Flashback Fresh Wounds and New Pains [Razkar]

[Ayatah]

||17th Summer, 512AV. || 8th Bell || The Scattered Bones' family lodgings. ||

”Ah, there you are. Come help me with this squirming little tyke, will ya?”

Bennik stood over his sister’s bed, one hand leaning on the downy furs and another on his wooden crutch. His left leg - the one that Ayatah saved just weeks ago after it was mauled by a rogue tiger - was healing well, but he still could not put any weight upon it. He glanced over his shoulder towards Aya, where she stood like a frozen statue at the beaded entrance to the lodge.

”I--“She licked her lips, palms already sticky with panic and words no longer forming on her tongue. She had managed to avoid socialising with the youngest member of her family since the storm, but now she was caught. Finally, she finished her jagged sentence, ”--came here to change your dressing.” It was a lie, but Bennik would be none the wiser.

”Well, change my nephew first. I can’t do it without falling over and Roseane…”

Silence hung in the air as Bennik’s words drifted into nothingness. His sister, the stereotypically fierce Myrian warrior had lost her sight in the djed storm the previous season. Since then, she had done little more than sit beside the clan bonfire (be it alight or not) and speak about accepting her blindness. It was an unnatural thing to watch. Had she lost an arm, Roseane would have insisted on going on patrols regardless, vowing tat she had more talent in her remaining stump than the majority of her comrades did in their entire bodily forms.

Without her vision however, the fight within Roseane had simply died. Her youngest son had been born four weeks before the storm, and since then she had held him only once. Other Scattered Bones clan members had eagerly taken on the role of caregiver to the baby to accommodate his mother’s cool distance. All except Ayatah, of course.

She found herself standing beside Bennik, staring down at the fidgeting dark tiny body on the bed. It wasn’t that she felt no love for the tiny Myrian in front of her - because she did. Despite his lack of a name (he was currently being named anything from ‘boy’ to ‘Djed’), Ayatah treasured the infant with the same affection she did all of her clanmates.

And yet there was something…

That baby is not mine.

With that tragic thought, almost instinctively, Ayatah compared Roseane’s wriggling son to the unborn child she had lost amongst the blood and disaster of that day. Mine would have been paler, and longer. Despite having a pure-blooded father, Aya guessed that their child would have shared some of her finer, Eypharian traits as well as Razkar’s typically Myrian ones. Three quarters Myrian and one-quarter Eypharian. What mixture would that have looked like?

But she had spent too much time imagining such things, as of late. There was a need for her to shake the thoughts out of her mind, yet she seemed unable to do so.

”Aya? Why are you staring down at him like he’s dinner? I know you’re not the most maternal of women but- “

Those words were like a kick to the teeth, and Ayatah did all she could to stop herself from breaking down into fury or upset (she wasn’t sure which). Bennik did not know any better, after all. This was the first time she had kept something so momentous from her cousin, and already their close friendship was drifting apart because of it.

”Bennik. Twena wants you, go to her lodge. Aya and I will see to your nephew.”

She released a great sigh of relief, keeping her eyes closed as her somewhat confused cousin hobbled away. Afterwards, Ayatah heard small, shuffled footsteps approaching from behind, then felt a light hand on her arm. Eyes still closed, she smiled tiredly. ”Thank you, Quinneth.”

The old woman returned the smile and nodded, her eyes focused on the little body on the bed. The infant boy cooed and wailed every so often, wide eyes darting left and right as he watched the two women who towered above him. One old and dark but smiling, the other young but exhausted.

”How are you? And Razkar, of course. Where is he this morning?”

Small conversation was a welcome thing, though Ayatah did not expect it to last. Quinneth had been the person to inform Ayatah of her own pregnancy. When she had returned to her clan home battered, bloody and bruised after fighting her way back from the jungle, she had not even needed to tell her ancient Great-Grandmother of her miscarriage. The old woman had just… known. ”My mother asked him to join the fishing trip. They shouldn’t be too long until they’re back.”

”And… have you told him?”

Ayatah’s silence said it all. Quinneth made no more comments, but the half-Eypharian knew all too well just how busy her Great-Grandmother’s mind was. There would be questions, statements and comforting words fluttering within the old woman’s thoughts. But she was incredibly patient and restrained. Quinneth would not demand anything from the younger woman, not at such a time when wounds were still raw and hurting. Instead, she would wait.

It did not take long for Ayatah to speak.

”How do I tell him?” She barely recognised the voice that came out of her own mouth. The last time Aya sounded so terrified, it was when she was a child herself surely? ”Neither of us wanted a child, but that didn’t mean that I wanted --“ Then she cleared her throat uncomfortably. No, nobody would wish this upon themselves.

Quinneth had also lost a child, but only after it had been born from her womb. A son, who, when he was four years old, came down with a fever one day and was dead the next. The heartbreak had been overwhelming, but at the time, she had taken great solace in having those precious four years with her child. But her Granddaughter had never met her child, nor celebrated its life. [color][color=#804C80]”I know it must be hard, Aya. But Razkar would understand. You need the support right now, and so would he if he knew.”

She shook her head stubbornly, ”that is exactly why I don’t want to tell him. Why would I cause him such upset, especially at a time like this?” Ayatah did not allow her matriarch to answer, and instead turned her back on the bed, and the baby that lay upon it.

Quinneth sighed unhappily. She could see the reasoning behind her persistent Granddaughter’s actions (or lack of them), but she found herself completely disagreeing. There was, however, nothing she could say. Ayatah had always been stubborn and prideful, and with a matter such as this… The old woman sighed once more, ”so be it. But if he has not already, Razkar will start noticing that you have changed. You are hurting, Aya. And you make it obvious that you are, even if you keep the reasons secret.”

Ayatah glanced back to the old woman, who now held the child in the crook of an arm. For a brief chime, Ayatah watched the sleeping baby, but then her expression hardened once more. ”Keeping Raz from any more hurt or pain or disappointment is worth it. I refuse to be the person to bring him suffering.” She muttered, arms folded and expression deadpan.

Her body language completely changed as a familiar-looking shadow was cast upon the entrance of the hut. A small smile - and this time, a sincere one - crossed her lips and Ayatah felt herself relax. He still maages to ease some of my pain… It was a small wonder, in truth.

”Morning. How was fishing?”

|| Ayatah's speech || Ayatah's thoughts || Others' speech ||

[Razkar]

People were always telling Razkar how relaxing fishing was. He'd decided that largely depended on what the rest of your life entailed outside of the past-time. Besides which, it was no mere "hobby" for Myrians; their people needed to eat, and the rivers were choked with fish.

Or they used to be.

"It's not been like this since I was a girl," Paira had said with a sorrowful shake of her head, scowling at the half-empty basket filled with gasping, dying trout. "And that was only because we were taking more than what we needed. Must have been... the Jungle."

Eyes on the shifting, deceptive waves, spear in hand and raised next to his head, Razkar still heard that hesitation... and the unsaid words. Paira wanted to say Caiyha, but had stayed herself. Katyan and Tenwa were with them, young Myrians, with respect for the Jungle and her god. They did not need to be exposed to such scorn...

But Razkar understood it. Caiyha had ever been the friend of the Myrians. But with the Storm and the horror that came with it, even the Jungle that had been their womb and protector had betrayed them. It had overgrown vastly, poisonous serpents and plants vomited into existence everywhere, trails destroyed and whole clans swallowed up...

But not his own, which was about the only thing he was in the frame to thank Caiyha for. And it wasn't like they had been without their scars.

A flash of scales and Razkar's arm jerks forwards, five-foot spear shooting in a blade-tipped blur towards the darting fish-

-thunks into rock instead, the terrified trout fleeing back downstream. He curses softly and shakes his head, wishing it was where it needed to be. Paira looks over and sees him lower his head, lips a tight, white line of suppressed anger. She sighs, knowing the feeling.

So much lost. So much changed. So much horror and pain and sadness... and without any reason to it.

Ayatah's mother knows it is worse for the young male, too, ever since that excursion he went on back in Spring. Eight left. Two returned. Razkar's Fang Leader and mentor and one of his closest friends, the fiery Erama, were slain in that deep darkness. Slaughtered by Dhani.

When he had returned to Taloba with that petching half-breed, Paira saw the signs of a broken, aged warrior. Ayatah rushed to greet him and they embraced but... they were...

Broken. Something was missing, lacking, lost and not returning, not anytime soon. She was old, was Paira. Sixty summers had her eyes seen, and countless males and females do go with them. She knew when the slow poison of silence and sorrow was creeping into the veins of a relationship, choking and killing it from within.

"Come." She said, a shade more gently, putting a hand on his shoulder. She felt his muscles tense and flinch as she did. "We had enough."

"No. We don't."

Paira's own lips purse at the male's tone, but she lets it slide. For now. Besides, he's right. The river's stock has been plummeting and their children and clan need more... but the Jungle is more dangerous to hunt than ever before. She thought back with a brief, sad smile to when Raz first arrived; the hunt he and Ayatah went on the next morning, the fat, tasty sloth and long, gamey serpent they all feasted on.

She sighed again, and shook her head. She did not know if those days would return.

"The hunting party will complement our shortfall, I am sure. Come. We need to return."

It was a flicker. Nothing more. The suggestion of an emotion, unwanted and fleeting and his eyes jerked towards hr as if in fear she had seen it. But she did, and Paira did not know what to make of it. Almost as if... he did not want to return. Or was afraid to.

"Yes." He said, perhaps a little louder than he needed to, with a smile that did not reach his eyes. "The morning wears on, and we have much to do."

Razkar took up his spear and led the way home. He spoke no more.

Then, as if the step from that river a league away had been straight to that doorway, he found himself staring at Aya and Quinneth. The older woman straightened up and her face became utterly, impenetrably neutral within a blink. She was very good at that; he had already decided never to play bones with her. Aya, though... she was learning. But not learned, if you follow me.

”Morning. How was fishing?”

Something stirred in him... or ceased to stir. Razkar embraced that strange stillness upon hearing her words, that clipped and proper accent he had recognized in Taloba. His clan had scorned it before, said that the Taloba clans "speak as if they invented the damn language", but he... well, regarding her, anyway, did not agree.

She soothed him. Even now.

"Not good." He said, walking over to the crib and smiling, or trying to, at the tiny, gurgling creature inside it. "But not bad. The hunting party?"

Quinneth saw Ayatah's face begin to crumple as Razkar toyed with the baby's chubby hand, the gurgle twisting into a giggle as the (comparatively) giant male played with him. She answered quickly, hand taking Ayatah's out of his sight.

"A deer and a sloth. Not... as good as we were expecting, but..."

Razkar nodded ruefully. Yes, there was much of that nowadays. Not as good as before, but what do you expect? The Jungle turns on us, our people are maligned and blinded, our warriors are decimated at the Blockade... survival was a victory, now, or so it seemed. Razkar turned to them both and looked at Quinneth.

"Is there more to be done here, Matriarch? I know I will be needed at the Barracks."

The matriarch of the Scattered Bones shook her head and flashed an almost imperceptible look at Ayatah. Razkar felt his stomach tighten. Did she want him to spend time with her? Would he be... forced to?

His heart churned and he felt bile in his mouth. Goddess... what was wrong with him? Why was he so afraid of that? Why did he abhor it so much? He loved her! She loved him! No vows had been exchanged before an altar or Elder, but... they loved each other.

"I do not believe so, Razkar," a glimmer of that old humor as she smirked softly, "And don't call me that. You call me Quinneth. I never did like that bloody pompous title..."

A brief chorus of laughter that almost ended in tears, it was so needed. But when it was over, and only the gurgling infant broke the silence, Razkar turned to Ayatah. Looked into those warm dark eyes and reached out... but only brushed her upper arm, strange not-quite-smile flashing on his face again.

"I... I shall return tomorrow." He pecked her cheek, lips as passionate as a skull's, knowing it, hating himself for it. "Farewell."

Razkar left before the pain in his guts drove him to his knees.

[Ayatah]

To say that there was a metaphorical white Tskanna in the room would have been a grievous understatement. There was a whole petching herd of them! Quinneth watched the young couple with a critical eye, seeing how they spoke to each other so little, when there was so much that needed to be said between them.

"I... I shall return tomorrow."

Ayatah’s body became tense as his came closer, as if he was some random stranger and not the man she loved. The reaction was not a natural one, but that simply infuriated her all the more. Why did she act so forced and uncomfortable? She loved him as much as ever, and in reality all she wanted was for everything to do back to normality.

But that was a childish dream, and she would need to accept reality for what it was now.

”Tomorrow, then,” her fingertips brushed his torso gently, and she wondered whether or not this strained gesture between them aroused any feelings of affection or lust from him. Most likely not, she realised sadly. Then she glanced up to him, a strange crooked smiled on her lips that did reach her eyes, though in a way that smile should not. They were full of concern, fear. ”Stay safe.”

She stepped backwards, out of his way, and he left. For a few blissful moments, all three remaining Myrians were silent. Then the baby started crying and Quinneth began hushing and all became too much for Ayatah.

Her clan was working as busily as ever, but lately Quinneth had released Ayatah of the majority of her duties. Usually her spare time was filled by going to the healing lodges within Taloba to learn more of the craft and to help strangers with wounds. But that was not what she was planning to do today.

Instead, it was Quinneth’s lodge that Ayatah slipped into. The matriarch was incredibly lax about her family going in and out of her private rooms, so long as they didn’t take anything. And recently, it had become Ayatah’s favourite place to hide away in. It was here that the family collection of books was kept. Literacy may not have been important to their people, but since she was a girl, Aya had adored reading foreign books and learning what they could teach. Her Common was coming along nicely, and thankfully all of the books Quinneth had collected over the years were written in that language.

She settled on the floor beside the stack of books, slid onto her stomach and pulled something out from beneath the bed. It was, unsurprisingly, another book, but there was a reason it was not with the others. To start with, it was huge; about seven hundred wafer-thin pages filled with tiny text or fine diagrams. Secondly, the book was not on fictional or historical stories like the other books were. This was one titled ‘Medicine and the Races; aren’t we all the same?’.

The book had originally been belonged to a Human female that had visited the jungle to learn about the Myrian’s healing practises. But after the storm, like so many other outsiders, she was chased out of Taloba. Her book was left at the military healing lodge, and Ayatah had simply taken it. Initially, she had expected it be some stupid liberal ‘we-should-all-be-friends’ shyke that truied to break down the barriers between the different races and have everyone hold hands and be friends.

But Ayatah had been wrong. Instead, the book described the tiny biological differences between each and every race, taking one and comparing it to all the others in turn. Of course she had turned to the chapter on the Myrians first, and discovered that (somewhat unsurprisingly), it was incredibly short. In fact, it varied only little to the stereotypical ‘they’ll-eat-you-alive-before-you-say-hello’ persona that other books attached to the Jungle-dwellers.

The chapter on Eypharians however, had been much more insightful. It explained their culture, their history and why their skin was gilded (something to do with some river God and a woman, apparently). But it was the section on reproduction and pregnancy that caught Ayatah’s attention. Clearly an Eypharian male and Myrian female could reproduce, but what about a female of Eypharian blood and a Myrian male? It was this that she began to read, lips tracing each word slowly and silently.

And there, in fine black-and-white writing, was a warning to Ayatah: ’An Eypharian female would probably struggle with the mating rituals of the savage Myrians. Should she survive, however, the pregnancy is likely to be extremely hard on the Eypharian woman and her body. Miscarriage is likely, as is death of the mother during the birth. Myrian offspring are known to be difficult to birth due to their strong and broad bodies. As of yet, an Eypharian female has never successfully delivered a Myrian child where mother and baby have both survived.

She closed the book slowly, staring down at the front cover with fuzzy vision. The book was very old, that she knew. But old did not mean wrong; Quinneth was forever saying those exact words. But then again, parts of the book were clearly wrong: there were no mating rituals of the Myrians (unless Raz and her had been doing it wrong the whole time), and although she hadn’t seen a non-Myrian baby before, she couldn’t imagine her tiny cousins being so much larger than any other newborn.

”Aya! Why are you crying?”

Am I?

She started at the sound of her mother’s voice, and looked up to see Paira standing over her, mouth slack with loss words and eyes wide with worry. ”I… am just scared, mother. About what happened last season.”

Paira did not believe the lie, and crossed her arms stubbornly, ”try again, daughter. Tell me the truth. Something has changed you, and Razkar as well. You need to tell me so I can help.”

She means well, she means well… Ayatah found herself mentally repeating the words again and again as she stood up and struggled to find the words to explain herself. Paira always knew when her daughter lied, so Ayatah would simply… not lie. ”I can’t tell you, mother. But trust me. I am fine. I am healthy, and so is Raz.”

”But you have both changed, and so has your love fo-“

The look Ayatah shot her mother was enough to make the rest of the sentence die in her throat. When she spoke, her words were dipped with harsh coldness. ”No. I still love him, dearly. You do not get to question my feelings.”

The two women stared at each other, both infuriated with what the other had said. It was unheard of for a daughter to speak so out of hand to her mother, let alone in a relationship as close as Paira and Ayatah’s. Eventually, the older of the too shook her head slowly, ”you are acting more and more like your father with each passing day.”

It alarmed Ayatah just how few shykes she gave about what her mother had said. Two seasons ago and those words would have been like poison to her. But now… even such a weighted comment did not stir any extreme feelings. Instead, Ayatah glanced casually behind her shoulder to her mother as she left the lodge, ”good, because acting like my mother has gotten me here in life.”

And then she left, walking briskly through her village home and towards the city centre. She did not know where exactly she was heading, and she did not care either. So long as those hot tears stopped before she saw another living being, Ayatah was just fine. Perfectly fine.

|| Ayatah's speech || Ayatah's thoughts || Others' speech ||

[Razkar]

"I'm not telling him."

"Well, you're gonna have to, because I like my petching limbs where they are."

"Who are we talking about?"

The speed that Oxil and Zuran turned, the sudden shock and hint of fear... that told him all he needed to know. Razkar stood in the doorway to their fang's billet with his arms cross, and several others got up out of respect.

If Razkar had been in an... earlier mindset, he would have been proud of that. Only twenty-six years summers, not to mention only male, barely out of his mandatory service and he was as highly-regarded in his fang as Rehkuna was. The new recruits looked to him with a mixture of fear and awe, and he was proving every bit as merciless and pushing with his training of them.

If it was earlier. It was not, so he didn't. He ignored their respectful nods and brief salutes, dark eyes fixed and unwavering on Oxil and Zuran. The two other males were veterans, too. Oxil, especially, who'd fought alongside Razkar a dozen times, and been wounded almost as many. But...

They are not Erama, he whispered in his own mind, sudden stab of grief enveloping him, making his jaw tighten, Goddess... I could really use your counsel now, Ink Face...

They exchanged looks, apparently still debating and Razkar rolled his eyes, stepping into the room, teeth bared. After leaving Ayatah, he was in no mood for this petty shyke. His mood was mercurial and jagged enough without two males not having the sacks to just tell him something.

"I've started counting to ten in my head. Neither of you speak by the time I get there, I'll-"

"They're bringing in a new Fang Leader." Oxil blurted out, adding with a tiny wince. "A female. She'll be arriving sometime this afternoon."

The male blinked a few times, and was aware of a short, nasty war in his own mind. Part of him was outraged, insulted that after all he had done, still Command had not recognized his abilities. For all his accomplishments, he was still just a male, and replaced without consult or regard. He should have been angry. Furious. But he was not.

Well, he was. But not at Command.

"... that's it?"

"Well, we, ah, thought that-"

"I would be offended?" Razkar took a step forward and Oxil swallowed heavily, knowing that low, venomous tone of old. "Why? Because my temporary command of the fang will end? Do you honestly think I give a Tskanna's cock about that shyke right now?"

Razkar had to hand it to Zuran, he was loyal to Oxil. The two of them had gotten closer while he, Rehkuna, Tinnok and the rest had been fighting the Dhani. They had done as their slain leader commanded, too: re-trained and re-formed the fang. Petch, there was little for Razkar to do when he returned, they'd done such a good job. And now the taller male took a step closer to his friend, tone placating.

"Look, Raz, we just didn't want-"

"Want what?" Raz's head snapped to him and his words were just as quick and aggressive, stalling Zuran's words instantly. "Want me to get angry?"

"We thought you would."

He was silent. Part of Oxil would have preferred shouting. You knew where you stood with that, and it was a visible storm you could hunker down and weather. But silence... silence was tension in its purest form, just waiting for an explosion. It was a simmering volcano, a distant storm cloud, the hush of the jungle when a predator glided through it...

Silence. That was all they got from Razkar.

"When?"

One word, like a branch snapping, almost making them flinch.

"Um... fifteenth bell."

"Have the fang ready. Training until them, as always. Choose six to help out with The Sightless. Any more word about when we're back on patrol?"

Oxil swallowed again. He asked that question every day, and every day he got the same answer. "No, Raz, nothing yet. Same orders: maintain, train, give aid to the-"

"Yes, yes, yes, The Sightless, the guards," Raz spat the words now, and the recruits were more stunned by his fury at this... minor issue than with the idea he was being replaced. His face was contorted in frustrated, snarling anger. "The security of the city, but Goddess forbid we actually go out there and stop those threats before they get here."

"Raz, Command's orders are-"

"-what they are." Razkar spun and unsheathed his weapons, tossing them onto the table with a clatter that made everyone on the room jump. He snatched up a pair of practice weapons and his eyes trapped two open-mouthed recruits. "You two? Follow me."

"S-Sir-?"

"Training Yards." Razkar said without turning around, feeling the violent frustration roiling inside him. "Now."

He stalked away. He did not think of Ayatah, but... he was aware that he wasn't. She'd become almost irrelev-

The male lashed out at the doorway and nearly broke the training gladius, sharp crack of wood on wood shocking the two recruits into movement even before he bellowed: "MOVE!"

The anger would not go away. The pain and the fury and the grief and sorrow that fueled it. He knew only one way to bleed it out...

[Ayatah]

There was something strangely relaxing about the screams of dying men. It was hard for a person to think when standing amongst such sounds, and there was absolutely no time to stop and feel… well, anything. It was completely terrifying, but exhilarating at the same time. And so it was the healer’s lodge that Ayatah arrived at, out of breath and furious and hurt.

But she left those emotions at the door as she bustled inside. The place had become something of a haven for her recently, despite the lingering smell of death. She saved lives here (or at least tried to), and best of all: it gave her something to do.

”Thank Myri! Aya, I was just praying that you’d show up!”

Saiete was an aged healer, but she had managed the military healing lodge successfully for the last thirty years without any trouble. Since the storm, however, the medic’s staion had been overrun with dying men and women. Dhani attacks were common, and if it was not the snake-people, it was the fauna or flora of the jungle itself. A few weeks ago, a warrior came to the lodge complaining over stomach pains. He had eaten a handful of Qallos fruit, but as they were not poisonous to the Myrians, nothing was thought of it initially. He died mere bells later; one of many individuals to lose their life to the jungle that had previously been their comforting and familiar home.

”I’ve told you before that I’m a prayer come true, Saiete. You just didn’t believe me.”

”Well, call me a convert. You know what to do.”

She certainly did, and Ayatah was happy to get moving. The healer’s lodge was a narrow building, with a row of ten beds running down each wall. At the far end of the lodge were the tools, dressing and poultices Ayatah and the other medics used. It was here that she stopped at first, to collect some essentials she would undoubtedly need; bandages and water.

There was no rule regarding whom Ayatah should see to first, so she chose the patient she was most familiar with.

”Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” The lad was barely out of his teens; still with that fresh-faced look, regardless of the fact he was spending his second week in the healer’s. He had been one of the last recruits to join the military before the djed storm, and despite having not completed his training, one day he joined his comrades on a patrol to make up for missing numbers. Fortunately, Ayatah had been on the same patrol, so when a Dhani arrow shot him in the stomach, she managed to keep him alive just long enough to get him to Taloba.

”I’m still amazed to see you alive, Gunser.”

”And so good looking, too? I know, I know. I’m remarkable.”

Aah, youth.

”And so modest. How have you been feeling?” She pulled back the fur blanket that covered her friend to reveal a tightly wound blanket around his torso. There was very little blood staining the bandage itself, but Ayatah did not want to count her blessings too prematurely. Sometimes, she knew, the bleeding happened within the body. In those cases, death was usually inevitable.

Gunser had been incredibly lucky that the Dhani who shot him had poor aim and a weak arm. Had the arrow been a few inches higher, his right kidney would have been destroyed, and any deeper and he would have died of blood loss. Still, he was far from peak health. The arrow had been tipped with a mild poison, which had activated a horrid fever and hallucinations. Then the wound had gotten infected, and Gunser spent much of his first week under Ayatah’s care in a critical condition. More than once, he was assumed to be a goner - but the young man seemed to be incredibly stubborn to stay alive.

”You should be able to go home soon,” she promised as the bandage was pulled away from his soft and red flesh. Gunser winced dramatically, but Ayatah shot him an unamused look and his overacting ceased, ”it’s healing well, but I know Saiete was worried in case your organs started to bleed.” She did not know the proper medical terminology for such a condition, but Ayatah had been there when Saiete had plucked the arrowhead out of Gunser’s pink insides. There had been so much blood that the healer had not closed the wound immediately for fear that he would drown in his own internal bleeding.

”Don’t kid yourself, Aya. You’re keeping me in here ‘cause you’ll miss me otherwise.”

”Well, that goes without saying.” he was the longest-lasting patient that Ayatah had met, and she certainly enjoyed the young man’s company. He was witty, lively and so excited for life: a stark contrast to her own current mentality. And even better, they shared no mutual friends or acquaintances, so anything they discussed was mutually secret. ”But when you are released from this place, you have to promise me to not go on any more patrols for a while. At least not without me to hold your hand.”

”Is that a threat, or a promise?”

That question was not dignified with an answer, but she did begin to clean his wound. Light-hearted conversation was the perfect mental distraction, and Ayatah delighted in the thought of helping complete and utter strangers return back to their families. ”Your training hours will be limited as well. No more than a bell a day, and you must stop if you get any pain.” She dabbed the red skin with dark moss dipped in cold water. Gunser barely moved, but she noticed that his knuckles were turning white from gripping his bedskins. ”I’ll give you something for the pain for now.” She murmured, leaning forwards and wrapping a roll of bandage around his stomach. When she had done, she placed a light hand on the lad’s forearm and stood.

With one patient seen to, Ayatah looked down the length of the lodge. There was another healer helping Saiete, so the likelihood was that Ayatah would be done within a bell or so, unless of course a sudden casualty arrived.

And then I will have to find another distraction.

|| Ayatah's speech || Ayatah's thoughts || Others' speech ||

[Razkar]

He wanted them to hurt him. He denied the impulse and battered it down until it was barely there, but he wanted the pain. Anything on the outside to dull that which was gnawing at his insides.

Unfortunately for Razkar, they just weren't that good enough yet.

Not that the stocky recruits didn't get a few good blows in. Each one held a wooden practice sword and knew how to use it; even more than that, he commanded they both come at him at the same time. Uxera and Berniz exchanged a look that seemed to scream "are we really working for a maniac?" and Razkar just growled at them again.

"Do not make your commander tell you something twice, children."

They don't want to. He can see that clear enough. They both were honored to be chosen for the fang of Rehkuna, knowing her to be a great fallen warrior. Razkar was known to them, too, a vicious and cunning fighter, or so they'd heard. But they had not expected this...

But orders were orders, and they came at him smart, from both sides.

Razkar's soul roared, his lips growled, and his arms jerked.

The two training swords slammed into his wooden gladii at roughly the same time, shattering impact jerking and spasming down his arms. Before the shuddering had even stopped he pivoted to his left, slicing down at Uxera's leg. The boy tried to back up but was just a tad too slow, shin bruised by the blow, making him stagger.

Berniz was already moving, though, and Razkar approved-

-even when he mirrored his blow, pulling back from Razkar's gladius and hammering down towards Razkar's leg, striking his thigh-

-only for his eyes to widen in horror as Razkar just grunted in pain but did not yield, right gladius cocking back and thrusting towards his chest-

-stabbing into his breastbone and driving him back, choking, ripping the air from his lungs.

It had been moments. Blinks of a lazy eye. But Razkar was far from satisfied.

"You weren't bad-" he pointed one of his practice sticks at a panting Berniz, already straightening up "-because you reacted quickly. You adapted, and took advantage of my turned back. But you-" his head snapped around to a slightly-limping Uxera, gritting his teeth and approaching from the other side, sword held in both hands "-don't hesitate. Don't give up just because your first blow doesn't land. Kick, punch, pull back and try again, but don't stop-"

He led by example, striing forwards and lashing out with his right. Even wounded, Uxera was quick, sword jerking up and stopping the blow above his head-

-and Razkar's left-hand gladius was already thrusting towards his gut, slamming into it, doubling him over... but he stayed on his feet.

"See what I mean?" Uxera, amazingly enough, managed to nod, sputtering but staying uptraight. Razkar nodded slowly. "You're a tough lettle shyke, I'll give you that."

But that was all Uxera would get. He whirled on Berniz, one with colder eyes and steadier hands than the other boy. The older male grinned savagely, feeling a delicious rush of sadism brimming inside him. The challenge in the Berniz's eyes was unmistakable.

"You were better. You know to react, to keep going-"

He lunged forward, coming high on the right, and Berniz blocked it as he knew his would-

-lashed out with his right foot and caught Razkar in the stomach. A black flower of pain blossomed in his guts, but did not double him over.

Which was good, because Berniz lashed down again with his practice sword, only to have it knocked aside by Razkar's left gladius, opening up his chest-

-he tries to kick out again-

-and screamed as Razkar's right gladius smashed into his shin, hobbling him, making him hop-

-and Razkar finished him with a snarl and a diagonal thrust straight to his breastbone, knocking him back and off his feet.

Shifting sand behind him, running feet, a flickering shadow-

-he whirled just as Uxera's sword came arcing down towards his head, right gladius barely stopping it, boy's eyes going from angry to terrified in an instant-

Feeding him. Gorging him. Even through the pain he saw slitted eyes instead of dark Myrian ones, and imagined it was them, all of them, everything that was not here, at that moment, that he could not kill and deserved to die-

-and slammed his left gladius into the stocky kid's crotch.

"For Myri's sake, enough!"

Razkar was already on his feet with his wooden weapon raised, lips curled back from his teeth in fury, eyes shining. Uxera was on his back and gasping, changing color. His eyes were already streaming tears and he was trying to vomit but filing, no breath left in his lungs to fuel the process.

Razkar's head snapped to the arch to the Training Yard, saw the tall, wide form of Oxil standing there with shocked disgust on his face. This is not training, his gaze screamed. This is sadism. It was only after a few blinks that he realized there were whzzing, soft words bubbling up from Uxera.

"Please... Stop..."

Razkar turned back to the boy with a snarl, gladius raised again... but Uxera's eyes did not waver, moist and agonized as they were.

"... please stop... hurting my brother..."

Whatever savage joy there was in Razkar's chest turned to bitterness, as quick as a vase is turned to powder by a hammer. Inch by inch, Oxil saw the gladius lower, dawning horror rising on his friend's face. He marchd across the sand, sparing a quick glance at Berniz, who was trying to get to his knees, bruise the size of a melon already spreading between his pectorals.

"You!" He barked, voice now used to authority after leading the fang in Rehkuna and Razkar's absence. "Infirmary, now! Take your brother with you!"

"I... I didn't know."

"You never petching asked!" Oxil hauled up the gasping Uxera with one hand, displaying that vast strength that so many assumed was just layers of fat. One jerk was enough to life the two hundred pound male upright, Berniz hobbling over to support him. "You two, leave, now! I'll be checking on you in an hour."

"Sir, we-"

"Now!"

Razkar watched them go, but could not raise his eyes enough to meet their looks. Soon it was only the two of them, the red-colored sands silent save for their breathing. He could feel Oxil's disgusted gaze bore into him... and knew he deserved it.

Still, when a massive, ham-like fist slammed into his jaw and knocked him down, he never saw it coming.

Razkar blinked... after a while. He must have blacked out for a while. But Oxil stayed around for long enough to be seen by his fallen friend, swimming back into focus bit by bit until he could make out his outraged features and a warning finger aimed his way.

"I know you've suffered, Raz, but don't you ever take it out on the fang!"

He didn't say anymore. Razkar wanted him to. Wanted him to vent his scorn and anger, but even Oxil... he couldn't stand to be around him. He laid on his back in the hot sand and listened to those angry steps recede. He was there... it must have been chimes... before he finally sat up and his jaw screamed at him for daring to do so.

Razkar sighed, bent over in a sitting position, no-one left to harm, or blame, or do the same to him.

[Ayatah]

The door was kicked open with such vigour and force that it swung right around and clattered against the stone wall it was set upon. The noise startled Ayatah, and the patients closest to the doors all gasped and writhed in their beds.

The figures standing in the doorway, however, were somewhat less intimating.

”Someone please help us! My brother, he --“

They were barely out of boyhood, Ayatah realised sadly, and yet they were battered and bruised as if they were seasoned warriors returning from Zinrah itself. She shared a concerned look with Saiete; were these young men the first of many to come? Had there been another Dhani attack? They were so common now, but never without at least one fatality.

”Come with me, both of you, and tell me what happened.” one of the boys was hopping on one leg, leaning against this brother for support. Both were in a bad way, but there was not enough blood for these to be battle wounds. What on Myri’s earth has happened?

It took several moments for the lads to start explaining why they were in such a condition. The one that had hopped and hobbled into the infirmary seemed the worse off, though the other appeared to be far too concerned with his genitals for Ayatah’s liking. Once they were both settled into a patient bed, the lad who later introduced himself as Uxera began to speak, ”We were training. Just… training. But my brother, Berniz got hurt pretty badly. He just kept beating him…”

When the gruesome (albeit short) tale had been told, Ayatah looked at the shaking boy in disbelief. These were desperate times, to be sure, but what good would come out of beating young recruits? There was no logic that she could fathom in what had just been described to her. Patrols desperately needed the extra hands of the recruits to help them claim back the jungle. What they did not need, however, were two perfectly healthy young men shaking in a bed needing medical care.

The startled cry of a scared brother snapped Ayatah out of her dismay. ”Why is he asleep? Is he dead?!”

Ayatah glanced up from the other boy’s bloody shin. He was, indeed, lying with his eyes closed peacefully, but she was not alarmed. ”He has simply passed out from the pain. Just as well, really.” She wiped her hands down the front of her medic’s apron, cleaning them of the sticky blood-and-sand mixture that had congealed on the boy’s kneecap. Something was confusing her: Ayatah had felt a broken limb before, but this kid’s leg felt different. It’s like the bone has just shattered in there…

She called Saiete for a second opinion, and even though the two women tried to upkeep a cheerful demeanour for the boy’s brother, as soon as the old healer grasped the leg, Ayatah knew her own gut instinct had been true.

”The bone is broken in three places that I can feel, Myri only knows where else. What beast did this?” Saiete spat on the ground. She had never been flexible-minded woman, and it was well known that she often came to blows with the military trainers over their harsh teaching techniques.

”I think his name was… Razkar? Raznar? Something like that. I can’t remember…”

Fortunately for Ayatah, she was not facing Saiete or Uxera when the boy delivered her lover’s name. But the breath caught in her throat and she closed her eyes in desperation. Oh, Raz, what’ve you done..?

”Razkar? Isn’t that the name of the young man you’ve shacked up with, Ayatah?”

She would not show her disappointment to Saiete. Even in those troubled times, her loyalties were undoubtedly to Razkar and she would have defended him even if it killed her to do so. But she would need to be careful in her heartfelt defence; she could not outright claim what had happened was not wrong, because it so clearly was. But she would not - could not - have the man she loved portrayed as some hideous monster. ”Yes, that is Razkar. He… was hit hard by the storm.”

Those words carried many meanings, and as Saiete had been the healer that had seen to Ayatah when the storm first hit, she understood what the half-breed was referring to. She did now know that Razkar was unaware of what had happened, how Ayatah had been carrying his baby one day and that it had been snatched from his womb the next. The old healer eventually nodded, though that unhappy frown still knitted her eyebrows together. The half-Eypharian placed a cautious hand on the other woman’s forearm speaking softly now, ”I will talk to him, Saiete.”

Myri knows that he will lack the body parts that make him a man if you talk to him…

Saiete was -- not happy with it, but contented with Ayatah’s offer. She turned to the fearful looking boy with kind eyes: ”There is little we can do for your brother’s leg as of now, though when he wakes we will test whether there is any muscle damage. Aya, are you okay on your own?”

When she nodded, the healer moved off and returned to her other patients. Ayatah worked silently for a moment or so, cleaning out the passed out boy’s wound before turning to the brother. ”I assume your testicles also got a beating?” The boy blinked, mouth hanging open in confusion. How should he answer such a question? ”I only ask because you haven’t stopped cradling them since you got here. Do you want me to take a look?”

He nodded minutely, and Ayatah set about her next pleasant task. There are many rules to being a medic, she had learnt, but the most important one was to never laugh at a patient’s condition. Still, as she poked and prodded the soft flesh of the young man’s genitals, she found herself smirking as he whined and yelped. ”A magnificent set, but slightly bruised and swollen.” Wiping any traces of amusement off her face, Ayatah handed the lad a bandage soaked in cool water. ”hold this against your… area and it should help. Anything else painful?”

”No, thank you….” Uxera paused, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, ”is he really your lover?”

She did not allow a single beat to pass before she answered, ”yes. He is.” The following silence was an awkward one, made more so by Ayatah’s challenging look. Finally, she sighed and shrugged, ”what happened last season has affected us all. He is a good man and a strong warrior. You will learn well from him.” The lad was not convinced, but Ayatah could say little more in defence of her beloved. So she smiled tightly and patted his shoulder, ”you can stay here until your brother wakes up. I’ll give you something for your pain in the meantime.”

She stood up and began to make her way to yet another patient. She could feel the young lad's eyes watching her, still full of questions and harsh comments, but she did her best to ignore them.

We all have our problems....

|| Ayatah's speech || Ayatah's thoughts || Others' speech ||

[Razkar]

He didn't want to go back into that room. He didn't care about the bruise covering half his face, that wasn't anything new for the Training Yards. But he knew he would walk through that doorway... and eyes would turn to him... and he knew how soldiers talked.

Oxil. Zuran. The new recruits. All eyes would turn to him... and he would see a fear and disgust and...

Disappointment. That would hurt most of all, and the fact he knew that it would be more than justified.

His steps through the Garrison were as if through a mire, and his mind did not follow them. Why had he lost control so grievously? Two recruits, like he had been only a handful of years ago, eager to serve and fight for the Goddess-Queen... and he had brutalized them. Treated them like... like... barbarians...

Razkar came to their hallways. Middle door. Right side. Home of the Fang Rehkuna... no... not her. Not anymore. Some other female. He could have walked there blindfolded, but now he wished he could somehow lose his way. There were noises coming from inside: talk, whispered or muttered. Cooking pots and sawing of meat and bones. Even a rare, grim laugh.

Face what you did.

He took a breath, clenched his jaw... and walked through the door. Silence fell over the room as quick as if every mouth in there has been sewn shut. The fang's temporary leader looked around slowly, drinking in every gaze that he attracted. The new recruits were gazing at him with fear now, already hearing about their friends. A couple of the older ones... more than jut fear. Contempt, perhaps, but carefully guarded less they provoke the monster.

Goddess... was that how they saw him now?

Zuran... there was the disappointment he had been so fearing. The older male looked up from sharpening his ax and regarded Razkar like something he'd just stepped in. Then he went back to his whetstone without a word, as if his "leader" were unworthy of further scrutiny.

Today he is right.

"Where is Oxil?"

The answer took a while coming. The recruits were scared, he could smell if on them. Afraid that any answer they could provide would unleash something Anything. Zuran sighed, knowing that it fell to him, but did not turn around.

"At the infirmary." There was no response; but then again, there did not need to be. He half-turned, still not looking at Razkar but enough to see his outline. "Said he'd be back soon. They're being taken care of."

"How bad?"

"One of them has a broken leg." A new voice said from the other doorway, cold and merciless. "The other's balls were nearly crushed. Feel better, now?"

"Oxil, I'm-"

He moved fast for one so large, and Razkar chided himself again for being among those who thought of Oxil as out-of-shape or overly-bulky. He was stronger and faster than many assumed, and, more than that, smarter. Razkar had seen him done a humble, doe-eyed mask of bear-like incomprehension before a sparring session, lumbering forward like he as unsure of himself... and then crush his opponent with lightning, precise blows from his club.

But now all masks were stripped away, and a naked fury, a protective anger that Razkar had never seen before was laid bare and an inch before his face.

"Don't you dare say it to me." Oxil all but snarled, one big arm pointing towards the door. "You want to say it? Say it to them. And then let your actions make the words real."

"H... How?"

Razkar prayed for some sympathy from his old friend, but he had gone to far to receive any. Oxil knew Raz was a fierce guy, but his devotion to Myri and discipline had always been what had made the bigger male admire him so much. Oxil always knew he would be a follower, not a leader and now... now he had to be the smart one, the one the men looked to.

And insanely enough, he hated Razkar for that.

"Work it out for your-fucking-self."

With that he turned away from his friend. Razkar started walking to the infirmary, pace increasing with every step outside the doorway. Every footfall seemed to pound and vibrate up his body, echoing in his ears. His eyes did not see the carved stone of the hallways, nor the warriors he passed on the way to the infirmary.

They were already there. Gazing on the bruised and battered flesh he had rendered. Into eyes that would...

Razkar shook his head, pressed a hand to it as if a migraine was flaring in his skull.

How the petch are you going to make this right...?

[Ayatah]

His screams sounded like an animal dying, and for a second, Ayatah feared that was how Berniz’s life would end.

He’s just a boy…

The young lad had woken up in a puzzled state, but his confusion quickly gave way to anger once he remembered where he was, and why. After that, he started to thrash about in his bed, waving his arms in the air and shouting for his brother and parents. Even when Uxera stood directly in front of him, Berniz did not seem to recognise the young man as the brother he had cried for.

Saiete restrained the young man by pinning his shoulders down, whilst Ayatah held his face still so she could talk sense into his frazzled mind. Only after that did the young lad seem to realise just how much agony he was in.

When she had first started to help at the infirmary, Ayatah was horrified to witness how men and women responded to such intense pain. She thought they just… shouted out, swore and maybe even physically lashed out. But since then, she had seen men wearing their innards as outtards, and women with missing limbs. The pain drove them to madness, so they didn’t even recognise their own children. One man was convinced that he had been captured by the Dhani, and had tried to stab himself with a shard of broken glass.

Fortunately, Berniz was not such a dire case. He was in absolute agony, though, and it took a good while before his breathing finally became regular and he lay still in his bed.

And then came the frustration and anger about his shattered leg:

”What do you mean it’s broken? How long until I can walk again, until I can train?”

But there were no clear answers to that question, and Ayatah explained as much: ”We don’t know, but you will be here for three weeks, if you’re lucky.” His future as a warrior was certainly on hold, if not indefinitely, ”if you want to speed up the healing process, then be patient and help us help you.”

Eventually, Berniz consented. He drunk water spiked with nettles to soothe his pain, and let Ayatah redress his knee. She laid cold bandages up and down his shattered leg, and also on his chest and stomach to ease the rest of his aching muscles. Soon he was shivering and complaining of being too cold, but Ayatah much preferred it to his animalistic cries.

”How are you going to fix my leg?”

”Good question.” She observed the limb carefully, eyes narrowed and head tilted slightly. It needed to be kept as still as possible, but how? Usually broken limbs were wrapped in several layers of tight bandages, to the joints could not be bent or moved without great difficulty.

Then, she had it!

”I’ll wrap poles to your leg,” she announced, clicking her fingers and an accomplished smile on her lips. The two boys stared at her with matching looks of confusion and horror, so she explained herself a little better: ”you can’t bend your leg; not if you want to use it next season. So the poles will help keep it straight, so the bone will hopefully grow quickly and… not deformed.”

”Not… deformed is good.”

Wood was not a hard thing to find, and Ayatah only had to exit the infirmary to stumble upon a huge pile of firewood. She was soon back at Berniz’s bedside, and hacking away at two wooden poles to match their length to that of his leg. It was rather a genius idea, if she admitted so herself (which she did. Several times).

She began by placing the wooden poles on top of and underneath Berniz’s leg. This caused him great discomfort, but thankfully the nettle water seemed to dampen some of the pain. Uxera held them in place whilst Ayatah wrapped several layers of dressing around the entire length of Berniz’s calf. By the time she was done, an entire roll of bandages had been used, and his leg had almost double in girth - but her handiwork looked damn good.

In fact, she had been so engrossed with her work that Ayatah did not notice what topic the two brothers were discussing until a certain name was bought up:

”What a sick bastard. He should have been locked up. I mean, who does this to new recruits?”

“He wasn’t even training us. Did you see how his eyes completely clouded over? He had no clue what he was doing. What’s his name again?”

“Razkar.”

Oh yes, that stimulated a response from Ayatah. She glanced up from her work, though initially said nothing. What could she say in defence of Raz, to the very boy that he had damaged so badly?

”He… will not have meant to be so harsh.”

That even sounds pathetic to me.

“Bernz…Look.”

The two brothers elbowed each other and fell silent. The angry confidence that had fuelled their previous words had completely diminished, and Ayatah did not need to turn around to see who had entered the infirmary.

Cold dread washed over her - but Ayatah had no clue why. What did she think Razkar would do - go crazy again? Because he wouldn’t… right? No, of course not, she realised, because that would require showing some sort of emotion around me.

She moved quickly, slipping from the bed to her feet and meeting Razkar before he reached the bed. ”I said that the storm hit you hard,” she said, without any greeting or note of affection, but instead with a sense of hushed urgency. But when she spoke again, she did so quietly, as if embarrassed that she had jumped to her lover’s defence so passionately. ”I… didn’t want anyone to think you were some monster.”

|| Ayatah's speech || Ayatah's thoughts || Others' speech ||

[Razkar]

The screaming had stopped by the time he arrived, but the chill when he entered... he could have chipped it off and cooled drinks with it. It wasn't just the brothers and their healers, too. Word had apparently spread quickly, and now patients and healers were regarding him like a dog without the restraint of a leash.

That was not the worst, though. The worst walked up to him with chocolate brown eyes and a worried expression and told him, without even speaking, that she knew everything he had done.

”I said that the storm hit you hard. I… didn’t want anyone to think you were some monster.”

The warrior breathed steady as he looked down at her... but he knew it wouldn't last. So many emotions warred within him that he feared they would tear him apart in front of him. Anger at himself, at the world, at everything he could rip apart with bare hand and bloody blade. Shame at what he ha done to the noble recruits to the army of Taloba, Children of Myri no less than himself. Sorrow... he had known sorrow. He had seen his mother butchered. He had seen friends and kin killed, die fast or slow. He had known loss, but...

"I..."

His hand rose just slightly, fingers outstretched, or trying to. She looked down and he saw a hope rising in her eyes... but he did not have the strength to grasp it.

You coward.

"... whatever aid they require, I will offer." His tone was flat, almost like some automota or golem, not a living being of flesh and blood. He flicked a glance past her shoulder at them, making eye contact for a moment before their own gazes dropped to the ground like stones. "I... It was..."

Sorry. But you hate that word, don't you? Because it means nothing. Signifies nothing. And people always say it after the travesty, as if speaking the word is a charm that makes it all fine again. But it isn't, and it won't be.

Razkar couldn't stand the turgid feelings pouring out of her eyes anymore. He roiled on his feet, feeling nauseous, all the suppressed rage and grief and sadness threatening to spill out of him in a fountain of bile and he just had to get out-

"I must go."

His hand reached for her, but did not make it. As he left the doorway, face paler and walk a little more unsteady than when he entered, she did hear one thing more... but she would swear it was not from her Raz.

"I'm sorry..."

Coward.

And then he was gone, as if he couldn't leave fast enough.