Eighteen injections.
Each one administered by a large industrial-grade hypodermic needle.
I'd lost track of time, but I was aware of spending the last several days immobile and saturated in pain, dizziness, vomiting, and being soaked in full-body sweats. Even my thermo-veil failed to help level out my internal temperature.
My eyes were sore and raw but at least the hallucinations had passed. At one point I believed a giant yellow moth was flapping over the bed and occasionally I laid there watching a tall red-feathered velociraptor stalking the edges of my dark bedroom.
Today was the first day I felt like myself.
I found fresh meat procured by Mourning Crow in the freezer. From the size of the kill, it was evident that my mate had adhered to our food-hunting guidelines and made sure to only target the weak. It wasn't a surprise, like us, her people were long accustomed to environmentally conscientious hunting tactics. Still, it was a comfort to know that she was thriving on Sahei.
The large holo-screen in the main room hovered in luminescent with Mourning Crow's study materials. It pained me that I couldn't be fully present during her preparations, but I took solace that her Blooding mentor was E'pire, Oru's lifemate. The female Elite was ruthless and unforgiving. Beyond Oru herself, I couldn't think of anyone more suited for extracting the best out of Mourning Crow and putting an off-worlder on the proper track for our people's most sacred ritual.
Mostly, I was concerned that Mourning Crow might be triggered into another episode and unknowingly do something permanent. I knew I couldn't monitor her hourly but I wanted to be strong for her. It felt like a failure not to be at her side keeping watch on her blindspots.
Truth is, I have no idea how to genuinely help her.
If it were in my power, I would absorb all her pain and let her live a life of song and fulfillment.
Eventually, I meandered to my workshop.
It was necessary to outfit Mourning Crow with her own thermo-veil netting to keep her cool in the Sahei's humid weather. I spent the night before my injections altering a few of my old novice armaments to fit her measurements. But the color was all wrong. After her Blooding, my mate would no doubt progress quickly into more appropriate equipment.
I swiveled my stool around and looked across the empty domicile.
Mourning Crow had stuck by me every day throughout my recovery, only taking mandatory breaks, like today, to attend her Blood Rite training sessions. My memory was blurry but I could recall her wiping my face clean and laying next to me despite my growling protests and stroking my quills quietly to help me sleep.
"This won't do," I grumbled. "I need to hunt as soon as possible."
Mourning Crow would be hunting solo before the end of the cycle and this yurt wasn't large enough to accommodate her additional trophies and our future offspring.
I spent the remainder of the day chittering my mandibles in satisfaction while tinkering with an extra gauntlet cartridge to change the netting pigment of the thermo-veil from black to white.
...
"Hey!" Mourning Crow returned shortly after dusk. "You're up!"
She was outfitted in a plain black belt joined to a grey loincloth and had on a stark black thermo-veil netting wrapped around her bare chest and legs. She was also sporting a few new scrapes on her cheeks and knees. I'd forgotten to fashion her kneepads.
"How goes your training?" I swiveled and perched on the edge of my workshop stool.
"Crazy man!" Mourning Crow's ears bounced in the air. "Those hard-light holos are super detailed!"
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The Hunter's Song
Science FictionIn winning, she lost everything. Mourning Crow was kidnapped at age 13 and forced to compete in a 1000yr death match. She won the final showdown, and all it cost was everyone she loved. But that was all years ago before she finally broke free. Now s...