❝bare your teeth, little one, for you are made of stardust and divinity.❞
It is said, in the era before the mother of our mothers, when the ancients first built their ruins, we were not alone in this world. Creatures flitted through the skies above...
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Tip took a step as the snarl washed over him.
Tip did not step forward, teeth bared and angry, in preparation to carve bloody justice into the flesh of the interloper who threatened the safety of his herd. However, neither did Tip step backward, tail tucked between his legs and terrified, in preparation to run as far and as fast as he could from the monster before him, a monster who only hesitated to sink its claws into his skin because it believed Tip was a monster too.
Instead, Tip stepped to the side, blocking Ituha from view as three those-who-still-hunt emerged from the shadows before them.
It was impossible to guess where they had come from. The camp was still a cacophony of scents. They were so tangled together that Tip could not pluck a single thread and attempt to follow it back in time. Sight was even less viable. Between the fires that made shadows in all the wrong places and the fluttering of tents, their fabric unearthed in the chaos, the three those-who-still-hunt seemed to simply manifest before them, almost like a mirage.
The largest of the three those-who-still-hunt opened her mouth. Her breath was hot and Tip could smell the blood on it. Small, drying specks of crimson dotted her cheeks like freckles. Her fangs were long—much longer than the fangs within the mouth of the lone those-who-still-hunt that had killed Jin's sister, and much, much longer than the fangs within Tip's own mouth—and seemed to glint slightly. Tip was so focused on them that he barely registered she was speaking when words finally fell from her lips.
Tip was not proficient in the tongue of those-who-still-hunt. Tip had studied it but he had made it a point to never make learning it a priority. For that reason, when the largest of the three those-who-still-hunt spoke, Tip did not understand what she said to him. Despite that, there was an undercurrent, some hidden facet that dwelled beneath what was spoken, that Tip understood perfectly. She was worried.
It did not make sense. Tip had never been good at deciphering emotions, but there was nothing in the largest of the three those-who-still-hunt that could have been read as worry. She stood tall and proud and braced for further carnage. Her face was locked in stone-like neutrality. Her tone had been mild, without a note of emotion in it. However, instinctually, nonsensically, something deep within Tip knew that she was worried, concerned, confused.
Tip began to fidget with the feather around his neck.
The largest of the three those-who-still-hunt took a step toward Tip. Tip stumbled half a step backward.
Before she was able to advance any further, there was a yelp of pain. It was quickly followed by another voice, crying out in alarm. Both Tip and the largest of the three those-who-still-hunt turned in the direction of the sounds. Tip had not been fast enough to see the moment that Ituha's spear slid through the stomach of the smallest of the three those-who-still-hunt that had cornered them. Tip had not been slow enough to avoid seeing the moment that Ituha's spear pushed through the smallest of the three those-who-still-hunt as though unhindered by flesh or bone. Tip could not look away from the point of Ituha's spear, now slick with blood.
