According to the legends of the Jurii Clan, the Baasei desert stretched on for eternity. The crimson glare of the sun had seared, singed the rolling dunes of the north and the flat expanses of the south (where the Jurii resided) for so long that the sand had turned a vivid shade of deep, ruddy brown. Its beams reached every boulder, every outcrop, every minuscule nook or cranny. It bore no shackles, no restraints, as it never rose or set. The heat was relentless, but life was indomitable. From specks of sand it had grown, merging with hundreds and thousands of others until it formed a foot and a hand and a finger, and then eventually, a human. At first, it crawled and hid from the sun's onslaught in whatever shelter it could find, and yowled, cried in helpless despair. But the Baasei was merciful. It granted the human the oasis, with water to drink, and the Soers, the sand grazers, as food to eat. The human thanked the desert, jubilant at the gifts, and proclaimed itself the Baasei's humble servant. It swore to pass on the story of the desert's kindness to all of its descendants, and pray for every sacred Soer they killed, and every sip of water they took. The Jurii has continued the tradition ever since.
S'tai thought it was a load of old nonsense.
He was crouched down on the sand, muscles tense in nervous anticipation. His hazel eyes were narrowed down to slits, patient and focused, strained on the flank of his prey. His approach had been deathly silent: each step was taken with the greatest care, for even the slightest disturbance of a stone under foot would send vibrations shooting through the ground, unnoticeable to a hunter but more than enough to alert the herd to his presence. It was a skill one could learn only through rigorous practice, and that practice was all but mandatory, unless you harbored a death wish. S'tai had devoted the time willingly and with all the fervour of the rest of his huntmates. He was confident in his abilities but the trepidation of a kill would set even the most accomplished Riua elder on edge.
The Soer he'd singled out stood a good few steps away from the main body of sand grazers. It was a male, obvious from the vibrant hue of rich oranges and greens that comprised its hind pelt, though this mass of fur soon faded into smooth, oily skin as it reached the curve of the neck. Each individual had its own unique colourisation. It was pivotal for attracting a mate, and evidence of their masculine maturity. The females were devoid of this feature, thus often making it a challenge for hunters to differentiate between them. Once, S'tai recalled, he had begun stalking a female he'd identified as sickly, only to completely lose sight of her in the throng of the herd. But there was no mistaking this one. The enormous tusked head was bowed, and the long, jet-black tongue slowly extended to the dirt, lapping it up for the nutrients the Soer gorged themselves upon.
He inhaled, exhaled, then recalculated the gap between himself and the male. An adequate throwing distance, certainly. He'd taken time to move downwind before drawing closer, ensuring that they wouldn't pick up on his scent. Beads of sweat trickled down from his forehead and the sweeping dark hair all the way to his bare chest, but the sensation was so familiar to S'tai it hardly registered to him. The fingers of his right hand closed around the hilt of his Uerao, and slowly he drew it from the sheath attached to his loincloth. The blade of sharpened stone glistened, almost incandescent in the sun. It would be a fine catch, and any Jurii hunter would deem the pelt worthy for display on their garments- a symbol, a reminder of the prowess required to take down such sizeable prey.
S'tai pushed the thought from his mind.
Not wanting to delay any longer, he coiled back, holding the Uerao close to his waist. The Soer lifted its head, still unaware of the impending threat. It blinked, and craned its neck to the left. Convenient for S'tai, for it exposed the Soer's most vulnerable and widely exploited weakness; a writhing blue nerve between the neck and shoulder, the severing of which shattered the connection between mind and limb, immobilising a supposed victim in an instant. Sensing the oppurtunity, he sprung to life, a moment faster than he'd initially intended. The Uerao flew from his palm in a looping arc, twisting sharply in mid air.
An earsplitting squeal of shock and pain ripped through his eardrums. S'tai cursed, aghast as he watched the herd begin their instinctive charge to the horizon, followed in desperate pursuit by his prey. He'd missed the nerve, but the blade had served its purpose, deeply embedding itself in the flesh and leaving a trail of fluorescent yellow blood for him to chase. He leaped to his feet, spurred on by instinct and frustration at his own impetuosity.
It quickly became evident why the Jurii relied on stealth to survive in the cradle of the Baasei. In a flurry of panic, the Soer herd tore away from him with ease, their taloned hooves propelling them forward at a far superior pace. Nonetheless, the figure of the mortally injured male lagged behind, unable to move or react accordingly to the significant blood loss it was already being forced to endure. Reason told S'tai that the escape was only temporary, and soon the Soer would collapse to the ground, too weak and exhausted to offer meaningful resistance against the inevitable. He slowed to a jog, and then to a walk, but kept his stare fixated on the spasms of gore spattering the ground, all but assured of his success.
The exhilaration of hunting had muffled the unpleasant hunger writhing in his stomach, but in tandem with the fall of his adrenaline he felt it return, more present than before. It was like a disease, festering in his stomach, malignant and spreading fast. This kill had been a lengthy process: locating the telltale evidence of a Soer herd had taken longer than he'd anticipated, and tracking it down longer still. The fruits of his labour were sweet yet brief, and soon S'tai would be forced to begin the exhausting cycle all over again. There was no rest in the Baasei. Life, he mused, was an unabating struggle, yet one so repetitive that the threat of severe dehydration, of starvation, of death at the hands of the Jurii, were as regular to him as breathing, and the sand beneath his feet. This area was the border to the tribe's sacred hunting grounds, a fact which he'd been conscious and extremely wary of upon entering. The Jurii had little tolerance for intruders.
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The sound of stampeding hooves began to fade away into rumbling echoes. S'tai had lost sight of them, his vision impaired by the assaulting blizzard of dust they'd left in their wake. He rubbed his stinging hazel eyes with the back of his arm. The terrain never hesitated to throw up its next life endangering hindrance- if the heat weren't a formiddable adversary enough, the desert would send forth bellowing sandstorms to buffet and jacknife, and then, when its victim was at their weakest, it would conjure illusions, tricks and traps set to ensnare the mind and claim the body for its own.
The hunter wondered when the desert had lost its splendour. Had their not been a time when S'tai had glanced upon the landscape and seen a merciless yet seductive beauty? Now, he saw only its desolation. That youthful perception had evaporated along with the innocence of youth, like droplets of water on the dirt. Fleeting glimpses, memories, of the boy that's eyes widened in astonishment at each new wonder revealed to him by his mentor, terrified of the dangers they posed but equally determined to conquer, to make them his most coveted trophies. The time he first wielded his Uerao. The time he left camp on his first hunting patrol.
The smothering cloud subsided gradually, once again granting him a clearer view of the hoof prints and blood imprinted on the sand. There was the slightest of winds brushing past his ankles, lugging the desert along as if itself were sentient and following the herd with every intention of challenging him for his catch. He looked up, and upon tilting his head to the left his eyes widened in surprise. Standing tall and defiant, having emerged seemingly from nowhere in the midst of the enshrouding dust, obtruded an enormous rocky crop. His failure to notice something so huge and pronounced perplexed him, but the hunting of Soer demanded a state of total concentration, wherein he was aware but unaware, alert and subdued. His surroundings fell by the wayside until it was only him and his prey, locked in the intricate dance of life and death, and the whole world was merely their audience. Strange, for something in the coarse, rugged surface of the stone called up a sense of vague recognition in S'tai. The hunts of his adolescence had rarely ventured so close to the frontier, and it seemed unlikely this specific bulk of rock, considering its mundanity, would carve an ident into his memory. Nonetheless, the deep crevices apparent even from afar succeeded in capturing his attention, and his eyes rose up to its peak, far narrower than the structure's base.
Up ahead, the trail began to twist, then veer sharply in the direction of the outcrop, drawing S'tai closer. The reach of its shadow was minimal but would nonetheless provide an ideal spot to rest and, at long last, shut his eyes. Tempted by the mere prospect, he quickened his steps, resolving to collect all that he required from his prey and then return. The brown hunting pouch that hung loosely over his shoulder was half empty, now filled only by his bare essentials; he'd been forced to abandon all the meat reserved from his previous kill, after the telling scent of its decay had began to settle under his nostrils. The Soer were huge creatures, nimble for their flight but well muscled for their mating standoffs, rendering it impossible for him to utilise all that their bodies offered, as the Jurii prized themselves for. The glistening white tusks were sharp enough for an impromptu weapon. The skin and fur were not only the fodder for the hunter's trophies, but also a necessity for encampment sheets, water vessels like the one dangling from his waist and a thousand other particulars of tribe life.
The dim shade splashed over his cheek as he reached its foot, and S'tai sighed in blissful relief. Throughout his life, he'd been forced to grow accustomed to the burning sensation that boiled just below his skin. He feared he would never reach such a tense, grudging stalemate with the persistent itchiness that accompanied it, however. The sudden fall in temperature also served as a jarring reminder of the dryness on his tongue, but to an outlander water was always in short supply, and there was no need to waste the healthy amount he'd managed to conserve on the hunt so far. S'tai allowed himself to sink down to his knees, brushing his hair back, lulled so quickly and deeply by the discovery of shelter that the dark shape to his side, partly obscurred by the bend of the stone, initially went unseen.
At first glimpse, he thought it the corpse of an unfortunate Soer, its life taken by the elements or the hands of another hunter. But as his gaze lingered, he noticed the slimness of the frame, the skin of a complexion too light to be that of prey and the hair, spilling out like blackened sunbeams. Cinders of realisation sparked within. This was another of his kind. His breath hitched in his throat, and he quickly adopted an intuitive defensive pose. He reached for his scabbard, then cursed at the absence of the blade it should've encased.
The reaction stemmed from the possible proximity of a Jurii patrol: it was against their code of honour to abandon a huntmate, and should one of them sustain an injury, they would remain, protective and dilligent, until they either pulled through or passed on. S'tai considered the scene before him. There was no one visible nearby (as he neared the outcrop any Jurii would've made their presence well known), which meant that, should this indeed by a hunter, they were almost certainly dead, or soon to be. Some of the catapulting nerves in his stomach began to settle. No. It stood to reason this was the final resting place of another outlander, like himself. S'tai, still plagued by apprehension, edged towards the shape with the caution of a young suckling, taking their first steps away from the warm and comforting caress of their mother's bedding. To him, anyone foolish enough to be conquered by the Baasei prematurely deserved their fate, and whatever equipment they could gift before embarking to the camp of the sky would be better employed by one more capable. Namely, the hunter lucky enough to stumble upon their remains.
Yet these were not remains. S'tai's footsteps slowed, became more cautionary, until he stopped and squatted directly beside the body. Over the whistle of the wind came the barely audible sound of breathing, heaving, despairing pants. He'd been wrong. This was a member of the Jurii. A huntress. Her cheek was pressed flat against the sand, dirtying the hair which up close revealed itself to be, in truth, a deep brunette, and encrusting her sunburnt skin. She had collapsed, apparently from fatigue, if her sprawled arms and legs were any indication. The muscles were well toned, her figure curved and full. Young. Close to his age, S'tai estimated.
He reached forward, ever so gently brushing a lock of matted hair aside, revealing her face to him fully. The Soer blood marking that set apart the Jurii who'd passed their K'uve, the initiation hunt, streaked down from the scalp to the refined bridge of her nose. Two streaks of scarlet that S'tai had never quite merited. Watery blue eyes fluttered open and closed repeatedly, and the mouth, the chapped red lips, were slightly parted. He felt the weight of her breath on his hand, breath that morphed to something almost incomprehensible on her tongue. He strained his ears to pick it up.
'Idrae...'