Cry Of The Pride

| 2₹ a wittness to weakness |

Luke Pasqualino for Altan of the Set Solaris Pride.

Altan tried to maintain a calm persona, grasping onto something as fluid as air he looked her up and down searching for any threatening action. Nuria. Her name made up nightmares; the reaper of souls, designer of massacres and the ultimate war monger.

There had been four Nuria's in history before her, each more dangerous than the other, her name cursed to a tool for doom.

"I think I should go," Altan turned his head at Ilona's voice. She walked back into the building, leaving an unconscious Nesar on a patio lounge chair.

Altan's eyes followed her until she made it inside, the door shut slowly and Altan filtered his gaze back to Nuria.

"Nuria..." he licked his lips as they felt dry all of a sudden. This was the form of a woman who may"Thank you for what you did, i don't think we'll ever be able to repay you."

She shook her head, Altan noticed how her hair moved too. "It's alright, I should have kept an eye on Othin."

His head tilted in question. "Othin?"

She smiled, "my apprentice." she waved her hand around like it was nothing. "Dia Rocka is different to Tashudrel. In every way."

Altan took in the information, Tashudrel... He shoved his hands into his pockets hoping they weren't shaking. "Why would Tashudrel be mixing with our pride?"

She seemed almost bashful at the question, her eyes darted across the floor searching for an answer. "It's an exercise," she said vaguely.

Altan wanted to question her further, what sort of exercise mixed races in this region?  Altan sat down and with ease his shoulders hunched as he leaned forward.

"How does Tashudrel plan to discipline this Dia Rocka apprentice of yours?" Altan asked.

The night was freezing compared to the inside, air a biting cold. And the dam behind him with a low hanging cloud of mist was proof enough. Although aware of it all, it was his felinic dna that remained ignorant to the fact.

Yet the fallen in front if him wasn't, goosebumps had scattered themselves over some of her exposed skin as an attempt to retain warmth. Yet Nuria didn't seem to care. The grey of her eyes absorbed the dark of the veld. Eyes scanning the perimetre many times over.

He still could not deny her beauty, "ge' renu..." he said again. As if to assure himself.

This was like calling a parlay, only there was no assurance that the hunter would acknowledge it. She could kill him any minute, behead him in that moment and post his severed head to his sister's front door.

"I agreed, didn't i?" she asked. The cool confidence that had made up a nameless hunter had slipped back in to Nuria. She sauntered over to Altan, and seated herself across from him.

He couldn't help but to spot the shimmering skin of her legs, he had to blink several times convince himself that they werent. The slits of her tousers made themselves very apparent when she crossed one leg over another. Gutter with a knife attatched just made her seem all the more real to him.