Chapter 2
Icrane my neck to observe the antics of my drolvden as they frolic around me. My pets, blissfully ignorant of the world’s troubles, tumble about in the soft blue grass. Their light grey fur stands out against the blue shrubbery as they playfully snap at each other with their razor-sharp teeth, taking care not to actually inflict harm. Not that it is easy to harm a drolv, thanks to its thick hide and even thicker fur. This extra fluff comes in handy during the bitter season, helping to keep the beasts warm against the chilling air and snow. My tribe domesticated these lovable monsters ages ago. The choice was simple: fear the beasts or befriend them. Who wouldn’t want such terrifying allies by their side?
I reminisce about the days when my drolvden almost outweighed me. But that was many seasons ago, when I was a mere youngling. It has been an age since I learned how to communicate and control my beasts.
While my drolvden appear to live in a world free of worry, I can’t quite shake my own concerns. The bitter season is quickly approaching, and having more food stored away is always better than having too little. I still remember times when the snow piled up so high that leaving the village was nearly impossible. I’ve gathered enough food for myself, but I worry about my tribe—the inexperienced younglings and the elderly who can no longer hunt. Food scarcity is a very real threat.
And so, I make the decision that today, I’ll hunt for them. My goal is simple, as it always is—hunt a beast grand enough to feed my tribe and make the offering.
Soon, my drolvden’s play becomes rough. The sole female yelps when one male bites too hard into her scruff. With fangs bared and drool dripping from her muzzle, she turns to confront the larger male.
Annoyed, I flick my tail in their direction, and all three drolvden instantly flatten their bellies to the ground, hindquarters at the ready. It is the “be prepared to move quickly and quietly” signal I’ve taught them for hunting.
It’s time to head out and actually hunt.
I rise to my feet, adjusting my belt and pouches around my hips. My tail coils around my weapon—a magnificent axe—keeping it close at hand for when duty calls.
Upon my command, my three drolvden dash ahead, their keen senses on the lookout for our next quarry. I let them choose the prey, as I’m not particularly fussy. After all, a meal’s a meal, right? I know the moment my drolvden find their target. The female looks up from the piles of leaves she is sniffing. Her whole body stiffens, and she lets out a low whine. The males hurry to her side, noses going wild at the scent she points out. The youngest, in a burst of uncontainable excitement, leaps into the air before all three dash off, leaping over logs and scrambling up inclines. We seldom hunt along the valley’s steep walls, usually sticking to the valley floor or lower hills. Occasionally, I even hunt near the river, even though it isn’t my territory. However, whatever piques their interest today is lurking along the ridge.
Curiosity sparks in me as we venture where I rarely go. The arrival of strange new beings in the area makes me cautious, and I don’t feel comfortable straying far from my cave or letting my drolvden out of sight.
In truth, I don’t even want to leave my home that day, but my furry companions won’t stop pestering me. They even snap their teeth at me, scolding me like I am one of their younglings. My increasingly cave-bound lifestyle makes them restless.
I reach the spot where the lead female has been sniffing and crouch down to examine it. The ground bears peculiar imprints, as if the creature has dozens of tiny toes forming a grid-like pattern. There is no denying that this is a track left by one of the strange beings who arrived from the skies in bizarre vehicles and never left. I’ve seen similar imprints near their village, but never this far out.
Are the strange beings the target of my drolvden’s pursuit?
What I see next makes my two hearts skip a beat before pounding erratically. A single paw-print in the muddy ground: a shreem. And judging by the size, a large adult female. This time of the cycle, shreem would be nesting and preparing to hibernate through the bitter season, making them highly territorial as they birth their young.
If I were alone, I’d hightail it out of there. But it seems the strange being has likely wandered into the shreem’s territory, completely oblivious to the perilous situation. It has happened to me before; often you don’t see the beast until it’s too late given the beast’s impeccable camouflage.
A wave of panic—an emotion I haven’t experienced in ages—surges through me. I can’t let the strange being get hurt; I know this deep in my core. And so, with a mix of curiosity, concern, and a dash of “why me?”, I set off on a rescue mission I hadn’t quite anticipated.
I sprint after my drolvden, determined not to be outrun by my four-legged friends. They may have the advantage in leg-count, but my two legs are longer and more adept at leaping over obstacles. Plus, my clawed toes are just as effective at digging into the ground as theirs. However, their head-start keeps them tantalizingly out of reach. I hear their howls echoing through the forest, signaling the thrill of the hunt. They are calling to their pack, beckoning me to join and wondering where I have scampered off to. I consider calling out, but doubt they would hear me from this distance. My body strains to go faster, my arms and legs pumping furiously. My leather satchel bounces against my thigh, and sweat dots my forehead as my two hearts race. Progress is slow since I often have to retrace my steps to find their tracks. Despite their enthusiasm, my drolvden are skilled hunters, adept at concealing their trail. I press on, determined to catch up.
When I hear the first panicked cries of the strange being, my desperation surges. That voice, filled with both rage and fear, stirs something deep within me. It has been ages since I have heard another being speak. This creature represents something I have been missing in my life, and I cannot let it down.
A chilling roar fills the air—the shreem, unmistakable and absolutely livid.
Ignoring the pain from needle trees pricking my skin, I barrel through the foliage at breakneck speed. I burst into a clearing bathed in the soft glow of the moon. I see with horror the shreem gripping the small being, its teeth tearing and tugging at limbs. Miraculously, the being moves, attempting—albeit unsuccessfully—to fight its way to freedom.
I roar at the shreem, who recoils in surprise, dropping the strange being. She is not prepared to let her prey go easily, though, and drapes her body protectively over the creature, growling menacingly at me.
With swift reflexes, my tail tosses my axe into the air and catches it, ready for battle. I lunge towards the shreem, feigning an attack, hoping to frighten her off rather than engage in a potentially gruesome showdown. Shreems can be quite the challenge, even for a seasoned hunter like myself. The safest bet is to scare her away, avoiding a grisly fight that could leave us both battered and bruised.
The shreem bares her teeth at me, trying to prove that she is more dominant and the rightful owner of her hunt. I move too slowly, and her teeth sink into my wrist.
I yelp at the sudden pain. In a flash, my drolvden encircle her, snapping at her legs with their sharp teeth. It is the distraction I need. With a heave, I throw the shreem across the clearing. She lands with a thud, quickly rolling to face me again.
I stand my ground, planting myself between her and the injured being.
“Mine,” I growl, guttural and rough. I barely recognize my own voice.
The shreem assesses the situation, eyeing me, the small being, and my pack of drolvden. She finally concedes, lowering her ears and head, and backs away. Apparently, she does not want her prey that badly.
My tension eases as the shreem slinks off, tail tucked between her legs. They are intelligent enough to know when they are outmatched. I turn my attention back to the vulnerable creature before me.
I am struck by the being’s tiny, delicate frame. Where has it come from? How can something so small survive in this world?
“Little one.” I drop to my knees, unsure how to help. My hands hover over its body. It is ironic, considering I had recently fantasized about scaring off these strange beings from my territory. Yet, now that I see one injured and helpless, something changes. Bile rises in my throat, fearing that I am too late. Worry claws at me as I gently touch the being. I find myself tenderly wiping blood from its oddly shaped face when a tingling sensation shoots through my hands. I yank them away as if stung, but the feeling intensifies, spreading up my wrists. Flipping my hands over, I gape in awe—and a touch of horror—as dark markings crawl up my arms like vines scaling a tree trunk.
It can’t be... I rub at the markings, bewildered that they don’t smudge or disappear. In shock, I stare at the swirling patterns adorning my arms. My eyes drift back to the small being, a realization dawning on me. Mate marks. This tiny creature is my mishara.
I am at a loss for how to care for her, for she must be female since my mate marks have activated. I can’t even tell if she is alive. For a heart-stopping moment, I just stare, fearing the worst. Have I found my soulmate, only to immediately lose her?
Then I see her tiny chest rise with a breath, only to fall all too quickly again. She is breathing! She is alive! But blood oozes from her wounds, and dread settles over me as I realize her life is quickly fading.
Gingerly, I cradle her in my arms. She feels impossibly small and fragile. I hold her close, vowing to protect her from everything.
I flee to the safety of my home like never before. My life has changed forever. There is no turning back.
* * *
As I sprint,I silently beg for this delicate creature to survive. I need her to make it, just as I need my next breath.
My journey is a blur, with the earth speeding by beneath my feet. I move over boulders, under trees, and splash through water. I am grateful that we are traveling down the mountainside for most of the distance and not up. Even though her weight is light, I travel much swifter without the world pushing down upon me when trying to assail a cliff.
With every jolt that my body isn’t able to absorb and deflect, she emits a faint moan. I glance at her from time to time, but she seems unconscious—at least, she isn’t lost to the pain.
I don’t feel relief when I reach my home, just a dizzying fear that I am too late. That nothing I can do will save her.
My pet drolvden approaches but senses my urgency, holding back. As I dash past, they sniff the air, detecting the unfamiliar scent of blood—hers. My mate’s. They are clueless about her significance to me.
I barrel through the wooden door. The sound of the wood shattering is loud in the quiet room. Ignoring the splinters and debris, my only concern is healing my mate.
Gently, I lay her on my fur pallet that I use for sleeping. She attempts to curl up, whimpering softly. Her sounds of distress pierce my soul. Blood continues to seep from her wounds, the metallic scent filling the room. Has she already lost too much?
Her natural fragrance reaches my nose, tainted by blood. But beneath it all, the undeniable scent of a female. It fuels my determination to nurse her back to health. I need to see her cared for.
I grab the nearest blanket and wrap it around her limbs, hoping to staunch the bleeding. Once ready, I remove the tattered clothing and wash her wounds. Water splashes everywhere, drenching the floor and nearby furs. Among her injuries are teeth marks—evidence of one wild night out.
Time seems to crawl as I frantically scavenge supplies and tools around my simple dwelling. With nimble fingers, I begin to stitch her wounds closed. Each time the needle pricks her skin, I can’t help but cringe, reminding myself that this is necessary. Without it, she will die. Still, guilt hangs over me. I would’ve happily endured the pain a hundredfold for each of her injuries if it meant saving her from this torment.
Once I’ve treated her most critical wounds, I swaddle them in clean hides soaked in a healing paste. Now all I can do is wait. Eventually, she will recover, and we can spend countless days together, unraveling each other’s mysteries. I can learn about her people and why she came here. I shake my head firmly. My mind feels clouded with the need to mate, to protect. I am getting ahead of myself. I know nothing about her or her species. As I examine her more intently, her scent tickles my nostrils. Beneath the grime, there is a subtle but delicious aroma that reminds me of warm days spent bathing in the sun amidst blooming flowers. Heavenly.
“Do you have a name?” I ask, knowing full well I will not get a response. She is already dear to me, and I don’t even know her name.
“I shall call you Nika then.” It is a fitting name since her scent reminds me so strongly of the scarlet Nika flowers that blossom around my dwelling when the weather is warm.
I ponder her origins. In all my cycles, I have never seen or heard of anyone like her. It is hard to picture such a small and delicate being surviving on this ruthless planet. Life here is relentless, gradually stripping away everything until only a husk remains. I know that better than most.
The thought of other tribes discovering her existence sends shivers down my spine. They would kill to have her for their own. Encountering a lone female in the wild is unheard of. It dawns on me that I need to shield her since she cannot defend herself. She is now another mouth to feed, another body to protect from danger.
Perhaps after she is healed, I can return her to her people. But the idea of parting ways sets my hearts racing, a cloud of panic momentarily covering my mind. Now that she is in my grasp, I do not like the idea of not seeing her again. Of letting her go. She is too valuable, I rationalize. She could answer all my questions about her species and whether they pose a threat to my own tribe.
Until I decide what to do with her, she is mine. I will see to it that nothing, ever, threatens her. Already her soft scent has permeated my home, taking over, mingling effortlessly with my own.
I try to rationalize my thoughts and my body’s reaction. It has been too long since I have been in the presence of an unmated female. To say I am a bit overwhelmed would be an understatement.
With a growl of exasperation, I occupy myself with tidying the place. Staying active helps me focus on something other than the female so fitfully sleeping nearby.
Before long, I am clean, my work area is clean... but my mate is still a disheveled sight. I can see grime on her face and body, and her hair is a bird’s nest of twigs and leaves. I yearn to run my fingers through it and feel its silken softness slide around my claws. As I chat with her, her nose crinkles, as if trying to sniff me out. Her brows furrow, and her lush lips pout. I am dying to touch those lips to see if they are as soft as they appear. But the timing is all wrong.
Seeing her hair splayed out over my blankets makes my cock harden. Would that be the sight I saw when I spilled my seed deep within her, as she clenched around me? Her red hair is such a unique coloring compared to my tribe’s black locks. It is the same hue as the Nika flowers. Yes, the name I have picked for her is perfect. She is perfect. I run my claws ever so gently through her hair. I take my time working free of the snarls and knots, careful not to pull on them and hurt her. Gathering a small bowl of warm water and cloth, I begin the task that I probably should have done earlier. Guilt assails me for being so lax with my duties, but I squash it down to focus on her needs now.
I peel the grubby furs from her small body, tossing the soiled ones aside for cleaning or disposal later. I am faced with the strange clothing she wears that covers her from neck to toe. At first, I wonder if I can salvage the clothing, but it has been ripped apart in so many places. I doubt she would want the reminder of being attacked.
As I fumble with her footwear, I recall some elders from my youth donning footwear. It takes me considerable time to unravel the laces and slip off the hefty footwear. Underneath, another layer of fabric swaddles her petite, clawless toes.
The only way I can describe her feet is cute.
Tracing a finger along the underside, she snorts in her slumber but doesn’t rouse. The soft, cushiony texture makes me put the shoes aside for cleaning. I doubt she could safely stroll outside without them, given how delicate her feet appear.
I use my claws to rip the material from ankle right up to her hips. My claws tug through delicately stitched seams with ease. It is a shame to waste such fine material, especially seeing how much work my mate had put into making her clothing. I am a little ashamed that over the cycles I haven’t bothered much with my own clothing, favoring simple pants. I haven’t even bothered wearing a vest or shirt this whole last season, favoring the feeling of sun on my bare back.
Perhaps Nika will honor me by making garments of such fine quality—far beyond my own skill. I can already envision spending days or evenings working alongside her.
I clean Nika’s legs, savoring the silkiness of her skin. I enjoy the feel of her skin beneath my fingers, tracing back and forth over it. The flesh is easy to indent, and I realize just how much thinner her skin is compared to my own. Ugly discolored marks mar her skin, showing just how easily she can be bruised.
Gently, I cradle her in my arms, swapping the sullied bedding for clean furs.
That’s when I spot the blood pooling beneath her. I curse at the sight of her wounds, still oozing despite my endeavors. Even though I close the wounds, bringing the flesh together... her injuries display no hints of healing. I have no idea how fast her species heals. From the look of it, much slower than my own.
My eyes shift across the room to a lone jar on a shelf, sticking out like a sore thumb. Its glossy container catches the light, like a beacon—a terrible, dreadful beacon.
I avert my eyes, resolute not to use that poultice. It is too dangerous. Anything but that one.
A whimper escapes my lips as I grasp that I have no choice. I am clueless about treating injuries as grave as hers. It is the only thing that might save her. Lurching to the tiny jar on the shelf, I waver for just a moment, my hand floating above the poultice. I had sworn never to use it. It is potent. It might do more harm than good. But without it, she is doomed. With it, a glint of hope shimmers.
Shaky hands clutching the metal container, I return to her side. Shutting my eyes, I press my forehead against hers. She groans in her unconscious state, her hands fluttering faintly by her side.
“Forgive me, Nika,” I say. “I do this only so you may live.”
My hands shake as I unscrew the jar’s lid. A potent odor assaults my nostrils and stings my eyes. It reeks of chemicals I haven’t smelled in cycles.
With the stench comes the rush of memories. Blood. Pain. Fear and guilt. I am swamped by them, my vision dulling around the edges. Gasping for air, the world spins around me. I push the haunting faces to the back of my mind. I don’t have time to dwell on my past. My mate needs me. I can’t waver now.
Trembling fingers apply the medicine to her wounds, making sure every inch of her skin is slathered in the gooey substance.
All the while, I whisper to her. I share all the things I yearn to do with her, the places I long to show her, and the experiences I want to share with her. I pray to any and all divine beings that she will pull through.
I pray that we will both survive, for without her I would have no reason to live.
* * *
I stay up all night,keeping a vigilant eye on Nika. Initially, I occupy myself by fixing the cave’s door, but that grows stale rather quickly.
I cradle Nika’s slumbering form in my arms. She stirs and emits a moan.
“Little one?” I ask, unsure of what I expect. Will she awaken? Need something? I just want some sort of reaction. But of course, she doesn’t. She sleeps deeply. I reassure myself that the poultice I administered to her wounds could make her drowsy, so there’s no need for panic. At least, not yet.
My two hearts pound, filling me with a fierce desire to mate. Everything is, well, firm. I have never felt this way before. My craving for this female might just be my undoing.
I can’t help but admire Nika’s soft, curvy figure, a stark contrast to my own chiseled, muscular build. Her chest rises and falls with each breath, causing the two mounds there to jiggle with the gentle motion. I groan, struggling to contain my lust. I press my sweltering forehead to the chilly ground, seeking relief. If I keep gawking, I’ll find release alright... in a way I haven’t since I was an untried youngling.
My tail thrashes about behind me, and it takes conscious effort to stop it. I haven’t felt this agitated in cycles. I have no reason to trust this strange little being who has come from the skies and invaded my territory with her tribe. Yet, without a doubt, she is my mate.
I am torn between distancing myself from her and the overwhelming urge to care for her. The need to protect, to provide, to care for her is overwhelming.
I am going mad here in the cave with her scent permeating every corner.
I could be doing more useful things, like hunting fresh meat for her. So, up I spring, only to falter at the cave’s exit. Is she safe here? What if she falls ill while I am away? What if she awakes and tries to seek help?
I remember a time when a sick hunter from my tribe had exacerbated his injuries by attempting to go about his day in a stupor. The thought makes me shudder. I have to shield Nika, even from herself.
Dashing back to her side, I grab a rope I had crafted just the day before and bind her wrists—snug enough to hold her, but not to harm her. I then tie her to a metal ring on the cave wall. Now, there’s no way Nika can wander off in a daze and injure herself.
Fearful of leaving my sick mate for too long, I sprint from the cave and race towards the mountain. My drolvden yips and pursues me, mistaking my haste for the start of another exhilarating hunt. I can’t bear to leave them behind with Nika, not before proper introductions are made. They need to sniff our mingled scents and know she is mine. I clamber up the mountain, choosing the faster yet more treacherous cliffs over the meandering paths. By the time I reach the summit, I am soaked in sweat. I’ve never hunted so chaotically before. As an experienced hunter, I know the value of patience. Patience is my middle name. I’ve stalked prey for days without sleep, yet here I am, reduced to a mere bumbling fool.
But I no longer have the desire to spend days hunting at a time. Now I have a reason to rush home. I have a mate. I have hope.
I am determined to care for her and ensure her safety. Now that I’ve finally found my other half, there is no way I’ll let her slip through my fingers.
She is mine.