This is it

Chapter 1

His stump ached and he grimaced. Other clan members stood in groups vividly recounting the events of the Kulrut earlier, but Kotallo quietly stepped away and made his way out of the large center of the ancient ruins, which functioned as the Memorial Grove's throne room. Frustrated he rubbed the remains of his left upper arm, then tried to shake it off by moving his shoulder joint in circles as best he could, carefully avoiding run-ins and scrutiny from fellow Tenakth. He might have to see the healer before he headed out, have it rewrapped and take some of those herbs the healer used to take with him. The bindings threatened to come lose; he could feel them slipping and he colorfully cursed Regalla and her rebels once again for thinking they could outwit and outfight them. Of course, he cursed himself, too, or rather the loss of his abilities, his fighting power, his lost arm, a token of the battle at the Embassy a few months past. But he wasn't about to give up. He was not the type. He was strong. In body and mind. He could do it. And he would. He would rise, despite his bloody handicap.

Only minutes before Kotallo had turned down Hekarro's offer to serves as a Marshal to him once again. Instead he had chosen to join Aloy in her quest. Save the world. A different kind of war he supposed. Still a war. One that needed fighting.

Oddly enough, when he had caught Aloy's gaze a bit earlier, when they had spoken, he'd felt a curious jolt. Very odd. He was unfamiliar with the sensation, so rarely it had happened before. It had hit him square in the chest and coursed through his body like a lightning strike, only to run down his back in an ice-cold shiver.

He made his way out of the lush, overgrown ruins, stepped into brilliant sunshine, past the signal fire, turned left into the heavy construction of colorfully painted wooden beams, heading straight for Laro, the herbalist and healer of the Arena, who was also, a close friend. He was grateful there weren't many other clan members around, though it smelled like the cook, Arrakoh, was busy preparing for a feast. Kotallo was going to be long gone by then. The thought caused another jolt to attack his body. He sucked in a sharp breath and spat out a "God dammit!", just as he reached Laro's hidden spot, who looked up in surprise.

"Kotallo! Hey man! That non-existent arm of yours bothering you again?", he inquired.

Kotallo harrumphed and nodded angrily. "It's pissing me off, actually!"

"I can imagine. Looks like you'll need a fresh up. Here, sit." He pointed towards a tall wooden bench.

Laro silently unwrapped the filthy dressings, then whistled. "Nice inflammation you got going there, man..."

Kotallo pulled his face into a mock smile, his eyes becoming mere slits, murmuring something unintelligible. Every touch was agony.

Though he didn't let it show, Laro felt Kotallo's discomfort, yet carefully began to thoroughly clean the stump, applied a thick healing paste of arnica, then rewrapped the arm tightly in blue dressings. Kotallo pulled his lips into a hard, slim line, ground his teeth, and winced almost silently, determined not to show weakness.

"I'll need some of that for on the way," he groaned through gritted teeth.

"You're heading out?!"

"Yeah, I'll be gone for a while."

"Hm. Where to?"

"Fight a war."

"Ah," said Laro, clearly recognizing the dismissal.

Realizing his shortness and not wanting to snub his friend, he asked "How've you been?"

"Yeah fine. You know that! Business is good. Life is good. Weather's been good. All good."

His stump throbbing, Kotallo hopped off the table. "Yeah..." He looked down. "I'm glad."

"What's up?" Laro asked.