in her legs.
The next exchange was a flurry. Mi’low swiped upwards with her left paw, Joseph moving his rear foot backwards to support the lean away to dodge it. A second paw came wide from her right, forcing Joseph to crouch forward and shift his weight to his front leg to duck under it. The Grand Huntress used the momentum to launch into a spinning kick levelled to his head from an angle that he couldn’t repeat the previous block from.
Joseph used the weight loaded onto his legs to bolt forward, his left paw catching her thigh as the right tucked itself around it. With a slide of his rear foot to the front, he pivoted in place and threw her over his shoulder, the weight of the female proving to be low enough for him to perform the action without breaking stride. Mi’low caught herself with her paws and used her tail to threaten with a trip, Joseph aborting the subsequent rush in caution.
Nalah forced herself to exhale the breath she held. Both were exchanging blows, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that neither was aiming for the end of their foe, each strike geared towards disabling rather than death. Joseph had initially gone for blood but it seemed he found the apparently familiar confines of ‘the ring’ comforting enough to regain his composure as they danced around the square. Mi’low was constantly using her tail to support her weight as she absorbed the attacks and would flick it to his eyes to evoke a response without having to remove her paws from the defensive posture she was using to great effect.
The thud of an impact sounded out as Joseph landed the first real damaging strike; a clawed jab was caught and the arm forced over her head before being brought down behind her back to strain the shoulder, the undefended stomach was met with a heavy hook that she was unable to counteract. Nalah found herself cheering for the male in the excitement as Joseph released the captured limb in time to escape the tight kick she aimed at his leg. Almost in time. Dark spots formed on the inside thigh of his jeans as claws had pierced his flesh. He stiffly bounced away before shaking his hands in an effort to clear his mind, but Nalah could tell that his footwork was already suffering.
She was nervous about him accepting the fight as it was, his arm was severely hampered by the incident, yet he insisted that he would do all that he could for them. She looked at her paws as she considered giving the signal, the few attempts at the sharp whistle being the only practice she had. What if she failed when it was needed? What if she allowed him to fall? Would she finally be given the attention she desired from the one whom she sought?
Her thoughts shifted to those of Sahari. No. Nalah knew that if Joseph were to fall, she would never be the same again. She shined so brightly now. The muddied feelings for her Grand Hunter had clouded her judgment.
Nalah loathed that she was not the one to ease Sahari’s burden, but was thankful that Joseph did. He was kind to everyone in the pack, but it only made the feeling of unease greater when Sahari finally spoke his language, the small separation between them having acted as a small salve at her growing jealousy that she refused to acknowledge until Sahari herself had sought it fit to speak to her. All that talk with Harrow of allowing the two to grow closer seemed to be a denial of Nalah’s greed to monopolize the female by pretending she would not ache should the two become involved.
She shook her head. Her Grand Hunter was risking himself again so that they may stay together as a pack. In a way, he was ensuring that Nalah may stay with Sahari. She bit her tongue to draw herself to the moment, to watch the male that stole her bond fight so that she may court her another day. She chided herself for even considering his demise as a pathway in which she could walk for love. Perhaps Joseph could help?
A shrill noise pierced the air under the cover of wind. Her body tensed as it listened for the agreed signals. A sustained low tone chosen to better blend into the ambience, continuing for some time. She counted the seconds. Three. Five. Seven. Eight. Ten.
The noise faded into the background as if it had never existed to begin with. Ten members of Mi’low’s pack were here, not the twenty-six they had claimed. The lack in pitch changes indicated that they were all in one direction and the absence of any follow-up tone suggested their arms negligible. Then it was a comparably paltry force far from ready to strike. Curious.
A second whistle sounded out after a few moments, a high frequency pained her ears as it was not meant to be subtle. If Tel had opted to disregard her task and raise the alarm, it could only mean that there was something more dangerous than the group they found themselves facing.
Beasts.
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Mi’low ducked the first proper kick that the male had thrown, it being a two-part affair of a forward strike and a swinging return. She was forced to retreat a few steps as he used the now-grounded foot to push himself forward. Her ear twitched as the biped fired another kick before shuffling her into a corner, his approach tightened with renewed vigour.
Her lapse in aggression was utilized as he feigned two strikes and landed another unanswered stomach punch, her tail too preoccupied with adjusting her balance to support the shift in weight required to remain unscathed. Her air was forced out as the strike landed, her feet leaving the ground momentarily. She straightened her legs out to grip the soil but her back met a spear that marked the edge of their arena, the secondary impact straining her spine as the male readied a third arced blow to her abdomen. She grit her teeth as it hit her again in the same location, her legs feeling weak despite the area injured.
She reached out and dug her claws into his right arm as it retracted, the feeling of ripping flesh and fabric travelled through her arm as she slipped from the wall and regained the centre. Blood flowed freely from the wound opened with her assault. The biped’s face was contorted by pain, yet he remain steadfast, his slow yet persistent approach pushing her to the corner of the box as her breath grew laboured.
His right paw no longer held the same power it did, the damage too severe to be used with any regularity. He opted to supplement his quick left-pawed strikes with his legs, the shifting in range made it harder for her to properly compensate but easier to avoid. She slipped a forward kick and fired her own into the thigh of the supporting leg, new blood staining his clothing as her claws pulled free with a satisfying lurch.
The male stumbled, a pained and wounded visage being a far cry from the beast that threatened her initially. He struggled to bring his paws up in their first position, the knuckles sat near his eyes to protect his jaw. He blasted himself forward, Mi’low slipping two punches before being forced to brace herself for the kick that landed into the same spot of her stomach. She resisted the urge to vomit as her legs buckled, barely being caught by her tail shoring up their form by curling tightly around the load-bearing left. He recalled the kick half way and sent a weaker strike to her head, forcing her to release her leg to balance with the tail. The kick landed against a hastily prepared arm, the impact sending her to her knees.
He wasted no time in delivering a short kick to her stomach again, the impact driving bile up her throat that she forced back down. Her legs wobbled as she lunged away to gain her footing. The only area that he had landed hits against was the specific spot on her abdomen; just below her ribs on the right of her body. The strikes should only render the area sore or numb but she found her head swimming through a daze as her legs slowly failed to comply to her demands. Her tail swung sluggishly as she flicked it to his head to distract him from the right paw approaching his throat.
Her eyes widened as he snapped it out of the air by the wrist, him bringing it into her and leveraging the elbow to torque the all three of the joints in her arm. She had not the time to scream before one of them popped painfully, her arm dangling upon its release. He had dislocated her shoulder in one move without hesitation. The biped bounded away before she could retaliate, the appendage now rendering her less effective.
A fresh strike to her stomach was delivered with a heavy kick. She fought not the contents of her mostly empty belly as it evacuated itself under the stress. Her vision grew dim as pain shot through her, the effort to get to her feet almost too much to bear. The blowing wind of the storm grew louder, the howling screeches disturbing her ear as she raised her left arm to continue the fight.
The biped sharply turned his head to pitch an ear upwards as the howling sounded out. His gaze on her softened and became conflicted. She ignored the appraisal happening behind his eyes, instead forcing her blurring vision to focus on the blood that had soaked his pants and shirt as the fight continued. She would finish this fight. For the pack. It mattered not if she lost, she merely needed to make it look good. They needed to accept what she must do.
A sharp whistle screamed through the air. She watched the biped’s eyes disregard her and widen in fear before barking at the blond translator, the latter bringing two claws to her mouth and repeating the sound at ear shattering volume. She had little time to register what was happening outside the match, her play disrupted by the fools who were to follow her script ab-libbing in the worst possible way.
The biped refused to look at her, his paw gripping one of the spears that constituted the arena boundaries they fought within. She was about to goad him into abandoning the weapon until he gave her a sharp glance and hauled the weapon from the ground, holding it outwards towards her. He gave her a firm nod and offered her the spear with a flick of his jaw towards the direction the first shrill sound had come from.
Gone was the cold that wore at her nerves as she fought against the male who bled yet did not yield, replaced by a soft comfort that ebbed its way as the aggression faded. The blond one yelled. “White Beasts are attacking the gate! Take the damned weapon and follow orders Mi’low! Our pack is on the way with ranged support.”
The Grand Huntress blinked, the pain in her arm keeping her from assuming she had simply passed out from another strike to the stomach. She absently held forward a paw to grip the spear, its weight somehow lighter than she expected from the silver tool. It felt well made, even if it held not a scrap of iron.
The biped stepped close to her in her stupor and grabbed the crippled arm, placing a foot to her hip. “What are you do-AHH!”
The biped pulled on the shoulder and pushed with the leg before shifting his grip to her bicep and pushing in violently. A stomach-turning crunch resonated through her. She pulled her arm away, the temporary agony enough for her to disregard the additional pain that would no doubt follow the action. She was about to strike at him for taking advantage of her confusion until she noticed the limb she was preparing to swing was not the one burdened with an item to hold. He had fixed her arm.
“Call your pack. We’re getting them armed.” The blond one started ripping some select spears from the ground, handing one to her Grand Hunter and keeping one for herself.
Mi’low held her composure despite the whirlwind of events trying to be sorted by her dazed mind. “You intend to arm all twenty-six of your enemy?”
The biped laughed, his translator failing to keep mirth out of her voice. “You’re not the only one who was hiding their paw, Mi’low. Cut the shit and get them here. Now.”
She couldn't help but notice the lack of the respectful tone, it being replaced by a crass and likely more direct translation. She turned to her guards and Atrox, each glancing between herself and the weapons being wielded. She weighed the possibility of it being a ruse to flush out the members who were too exhausted to defend themselves until a guttural roar shook the trees of the forest. She snarled as her decision was made for her. “You heard her! Go!” The five wasted little time running from the Grand Hunter and Huntress.
Nine of her pack closed the distance, their silhouette in the snow only visible due to the burning gaze she afforded in their direction. The biped and his translator handed spears to those who could remain standing, the rest directed to wait for reinforcements to bring them to the ‘barracks’.
The sound of snow crunching under weight near her drew her to swing her spear, the tip caught by a light deflection upwards. A grey-furred Lilhun glared at her for a moment as she lowered the paw that had stopped her wild strike before talking to the biped, the latter nodding and pointing to those unfit for battle. The grey one nodded in turn, quickly ushering the indicated group towards their den.
A white beast broke the screen of snow, its approach silent in the storm. She noticed it too late, the open maw of the creature level with her head by the time she thought to move. She felt her shirt pull taught and then her body felt light. She soared through the air for but a moment before crashing into a roll, righting herself in time to see the biped standing where she stood along with several of her pack, each driving their borrowed weapons into the hide of the beast.
It swung wildly as it roared in pain, the paw knocking three of her own to the ground. The beast bit at the remaining four that tried to subdue it, the blond one managing to keep it at bay as the rest surrounded it with stabs to its body. The white beast caught her spear in its jaws, a single bite being all that it took to shatter the wooden silver spear. It snapped its teeth at the yellow attacker, the positioning of the others too far to stop the creature from lunging forward to end the one tormenting it while it was hunting.
Yet again the biped reached out to pull his pack-mate from danger, the teeth of the beast just barely failing to find purchase upon the fur of the saved. He kicked the beast in the head, using the rage it induced to drive his own spear into the waiting mouth and retreating. Mi’low watched as the beast reared once again in pain, only to be peppered by small sticks that flew from behind her until it fell lifeless to the ground.
She turned to see the biped’s pack, almost all armed with curious staffs and string raining death from range upon the creature. Shouts of challenge were uttered as more of the beasts entered the fray, her pack emboldened by the victory over the first.
A white Lilhun calmly walked past her without sparing a glance as she joined the biped with no weapons in paw. The barked orders of the alien were repeated with the exact inflection to her members, each following them unquestioningly as he had gripped command, the authority of a Grand Hunter fully on display.
“You three! Form rank with them, we need to hold them off for ranged support! You! Run new spears from the ring! I don’t care if you floss their fucking teeth with them, shove them down their throats!”
The words were perfectly translated, save for what seemed to be a curse which she held only a passing familiarity with due to the nature of her plays in which she participated, but they were repeated with the exact control that the biped’s voice carried. The white one must be the Paw that Atrox mentioned. She wasted not a second to repeat the orders, her utterance almost in sync with the origin by her side. The two cut an authoritative form.
The wall of spears formed, one of her number was pulling additional weapons free from the soil as the rest held their own forward. The next group of three beasts charged the defence, one of which sliding to a stop as more sticks intercepted its course. The remaining two crashed through the spears, one slowing as some of them managed to pierce through the hide and into the muscle that held its weight.
“One and two; rearm and join three, four, and five to hold off the right! I’ll draw the left for fire support!”
True to his words, the biped stabbed at the injured beast and drew it away from the retreating group, the latter ripping new weapons from the waiting paws of the one who had gathered them. Sticks flew again into the left beast as Mi’low joined her pack in fending off the right, her own spear drawing blood in time with a member shattering their halberd’s blade as the poorly tempered iron snapped.
A roar of pain forced her to flatten her ears as she looked to the left beast, it posturing over a fallen biped whose legs had given into the injuries she had caused to them during their altercation. She did not think, there was simply no time to consider if him perishing under the circumstances would be best for her pack, she simply did what felt natural in the moment.
She tore through the snow and threw herself with her spear forward into the side of the monster about to kill the male who abandoned their battle of appearances to personally ensure that not one member of a pack not of his own fall. She need not ponder on if the act struck her queer, it was something she only wished more would do. This planet was not territory to claim; It was a challenge to survive, and she would take all the help she could get.
Her body crashed into the beast, one of the sticks protruding from it cutting into her side as it lurched from the impact. She pushed off the creature and grabbed the biped by his garments, pulling him some distance away. The white Paw almost appeared out of nowhere, fresh blood of a beast staining her fur. She snarled at Mi’low, faltering once she realized what had happened. With a silent stare, she nodded, a subtle show of respect and gratitude.
More roars died out as cheers replaced them. The two beasts falling to more sticks and spears. A dozen unrelated Lilhuns held each other in jubilation as they finished their headcount without a single soul failing to answer. Mi’low watched with disbelief. Injured, exhausted, and scared, her people fought off more beasts than had set ruin to her settlement prior. All because of the wondrous weapons provided and the advantage of ranged arms she not understand. It was no small feat to drive off the greater number with lesser forces.
The mumbling voice of the biped she held by the collar drew her from the celebration, the Paw translating with negligible delay as if doing so was as natural as breathing, the intonation copied perfectly, albeit lacking the baritone of the former. “Sorry to interrupt the mood, but do you think we could call the fight a draw? I’m pretty fucked up right now, so continuing isn’t a great idea.”
She stood there stunned as the carefree grin looked up at her, the bloodied body it belonged to being loosely gestured to by a wayward swing of his paw as patches of snow turned a lighter shade of red than her own fur under him. The members of her pack came close to the conversation between the two leaders with no small amount of curiosity. Mi’low made her decision, confident, if not merely hopeful, that her pack would accept the outcome.
“Joseph, there is much for us to discuss.”