I Love the Way You Scream (Solo)

[Sashisaxani]

TS: 14th Autumn 512 A.V. Northern Falyndar The further one moved away from Taloba, the scarcer the Myrians were. It was comical how they flocked to their fortress when they readily claim the jungle as their own. Socio-economics, Saxani figured, was the only good reason. Like the Dhani had made a societal pillar of Zinrah, so too did the Myrians of Taloba once the banners of war no longer need be waved over the battlegrounds. To some degree, it was a relief to put distance between the nest and herself. She still needed to watch her back, but perhaps not as much as if she were back in the layers of the blockade. One could dream… Saxani slithered around with her harness, bow, quiver, and a knife. She was in a mood to explore, and had ventured far north, much further than ever before. She had heard the trees turn to stone in the north, and wanted to see this for truth. Life went on in Zinrah of course. The thought of the wrestling tournament was a temptation, the fame and wealth of a champion. More dreams, of course, for she had her duty to the nest and to Siku. She’d prove herself her own way. The trek through the jungle had been uneventful to be brief. Saxani made target practice of the birds, lesser apes, and monkeys. The coos gave them away; her coils flowing over the jungle terrain toward them went unnoticed. She took aim, trying to distance herself with each shot in an attempt to extend, or at least measure, her range. She had managed to catch a few targets at the peak of her arc, a success. She could shoot fairly high and it impressed her. Vertical range was slowly becoming a mastered topic. She noticed she wasn’t maximizing speed though; that would need more experimentation in the Gallery. The most unfortunate that that happened to Saxani was when she missed a shot. The only thing worse than the mockery of the butt scratching fur-balls was having to retrieve the arrows. Those lodged in the trees were a pain to climb up to. She had to get a good spring in her tail for the higher branches before she could just start scaling the tree. What was worse was when the arrows flew clear past a target into the brush. Saxani might have done well to say good-bye to each one she lost, maybe four in total. She’d have to have a go at fletching some time to make her own. She managed to cut a few sticks along the way and sharpen them to a point with the knife. The trial shots were pitiful without any feathers, the sticks flopping in the air for a good chuckle as her face grimaced. For as good a shot as she thought she was, none of them looked pretty. If she wanted to let arrows fly without feathers, she’d need some sort of channel for them to follow, she figured. The string alone wasn’t enough to guide them. At long last some excitement had found its way to her. Some distance away Saxani heard the shouting of humans, or so she guessed by the blabbering common tongue. They were either lost or unaware that they had crossed into the jungle. Saxani had not even reached the stone jungle she longed to see. Instead she was fighting the hills as the elevation began to rise subtly beneath her. The Northern Pass was not far from here, though the ridges blocked the view of Kalea’s treacherous mountains. Saxani ventured a little closer to get a better look at the fools that entered the domain as if this no-man’s land belonged to her. Saxani spied a small group of men, well humans at the least. There seemed to be what might be mistaken as a woman fanning herself atop a muddy-spotted horse. There was a lead man guiding the horse, a sword in his free hand hacking at the greenery in front of him. Lastly, there was a thinner, scruffy sort of man in the back looking through bags on the horse’s rear. She watched as the horse’s dirty tail went up and the man drew back from the animal in disgust. A dialogue between the group became more apparent as they drew near. “Disgusting, filthy animal! Why’d we waste our money on this thing anyway? We might have taken the ship,” roared the rear man as he moved to the horse’s front half. The lead man replied, “Because it was the only sure way through the jungle. They can sense cats you know? We’d surely be dead without her.” The horse started leaning its head forward, its teeth looking for something to chew on. “The dirty thing wasn’t worth the Mizas. It looks like a mess on its own.” “Camouflage,” said the woman atop in a deep, rich tone. Coming nearer Saxani saw she had some contraption in her pudgy hands with what looked like an arrow inside. “I personally find her quite lovely.” Wind broke. “What did you feed that thing?” “That was me.” “Oh, well excuse you.” “I can excuse myself, thank you.” “Then why don’t you?” “You keep talking.” “That’s never stopped you before…” “Hmm,” was all she said and waved him off. “We still should have taken the boat.” “It’s cheaper this way. We’ll be meeting our guide soon, we can’t be that far off. Get the map from the sack, left side.” “And go near that gas cannon again?” “She’s not a gas cannon,” the woman insisted in stern tones. “She’s just not well. It must be this heat. Gets to them, you know.” “Not these ones. They’re made for the jungle.” “Not that I meant the mule anyway…” Saxani struggled to keep up with the conversation, her vocabulary gradually expanding alongside her knowledge. She didn’t know too much of what a horse was, let alone this misplaced horse. The spotted pattern was a greater attraction than camouflage, the white pelt having absolutely nothing to blend in with. It stuck out like a melon among apples. She found the woman exceptionally appalling even by Dhani standards of females, from her looks to her manners, if she had any. She figured the lead man had been at this day and night from his silence and expressions. He looked exhausted carrying this woman around, even with the help of the horse. The horse wasn’t in much of a good condition either, seeming weighed down by all of the cargo. To some degree, Saxani pitied the small man, though he seemed to have brought himself to this situation. She listened in once more as the map was brought forward. “Here’s your map, now where are we?” “Careful with that map,” she stupidly screamed in the middle of the hungry jungle. “It cost me a good price to fetch that.” “Did you buy it at night time?” “Pardon?” “Nothing. I can’t read this thing at all. Where are we,” he asked the other man. “We should be here. We go to the cross here. The ferry to Black Rock is over here though.” “This contact better be good. I don’t like the feeling of this place.” How intuitive of him… “Hush now,” the woman interjected again, “I told you the horse will tell us if anything is a mess.” “Amiss,” the lead man corrected. “Your filthy animal can barely tell left from right. We should have been there hours ago. If had had taken the ship…” “Aye, if you had such a better plan, you might have said something. Be thankful you’re here with us anyway. You wouldn’t be much of anywhere without me as it is.” “Oh right, excuse me! I forgot we wouldn’t be lost in the jungle if I had only suggested we take the boat THEN instead of NOW! Remind me what I said from the moment we landed in Alvadas?” “The heat’s getting to you, brother. Be calm. Fetch me the water, would you,” said the tired man as he sluggishly pushed the horse away as it chewed on his jacket. “I’ll have you know the leopardbreds are the finest mounts this jungle has to offer. Nothing can outmaneuver it in this terrain.” “Funny, I heard the cannibals here have tigers that eat these horses for a snack, not to mention I can outwit the damn thing with my eyes closed. Why would it get so anxious over cats if it was so good anyway?” “For sorry asses like yourself. Don’t you know anything? Get me a strip of the jerk, would you?” “You’re right next to it.” “I don’t want to tip the horse.” “Who would dream of it… Hold on. Here’s your water,” the small man said before diving back into the bags. “Here you go, madam.” Biting in, she screamed into the wilds again, “Not that one, you idiot! Give me the less salty one.” “They’re all salty.” “No they’re not.” “Then you do it!” “Fine, I will! Only a dumby like you would loose his way in a bag so small. Where’s my jerky...” “Lose, darling.” “What’d I say?” “Loose, like your boot lace.” “Never. Here, hold my crossbow for me,” she said lending the weapon toward the slender man. He laughed in her face, “Are you crazy? After what you’ve just called me? After all I’ve done already?” “What do you mean?” “I mean lugging around your bags, arranging the entire trip from Sunberth to Alvadas, and getting this filthy animal of yours! For what? Your insults!?” “You’re right. Find your own ride home then.” “Like we’re getting out of this alive.” “Brother, please…this jungle is peculiar as it is. The guide will be here somewhere, right then?” “Of course, of course, met the barbarian back home myself. He said we’d be welcome with open arms so long as we showed him that letter…” The woman fought to get over her thigh to get a look in the back side bag for her little letter. “Now let’s see here, now –ow –OW –Oooo!” The large woman tumbled off the horse head first into the mud. Saxani’s hand shot up to her mouth to mask the laughter. A plan was formulating in her mind as they spoke. Even she knew without an eastern education that the Myrians would make no bargain for a piece of paper, no matter what was written on it. She laughed in her mind at the false perceptions of the horse. The thought of being stealthier than a tiger was amusing. Cruel thoughts came to her… Saxani was offered a rare opportunity, and she’d be the fool to pass it up. The Dhani form grew a pair and fixed herself. While it wasn’t the most passible outfit for a Myrian, it would suffice. These morons knew nothing of the lands they walked on. They brought with them some exceptional treasures though, a taste of the world beyond the jungle. She could use a map to Black Rock, maybe, to barter with for the forgetful – even if she never made the trip herself. He horse didn’t even look good enough to eat. Maybe the pelt would be useful to tell this story in the future, some visual aid. The crossbow the woman wielded looked specifically interesting. The contraption was foreign, yet it was the solution to her pondering of featherless arrows, perhaps. Saxani warmed up her common for what it was worth and began her walk down to the lower tier of the jungle to meet the travelers. She couldn’t wait to see their reactions to her attempt at Myrian mimicry.

[Sashisaxani]

Certainly these people knew nothing of the Myrians to trust them, with passage through the dangerous Falyndar even. What they’d claim as their immortal domain was willing to bite back at any time, uncaring of who walked the jungles. The flora and fauna were enough to be rid of the petty travelers; they would not get far. She could give the jungle this treat and be gone, come back for the treasures. But no, should the Myrians find them, her treasure would be lost. She wouldn’t have that, no, not at all. Siku would most certainly frown upon such foolishness. Siku, guide me. Give me the wisdom to best even these petty humans, for they are strange to me. Guide me, so that I might reap the bounty in your name, for my Queen Snhamtanabis, for my home Zinrah. Guide me so that I might show them the truest pain, but practice before this blade does touch the savages of the false God-Queen. Let us wreak havoc this day. Saxani settled far ahead of the humans near their path. Even with two legs like them, her simple knowledge of the jungle gave her the needed speed. She knew how to maneuver this jungle like any other, though she’d certainly be lost without the beacon of Zinrah. While the world was a scribble on a map to most, Mizahar radiated out from Zinrah for Saxani. It was her guide to everything in this jungle. Contemplating which way she’d take these humans, to both stay clear of the Myrians and jungle alike so she could have her way, Saxani pondered briefly at a rock. She had a minute, she estimated, before they’d arrive. She’d take them into the jungle, turn them, and then go west, closer to the nest yet out of the blockade’s reaches. She muttered some Myrian phrases to catch her sibilant tongue and silence it. Her mouth felt odd without the arching of her tongue, but she’d manage. Speak slowly and clearly, she thought, they are fools. The caravan was approaching, and Saxani drew her bow. She had to put on appearances anyway. She got cocky and drew an arrow to taunt the group. Saxani let her bow drop and shot an arrow sloppily from the hip, the bow on its side. The arrow flew briefly with little accuracy, but spooked the horse no less. She was surprised to see the large woman back on the horse in the brief moments they rounded the bend, that was before the horse reeled and she fell off again. Her screams echoed through the jungle. This made Saxani nervous now that she was so close. Unwanted attention was easy to draw. The cross bow tumbled to the ground when the skinny man snatched it up and nervously aimed it at Saxani. She grinned before peeking down under the overhanging leaves to greet her tourists. The crossbow was head at her still. “Hello,” she greeted in a cheerful Myrian tone. They seemed to not understand, well, the men. The woman was too busy rolling to her side to get up. The horse was calm, save for the agitation her arrow invoked. Figuring they didn’t speak Myrian, Saxani tried her common. She knew maybe a handful of phrases and obscure words from spying no Myrians making trades. Even in comparison to the odd humans the Myrians traded with in the east, this band was especially peculiar. The lead man seemed too tired to care much for who was there. “Hello,” she tried in common. The crossbow bobbed a bit. She knew she had them now. They took her for the guide they’ve been waiting for. “I guide you,” she said in this poor common. The contraption lowered its aim, but was still snuggly tucked to his chest for security purposes. Saxani gave them a very cheeky smile, purely playful of course. “Hiya,” the horse’s ass said, or rather the woman alongside it. Saxani compared the tone to that of the animal’s flatulence. “Do you speak the vernacular?” The woman’s tone was slow, deep, and utterly condescending. She looked at this native as an idiot. Saxani could tell that much from her tone. She had heard commoners speak before. She’d entertain the idea of course, when the moment permitted. Like now, for instance, she cocked her head to the side unaware of what the woman meant. “For the gods’ sake, if you’re trying to communicate with her, why would you use that fancy talk?” “Shut up now, ya idiot. I’m trying to communicate with her! Give me my bow back. You surely don’t know how to use the damn thing.” “Take it. It’s crap as it is.” “It was my grandfather’s…” “It shows.” The woman shook off the little man’s words easily, either neglecting their meaning or failing to understand them. “You take us to Black Rock, yes?” Saxani deciphered the words for what she could. They wanted to go to Black Rock, definitely, given the information of the map and now this request. Saxani figured she could approach them. The snake and charmer approached them, only halting at the sound of the crossbow’s click. The string had been drawn back, the machine loaded. The woman was aiming it at Saxani’s chest, a damn good aim too for what the Dhani could tell. The smile left her face as she tried to figure out what this woman meant to do. She could possibly dodge the bolt from here, but that was risky. She halted and waited for directions. “You,” she screamed while pointing to the objects and mimicking the motions with a free hand, “Take us… to Black Rock.” Why of course, Saxani understood entirely, she was just wondering why the arrogant woman decided to point a weapon at her host. She answered the woman in Myrian and then common, trying to stress the disguise as one of the savages, “Yes, yes!” The bow was settled on the woman’s shoulder then. “What are you doing then? Let’s get going. I haven’t got all the day. Help me back on my horse!” The woman was tall enough to mount herself. Saxani looked at the muddy boots and garments not wanting to touch the thing herself. The revolt from the small man that followed was totally understandable. Why would he help her? Saxani decided it wasn’t her business though. She was just here to act as a guide. Still, she was weary to turn her back on this woman after that little gesture of thanks. I will take you to Black Rock, big woman, I will take you to the land of the dead from where none can return… Saxani gingerly approached the group to retrieve her arrow. She locked eyes with the horse, the predatory glare of a Dhani against some mindless draft animal. The look of agitation in its eyes was fading, offset by loud sounds and fast moving objects. It might be able to sense cats, but that meant little in a jungle dominated by snakes and cannibals. How the world birthed such a creature, and allowed to it live on, was inconceivable. It seemed the simplicity of human minds, like this woman’s, was the only reason such a dumb thing lived on. It became questionable how someone of such questionable existence itself can care for something of already questionable purpose in being here. Perhaps the same rule of “misery loves company” applied. She withdrew from the horse and moved to the lead man to give him a good look over. “Look, but don’t touch. He’s mine, haha!” He rolled his eyes and smiled in return to his wife’s territorial approach. She seemed very assuming of control of the operation, despite the men around her doing most of the dirty work. Saxani would have sympathized with her had she understood the woman’s words, or if she could ignore such an incredibly offensive personality. The moment of that crossbow clicking settled in her mind now, and wouldn’t leave her until vengeance was taken. “Where are we anyway,” her husband asked. The thinner man retrieved the map. Saxani was asked more directly this time with the map in front of her. The thing made little sense. There were several marking and some writing she knew, stops, dates, more times, locations, and the route to Black Rock outlined. She tried to judge where they were, having little geographical experience. The man pointed at the border at the top of the page, marking the beginnings of Falyndar and the path they took. The regional map seemed fairly indistinct save for a supposed save path and markings of where to avoid – which encapsulated most of the parchment – for the thought of snakes and Myrians. Saxani could hardly determine its worth of understanding and began to think less of it. There were still other treasures, the crossbow being one of them. Saxani had been mindful to not keep her eyes on it too long, else the woman would catch hint of her wanting. “This way,” Saxani commanded, and began to lead them further into the jungle, relatively south bound. Once the jungle became thick enough, she’d spring her trap. The woman helped herself back atop the horse and took hold of the reigns from her husband. After a brief talk of things, she stated she was determined to prove the horse’s worth and would drive herself. The small man sped to the front away from the thing. The couple stayed behind a bit more. They lead on for a few chimes before the small man moved closer. Saxani drew her knife and held it to his throat as they walked with the tip on his neck bulb. He quickly became nervous and red over the mistake. The couple seemed too immersed in conversation to notice, or Saxani’s sleight of hand was improving. With “O” shaped lips she raised the tip and watching his neck and head move upwards. “I just want to talk,” he pleaded. Brow raised, Saxani gestured for him to create some distance. The blade was drawn back when the request was acknowledged. She then let him speak, nodding for him to go on. “What is your name?” “Myri,” she said, jumbling the tone and vowels to stray from the name of the Goddess Myri, another strike of spite. She couldn’t help but grin at the joke of it. Surely she was just a happy, little Myrian who lived in a cute, tiny village in the jungle full of fuzzy-wuzzies, no? She tried to give that impression to the man, catch him off guard, gain his trust, ease his nerves… He didn’t need to know the truth of the Myrians. He wouldn’t live to speak of it. He laughed like she did, but was still incredibly tense. “I was expecting more of your kind, to be honest. Are there more of you?” Saxani shook her head in disapproval. “Where are they then?” Saxani looked to the trees. The man had a paranoid look as he turned to view the green jungle, finding no sign of them. “They are hidden then?” Saxani put her finger to her lips to shush the man. He understood her, and could speak with her well enough. “Why you come,” she asked. “We are going to Black Rock. The mistress,” he said gesturing with a snarling tone, “Has business there, or so she claims.” “Ahh, speak with Dira, no? Queen of the Dead.” He shook his head approving of her every word. “You go to die,” she finished with an uplifted tone, merely making suggestions of her meaning. His face paled, and he pleaded to her disapprovals. Saxani widened her eyes and moved the knife closer to him with a smile. The cock of the crossbow was heard again and Saxani darted a look back, her face suddenly grave and plain, straight lips, no lift of the brow, that dark stare lingering. The woman nodded her head for the knife to be put away. “You no play, you lead us to Black Rock,” she said in the same condescending and ignorant tone. Saxani kept up disguises, cracking the smile once more and twiddling the blade in her fingers before putting it away. “Your own horse must laugh at you,” Saxani said in Myrian. The woman raised a brow, but little more. Saxani couldn’t help but laugh and smile, and the best part is that they didn’t understand a single word. “That way,” Saxani then commanded steering them into the thickening jungle. Her lips said it all, that sly grin creeping across her face as she lead them in. “Come, come,” she said. Within minutes the trail became indistinguishable from the jungle floor. These foreigners would be lost in the jungle without Saxani. Now the fun could begin. She just needed to time things right. A predator of infinite patience, Saxani brought herself peace with thought of the future satisfaction to come.

[Sashisaxani]

Now in the depths of Falyndar, every moment was a moment lost. The further on they went, the greater the chances that a Myrian patrol might stumble upon them. The tigers might become restless, her kin might see an opportunity, of these fools might do something stupid. Saxani reconsidered her last point and prayed she could just make up for whatever mistakes they had to deal with. They were quiet now at least. They seemed to be enjoying the shade in contrast to the open path they had walked. Of course the air was hot, and sweat poured out of their every pore. Saxani was energized and comfortable. She had her hair up, but still it covered her neck in its length. If it fell the right way, it shrouded her face and the cold look that came across it now. The happy Myrian was her disguise, but now she needed to be the same cold blooded hunter that came out into this jungle, always alert, searching, watching… The click of the crossbow had Saxani turn her head to give the woman a stern look. A nudge of her melon turned Saxani’s attention to a set of birds in a fruit filled tree. Mikmik, she thought as the birds chattered. Saxani brought her hand to her mouth and let it course down her throat, as if to ask if she was hungry. The men seemed to agree, but the woman just kept looking at the birds. “Foooood,” she said in her idiotic tone. “Food. Eat,” Saxani now said in a more gentle tone, gesturing to the plant and motioning with her hand again. “Good eat, yes.” The younger man eagerly responded to Saxani’s gestures and went to pick some fruit. He had three pieces before the chatter became obnoxiously loud and the brush began to shuffle. “Mik mik mik mik mik mik!!!” A bird chased after the man as he gave a run around the tree then fled back to the caravan. The horse snarled; thankfully that was the extent of its unrest. It must have been tired as well. Saxani and the husband chuckled lightly at the chase, the bloodbills seeming harmless enough, probably more concerned for their nest than the nets in the fruit. Saxani exchanged glances with the husband before a bolt darted between them and struck one of the birds dead in the ground. The other one scattered back to its nest in the deep green. Saxani darted immediately to the woman with her weapon. She found this kill unnecessary when they had fruit, but it was just another strike to mark this woman of ignorance. “Glad to see you brought the potatoes, but I caught the meat, hahahaaa-! Let’s brew him, ya? Ya? You,” she began turning and pointing to Saxani, “Go get firewood.” Saxani turned her head in apparent oblivion. Though she thought Why in Siku’s name would I fetch you firewood the impression of "what are firewood, miss" was just as good. The question was repeated and the woman got down from her horse. In a spectacle of hand motions and poor vocal imitations of wood and fire, she tried to explain the idea of wood and fire to this idiotic savage. “Fire! Boom! Uhm, fire,” she said and began to push air through her lips and spit-filled teeth making some sound that sounded a lot more like surging water. Saxani gave in and started laughing, “Fire,” she said in the Myrian language, the word not sounding so different. The ooo’s and ahh’s gave away her apparent stupidity all the more and Saxani walked off into the brush. She gave a passing glance at the men as they divided the fruit and went right for them. The light green tint on the fruit let Saxani know there would be a long night ahead of them, and suddenly her plan began to take form. The foolish man had compared the fruit to apples in their apparently ripeness, unaware of the toxicity the fruit still possessed. The pits were foolishly discarded back by the tree, which the bloodbills greedily fought for and feasted on. Saxani’s leave in the jungle wasn’t too far off. She stayed close enough to keep an ear or eye on them. She waited most of the time, spent her time observing what she could about them. Even these foreigners had an apparent matriarch hierarchy to them. The men, and even the fool stupid beast, seemed absolutely exhausted in contrast to this woman. She hugged the crossbow like a child, even while attending to the bird, plucking the bird with a sort of glee. Saxani stopped and prayed to Caiyha for thanks. The jungle had been most kind to her in this little adventure. She’d be sure none of the bloodbill went to waste. Saxani had thought of a funny ploy. She had gone far away enough to find a stream and take a drink. From the stream, she gathered a few stones that were easy enough to carry. If it was a fire the woman wanted, then Saxani would provide the tools for her fire. She could make her own fire of course; gather the wood, and so on. Saxani didn’t really know if the rocks would even spark, but what would a dumb savage know? As much as she detested the Myrians, she was beginning to learn a new respect for them as she was taken as one of them and down talked for just appearing as one, in spite of what she was risking too. When Saxani returned, she found the young man anxious and worried about where their guide had gone. The husband had actually managed to pass out. Saxani spied a little bug taking a sip from his neck. He would pay for that mistake soon, even if it was hot, exposure was a terrible idea. The woman had already started her own pile of fire wood and tinder. The bird was prepared for cooking. There was fruit left over. It seemed they had stopped eating sometime after. The young man was gripping his stomach. Saxani settled far off enough to watch them squirm a while longer. An ant wandered by and she ate it. She was getting hungry too. Enough was enough, soon this man would start an outburst worse than any of the woman’s so far. The horse was tethered to the tree far from the extra fruit, Saxani observed while spying its smelly ass from behind. She snuck up on it and watched as it tried to get past the reins for the fruit, not realizing it was out of reach. She stepped out of the brush back to them, and the crossbow was quickly pointed at her face. “Fire,” Saxani gleefully exclaimed as she dropped the rocks in front of the woman. Judgmental looks found their way to her pudgy face, even if she didn’t say anything. Her whole demeanor spoke for her, even if she chose to remain silent. Saxani reveled secretly in the woman’s anger, even more so how she denied it and kept up the appearance of an equally as happy, and stupid, foreigner. In no time, there was a pile started for a fire. Saxani watched them strike the flint and tinder, the sparks flying, and a fire coming to life. She had never come so close to a benign flame, only those of torchlights carried by Myrian savages. Her inaccurate fascination with the warm flame was overlooked by the group. It was becoming dark. Saxani looked to the evening sky eagerly awaiting the total coming of night. The daylight hours began to dwindle, and it was darkening. The light of the fire made this area glow. The young man had taken the husband’s knife and cleared away most of the brush for a clearing. The lack of camouflage was unsettling to Saxani, but she knew how to get away if things made a turn for the worst. The fire has grown to a sufficient size and heat now. The bird was roasted over the flame, skewered from end to end over the fire. Saxani looked at the rod that pierced the anus and went right out the mouth. The odor of the burning flesh made Saxani a bit sick. Like the Myrians as well she liked raw meat. She didn’t know if the Myrians really cooked their meat actually. The cannibalistic stereotype dominated her perspective of their people. Speaking of stereotypes, this ignorant foreigner had begun to run her mouth again over dinner. Saxani sat away from the closer to the jungle brush mostly trying to sit back and observe the details of the situation. She listened to the woman, although she tried to focus on the birds and animals in the night for any sign of intruders. The horse might even prove useful if cats came near. That remained to be proven to her. The crackle of the fire was distracting as the wet wood popped and dried. The bulb that formed on the man’s neck already looked to be taking away from his breathing. Funny how no one noticed or cared for him. He was moaning lightly in his sleep too, probably from the fruit. She couldn’t tell if the sweat was part of a fever or the jungle heat. The younger man was huddled near the fire, and the woman was tending to her bird. She talked a lot of nothingness to herself. Saxani tried to find some amusement in her story. Saxani figured she was trying to explain why she had come all the way from Sylira, some far away land, to Falyndar. Her story was as follows: She had started off slowly for the “Myrian”, but quickly found comfort in her home language and dialect, caring nothing for Saxani’s understanding. She seemed to enjoy talking about herself and her own accomplishments too much as it were. So, her tale picked up coherently somewhere in the middle, starting with the exodus from Sunberth. “I was born in Sunberth,” she said with some ill-placed pride, “Born and raised on the streets. I worked in the fields for many a year. I survived while others perished in the streets. Those pretty little girls I grew up with were eventually swept off into dark rooms to dance for the brute men who were once foolish young boys. But no, I rose above it, and I came into money. I met my lovely husband there, and we settled down. I loved the farm still, oh how I loved it. A strange thing happened though. We had a man come to the farm one day asking for work. We oh so generously let him to the barn keeping, scraping up the manure and what not. And as we came to learn more of him, we learned he was a Myrian. “I’m not sure why, but I became fascinated with him. His skin, his stature; we were so much alike I began to draw some conclusions. One day I had the nerve to ask him about the Myrians and his people. We came to the answer at last of my fascination. You see we were so much alike we discovered I must be a Myrian too. While certainly not pure blood as you can tell from my unsightly legs – I’d run more if they didn’t ache at the knee here, haha – I had connections. I was skeptical at first too, believe me, but with my loving husband’s support I pursued the truth. It’s been such a passion of mine that it’s brought us here. “I checked my lineage across the generations with many a wizard or seer. They all traced my blood back to Falyndar, to the jungle, to the Myrians. I was absolutely stunned when a Konti seer said I was even a Myrian in a past life of my own. She had the most negative attitude despite my enthusiasm, such a terrible young girl. So I gathered my crew here and we set off from Sunberth as soon as we could.” She paused in her story deciding on how to put the pieces back together to make sense. The young man, as he had said, did most of the planning and work, and she now reaped the benefits. He was playing with twigs in the fire. The bird would be done soon enough. “So, yes, we crossed Sylira,ya, we crossed down to Syliras and their grand castle and hopped a ship across the Suvan Sea to Alvadas. We were going to sail around the southern part of the continent, past Cyphrus and Eyktol at first, but I decided it would take too long. So instead we came this way, and passed through just recently Sultros, I think it was called. The midgets must spring from the ground, they’re so dirty looking… Anyway, just some days ago we came to this valley and followed the map down through into Falyndar, and why, here we are!” She stopped and stared at Saxani as if she was supposed to share in her excitement. “Myri, don’t you understand? I’m a native. I’m one of you! I have come to join my people again! Sweet gods how I love the adventure of this place.” “Why Black Rock,” Saxani asked, cutting her off. She was playing stupid, she wasn’t stupid. This woman’s course seemed odd if she wanted to go east. She should have sailed across the Suvan southbound in that case. “Well, see that’s the thing. I am aware that my ancestors have a certain reputation for being well, cannibals. You don’t mind me to call you a cannibal do you? I mean, well, hehe…” A bizarre look crossed her face as she leaned in across the fire to tell Saxani this next part. “There was this one woman from Sunberth I used to work with. She always teased me for my plumpness. So some years came around when she come looking for work, sometime after I had rediscovered my roots. I was reading up on our culture, and came across cannibalism, you see. One night I brought out this here crossbow, put a bolt in her, and cooked her up.” The woman was practically drooling now. “The taste reminded me an awful lot of pork. She was quite salty. I even brewed her into a stew we had that night, my husband too. He loved it. The idea had always seemed odd to him, so I never told him. Didn’t want to spoil dinner after all. We kept the body in the barn up in the rafters. That Myrian fellow I told you about kept his mouth shut for a leg, haha!” Saxani was kind of stunned as this woman revealed more and more of herself. This whole while she had found the Myrians to be absolutely crazy, but these people… Saxani couldn’t even put a thought on it. “So yes, we’re going to Black Rock first to meet some other brothers and sisters there. We’ll be setting out for Taloba then. I cannot wait to greet the Queen. I have read so much of her. Her name sounds an awful lot like yours in fact. I wish I was named after a queen. What do you think,” she started asking as she turned her rounded figure and put on a pose, “Kova incarnate, right?” She started to get giddy again before the scent of burning flesh caught her attention. She tended to the bird while Saxani looked at the man beside the fire. He didn’t make sense to her. “You,” she asked, pointing at him. It took a bit more pointing to clarify, but he began to explain himself too. “I’m one of her workers, a dependent. When no one else joined her expedition, I came along. On the plus side she said I’d get a part of the farm or savings if I made the trip. I’m waiting for Black Rock so dearly. I get to go back on my own way then. It’s been a long five years since I’ve worked with her...for her. Between you and me,” he leaned in and began, “That Myrian was no more Myrian than my boot. In any case, here we are, and frankly I just want my freedom.” He returned to his seat and his impatient play with the sticks and fire. Saxani sat back as they ate a bit more. The husband woke up to join them, complaining little for his neck. It must still be numb from the bug’s bite, Saxani figured. The food was eaten, the fire died down, and they began to set up a watch. The girls would take on the first watch. Saxani was almost insulted to include that monstrous thing as part of their grouping. Surely Saxani and the horse could make up for the other’s lacking in perception of things. It had to have been fate that delivered this idiotic woman into her hands. As night descended fully, Saxani prepared for her daily prayer. Even in the company of these foreigners she would not let down Siku. She folded her arms, her necklace absent from her usual means of prayer and mumbled in a slight of snake-tongue incomprehensible from the real thing. “What are you saying,” the woman interrupted. “Praying.” “About what?” “That Mother-Goddess deliver us to new day.” “Yes. Pray to the Mother-Goddess for us then.” Saxani had actually meant herself and the small man. He seemed worth saving. There wasn’t much meat on him. The concept of slavery was strange to her as well. Everyone in Falyndar worked. That was as true as the laws of gravity; although undefined, there was an innate understanding of dignity to each individual. Saxani patiently sat and watched as the woman with the crossbow let go of her guard and fell victim to slumber. Saxani gently stood up and walked over to the horse near the firewood. It was down but not quite out yet. It paid no attention to Saxani except for the rub she gave the smelly animal. It was so easily amused. Saxani carefully began to misplace the firewood, careful not to disturb any of her sleeping company. The fire would be out soon anyway. Saxani then stole one of the knives from the bags, not daring to waste the sharpness of her own. That would serve a higher purpose later. She found a large branch, not an awfully thick one at that, and took it away to the stream where she had hoped to work. She stole away for half a bell before she returned as a Dhani, and stared at the company with her serpent vision. Thank Siku… Saxani spied the helpless, suffering husband. In the dark of night, she snatched his brother away. Her superior Dhani strength clasped over his mouth and dragged him off into the jungle before he could awake well enough to know what was going on. He didn’t move the whole while back to her workplace; the knife having been sated. Saxani returned to the campsite not much long after. The moon was high in the sky. She dug up what she could and put the weighted limb into the earth and reburied it. Saxani turned back toward the stream, but instead waited in the shadows. She had thrown a rock at the woman trying to get her attention before the last of the coals died out. That failed. Instead she watched as her handiwork collapsed on the ground making a large thud that woke the camp. The woman was the first to respond, reaching for her crossbow and pointing it around. She cursed the fire going out, reached down and through what tinder and wood was left near to reignite the flame even a bit more. The log was quickly noted as being out of place. Saxani watched intently. A makeshift torch was put together and ignited. The Dhani watched as its gentle glow hovered closer to where she had planted the pike. The silence of the jungle broke as the woman began to scream terribly at the sight of her dependent, his throat slit in the night, his naked corpse crudely impaled on the log, a sigil of Siku carved into his chest above a now emptied abdomen. Saxani licked her bloodied lips. Such handiwork could not go unrewarded. Saxani watched the chaos that unfolded for the company’s first night in the jungle. She had only begun her reign of terror. Now she could fully empathize with Siku. Gods…how Saxani loved the way this woman screamed, how she squealed... One might compare it to the terrified shrieking of a dying pig if not for the pig’s intelligence. To call this woman a pig would be an insult to all pigs. All the same, Saxani would hunt this woman no differently than she would a squealing pig. “Welcome home,” Saxani quietly wished the screaming woman in her mocking Myrian.

[Sashisaxani]

Saxani's movements were meticulous from that point onward. She was sure to move the upper parts of her body with caution and stealth, clinging gently to the earth and trees to slide soundlessly, if possible, through the lower ground that was moist and covered. With her tail, however, she let a rapid thrash to the foliage where she had been, and heard the bolt of the crossbow sling forward and peg the ground with accuracy. Saxani was becoming more impressed with the design. The woman's screams had become a bit more like roars from a tigress. She was wounded by this offense, and Saxani could only hope for rage and hate to be boiling up inside of her. The horse had become wild, though it could not escape its tether. The Dhani's dagger eyes darted through the jungle to spy the company. The remaining man was woken in fright and could only stare dumbly at what had become of his younger brother. The Dhani grinned if her lips could bear it. She looked at the woman again and saw the post-haste movements to reload the crossbow. "Filthy savages! Come out! Come out and face me! I'm not afraid! Rah!" The woman would challenge a Myrian Tiger in such vain rage if she could. Saxani reasoned she was still convinced this was Myrian doing, and that the troop of "Myri's" had descended upon them in the night to devour them. Saxani remember then that the woman had been led her with a sort of conviction that the Myrians would answer her call. In some ways she hoped no one would ever be so stupid as to take the word of one man to cross the continent. The Dhani remembered she had to be cautious though, else a fang might cross her path in a far patrol to the north. The screaming caused such unwanted attention, but at the same time enticed Saxani all the more. Saxani refocused on the cursing human and took the time to try to understand her. The shadow of night was her veil, and she need only remain still in the cover of the jungle, the patient hunter. "My brother, my poor baby brother, no, no, no, no, no," the man cried over and over, nearly rolling across the jungle floor to that mutilated corpse. The woman clung closer to her crossbow and searched wildly through the brush, shouting sporadically as if to frighten the Myrians away. Their mourning interested Saxani. Saxani was content with her decision to spare the youngest of them great suffering. Mercy was still a strange concept to Saxani, especially in this land of live-or-die. She knew he would not have made it out alive, even under her care. Saxani reflected one more moment at how merciful she had been with the younger man. Snatching him away had been easy, and she spared him the torment by bleeding him, but still recalled how he resisted in her arms and shook so violently, although helpless. By his own knife yet, what a betrayal. The Dhani considered her next move, still unsure of what these foreigners would do, how they'd react next. The woman was bat-shit crazy and Saxani knew it. Such volatile behavior would get her killed in the end, but for now she still presented some threat. The remaining however was still precious to her, and Saxani saw how torment could take on forms physical, emotional, and mental. Saxani slithered away to plot further, leaving the man in mourning, and the woman in her fury. Saxani glanced back once to consider how much that pelt might still be worth to her. The campsite had been restored soon after as nearer discards of wood were reignited and a circle of fires was set up around them. Dawn would not break the darkness of the skyline for another two bells, at least one. Saxani considered the crossbow, and wanted to drain this woman of ammunition first if she could. Disarming the woman would work just as well. Saxani nearly lunged through the bush over the man for the crossbow, but recalled a number of knives on their person. There was no sign of their competency beyond preparing dinner, but the last time Saxani underestimated a knife she lost the means to birth children, a grievous wound. She instead withdrew from the brush as originally intended. She wanted to see the scene from some new angles, or prod them along to a more suitable location. A faint rumble echoed, an unusual sound. Saxani snuck backwards slowly until she knew she was clear enough from a clean shot of the crossbow and then moved double the pace up the nearest tall tree. Bow on her back, Saxani reached for the nearest branch, her coils folding below her for the first lift before she began to climb and cling with all her body to scale the tree. At last she peered at the near top and spied darkening skies in the north, a cloud front moving toward them. She raised herself up a bit higher over the canopy and saw the source of the rumble a bit more clearly. Her grin spread from ear to ear. Over the rolling hills covered green, beyond the northern pass, was a storm that blew over the Kalea peaks. The moon light could not penetrate this thick veil, nor would the sun. It raged. The torrents of water that poured from it were illuminated in a faint wall by the distant flashes of lightning that cut through the air. The rainy season may have been at an end, but as usual it had a farewell gift. Knowing the mountains tracked from the north, and Zinrah was soundly behind her in the south, Saxani turned to her right and peered to the east for the sun. The storm would not be here in time to cloud the dawn, but it would be upon them soon. The winds already began to make the trees way in gentle waves. Saxani tried to imagine the eastern coast, Black Rock, the rest of the world. The terrain denied her, but maybe she'd visit one day with that map she'd steal. The coming storm was a strange sign. Gazing at it she felt spiritually unrested, yet empowered. Perhaps the air still carried the essence of the divine from the djed storm. That storm had brought with it a new sensation and perception of Falyndar, and Saxani wasn't sure she felt the same way anymore after it.

[Sashisaxani]

As the magma surged beneath the earth, and erupts in a grand display both glorious and horrific, a rushing, invigorating sensation channeled its way through Saxani's body. The sickly saturation in the every fiber bled into her system, drawn out in the storm. The mass of all her hate, her anger, spite, fear, her lust; the sadist within her, the raging warrior, the wicked sorceress, deceptive, inviting, taunting, seducing, deadly; the sum of all sin within her flowed to her heart and pulsated back through her body, now an instrument of cleansing. Like a black tar too thick for any rain to ever wash away surfaced in her flesh, in her eyes, the abyssal darkness flowed forth as the black pillar of the volcano does and spreads to blank the sky, spreading dead if prolonged. She sensed it, a sickness in her blood, a venom truly, per own Mother's poison that would drive her. A century on the side lines of the annual mutilation, a slow moving forward, until the final and utter inclusiveness of covering over the carved corpse of dead Myrians all converged on this point of participation, but Myrians were so rare to find in such lone and fragile states. The thirst of combat to sate their claws and blades drove the Dhani to honorable combat that was too quick and forgetful of the fallen. These rare opportunities were both tests and gifts from the Mother-Goddess. The spirit of the Dhani for all they were consumed the form that was Sashisaxani. Every mother before her, every sister, and every child, trailed back through generations to many century ago took part in this ritual, a daily bread the Dhani were served, a passionate expression of existence that not even Krysus could claim as her own working. No, for only Siku alone could truly brag for the brainchild that was the Dhani, these ultimate specimens of form and essence, the pinnacle of Caiyha's fullest creation, the true masters of Falyndar, the truest beneficiaries and masters of nature's realm. Had it not been for such intervention years ago, not the treaty, but the apocalypse that wounded and divided these apex predators, the world today would be so very different. The robust form of the born killer spread and roared: a sound that cascaded through the endless green and brought terror to the core of even Myri's bravest. With rage there was motivation, perception precision, and with skill an absolute end. Saxani only lack the latter. Yet, this release would let itself loose regardless until it was no more. There were no inhibitors so far north, so remotely in the midst of a storm. Not even the repercussions of her actions today could affect her social stigma. Wounded, made male among a society that prized the womb, left only with the empty craving to bear a fruit she never could, she had only her devotion to the Mother-Goddess left to bring her salvation, but no, no one would see, only Saxani, and perhaps if she were watching, Siku. It was to be a ritual of guilty pleasure, a release. There was no glory, there was no revelry, no pleasure or joy, no mark; there was only the pure and unhindered expression of succulent sin that had built up from the first break of day that taunted the snakeling over a hundred of years ago, only to be told she may never go past those stone walls. The walls would shatter, the soldiers atop them would burn, and the Warrior-Goddess who caged them would be thrown from the greatest tower in all Taloba, a corpse on the earth. Perhaps it would be by her hand, perhaps not; alas, the expression to come was an inevitable and necessary purge that all Dhani were sure to encounter in their lives. It was an unspoken rite of passage, a discard of and insult to the Myrians, and an acceptance for the war ahead. It would end, and it would end gloriously, with the enemy smote, and left to rot under the path of conquest the Dhani alone would tread. For Her Glory, resonated the thundering heart of Saxani's, For Siku, for Zinrah, for my Queen. The tree line erupted with the reptilian roar that bellowed from the canopy, a monstrous creature of near indomitable size, for sure. Even the master hunter would quake, for this was no beast, but a villain, a demon, and its thirsts craved for something more than mere blood. The horse in the camp started to buck and jerk from its post, but was held by the woman awake with wide eyes, though naively unmoved by the echoing death that bombarded the northern jungle. Her husband, it seemed, had become numb, and held only faint presence in comparison, yet he was the tool, it had been determined, that would strike the next blow. Saxani descended from the pinnacle was an anxiety of anticipation that made her whole body quiver. Never had she felt like this before, not under the wrongful scorn of her mother, or in deals with the most ignorant of Zinrah's residents. Her hunt was only beginning. The concept echoed in her head, the eternal hunt, of man and beast alike. It began to cross her mind even, that she might make a habit of this. The plot in her mind was thickening, that tar that would soon ooze into the work through the manifestation of her vicious intent. She would be merciless, and expect no merciless in return. It was foolish to even humor the thought. She considered how the swine may resist, but to what end? Their fates were sealed by their own action or inaction alike. They could simply go on, disregard the roars of the horror that now lurked through the wood, and they would prove themselves the fools. They might have persuaded her before, but now it was too late. Now they would face the threat they dared to insult, and suffer for it. The Myrians made the same mistakes, though not all of them. It was by those individuals, treacherous but useful, that those walls would collapse. For the time being, however, the storm would cause too much disruption to her plans, and she would need a safe place. With the determination of a birthing mother, Saxani surfed through the foliage in search of a nest suitable for the grotesque she would usher into the world. With much searching and a good sense of the earth, Saxani found a cave in the northern face of a hill. It was small, but wide enough, and would house what shelter from the storm she would need. The light of the sun would be able to tease her prey well enough. Leaving her gear in its entirety snug behind stones, in the dark, Saxani left back to where she had been, becoming as a snake with a titanic maw. Her tongue, blur in the air, worked quickly to track the group back down. It would be light soon, and the storm would be upon them in this pocket of the jungle. Saxani tracked them by scent. The loathsome odor of the company's creature was easily distinguished from the jungle. It would help to find them before the rain dampened it. Saxani became sick from the scent, thinking much of the tigers' dung that lingered in the jungle. It seemed to exist in excess on the creature though. Surely the horse and man were made ill as well, or had managed to overcome this. Perhaps they burned their nostrils with coals from the fire earlier? Regardless, the snake was quick upon them, and found herself at the campsite. It was empty, and the last of the smoking pile was dying out. Saxani surveyed the camp wearily, not trusting the woman's dim wits entirely to chance. The smoke had covered a bit of them, but it had not been enough. A blatantly obvious path through the jungle lead south east, and Saxani began to pick up on the scent from there again. They were going downhill, and would soon cross the stream she had gone to earlier for her first totem carving. The rain would overtake them within the hour, and soon the stream would flood, Saxani figured, just enough for her next move to take on greater effect. The storm did comb, with dark more bite than bark. A distant rumbling to the west noted the heart of the vortex, and on these fringes it rained in torrents. The run off rolled right down the hills to the stream, still being heavily saturated from the rainy season and still enduring the last contributors of the floods. It might even be large enough to reach Zinrah, Saxani thought, if it kept on south bound. The banks began to become muddied with the high concentration, and the party was slowed as the water upstream began to catch up, the peaks rising. They still trudged through the water while it was low enough to get through and not nearly as treacherous as the mud or possible quicksand pits. Saxani stared from the bank, her dark form utterly cloaked under the darkness of clouds and in the mud. The running water, and now droplets from the clouds, would shelter her from the light above as well. The eastern sun was breaking, but quickly falling behind the thick blanket in the sky. Saxani took a final look at the party before she shoved her way through the rocks and mud into the rising water. It was knee deep, and starting to move a bit quicker along the gradient. Saxani started to swim in the lower part of the stream, giving herself some push on the rocks where she needed it, or even to stop and take a peek above the surface, taking another sample of the prey to make sure they had not evaded her. Saxani was bold, and moved for a look, and made out the rough outline of the company in the Falyndar rain. It was but a shower to the Dhani, though certainly a full thunderstorm for the outsiders. Saxani took her last look at her prey under the roar of the storm and then went under to strike. "Hon, did you feel something?" The husband was asking, and the horse started to get very restless. The woman turned back, hand over her brow, staring hard into the rear through the downpour, struggling to see let alone speak. She may have said something, but he did not receive it. The man stepped back, his eyes agape, staring forward and upwards. "By Priskil's light," he said. She turned back to the face of a mammoth snake. The woman jolted back, and was pulled again by the startled horse. She fell in the water, and was dragged a bit in the current by the horse while the man was nearly tripped under Saxani's coil. She moved closer to him, ready to take him in her grasp. He reached for the knife hesitantly, as if unsure of the snake. Saxani's eyes gave no hint of her focus, but she saw, and immediately bit his right arm. His struggle away only worsened the wound, her teeth coming off into his skin, and the blood gush starting the turn the water. There was little cursing after, and lesser struggle. Saxani lunged for his shoulder and sank in deep, taking them both under the water. She was not so blind here, and felt her way around his obtuse shapes and grabbed a knot-like hold around him. Saxani twisted against the stream bed and lifted his head above the water, assuming a position for her transformation back into a Dhani form. The horse, dumb enough, moved away to not concern itself with the snake, yet was held back by the woman. Once stable, she was able to rescue herself from the water. She reentered the world in a nightmare. The skies had darkened, and the rain blinded her. The river ran red with the blood of her beloved, and there, just barely outlined in the film between them, was the demonic outline of the Dhani. Her scales, black as night, were an enigma. Strong, and muscled like the men she might have known, yet feminine in the hips, jaw, and chest, with an array of other, monstrous additions: unhuman fangs, knife-like pupils, the overall structure that vaguely resembled a human, but simply wasn't. Saxani's fingers settled in, the tendons tensing in her vice-grip over the air, the sheer power in her muscles screaming for release. The man caught in her grasp was pleading, perhaps even weeping, though it was not clear in the rain, or maybe praying. Saxani thought she heard the utterance of his begging, a please. The terror twisted her head in confusion, evens sympathy. The unreal form, a walking shadow, moved through the air with unholy and unreal contortions of form, such poise, a siren of sorts. Saxani curls her prey around to face her clearly, her body blocking the rain above him providing a moment to fully take it all in. He seemed to become lost, Saxani saw, in the image of herself. She saw the babbling lips of his pleas, and graced his lips with a finger, her filed nail gliding across his lips in a microscopic cut. Her other finger presser her lips. He was quiet. Saxani twisted him towards his wife, and leaned in close. "Say goodbye," she whispered. He could not whimper so much before she tensed and began to twist. The coils began to shift around him, rising his body up in the air while her torso remained still. His wife was rushing for her bow, cursing, and had fired a shot at them, missing in the rain that worked against her. Saxani rose up from behind him, his face blue in her grip. The Dhani sank her nails into his arms, grabbing hold of the flesh and bone and began to pull him apart until at last both arms were stripped from his body. The blood gushed out into the river. The knife was drawn from his side pouch and dug into the back of his neck. The pig was cursing, almost unaware of her weapon, damaged, shocked. Saxani dug into the grooves she had carved in his neck and grabbed tight. Pressing on his shoulders and pulling up with her strong arm, she held onto his spine and stripped it up from his body. The vertebrae hung together only by the remaining fibers grown deep in between, as the esophagus pulled up on his innards until it finally broke apart with another splatter of chunks in the river. Saxani tossed his head to the wife, who –screaming – began to make for the bank with the hysteric horse. Saxani reached into the torso and removed a rib with a snap. She measured it, briefly, but found it was not worthy. After snapping it in her hands with much effort, she felt the meat between her. It was nothing now, not even a meal. Her coils tightened over the remaining flesh until the structure within it began to crack under her, the noise suffocated in the scales. Saxani reveled in her abuse of power as the last of the mangled wad gave way. The stream carried it in the bloody mist that hung in the water, a trail leading away from the massacre as the snake glided through the water for the horse. Saxani saw some joy in this, and was glad that she still gave a hunt. The remnants of the group were heading back to the Dhani's side of the stream, making the trip to her cave all the easier. There was something about the sound though that just made Saxani's blood boil. It was the sheer sound of her voice even, the ignorance that translated in it, a pathetic-ness that clothed itself in rags of pride and called it suitable character. It was intolerable, even in all her patience, and the Dhani felt an urge to make this creature suffer for its delusions. Saxani paused in the stream as the horse and woman climbed the bank to stop and look at the rain. The drops fell and flowed clean off of Saxani's outer lids, and she watched clearly as the millions of needles descended from the sky. It became music to her, the background beat to the moans and screams and weeping. The clatter of raindrops in the water sounded a bit like…thunderous applause. This symphony of screams would render her audience shocked by the end. It could be a delivery no less than that, or she would have failed. It would be the truest representation of Siku's virtues on such a subject, or Saxani would not be able to rightfully call herself a daughter of the goddess. She dropped her attention back to the scene beforehand: the morning massacre in the midst of a northern stream, on a gray rainy day, pig hunting. Saxani moved forward with the grace of death, unhalted by anything that stood between her and the inevitable future.