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CHAPTER THREE

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In her arms, he stirred awake twice, mumbling incoherently before drifting back into unconsciousness. His body felt much colder than when they started, and just as the first signs of the moons peeked over the horizon, he started to shiver. For her people, shivering was a sign of a very dangerous condition, and she did not waste any time building a small fire. They had been avoiding using fires as much as possible, but she was so far into the valley that it didn't matter.

Placing his body between herself and the fire, she tried to keep as much of herself draped over him as possible; enveloping him with her own warmth. Eventually, after some time, his shivers were reduced to sporadic jolts over time. Only when she was satisfied that he would be warm did she allow herself a brief excursion into the woods to relieve herself. On the way back, she collected some branches that seemed stout enough and sat down next to him.

As he slept, she glanced at him every so often while she whittled the branches down to sharpened sticks, inspecting their straightness and other imperfections. Bends were easy to correct; she simply held the sticks over the fire and applied pressure while they cooled until the wood had adopted the new shape.

Pleased with her work, she sighed and reached behind her head to pluck out a few feathers. Ignoring the pain as she plucked, Venka selected some feathers from both sides and began the annoying process of splitting them with a claw. Once she had two piles, she stripped them down and used a bit of spare thread to fletch the throwing bolts. A handful of points were pulled from a small sack dangling from her bag, which she forced into the wood and tied firmly with more cordage.

Glue would've helped, but she had always made the best bolts, and these did not need any adhesion to make the fletching stick or the heads stay in. Armed and content, Venka allowed herself to sleep with her back against the creature.

They stayed like that until he woke again, mumbling about something as he struggled to stand. Thankfully, he had been quiet up until just before dawn, and she stretched with a great, toothy yawn.

"Are you hungry, little one?" she asked. "Thirsty?"

He looked inebriated, ill, and his speech was slurred. He had not fully recovered, but he was more active, and that was a good sign. Pleased with this progress, she gave him more water and some of the dried meat she had acquired.

For the first time, he smiled at her. Cradling his head, she smiled back and held him while he ate. When he offered her the rest of his portion, she shook her head and pushed it back toward him.

"I have more," she explained, producing more of the food from the bag. He got two pieces, she allowed herself one. "Your strength must come back soon, or else we may be forced to leave you behind."

He babbled a response.

Sighing, she shook her head and looked around. A drop was ahead, and she would be forced to make a decision about his fate. Either she could leave him alone in the forest or risk taking him back to the tribe. Falling with him would've been a danger, but she did not doubt that it would kill the male outright, even if she didn't land on top of him. By her estimation, he weighed just under half of what she did, and his height came only to the hem of her breastcloth. But she knew the limits of her own body and was aware that he would become quite heavy over the course of the day. While he ate, she lifted him again and continued the journey back to camp.

***

Several times, he had passed out and awoken, sometimes with a horrible fright, and she almost dropped him as he fought the air and her strong embrace. Surprisingly strong, the creature was proving to be too difficult a prize to carry down a small cliff, and she chose to leave him behind. Venka made a conscious effort to remind herself that this was not abandonment; she would come back for him.

Keeping him safe in her absence would not be easy, but every girl of her people knew how to hide their newborns or late hatches from thieves or predators. It was a lesson mothers passed to their daughters, and though Venka had no siblings, she had been instructed to build a shelter for her cousins. The memory flooded back as she gathered supplies. She noted he had stirred from the spot and sighed, realizing that he was not fully aware of the situation yet. But she had a solution. With her bare claws, she dug a deep trench and lined it with nest materials, stirring the grasses to provide structure before she laid his body inside. Then she stacked sticks on top, followed by flat stones, and piled debris from the forest floor on top.

From a distance, it looked like nothing, but she committed it to memory. In a way, he was not unlike a child, too frail in his ill state to do much of anything and too delirious to be trusted. This shelter would protect him like the one her mother had made to protect her during hunts, only retrieving the little adolescent when the day was through.

Venka set off toward the tribal camp, her eyes on the shelter one last time before climbing down.

Thinking of his place among them, she struggled to imagine where he might fit in. When she had him close during the night, she had an understanding of his height and general build compared to her own. Most jobs that would have been expected of him in many other tribes were simple menfolk duties like cleaning and decorating the home, cooking, gathering, and perhaps some basic crafts like weaving or thatching. Some tribes trapped game, and this was a fine job for a male, but he seemed even too weak for that back-breaking duty. Among her tribe, it was expected that he hunt for smaller game, fish, and attend to building tasks.

Even these seemed beyond him; at best, he would be an entirely domestic creature. Venka had serious doubts if a creature as frail and soft as him, as delicious as he might be, would even survive his first mating. She remembered seeing the faded scars her father had from the night her mother took him, and the violent unions of the ceremonies where she had been stuck watching the lucky few females enjoying their picks of fresh males. Comparing him to his own females, he seemed to be larger and sturdier, so perhaps they were simply as incompatible as a creature that flew in the sky and those that swam in the sea.

Whatever happened, she had made up her mind to look after him, even if such a task was beneath her. Seeing the total destruction of his home brought back the pain she felt in her heart over losing the beautiful village and only home she had ever known. Her lip curled to reveal a row of teeth while the memory played out in the eye of her mind, and she silently vowed that this orphan male would not feel as alone as she did.

She spotted a wild animal as she walked, and her entire body froze before crouching in the grass.

Every thought she had vanished as her mind locked on the hunt. Instinct took over as she advanced, her breaths coming in slow and steady as her claws dug into the soft detritus on the forest floor. Venka's eyes focused on it as it fully came into view.

They had no name that she knew, but she had hunted these beasts before. This one was male, standing tall on its two hind legs while it stretched to bite the lower limbs of the foreign tree. From head to toe, it had rough, jagged scales that were difficult to pierce, colored a mixture of brown and green in a mottled pattern. On its back, it had a shaggy mane of coarse, black hair that shimmered in the light when it moved. From experience, she knew that it sprouted from little clusters between the rows of scales and came out easily when disturbed, coated in some kind of foul-smelling substance that burned and blistered any soft flesh. Goddess help you if it got between the scales. These were not carnivorous, but from its head sprouted two short, dagger-like horns sharp enough to gore, and it fought by jumping forwards with its head low. Two black eyes sat toward the top of its head, giving it exceptional visibility even during a fight.

Females were similar, having less vicious horns and were a little larger than the male trying to feast on the wood above. They enjoyed small saplings and the lower branches of grown trees, their jaws capable of easily snapping bone if they got an opportunity to bite.

She weighed her choices, finally thinking with her conscious mind and not simply reacting.

Venka decided to risk it, knowing that if her first strike failed, it would be satisfied with driving her up a tree. They fought easily, instantly even, but their speed allowed the cowards to run as soon as they made their initial attack.

Stepping closer, she readied the first of her throwing bolts and tensed as she snaked her long, sinuous figure through the grass. Beneath the canopy of the forest, the stripes on her tail, back, and thighs helped break up her outline in the shadows as she approached him. He did not react, his long tongue waggling out to try and catch a branch as he danced on his hind toes.

With a flash of her eyes, she saw the target. No hesitation stilled her hand as she wound back and threw the bolt with enough force to make his body shudder and lose balance.

Bleating a challenge, the creature bounded with one majestic leap toward a shadow. Venka remained dead still, her eyes watching her prey stumble. When he leaned forward, exhaustion rapidly setting in, a fountain of crimson erupted from his throat. A final, gargling bleat was offered to the forest before he wavered, then fell, his form still in the ray of light cast down through the leaves.

Venka's eyes scanned the darkness. No others, she thought, good.

She stood up and cautiously approached the kill.

***

Hauling her kill back to her tribe's camp, she wondered how best to broach the subject of the lost male she had rescued.

A smirk played across her lips as she thought again about the fine details; she huffed with amusement at the thought. Raiding another tribe for menfolk had not been done in a long time, only the playful festival wars had such a thing these days. There wouldn't be another for many moons still, but she recalled almost catching a boy from the Wind Song tribe. Every young male attending chose to "remain" as boys, some waiting years for a gathering of the clans if they did not like any of the young females of their village. She wondered what would happen to the Hollow Reed tribe, so far away from clan kin, and she was determined to ask the Shaman.

With welling apprehension, she glanced toward the southern direction. The distant hills they crossed loomed in the distance through the smoky haze. They had lost so many people, it hurt to even think of their trail north, but the Low People would struggle with the mountains.

Strangely, she had not encountered the hunting blind yet.

Venka bounced the skinned and headless carcass on her shoulder for better purchase as she continued. A ripple of apprehension rolled from the base of her neck to the rising feathers above her head. Something was definitely wrong, she thought. With a curious flick of her tongue, she crept through the forest, her wandering chancing upon a path. She had not been quiet, deliberately so; the huntress here would have found her to inquire about her scouting. Venka followed the blind's path toward it.

Alarm jolted through her nerves as her blue tongue flicked out, tasting Upright blood in the air, her feathers springing up in response.

Dropping the carcass, she went low, steadying herself with deep breaths as she approached the wicker door.

Craning her head, she peeked inside, quickly sniffing the air, her mind sifting through the library of scents. Nanashe. A new huntress, but wily and nimble; her blood was here.

Fresh.

Venka huffed and readied a throwing dart, her nostrils flaring as she tasted and sniffed the unseen trail. Her eyes traced subtle breaks and marks—the woods molested by the chase of four bodies after another. She caught the sight of drag marks and squatted low, licking at the fumes of the red stain.

Low People.

A decision had to be made: she glanced at the drag marks leading to her original destination, then at the snapped twigs and parted grass, where the specter of her tribe-sister's fear lingered in the haze. She reasoned that if they had caught her, they would have killed her, but one huntress against the fate of her tribe was an easy equation to solve. Venka followed the drag marks, her eyes up as she bent low with her knees past her shoulders; she tucked a corner of her loincloth up to keep it from dragging. Willing her feathers to stillness, she tilted her head back to make herself as low as possible as she snaked through the grass.

A figure crossed her gaze off in the acrid haze. All of the fires of the camp had been smothered with janta fronds from her homeland, filling the area in a wretched cloud that stung the eyes.

Venka breathed hard as she realized they had abandoned camp, but in a hurry. Some tents remained.

Again the figure crossed, her eyes played across it as it carried a basket. Recognition flickered in her mind as she watched them. They were a twisted mockery of the Upright People, their unfathomable eyes black beads at the sides of their broad, flat heads; as if someone had taken one of her kin and pinched the snout and skull. They were short, their tallest coming up no higher than the bottom of her ribs if they stood side by side, but what they lacked in physical prowess they made up for in feral tenacity. Low People were a scourge that loved to fight and kill and take—their avarice and malevolence had no equal.

This one was smaller still, a male, his green scales glistening with moisture as he toiled to steal all their things. Venka wanted him.

Unaware of the lethal hunter stalking him, he ambled past once more. His tiny feet scuffed the earth, kicking up small puffs of dust as he wheezed from exertion.

Suddenly, in a flash, he felt claws on his neck, his body going limp by instinct, but she was not taking him for a mate. Her grip tightened, silencing his cry as her fingers crunched his throat, making him shudder and thrash in a pool of blood. Venka ignored his death, her eyes scanning for more threats as she slaughtered the hapless beast—he would sire no more demons.

Carefully, she dragged him backward into the shelter of the weeds. Leaving him there, she vanished like a wraith, her ghostly figure weaving through the smoke and into an open tent.

She licked the air, tasting the children's worry and fear. Orphan girls and three boys, but Rahu was with them. He was a good caretaker, guile matching that of her own father, and no harm would come to them while he still breathed.

Someone stepped inside.

Time seemed to freeze as she stared at the male, his beady eyes wide and jaw slack, but their moment shattered when he inhaled.

Venka was on him instantly, her claws clamping his jaw shut with her opposite hand against the back of his neck. He screamed out his nostrils as she forced him down, his head bending back as he struggled in vain, his tail waggling furiously. The bones under her fist clicked as she watched the blood sputter from between her claws.

A crunch ended the wail. His head bent back, staring up at her in his final moment, his body shivering with automatic, futile effort. Venka dragged him in.

Through the open flap, she could see movement, another approached.

Their eyes locked. This one was female—a calculating killer—she screeched a guttural alarm as Venka stepped out and wound back with the bolt in her hand. When it sailed free, it crossed the distance in an instant, the thudding impact against her skull twisted the Low Person back as her corpse lurched and kicked. Venka growled and sprinted into the smoke, up and over a bench near the central fire, and she gazed at the spot where the Shaman's tent once stood.

Figures scrambled about, their bodies darting out of sight in the rolling smoke, circling to find the intruder. Panic leapt up the hunter's back, knowing they stalked her now.

Venka snarled and ran, unable to fight them all.