Larissen was taking longer to return than I assumed.

At first I had thought that he would relocate his sister’s corpse, perhaps say a few words in her memory, and then that he would return. And while I was unsure of the exact amount of time that passed, I felt it was longer than was reasonable, especially with our potential pursuers, and especially with the alchemist escaping.

And then that brought another sobering concern: perhaps the alchemist had ambushed Larissen for a second time? Perhaps the alchemist had been busy harvesting ingredients when Larissen happened upon him?

It was unlikely, but it was still possible.

And it was plausible enough to use as an excuse for interrupting Larissen, even in his grief. So, I roused myself and ventured towards the entrance to the crevasse.

It was good I had an excuse, I realized, as I entered the crevasse, near where the Alchemist had set up his temporary workshop. The acrid chemicals were still in the air, though faded and less sour than the night previous.

There, I found Larissen on his knees bent over the corpse of his sister.

He had pulled her head onto his lap, and with his head bowed, he was weeping. When he glanced upward, towards me, his eyes were wide and wet, with a scintillating quality.

I approached him slowly, each step measured and calm. When he made no move or indication of a negative reaction to my presence, I closed the last few yards between us, and I knelt down beside him and Kissen.

We remained there in silence for a while. He did not speak, and I knew no words to help with his pain, that would avoid risking alienation. Because I lacked knowledge of Kaivan funeral customs, if they buried or cremated their dead. I did not know if they treated death as a celebration, or if saying trite phrases would be polite.

It was awkward. A part of me wanted to pat him on the back and say ‘chin-up.’ The rest of me argued that doing so would be preposterous and burn what good-will I had. Thus, silence.

In the quiet, I had no other option but to observe her. She seemed so small, her fur so flat, her face–I tried to look anywhere but her face, considering how Larissen had killed her, but those mangled sockets with blackened red jelly glistening–

Never again would she call me ‘Kitten.’ While initially I had disliked the moniker, now I found myself missing it. She had been a source of comfort, the first I had come across in a long while.

She had deserved better. She deserved more.

To honor her in my own way, I strove to commit her to memory.

But as I looked down at her, I almost saw another image overlaid atop her, a hallucination perhaps, or a trick of the shadows, perhaps even a memory; and the image only lasted there for a second, less than that even. But in that time, I had thought I had seen a red-headed girl, with freckles, and flat green eyes. And then it was just Kissen, Kissen and her empty scabbed sockets.

I flinched.

“My sister…” Larissen began.

I shifted my gaze to him, grateful for a distraction.

He licked his lips. However he approached his deceased sister would give insight into the customs of the Kaiva, and would give me pointers on how best to respond.

“My sister,” he said, “must be honored.”

I nodded slowly, still regarding him for more clues.

He licked his lips again, almost worried, but psyching himself up.

This bodes poorly, I thought.

“Yes,” I answered, because that was the only answer that I could give.

Larissen trailed a claw across Kissen’s fur, along her skin, leaving a line, a possible scratch. Larissen shuddered.

“Then this must be done. It is our way.”

He traced his nail once more over her chest, this time from top to bottom, until he reached her diaphragm.

“Uhk kik el. El kik uhk-

Her blood, our blood.

Uhk kik el…”

He chanted, over and over, until it was a murmur, growing in speed, almost too fast for me to separate out the individual words. Then, reaching some unknown climax, he let out a terrific yowl.

With that announcing his turmoil, he then plunged his hand into her stomach, his claws spearing her flesh, parting it, and the rest of his hand following.

I wanted to flinch again, to pull back, to admonish him for the gruesome behavior. But I knew that would only sour relations. So, with great effort, I kept myself neutral. Afterall, who was I to judge these Kaivan customs… even though they seemed bizarre.

Inside the wound he created, his hand carved upwards, under her ribs. Her chest bulged. Her neck bulged. Her head rolled to the side. She was quite dead, but everything was connected.

He was up to his elbow now, reaching around, before seizing something and pulling his arm back red and black from viscera and worst. But before his hand returned to the surface, something elastic caught, and he growled and redoubled efforts.

A sickening stretching creak, then a snap of possible broken bones; his arm came free of Kissen’s stomach with a slurp.

He held his fist up, a mound of flesh clutched tight between his fingers, lines of dripping red flesh hung loose.

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I focused on the lines at first, and gradually realized what they were. As he held it up above his head, above my head, with us still on our knees, he resumed his chant, though with an additional line now included.

“Uhk kik el. El kik uhk.

Her blood, our blood.

Uhk kik el… uhp uksi el, el uksi uhk.

Her heart, our heart.

Utsik benil, el utsik uhk.

Her honor, our honor.

Uhp picksen ke.

Her spirit, ours...”

While he chanted, I found my attention drifting somewhat. I startled just slightly when I felt a cool dampness near my lips. Refocusing, I found Larissen holding Kissen’s heart before my lips. This surprised me and confused me greatly, before leaving me horrified. Though I kept my face as neutral as possible.

He was holding her heart less than an inch before my muzzle.

I could only assume what he intended, but I must have been wrong. I must have been wrong.

My eyes lingered on Kissen’s heart before me.

It had been mutilated in the extraction, and the veins hanging from it almost hid its identity. But no, there was no way to deny it.

This was Kissen’s heart.

And it was before my mouth.

I could only hope otherwise, but no, I knew, knew what he wanted me to do… I just… I had to make sure.

After a long enough pause, I glanced at him.

He nodded to me.

“Eat,” he said. “Just a bite.”

Still, I struggled to control myself, my mouth refused to open.

No, I refused to open it.

How could this honor her? It was just so incredible, I struggled to believe it.

Enough time passed that he must have felt the need to elaborate.

“Our ways might seem strange, but they are our ways.”

I regained some control of my lips, of my jaw, of my tongue. But I did not take a bite, no, not yet. I did not know if I even could force myself to do so. This was a piece of Kissen he wanted me to eat!

“Would Kissen have wanted this?” I asked, tremulous, and hoping the answer was otherwise.

“Yes,” Larissen confirmed. “So was done for our parents and their kin. So will be done for us.”

“This was done for your brother as well?”

He grimaced, but had yet to pull the flesh back.

“No. The circumstances of his death made it impossible. His heart could not be recovered. This makes it all the more important to salvage my sister’s legacy, to help remember my brother’s. For his flesh was her flesh, at least some.”

It should have occurred to me that this was an honor reserved for family. But at the time, I struggled to overcome my own reticence. The black and red flesh hung before my nose. It reminded me of the hundeors’, but slightly more fragrant in not an unwholesome manner. This had come from Kissen’s corpse, I reminded myself, with disgust for my own body, and its own reactions. When my stomach gurgled, I felt ashamed. It had been so long since I had eaten meat.

“Yes,” he encouraged. “Eat. Just a bite. These ways must feel strange, but this is tradition. This is right. Open.” He gestured again towards my muzzle, towards my clenched teeth.

He pushed the heart against my lips, letting me feel its rubbery and slimy and wet and cold and–

And, almost against my will, I obeyed.

I… I opened my mouth.

His arm moved. Slowly. Marginally. Fractionally. But closer. Cold slimy flesh pushed through my lips. A pressure scraped against my teeth. Coppery iron tang. A sharp inhale. Larissen’s other hand reaches over to my chin, and pushes my mouth closed. My teeth scrape off the edge of it. Jelly sloughs off and lands on my tongue.

Delicious. Without thought, I swallowed.

“uhp uksi el, el uksi uhk,” Larissen said.

He brought the flesh away from me, and I took a jagged breath, thankful that it was over, done, and behind me.

Then, he brought the heart up to his lips and paused, steeling himself with a deep breath, before opening his own mouth, some saliva hanging off his canines, before he bit off a small end of Kissen’s heart. He swallowed.

“Uhp uksi el, el uksi uhk.”

Then he brought it back to my face.

Once more, my field of vision was completely absorbed by the heart. I glanced at him. He nodded, smiling, with blood staining the side of his mouth.

I hesitantly opened my mouth, he pushed the flesh against my lips, and I bit down, a nibble, just a slight bit more. I swallowed.

“Uhp uksi el, el uksi uhk,” he chanted. Then gave me a look.

He brought the heart back to him and took another bite.

“Uhp uksi el, el uksi uhk,” he chanted still, arching an eyebrow at me.

The heart came back towards me, I opened my mouth and leaned forward slightly. I took a bit larger of a bite this time.

“Her heart, my heart,” I chanted along with him, “uhp uksi el, el uksi uhk.”

He smiled, and then he brought the ritualized meal back to his lips.

This process repeated, until no more flesh remained in his hand, until no more veins, no more arteries, hung dangling.

Then we knelt there in silence, with blood staining our muzzles. Feelings of acceptance, contentment, flowed through me. More than just eating a meal, for the flesh was not much by volume. But something else, something more, something almost… spiritual.

We both remained there, floating in this semi-lucent state.

It was like that, that the humans found us.

With Muleater supporting an injured Ken, and Kate guarding the rear while also supporting a limping Manny Stillson. The guards stopped, with Gregory bumping into Kate, then looking over Kate’s shoulders to see the reason for the delay.

While the other humans looked on in a mix of disgust and bewilderment, it was Gregory that broke the silence.

“Gross.”

Blessings: Rank (1/9)

* Body: 65

* Mind: 75

* Spirit: 49

Talents:

* Athleticism (3/9):

* Climbing I (1/9)

* Featherlight (3/9) (+2)

* Stealth I (3/9)

* Trackless Tracks (6/9) (+1)

* Alchemical Immunity (ineligible for growth)

* Eschiver (1/9)

* Evasion (5/9) (+1)

Spells:

* Illusion I (5/9)

* Touch (6/9)

* Closed

* Closed

Gifts:

* Obsession (3/9)

* Closed (0/9)

* Closed (0/9)