The Hunter's Song II: Lost Blood

Ch 17: Isolation🔥(Mourning Crow)

Thump... Thump... Thump...

I sat in my quarters in the dark, staring out at the stars through the little portal window above my bed, entranced by my son's rhythmic heartbeats.

We were stranded in orbit while a small detachment of Forged warriors cleared the area of minions, followed by a science crew tasked with inspecting the empty crater.

I debated taking advantage of the new long-range communication beacons Groon dropped throughout our journey. It would be nice to speak to my mates and hear stories about my boy's adventures on Menthla.

At the same time, I was concerned about riling up Crazy Wolf. It was probably best to wait until their fathers reached out in case the youngling became upset that I wouldn't be returning home imminently.

Thump-thump, thuuuump-thuuuump, thump-thump, thuuuump-thuuuump...

I spent the morning instructing Forged warriors on the best tactics for engaging a full Graven. They did well, but I had concerns about their ability to resist the temptation of ultimate power.

Adherence to the code in a mortal body was one thing but being pumped full of Graven blood and then having the coherence and willpower to rip it out forcibly was beyond torture.

I've known many honorable razkurs who ultimately succumbed to the allure of god-like abilities... one in particular.

I traced a single claw over the little fang pendant draped around my neck.

It sucked being away from my children.

If I were at home, I'd probably be singing or taking them out hunting.

Whenever I was sad, Raven Tide liked to dance and try to make me laugh. While Crazy Wolf would take hold of my hand and drag me off to make me play whatever new game he'd just invented.

What was I like with my father?

I couldn't recall.

How many of my favorite games were just him concocting some method for keeping me busy and out of the way?

And then there were those times he'd snuggle with me under a blanket while we sat out under the stars watching the campfire dwindle to dim charcoal.

He'd tell me stories of his tribe, about the constellations, and the wildlife.

Standing Otter, after I returned home, confessed that my father spent a lot of time worrying about me. He said my father fretted over how I was easily mastering the difficult compositions and that his only recourse was to push me harder than necessary so I wouldn't realize that I had already surpassed his lessons.

I reached over and picked up my guitar.

Standing Otter also noted that my instrument played a pivotal role in proving my identity when the Zhaguai first landed on Menthla.

The military took detailed sonic imagery of its internal construction and they initially summoned him to identify the authenticity. Standing Otter quickly spotted a functioning augment that he and my father had only hypothesized but had never succeeded in building.

Two Clouds was the one who solved that puzzle and she did it all in a single night of pondering.

I strummed a few gentle cords along the thump thump thump of my lifemates' natural percussion.

Each reverberation contained subtle echoes of my mate's internal organs.

I slumped into the bed on my back, strumming whatever popped into my head.