The Hunter's Song

Chapter 21: Severance (Shale)

"Stop moving!" I growled.

"Stop standing still!" The lanky razkur barked back at me.

"I've been chasing you for the last hour!" I spun my combistick and vaulted to an upper ledge in my ship's sparring den. "We're getting nowhere!"

"This is the pace you are setting," Mourning Crow maneuvered below me, disappearing from sight behind a grouping of fabricated obstacles stationed around the grey and black room. "And if you insist on complaining, stop dicking around and say it to me in Oto-Winde!"

Mourning Crow's chain sickle shot up and severed the supports on my shelf. I leaped off only to find the back end of her chain looped around my ankle. She yanked me down but I managed to spin and land upright with her chain locked in my fist.

"Sawa'kahee!" I cursed in Oto-Winde and yanked the chain hard. The razkur had insisted that I focus on profanity first to identify and confront any insult swiftly.

She came at me from the left. Shit! When did she move over there? She parried my wrist blades with her own, tossed my combistick, kicked my legs out, and dropped me to the ground.

"Sawa'Kahjee," Mourning Crow corrected with her ears rudely flapping forward and sharp.

Insult. Noted.

The three-lined scar proclaiming her successful Blooding and her official status as a full member of Clan Jahaa peeked out on her forehead just behind the part in her hair.

I disliked being outmatched in any combat, but there was no shame in being bested by Mourning Crow. Medical carbon-dated her age to be older than Oru and her competency and skill as a hunter were self-evident to all in the review of her Blood Rite. Had her innate connection to the kiande amedha not been a factor, Mourning Crow was well within the appropriate skill level to petition for a hunt worthy of claiming Elite status or even the mark of an Elder.

"Again!" Mourning Crow thrust her wrist blades down at my chest.

I rolled and scrambled out of the path of her successive stabs.

"Sawa'Kahjee!" I roared, mimicking her pacing and inflections.

The razkur pursued me at an astounding pace, hopping atop tall cones jutting from the floor behind me.

"How does this help me learn what your ears are saying?" Per her mandate, I did my best to communicate only in Oto-Winde.

Mourning Crow shot across the false stalactites protruding from the ceiling and spun around to tackle me down and put her face a fraction of an inch away from mine. "Because we don't talk like this!" The razkur flapped her ears up at my eyes and flailed them excessively. "We're non-stop and on the go. And sometimes, we're capable of lying."

Mourning Crow pounced off my chest and slithered behind a fake boulder.

I curled up, still seated, and turned toward her voice.

"Consider the origins," Mourning Crow whispered while crawling between the room's fixtures. "Hunting underground, sneaking up on your prey." The razkur snaked under a low-hanging archway and prowled closer without the slightest sound. "You hear and see everything, but it comes at the price of two giant sails perched on the sides of your head."

Her long ears were low and hinged back, flowing gracefully behind her head.

Sneaky. Deceit. Concealing one's intent.

She crept up my side and knelt next to me on all fours. "Yautja lower tusks tremble when you laugh," the razkur pointed to my mandibles. "I've witnessed sucklings do the same motion when their bearers return to their sight. Languages evolve but the essence never strays."