Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1

~~*~~*~~

“How do you like it?”

You nod enthusiastically, bringing a smile to Pentalla’s face.

“Nice.”

Your friend is the unchallenged chief of the fire. Nobody cooks as well as she does. You would love to travel the Clan Lands, bragging to everyone about Salt Bite serving the best food. But then someone might persuade her to move away. That would mean having to manage cooking on your own. That’s too much of a risk for you.

Pentalla sits down next to you with her bowl in her hands, asking, “When is your father coming again?”

With the spoon in your mouth, you point with your fingers.

“Three days?” She spoons a portion into her own mouth, then pauses. “Wait a minute! Didn’t you tell me the same thing three days ago?”

You nod, your mouth full of root vegetables.

“If he hurries, there’ll be some leftovers.”

You shake your head indignantly and get straight up to help yourself to a second portion, accompanied by her laughter.

Your father is the chaplain of the Desert Clan and is either present in his old home of Arrowhand or in your capital, Scalding Spear. The last time a squad stopped by to pick up a load of salt, one of the soldiers told you that your father would be visiting soon. You’re looking forward to seeing him again, but you’re even more looking forward to finally playing a round of Strike with him. You grew up in Salt Bite because of your mother, and you often travel to Scalding Spear, but when you are there at the same time, your father is usually too busy to play with you in peace.

Today, I’m going to skillfully fry him, just like Pentalla did these eggs. Brilliant!

Recently, Pentalla has been trying out all kinds of dishes with eggs: stews, stir-fries, and baked goods. After duck and goose eggs, she has now come up with the idea of raiding seagull nests, of which there are quite a few in the area. She swears the type of bird makes a difference. Unfortunately, you’re no help to her because you find every single one of her dishes delicious.

“Here he comes!”

You look up, your gaze meeting the squad of soldiers from Scalding Spear streaming in through the gate, your father in their midst. They look stressed. One soldier spots a bleeding leg. You immediately put down your bowl and hurry to them.

Just as you reach the squad, the man in front says to your leader, “Those damn Snapmaws! We got around the first one, but number two appeared out of nowhere.”

So, they have gotten into a fight with machines. There are several hordes of Snapmaws living around Salt Bite. They normally don’t venture this close to the settlement. The attack must have happened a while ago.

“Were you able to finish it off?” asks Kittay, the leader of your settlement.

“Yes, the carcass is outside. We wanted to tend to the wounded first and bring the chaplain here safely.”

Kittay looks to the side, his eyes meeting yours. “Finished eating? Then you can loot.”

You grimace, and at the same moment your father pushes his way between the soldiers. He puts his hand on your shoulder, saying, “Your old man isn’t going anywhere, Red Arrow.”

Red Arrow is your nickname from an early age. First of all, red is your favorite color. If you could, you would only paint yourself red and leave out yellow and black. Secondly, you love shooting fire arrows. There’s nothing like a nice little inferno.

“Let’s go!” Kittay pulls out his weapon. “I’m coming with you.”

“Hey, I’m along, too!” Pentalla shouts from somewhere behind you.

One of the Scalding Spear soldiers joins you. The four of you head for the spot where the squad killed the Snapmaw. Luckily, you are early enough. No Scroungers have noticed the carcass yet.

You dismantle the machine in a practiced manner. The freeze sac has been destroyed, which is a real shame, but the other parts are intact.

An hour later, fully laden with your spoils, you make your way back. By the time you reach Salt Bite, your stomach is growling again.

Hopefully, you look at Pentalla, who immediately understands and sighs. “Hungry again?”

You grin. Your best friend doesn’t need words. Neither does your father, who is standing at the gate, talking to the guards and turning to you happily.

“Successful?” He kisses you on the forehead.

You make a half-heartedly dismissive gesture. You’re embarrassing, Dad! Don’t do that!

“I’ll make you a snack,” Pentalla says. “There’s not much stew left, Chaplain Jetakka. I’m sorry about that. Your daughter has eaten almost everything.”

You puff out your cheeks indignantly. Your father laughs, as does your leader, who takes your spoils from you. “I’ll bring you your share later.”

Saluting with a thanks, you take your father by the arm and retreat to your sleeping place while Pentalla heads for her cooking area.

As soon as you arrive at your place, you unfold your Strike board. A little later, you and your father are sitting opposite each other, your Strike pieces positioned on the board, trying to guess each other’s strategy.

You have missed him.

Rarely do Tenakth grow as old as your father, especially the Desert’s children, the proudest of all clans, whose members never hunch or flinch. Your parents may have gone their separate ways shortly after your birth, but you love them both, and you are grateful for the time you have left with your father.

“Hm, I guess I got you there,” he says, smirking and pulling out his Ravager to sweep your Rollerback off the board.

You love him, but sometimes he’s so unfair.

Your game is at its peak when Pentalla arrives with two steaming bowls, thrusting them into both your hands. She looks over your shoulder. “May I?”

You nod. She moves one of your figures. You see your father’s face and know immediately that she has made a mistake.

He grins. “Well, I guess that’s it.”

He then moves two of his pieces and has his seven points together.

Reproachfully, you look at Pentalla, making her laugh ashamedly. “It’s the second time I’ve cooked for you today. That makes up for it, okay?”

Good excuse.

“Thank you, Pentalla. I saw you were already done with your duty,” your father says, inviting her to join you.

“Oh, that doesn’t matter. It’s fine for you.” She complies with the invitation. “How are things in Arrowhand? Better than before?”

A shadow flits across his face, pausing you in eating.

Your friend has noticed it too and frowns, “That bad?”

Your father sighs softly. “What can I say? When Grudda joined the rebellion, around three dozen soldiers followed him. We barely have squads to go machine hunting for trading water rations. Drakka has his hands full.”

“What? He is still on duty?” Pentalla snorts. The man in question is well known in the Desert Clan. Supposedly one who is always looking for trouble.

“He’s got what it takes. Really, he’s a good guy,” your father says. “The situation has been difficult for a long time. When Grudda was still there, they used to bicker almost every day. You’d think it would be easier now that he’s gone. But the machines...”

“Can’t the commander send you squads?”

“Scalding Spear itself has lost people. Regalla’s success at the embassy has convinced many. Soldiers are migrating to her.”

“Yarra should give up her neutral stance, declare her allegiance to Hekarro, and chase the rebels out of the desert.”

“You’re one of the few who think so, Pentalla.”

“If we don’t, the rebels will infiltrate us. Simply thinking about it must drive Yarra crazy.”

“She’s suspicious, but neutrality serves our protection.”

Pentalla doesn’t look convinced. “If you say so, Chaplain. How does Drakka plan to resolve the situation?”

“There’s no real solution,” your father answers. “He hunts more and harder than usual, often going out alone a second time after returning.”

“He can’t feed the settlement on his own.”

“Trust me, he knows. If only the machines weren’t getting more and more dangerous. I can see myself hunting again soon.”

No way!

You’ve been listening to the conversation the whole time. Now you slam your half-empty bowl on the floor, drawing their attention to you. You seek out your father’s gaze and point firmly at yourself.

He stares at you in question. “What do you want, dear?”

You point at him, make a running motion with your fingers in the direction of the Strike figures, and then point at yourself again.

There is silence for a moment, then Pentalla understands your objection. Slightly shocked, she says, “You want to go to Arrowhand to help with the machine hunt?”

Your nod confirms her interpretation.

“Red Arrow, you don't have to. They’ll be fine,” your father rebuffs.

You put your hands on your hips, point at him, and shake your head decisively.

“Don’t worry about me. I didn’t become a chaplain for nothing.”

Yes, you already did your duty. I don’t want to lose you because Regalla and Grudda tore the Desert Clan in half.

You would have loved to tell him that, but your voice remains silent, as always since then. You have no choice but to repeat your gestures resolutely and then press your bowl into Pentalla’s hands.

She looks skeptical. “Will Drakka even accept your help?”

You shrug, nodding to your father.

“True. He’d be stupid to turn down the chaplain’s daughter if she wants to help.”

Your father is visibly unhappy with your decision, but he knows that arguing with you is futile. Muteness or not, you are your mother’s daughter, and you are from the Desert Clan. The decision has long since been made.

Pentalla collects your father’s bowl and stands up. She says, “I’m going to the sink, and then to bed. It’s been a long day. I’ll see you tomorrow. Good night to you too, Chaplain.”

“Good night, Pentalla.”

Your friend leaves your tent. Your father waits until she is out of earshot before he starts another try to persuade you, “You don’t have to do that.”

He immediately gets silenced by your angry glance. With your nose held high, you collect the Strike pieces and put them on the board.

Playtime lasts late into the night.

~~*~~*~~

A few days later, you have left Salt Bite and reached Scalding Spear. You will rest here tonight to fill up your supplies. Upon leaving, you encountered the second Snapmaw the squad had told you about, so the first thing you do now is seek out the merchants to exchange your loot.

Commander Yarra is absent due to duty. She also hails from Salt Bite and is the pride and joy of the settlement. Some say she herself is a lump of salt that you bite on if you mess with her. You fondly remember the times you hunted with your squad. It’s not the same without her, so you visit her as often as you can.

You spend the time until her return making new fire arrows while watching a practice duel in the melee pit. The heat is scorching, and you can hear the Tenakth grumbling about the temperature from all sides. Water is scarce in the desert. Yours comes from the so-called Wound in Scalding Spear, and you also eat cactus figs. You still have one in your mouth as the guards at the entrance salute. Then the commander’s squad streams in.

Yarra looks tired.

She’d never admit it if someone asked her; she’d much rather headbutt them. However, she walks straight past the crowd and up the ramps to the command center without noticing your father or you. She’s definitely frazzled.

He gives you a knowing look. “You go first.”

Surely, he doesn’t know everything about you two, but he’s right about it now. When Yarra is in a bad mood, it’s like throwing rocks at a Behemoth: You could get trampled down in an instance. It takes skills to handle her in those moments. No wonder he leaves it to you.

You push your way between the Tenakth, who turn their attention back to the duel, and follow Yarra. The command center offers a wonderful overview of Scalding Spear, as it is built higher than all the other places.

“Long time no see,” says Maxx, one of the guards at the entrance. You used to be in the same squad, if only briefly, because he accompanied Yarra to Scalding Spear, and you had to stay behind due to your age.

You pat him on the shoulder, nodding to Nivvika, the other guard. Practically every one of them knows you. Following, you enter the commander’s area.

Yarra keeps a pet vulture. Its perch is empty; it has flown out. She stands next to the perch, however. Not close enough to the edge of the platform to be seen from below, but close enough to let her gaze wander over her settlement. She is so lost in thought that she doesn’t hear you come in.

You walk over, making yourself heard with a firm kick on the ground. She immediately wheels around, a knife in her hand, ready to strike. When she recognizes you, she puts the knife away.

“I almost stabbed you.”

She has become more suspicious, more frightened, as you can see not only from her reaction but also from the increased number of guards in the settlement. You noticed the extra soldiers, especially around the water source, as soon as you arrived.

With an apologetic smile on your lips, you lean forward and hug her. Yarra has always had an upright posture, but now she is as tense as the string of a sharpshooter’s bow. You have to hold the hug for a while until she relaxes and puts her arms around you too.

“Your visit is a surprise.”

She is smaller than you. Her arms tremble, and you are overcome by a guilty conscience. She’s much worse off than she wants to admit. You haven’t been in Scalding Spear for too long. Slowly, you run your hand over her back, where the armor reveals her body. She has lost weight. After the water, is the food dwindling too? The Desert Clan knows how to deal with scarce resources, but this would be a disaster. You can’t live on sand and sun.

You hear footsteps on the ramp and the saluting of the guards. You release the embrace. A few blinks later, your father joins you and greets the commander. Yarra has put on her aloof mask as she returns the greeting.

“What brings you back to me so soon, Chaplain?”

She asks with a strangely skeptical undertone that makes you prick up your ears. When did she start talking to him like that? Why? Has something happened?

“Oh, actually, we’re just resting before we travel on to Arrowhand,” he replies.

She frowns. “We?”

“My daughter is with me. She wants to help with the machine hunt in Arrowhand.”

Yarra spins around if stung by a scorpion to now face you. “You can’t be serious!”

Her furious reaction surprises you, which is why you just stand there looking at her, puzzled.

“You want to help Drakka? He’ll laugh at you, no, take advantage of you,” she hisses, shaking her head. “That’s a waste of time. Arrowhand needs another leader. That’s the only way things get under control.”

Your father disagrees, “The Tenakth from the settlement wanted him. He had no challengers.”

“Then they’ve chosen doom.”

Normally, the change of leader would have been decided by a fight, but with your clan’s difficult situation, any unnecessary fight is to be avoided. No one would point it out loud, but everyone knows it. That is why you are so neutral towards the rebels. So, the fact that Drakka has risen to become the new leader of the settlement without a challenger can be both a happy coincidence and a difficulty.

You place your hand on Yarra’s shoulder, feeling her trembling with anger, and squeeze lightly. Your smile at least smoothes the wrinkles on her forehead but doesn’t flush the venom from her eyes. Until now, you had no idea that she knew Drakka closely enough to have such a problem with him. According to the talk among soldiers, Drakka seems to have fallen out with many in the clan. Maybe she’ll tell you about it later.

“Well then, let’s replenish the supplies. I’ll have to stop by the seamstress. Good evening, Commander,” says your father and bids Yarra farewell with a salute. It’s an excuse. His armor is fine. He probably wants to give you two more time on your own.

Yarra waits until he’s gone before slamming her fist against the wooden wall, letting out an angry exclamation. “Blood of the Ten! Do you really want to go to Arrowhand? Drakka is an imposition.”

It’s less about the settlement. It’s more about my father, you think, but you don’t know how to explain to Yarra now that your father is no longer present. Therefore, you just put your hand over your heart and step closer. You want to hug her again, as you’ve been disturbed, but Yarra moves to the side, keeping you at a distance.

That puzzles you. What’s going on? The last time you visited her, about six weeks ago, she reacted so strangely, too. You look at her in question.

“I’m not in the mood for this.”

She’s angry with me. You point at yourself and then down the ramp. The question is clear: Should I go?

Yarra steps past you. “Yes, leave! Before I say something I’ll regret later. Come by tomorrow!”

Her rejection hurts you. After all, you haven’t seen each other for a while, but everything about her screams that she needs rest to find herself again. So, you swallow the pain, give her a smile, and turn around.

You leave the command center. Back down in the merchant area of the settlement, you actually find your father approaching, but he seems to be chatting rather than trading. He notices you, ends the conversation, and meets you halfway.

“Finished already?”

You shrug your shoulders and point over to the cooking area.

“Alright, let’s eat something.”

The meals in Scalding Spear are miles worse than Pentalla’s, but when you’re hungry, you can force yourself to eat even the most disgusting porridge. For a while you eat in silence, until your father speaks up, “Is she mad because you’re going to Arrowhand?”

You point your thumb upwards.

“She and Drakka can’t stand each other.” Your father pokes at his food. “He’s ambitious and stubborn; she’s stubborn and dislikes critics. Things have to calm down soon, or it will end in disaster.”

I’ll do my best, you promise him in your mind, squeezing his arm for a moment before turning your attention back to your meal. Afterwards, you return to his hut and play another round of Strike.

As night falls, the cold sets in. During the day, when the sun is in the sky, it is unbearably hot in the desert, but as soon as the moon rises, a chill settles over you that rivals the Sky Clan’s territory. You wait until you hear your father’s regular snores before you steal out of his hut and sneak up the ramp to the command center.

Maxx is still on duty and stops you. “She’s sleeping.”

You look at him as evilly as possible.

“She’ll be mad if you wake her up.”

A confident shake of your head follows, after which you push past his spear with determination. You hear him sigh and pray to the Ten that the commander won’t blame him for disturbing the peace.

She won’t.

A heavy leather curtain separates Yarra’s personal quarters from the rest of the command center. You tiptoe over, slipping past the curtain. She lies facing you and opens her eyes abruptly as your shadow falls on her.

“I said tomorrow.”

No way, you think, kneeling down and crawling under her fur. You lie nose to nose, staring at each other silently for a long time.

Finally, Yarra says, “I’m bloody angry with you. Arrowhand is the last place I want to see you at.”

You raise your eyebrows.

“Drakka acts like an idiot, but he’s by no means a stupid bully.” Her gaze is serious. “He’s risen to a settlement leader now, all thanks to the rebels, and his ambition knows no bounds. He’ll use every chance he gets to go after my life, and he’ll use you to do it.”

You don’t know this Drakka personally. At least you don’t remember meeting him. If you’ve ever seen each other, you must have still been a child visiting your father. But he’d definitely be dead-mutty-stupid to want to be a commander if he can’t even handle the situation in Arrowhand on his own. Aside from the fact that your friend is an excellent warrior and would stomp him into the ground.

“Keep an eye on him for me.”

Does she want you to spy for her?

“Don't look like that! You owe me. You in Arrowhand... That’s a betrayal of Salt Bite. Do you realize that?”

Your clan’s situation must be much worse than you figured if she’s accusing you of betrayal.

You answer with a nod, pointing to your eyes. You will observe this Drakka guy. No problem. He won’t pay much attention to you anyway. Being the chaplain’s daughter has many disadvantages, but also advantages.

For the first time since you arrived, Yarra smiles at you. “If he’s planning a conspiracy, he won’t stand a chance against you clever Slitherfang.”

Slitherfang, that’s what many people think of you thanks to your tattoos, but only she calls you that, is allowed to call you that.

You try pressing your nose against hers, but she avoids it.

“Thanks, I don’t feel like it.”

After the long time you haven’t seen each other, she disappoints you. You long for her closeness, for a hug, for her hands on your skin. But you are obviously alone with this longing.

It hurts. She was so dismissive the last time you saw her. What’s bothering her that she doesn’t want to talk to you about? She’s always trusted you; you’ve never let her down. What’s going on here?

Disappointed, you leave her quarters. Maxx visibly breathes a sigh of relief when you reach him.

“Is she going to behead me?” he asks jokingly.

Considering the fact that Yarra actually decapitated someone in a duel a while ago, you feel sick to your stomach.

You ignore Maxx and return to your father’s hut. Although you make an effort to be quiet, he opens his eyes.

“Were you out?”

You apologize with the usual gesture, slipping under your chilled fur, turning your back to him.

What is wrong with Yarra?

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

~~*~~*~~

Maybe it's because Arrowhand is further south in the desert than Scalding Spear, but the heat seems even more unbearable than in your capital. Perhaps it's also due to the scarce water ration you took with you on your departure and have since emptied. When you finally reach Arrowhand, you are relieved.

Curiosity mingles with the relief. It's been more than ten years since you last visited your father's home. He used to come to Salt Bite, or you met up in Scalding Spear. It was easier for you to say goodbye this time than usual. In the morning, Yarra's mood had been just as bad as the night before. It was hard to stand her.

“Chaplain Jetakka! Who is accompanying you?” asks the first Tenakth you come across at the entrance gate.

“Don't you recognize her, Tekka? That's my daughter,” he answers proudly.

A tour of the settlement follows, during which he introduces you to pretty much everyone, and you make a lot of acquaintances whose names you immediately forget.

The last acquaintance is the most important: the cook Tevvoz. While he and your father are talking, you inspect the food. Unfortunately, the selection is limited. Roasted scorpions make up the majority, a single pig roasting over a fire pit. You doubt there is enough food for the entire settlement, but perhaps most of them have already eaten. The sun has passed its high point for quite a while.

You turn to the conversation just as your father asks, “Is Drakka still hunting?”

“Still? Again,” Tevvoz replies. “The heart rate has been lousy for the past week.”

“How many squads are out?”

“Three.”

“Too few.” Your father looks to you. “Maybe it's a good thing you came along, after all.”

The cook's eyes widen. “You came here from Salt Bite to hunt for us?”

A nod on your part follows.

“Your daughter is an honorable woman, Chaplain.”

“She is, and an excellent hunter too.”

You feel yourself blush at his praise, and you avert your eyes so Tevvoz doesn't see. Normally flattery passes you by, but when your father praises you, your body reacts as if you've been transported back in time some twenty years.

He takes you to his quarters, where you unpack your stuff. You must wait for the leader to arrive. During the time in between, you ask your father for the saying you did not really get. It takes four attempts of gesturing before he understands what is on your mind.

“What the heart rate is?” He sighs softly. “Arrowhand trades machine hearts for water like Salt Bite trades salt. The more hearts, the more water they get. Recently, the machines have become more difficult to hunt, so the heart rate is falling, and, as a result, everyone has to make do with a steadily decreasing amount of water. Yarra has also increased the prices.”

Even less water? Everyone here looks like they've been thirsty all day anyway. And why has Yarra raised the prices? Why does she need so many machine hearts? It doesn't make any sense.

“Don't let this get you down! Drakka will be glad of your help.” Out of nowhere, your father conjures up his Strike board. “Since we have to wait, shall we play a game?”

You immediately get into it and grin. If you want to lose ...

Your fight is good. You needed the games in Salt Bite to remember his tricks. Now he doesn't sweep your pieces off the field so easily. Two games later, each of you having won one, you are interrupted by the herbalist, who wants to speak to your father in private.

You decide to visit the settlement's viewing platforms during this time to get an idea of the surroundings. You are standing there when a squad of five returns from the hunt. One of them is walking a little ahead of the others with his head held high, his armor adorned with a plethora of spikes, making him stand out clearly from the rest.

That must be Drakka.

Suddenly you understand why Yarra asked you to keep an eye on him. He is confident as he walks in front of his squad. Tall and broad-shouldered, he has a certain aura about him. His purposeful gait leads him to the herbalist's area, who is still with your father.

You leave the viewing area and hurry after him. Therefore, you hear him curse when he finds the place empty. “By the Ten! Always when you need him.”

He turns around with a flourish and takes a big step forward that you weren't expecting. You fail to slow down in time, hence crashing into each other.

“Watch out!” he shouts at you. His mood is close to a Scrounger who has been chased off his scrap heap. The squad was probably unsuccessful.

You point to the herbalist's stand and upstairs to your father's quarters. He doesn't get it, so you repeat the gesture and then use your hands to imitate two talking mouths.

“Jetakka is back?” Drakka's face brightens. “Good, thank you. I ... Uh, wait a minute! Who are you anyway?”

Great! How are you supposed to introduce yourself? In an attempt, you point upwards again.

“Okettoh is upstairs, yes, but that doesn't answer my question.”

His tone has changed. He sounds suspicious. Not a good sign. You look around for someone who can help you, but the other Tenakth are too busy to pay attention.

Before you know it, Drakka is suddenly standing right in front of you. You are taller than most women, but he towers over you. His left hand grabs you by the shoulder and pushes you back against the post of the roof. His right hand slides to the hilt of his weapon.

He growls, “Are you sniffing around? Did Regalla send you?”

You shake your head resolutely. Yarra's order is one thing, but you certainly don't do business with the rebels.

“You expect me to believe that? Tell me your name first!” There's a click on his weapon belt.

“Stop, Drakka!”

Rarely have you been so relieved to hear your father's voice. Drakka lets go of you as the elder man joins you with the herbalist in tow. A dull ache lingers on your shoulder.

Your father calls your name and adds, “That's my daughter.”

“Your daughter?” Drakka repeats incredulously, looking back at you. ”Why didn't you just say so?”

“She's unable to speak.”

For the first time today, your father says it out loud. Either the other Tenakth in Arrowhand know or they just thought you were shy. At least, no one had asked why you weren't talking before. Now the truth has come out.

Drakka keeps staring at you. “Mute? Have you always been?”

“Since the Red Raids.”

This is the moment you break eye contact with Drakka. You look to the side and are grateful when he doesn't comment, but changing the subject, “Okettoh, my squad needs you. Ukktah is wounded.”

“Coming!”

You hear footsteps moving away and keep your eyes firmly fixed on the ground. Then Drakka asks your father, “Did you bring your daughter here for a reason? No offense, but we're barely getting by on water anyway.”

“She's an excellent hunter. She wants to help you.”

“Helping? Me?” Anger resonates in his voice. “I don't need any help! I've got enough to do keeping our squads from dying in the hunt. The machines are getting worse every day.”

“She's really excellent with the bow, the sling, the spike thrower, everything really,” your father says. “The Carja may have taken her voice, but her fighting skills are second to none.”

“Oh yeah? She can't even look at me.”

Unfortunately, he has hit the nail on the head. You force yourself to raise your glance and look him in the eye. The announcement that you want to help with the hunt has definitely offended him. He seems like he's about to broil you.

Maybe Pentalla was right.

“She's here of her own free will. Yarra allowed her to come by,” your father says. What made him say those words is a mystery to you, and it's also a huge mistake. Whatever Drakka thought of you a moment ago, the commander’s mentioning destroys the last bit of hope.

“Oh, did Yarra? How about sending water instead of a spy?” He spits on the ground in front of you.

Your stomach begins to churn. It's one thing that he doesn't want you here, but he won't allow himself to talk about the commander in that tone with you. In a premonition, your father wants to step between you, but you're quicker and build yourself up in front of Drakka. Your chest bumps against his. The storm between your eyes rivals any petrel.

“What? You got a problem?” he barks.

You lick your lips. His eyes widen, and his grip slips to his weapon again.

Your father pushes his way between you. “Stop it! Drakka, my daughter has come to help you. Don't be a fool! Accept! And you,” he looks at you, ”back off! The situation is difficult, I warned you. Drakka doesn't mean it personally. He's trying to protect his people.”

You're pretty sure Drakka means everything personally. Everyone in Scalding Spear knows about your friendship with Yarra, which even her rank as commander doesn't detract from. Surely Drakka knows as well. He'll see you as a spy no matter what, and he's not even wrong, because she ordered you to keep an eye on him.

“If you really want to help,” Drakka looks down at you, ”prove it! We couldn't get hold of a single machine heart today. Bring me one by tomorrow morning!”

“It's getting dark,” your father objects.

You grab him by the arm and pull him back. A determined nod on your part seals the deal. You will bring Drakka a machine heart and prove your skills to him.

You won’t spit on the ground in front of me ever again ...

~~*~~*~~

Several incredulous looks follow you as you leave the settlement at dusk. You observed the surroundings from the viewing area for a while until you noticed a horde of machines in a small ravine in the distance. You couldn't quite make them out; they were either Fanghorns or Lancehorns. It doesn't matter. You'll get to a machine heart either way.

Sand and stones crunch under your feet as you run. When you get close enough, you recognize the herd as Fanghorns. No fire advantage here, but it doesn't matter. You are skilled enough to slay the machines without your favored element.

As there are hardly any plants in the desert that you can use for stealth techniques, you look for a nearby rocky outcrop and climb it. There, you pull your sharpshooting bow from your back. Actually, the deal consists of a single heart, but you feel sorry for Arrowhand; the situation is disastrous. So, you decide to kill the whole herd. Not all machine hearts will be intact after a battle anyway. Better safe than sorry. And last but not least, you'd be taking Drakka to the cleaners after his squad didn't succeed today.

You put an arrow in your bow, pull the sights taut, and aim at the Fanghorn closest to you. Tingles in your stomach. You were born to hunt.

The arrow whizzes through the air and hits the Fanghorn in the back, releasing a blaze canister and sending the machine tumbling. The second shot follows while it is still lying on the ground, stripping another canister. The machine's scream startles the others, who immediately take flight and dust off in all directions. The third arrow hits your prey in the eye, finishing it off.

Number one - check!

Reaching into your quiver, you count your precision arrows. If you keep up your previous quota, you will manage two more Fanghorns from a distance before you have to get closer to shoot with hunter arrows. Fanghorns are sensitive to frost, an element you hardly ever use. You only have a single one of this type with you, but well, you're too far away from the machines for your hunter's bow anyway.

The startled machines gradually venture back to the scene. One of them stalks towards the carcass to inspect it. No doubt they know something is wrong. Their eyes are glowing yellowish, but none of them has spotted you on the ledge yet.

You wait until the eye of the death-defying one changes color from yellow to blue before firing the next shot. Once again, you land a direct hit, severing the resource container from its back, and something else flies off too. As you are about to insert the next arrow, you suddenly hear a howl that doesn't belong to your current prey.

A shiver runs down your spine. You lower your bow in the blink of an eye, step back on the rocky outcrop, and look around hastily. Just right in time. A Ravager comes running from the other side of the gorge.

Mega!

Euphoria floods you. Fanghorn hearts are one thing, but if you bring Drakka a Ravager’s, his ego is forced to kneel before you. In a split second, your aim has changed, and you set your sights on the combat machine.

The heavy cannon is good prey. You can either take it back to Arrowhand and sell it to the hunting merchant or use it against the Fanghorns to save ammunition. Neither is a bad plan. You can't decide. Therefore, you terminate to shoot them all down first.

This time you put two arrows at once in your bow. You won't be able to aim as precisely as before, but the cannon offers a much larger attack area than small canisters. The double shot will probably draw the Ravager's attention to you. Better to cut off its most useful weapon directly instead of playing it risky.

Blood is pumping through your veins; your hands are tingling. This is the feeling you live for. With a crack, your arrows hit the cannon and detach it from the machine. The Ravager's roar sends the Fanghorns off again. It spins around and catches you on the ledge, its light turning red.

Red, your favorite color.

You swap your bow for your spear before leaping off the ledge and charging towards the machine. You really feel like close combat. All it takes is the memory of Drakka spitting on the ground in front of you to get you going.

The Ravager is fast. It attacks head-on. You dodge at the last moment, plunging your spear into its side. Your sweeping blow cuts off a flare that was sitting in the armor underneath the cannon. The machine’s hissing makes your pulse race.

You love dancing with death.

The night covers you, hiding you in the darkness while exposing the machine by its glow. After a long battle, the Ravager topples to the side and exhales its last sparks. You gut the machine in anticipation. Minutes later, you raise your fist in the air in silent jubilation: the heart is intact.

Poser will beg me to accompany him ...

The fight with the Ravager was exhausting, as was the journey in general. You decide to let the remaining Fanghorns get away this time. None of the slain ones have an intact heart, but at least you collect the blaze, wires, and shards before heading back.

You can already see the platforms of the settlement from afar thanks to the lanterns around. A broad-shouldered silhouette stands out in the warm light. As you climb up to the gate, you recognize Drakka. Could he have observed your fight? Unlikely. Arrowhand is too far away from the ravine for that. With your head held high, you march back into the settlement and straight towards him.

Before he can say a single word, you pull the Ravager’s Heart out of your pocket and hold it out to him. He stares at it for what feels like an eternity before taking it.

“Better than expected,” he grumbles meekly. The look on his face is reward enough. He will definitely never spit on the ground in front of you again.

You point silently to the settlement's water depot.

“Help yourself,” he says, straightening his shoulders. “All right, tomorrow you're coming out with us. We'll leave at sunrise. Be on time!”

It's going to be a short night, but if he thinks he can put you off with this, he's picked the wrong soldier. You nod, raise your hand to say goodbye, and head for your father's sleeping quarters.

He is still awake, his eyes gleaming in the darkness.

“I'm not sure whether I like the idea of you two hunting together,” he says in a tone as if he's afraid you'll kill each other.

If it comes to that, I'll let Yarra take the final blow, you think, grinning and moving to your sleeping mat.

Your father has enough to worry about, being the chaplain. You will deal with Drakka on your own.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

~~*~~*~~

“Almost there!” Tenakkoh calls back over his shoulder.

That’s the name of the soldier you and Drakka went hunting with today. He is a somewhat quieter comrade, but not unpleasant; he reminds you of Kittay. You were rather surprised that, judging by the wrinkles on his face, he must be a few years older than Drakka, but he obeys his orders unquestioningly.

You were also busy trying to get your blurring vision under control. You forgot to fill your water hose in the morning and immediately felt the consequences. Your thirst is hard to bear. On top, there is the scorching heat of the desert.

You have spent the whole of midday trying to avoid the sun by sneaking along the foot of the ridge. Apart from two Longlegs, you haven’t uncovered any machines, and as happy as you are about your haul - two lenses, two machine cores, various wires, and shards - the weight of your loot doesn’t hide the lack of hearts.

Just as you return to Arrowhand, the sun sets in the sky. At the gate, Drakka chats briefly with the guards before you move on. You are already thinking about dinner when Tenakkoh elbows Drakka in the side.

“Don’t pull that face! We made a good haul.”

Drakka replies, “If we knew where the machines were going, it would be easier.”

“Let’s give it a try! I’ve documented the routes.”

“You did ... What?“

”Documentation. On the map in your quarters.”

“Since when have you been doing such clever things?”

“Since Grudda left.”

Drakka chuckles. “Let’s go see where we’re hunting tomorrow.”

In a better mood, the two soldiers march ahead, and you follow them through the settlement. After how you got to know each other yesterday, you’re not sure if Drakka will tolerate you ending your duty without a direct request. You’d rather wait until he comes up with the idea himself before there is any more trouble.

Drakka lives in one of the few permanent wooden huts with a door similar to your father’s quarters. You try not to look around too curiously as you enter. At first glance, you don’t see any personal items, just utensils for making ammunition and mending armor. Only at second glance do you notice the small coffer behind his sleeping mat, on which lies a painted flute. You are amazed. He can play the flute? You wouldn’t have thought him capable of it, nor the tidiness he keeps. With his temperament, you expected chaos.

Well, he’s out hunting for three quarters of the day instead of being home. If you’re never around, there’s no chaos possible.

“Here!” Tenakkoh leads you to the wall where a map of the area hangs. “Didn’t you ever notice the scribbling?”

“No.”

The two study the map intently. Tenakkoh has marked the routes of the machines with lines in different colors. Scribbling is clearly the wrong word. You are fully occupied admiring his precise work while the two of them discuss which route you should take tomorrow.

“Agreed,” Drakka says, turning to you. “You too?”

You haven’t been following their discussion. Hence, you have no idea what conclusion they’ve come to, so you merely nod.

“No objections? Wow! Must be a good day today.” He grins challengingly. “Well then ... off duty!”

You leave his quarters. First you go down to Tevvoz and buy yourself a snack. The scorpion skewer is spicy. After eating, your stomach is calmer, but your parched throat burns even more. You then visit the merchant to exchange the lens for shards. You use these to buy new oil to keep your bow in good condition.

You are busy oiling your bow until dinner time. Your father tells you about a quarrel between young people that he had to solve with a story from your clan. You’ve heard the story so often, you know it by heart. After dinner, you turn your attention to your spear, sharpening the blade.

At some point, your father asks, “Shall we play a round of Strike?”

But just one. It’s late. You yawn, nod, and finish your work on the spear. As you return it to the other weapons, you stop. You feel as if something is missing. On closer inspection, you realize that your lucky charm is gone.

The figurine of a bird that your mother once carved and painted for you has been hanging from your spear since the beginning of time. You feel hot and cold down your spine at the same time. The charm means a lot to you.

“Is something wrong?” your father asks.

You whirl around, pointing to the spot on your spear where the figurine is normally attached, and wipe your face in the hope of containing your despair.

By the Ten! When did it go missing? Did I lose it while hunting? The mere thought fills you with dread. If you have indeed lost the lucky charm outside, it is almost impossible to find it again.

“Your bird is missing,” your father notices. He stands up, comes over to you, and grabs your shoulders. “Calm down, Red Arrow! When was the last time you saw it?”

You take a deep breath, trying to concentrate. You are sure that the figure was still dangling from your spear this morning when you set off on your hunt.

Over the years, certain gestures have developed as equations for words in your communication with your father. You show him the sign for today.

“Good. Was it still on when you came back from the hunt?” he asks.

You go through the part of the day in your head. You tore the Longlegs apart, divided the pieces between your group, and returned to Arrowhand. At the gate, Drakka had a quick chat with the guards. Then you went to his quarters to choose the route for the next day. You can’t say for sure, but you think that during Drakka’s conversation with the guards, you unconsciously played with your spear, or more precisely with the figure, because that’s what you usually do when you have to wait.

Meaning: Somewhere on the path between the gate, Drakka’s quarters, the cook, the hunting merchant, and your father’s quarters lies the lucky charm.

“Was it?”

You nod.

“So, it must be in Arrowhand then. That’s a good thing.” He lets go of your shoulders. “Most of the finds are turned in to Okettoh, since he has the largest storage area. I’ll go to him and ask.”

You kiss your father gratefully on the cheek, leaving the quarters behind him, heading down the paths where you most likely lost your figure.

The guards at the gate watch you with irritation, but none of them make any effort to help you in your search. The area is narrow. You know where you were standing. Your figure is definitely not at the gate.

Drakka’s quarters are dark. Either he is already asleep or he is not home. It would be wrong to look around his place in his absence, so you push that to the back and head for Tevvoz’s first.

The cook has already left for the day, but his sales area is still open. You have no success here either. The same goes for the merchant. At least she is kind enough to help you search, but you can’t find your lucky charm.

That only leaves Drakka’s quarters. Still no light in the window. If he really is asleep, hopefully he’ll forgive you for disturbing him.

Halfway to Drakka, you meet your father. Your hopes are dashed in seconds by the look on his face.

“Nothing was turned in at Okettoh,” your father says. “Did you have any success?”

A shake of the head on your part.

“That doesn’t necessarily mean anything, Red Arrow. Maybe someone took it home and it’ll turn up unharmed tomorrow.”

Your father’s words in the ears of the Ten. You manage a half-hearted smile and point into the settlement.

“Keep searching?”

You nod.

He is about to answer when a yawn slips out of his mouth. That’s enough for you. With a wave of your finger, you send him home, then march off without waiting for a reaction.

You reach Drakka’s door, knocking carefully. No response. The second knocking is louder but goes unanswered as well. You push the door handle down to try it out. Surprisingly, it is unlocked. With a soft creak, the door swings open, and a beam of moonlight falls into the room.

Drakka is absent.

A silent sigh on your part. What now? On the one hand, you don’t want to search his quarters in his absence. On the other hand, you’re in for a nasty night without your lucky charm.

For a while, you step unsteadily from one foot to the other. Then you decide to prioritize a quiet night, therefore entering his quarters. The moonlight is anything but bright enough to search with just your eyes. You sink to your knees and begin to scan the floor. You were standing near the window when Drakka and Tenakkoh were studying the map. The figure must be here somewhere.

Your hands run over the clay floor. It is warm, a relief on the surprisingly cold desert nights. Undoubtedly the leader’s home. No one else could afford this luxury.

Bit by bit, you feel your way forward. You find a few small stones that someone has carried in with their sandals as well as a feather that has come loose from an arrow shaft. Your lucky charm remains missing.

Perhaps one of them accidentally stepped on it and kicked it across the room?

Concentrating, you continue to work your way forward, increasing your search radius.

At some point, your fingers come across his sleeping mat. Curiously, you stroke the surface. The fur is quite thin. He will soon need a new mat. It is also cool. Wherever he has gone to, he hasn’t taken a break before.

Does Drakka ever take a break? Seems more like he must be forced to. Immediately following that thought, you chuckle silently. Pentalla would say the same about me.

Your hands move across the sleeping mat to the coffer. Actually, there is no point in looking here. Why would your lucky charm be in his coffer? But you can’t contain your curiosity. You find the flute and feel it carefully. It is worn, definitely an heirloom. It doesn’t feel like wood, more like horn.

I wonder what it sounds like when he plays it.

Maybe you’ll hear it at the next celebration in the settlement. How may they celebrate the solstice festival? Every settlement has its own special features.

That would be a good opportunity- Your thought breaks off due to a violent jolt running through your body. Before you realize what’s happening, you’re lying on your stomach on the sleeping mat. Someone is pressing down on your back, the cold steel of a blade digging into your neck.

A soft clatter, the sound of a flint, an oil lamp lights up and casts warm light into the room.

“What are you doing?” Drakka growls, snatching the flute from your hand.

You feel hot and cold at the same time. You were so lost in thought that your ears failed you. You didn’t notice him at all.

What must he think of you?

You want to turn to him and apologize, but he holds you effortlessly on the mat with his weight. The spikes of his armor prick your back uncomfortably, the pressure of the blade on your skin intensifying.

“Are you sniffing around for Yarra?”

Careful not to cut yourself, you shake your head. Of course, it must seem that way to him. If you were him, you’d ask the same thing.

The knife disappears from your neck. Drakka grabs you by the shoulders, turns you onto your back with a flourish, and pins your arms together above your head. He towers over you like a Behemoth that has overrun its prey; angry, with eyes flashing in the black paint he has applied all around.

“What’s going on?” His words cut like steel.

How are you supposed to answer when you can’t use your hands? You squirm your joints under his grip, which only makes him grasp tighter.

“I knew there was something wrong with you.” His face comes closer to yours. “Spit it out! What’s Yarra up to?”

You’ve got it wrong, screams your inner voice. You’re starting to get scared. Last time your father came to save you, but right now he is at home, asleep. Once again, you try to release your wrists from his grip. More out of reflex than will, you move your hips at the same time to push Drakka off you.

No chance. He is too heavy and too strong.

He grabs your joints with one hand and pulls them back. Your elongated upper body exposes your neck. Another buck with your hips, again unsuccessful, and you promptly find the knife on your artery.

“Maybe it’s not Yarra, but Regalla,” Drakka mutters to himself. “No matter who you’re spying for, I hate moles. Speak up! Or it’ll get ugly.”

You struggle desperately for breath. Then the creak of the door makes you both look to the side. Tenakkoh is standing on the threshold, a lantern in his hand, staring over at you in disbelief.

“Am I disrupting something?”

You’re indescribably grateful to see him.

“She snooped through my stuff,” Drakka says without taking the knife from your neck. “I told you right away: Yarra sent her.”

“Calm down, Drakka! I’m sure there’s a good reason for her presence,” Tenakkoh replies, stepping inside.

“Oh yeah? Let her explain it to me!”

“Come down here! Do you want the chaplain to see you riding his daughter?”

Blood rushes to your face. You were busy trying to survive until just now, but of course Tenakkoh is right. If your father were to join you now, he would be presented with a most curious sight.

After all, Drakka slips from your body, but he still holds on to your hands, and the blade remains on your neck. Tenakkoh comes over to you, crouching down beside you.

“Why are you here?”

You shake your wrists.

“Please let her go, Drakka.”

“Why? To stick a knife between my ribs?”

“She doesn’t have a weapon with her.”

Reluctantly, Drakka lets go of your hands. You rub your reddened joints – you’ll still have the marks on your skin tomorrow - before trying to explain to Tenakkoh in sign language what your action is all about.

Drakka snorts. “Silent excuses are particularly bad.”

His words hurt. Probably intended.

Tenakkoh ignores the statement, asking, “Do I understand correctly: you lost something, and you think it’s here?”

You nod. It’s amazing how well he can interpret your gestures. A few more weeks of contact and he’ll understand you as well as Pentalla.

“What exactly did you lose?”

Your hands form a bird, then the size of the figure, and then you take some red paint from your lips and smear it on the back of your hand.

“I see.” Tenakkoh stands up and shines the lantern into the room. “We’re looking for a figure about the size of my thumb, covered with red paint.”

Drakka stares at him, stunned. “You don’t seriously believe her!”

“Why would Yarra send a spy?”

“Because she’s looking for a reason to get rid of me?”

“And she finds the reason in your old flute?” Tenakkoh nods to the instrument lying next to the sleeping mat with the earthy fingerprints of your hands on it. “Don’t be silly, Drakka! Or you’ll end up as paranoid as Yarra herself.”

He seems to have hit a point with that. At least Drakka stands up and puts his hands on his hips.

“Pah, fine by me! Let’s find the stupid figure. But nobody touches my coffer!”

Tenakkoh nods at you. “Get off the mat and head for the door. If we find anything, I’ll give it to you.”

You won’t be told that a second time. You hurry to the door, almost tripping over the lamp in the process. Drakka opens his coffer; you hear the wooden lid creak, but you can’t see what is inside because his stature blocks your view. Tenakkoh searches the room.

After a while, the older soldier bends down and picks something up. “Found it.”

Your heart skips a beat. With trembling hands, you reach for the figurine he hands you. It is your mother’s bird. The leather strap that you used to attach it to your spear is torn, but the charm itself is intact.

Drakka rolls his eyes. “Such a fuss for that old thing?”

You clutch the figurine to your chest and give him a venomous look. Shut up, you idiot!

“Hey, are you alright?” Tenakkoh winks. “Next time, let one of us know before you pay the leader a nightly visit. Got it?”

Your cheeks burn. Of course, things would have turned out very differently if you had acted more sensibly and waited until the next morning. You alone are to blame for this situation. That is why you clasp your trembling hands together and bow apologetically to Drakka.

For a moment, it seems as if he wants to ignore your gesture. Then he exhales quietly and says, “Never rummage through my stuff without asking.”

You nod.

“Come on! I’ll take you home,” Tenakkoh says. “Good night, leader.”

“Night ...”

Like a scolded toddler, you trot after Tenakkoh through the settlement over to your father’s quarters. It is dark. He is asleep. That is good, then he won’t ask any embarrassing questions. It is bad enough how things went.

Tenakkoh takes you up to the door. Once there, he whispers, “You two really found each other, huh?”

Ashamed, you cast your eyes down. I should have thought better.

“Hey...” He puts his hand on your shoulder. “It’s all fine. Drakka doesn’t hold grudges. Just suspicion of Yarra, which you can’t blame him for. We live in hard times.”

You felt it today. Tomorrow morning you must remember to fill your water hose before the hunt.

“Good night.”

You force yourself to smile to return the greeting and watch after him until he has disappeared into the settlement. Maybe it would be good to know where Tenakkoh lives next time you get into trouble. Your second day in Arrowhand and already more excitement than the last six months in Salt Bite.

I should have taken Pentalla with me. She cooks better than Tevvoz anyway ...

That night you dream of roasted peccary belly and flute music.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4

~~*~~*~~

The morning comes too early. You almost miss departure. You only wake up because your father accidentally knocks over his Strike board with his foot as he leaves the quarters. You are still tightening the leather straps on your armor when you get to the gate, where Drakka and his squad are waiting. Besides him and Tenakkoh, there are two other men today.

“Princess has slept in,” Drakka scoffs.

“She’s coming with us?” asks one of the soldiers you don’t know incredulously.

The other joins in, “We’ve got enough work already. We don’t need to look after beginners too.”

Tenakkoh comes to your aid. “She got us a Ravager heart the day before yesterday.”

The soldiers look back and forth between him and you, as if they expect him to have made a joke. No one seems to be in the mood for jokes, though. Especially Drakka. With a serious look, he scans the surroundings before setting his sights on a target and leaving Arrowhand.

Drakka runs ahead. You run at the back and watch his squad. They do their best not to make a face, but they obviously wouldn’t mind less speed. Nobody speaks. Only the sound of the wind on the sand accompanies you.

On the way, you cross a herd of Chargers, but Drakka ignores them. You catch up to Tenakkoh, tap him on the shoulder as you run, and point questioningly at the Chargers.

“Not enough spoils.”

The answer makes no sense in your eyes. Chargers are the easiest machines to kill. Of course, their hearts don’t outweigh a Ravager’s, but the mass should make up for it. You gather your strength for a sprint, overtake all the soldiers, and arrive at Drakka’s front. There, you repeat your gesture.

“Declined!” He doesn’t even look at you, but keeps his eyes firmly fixed ahead.

Shaking your head, you drop back again. Are the Chargers too easy prey for him? Then his ego is to blame for the critical situation in Arrowhand. You have no sympathy for that. You’ll ask your father about it later.

You cross the path of some peccary, which make off with loud squeals, but it’s quite a while before you meet the next machines. It’s a horde of Bristlebacks, six of them to be precise, doing their rounds in one of the rare overgrown sections of the desert.

Drakka signals to his soldiers, who then scatter into the tall grass. He tells you to come to him.

“Stay here!” he orders. “Let my men do it! They’ll tell you when you can come out.”

You shake your head, pointing to your weapon.

“No. We have a strategy. You wait!” He leaves without allowing another objection or explaining to you how his squad’s strategy even works.

Frustrated, you crouch down in the tall grass and watch what the squad is doing. They position themselves in a semicircle around the Bristlebacks, cutting off part of their path. The circle is open in the other direction, which seems to be intentional. Why? The reason remains hidden from you.

One by one, all squad members signal whatever with their hands. Then Drakka lets out a shrill whistle, and the soldiers tumble out of their cover. They startle the Bristlebacks, who take flight before regaining their composure and attacking.

You can hardly believe your eyes when the soldiers suddenly throw smoke bombs to disguise themselves. Only Drakka runs ahead, the Bristlebacks on his feet.

He’ll never manage six at once!

You leave the tall grass with your bow in hand but are stopped halfway to the herd by Tenakkoh.

“Don’t worry! The leader is faster,” he says. “We’ll drive them into a narrow valley and kill them there in peace.”

So that’s how their strategy works. Drakka could have told me that.

The soldiers wait a moment before following the herd’s trace. They indeed lead to a gully, which ends in a dead end for the machines. On a ledge, about three or four meters above the ground, you recognize Drakka sitting there and waiting. The Bristlebacks rage below, unable to reach him.

Everyone around you pull shock wires out of their pockets, using them to fence the exit of the gully. The machines won’t stand a chance. You have to admit that their strategy is quite effective. The hardest part is probably driving them in.

After everyone has finished placing their traps, they pull out their weapons. You follow along. Tenakkoh blows the whistle this time, and Drakka stands up with his weapon in his hand. One of the soldiers, who has an explosive sling, loads ammunition and takes aim amidst the Bristlebacks.

The hunt begins, and chaos breaks out.

Attacking in all directions, the soldiers pounce on the machines, shooting as many resources as possible off from a safe distance. You have already killed two Bristlebacks when you notice in the corner of your eye how one of the machines turns away.

The soldier with the sling stands with his back to it and aims at another. He doesn’t see the enemy coming; he can’t, and with a hint of a bad premonition, you sprint off. As you run, you swap your bow for your spikethrower, your heaviest weapon, which you only use in emergencies.

It is an emergency.

You bump the soldier aside with full force. The explosive sling flies out of his hand, your spike hits the Bristleback head-on, and knocks him off his path. Nevertheless, the tusk grazes you, pushing you backwards. Painfully, you hit the ground, roll off, jumping to your feet, just in time to dodge the next attack.

To your horror, the Bristleback doesn’t focus on you but dashes towards the soldier you pushed aside. Blood is running down his forehead. He must have hit his head, and he is too slow to reach for another weapon.

Get away!, your voice screams in your head, but not a single sound passes your lips. You shoot fire arrows, three at once. With a screech, the Bristleback bursts into flames. Your attack buys the soldier just enough time to dive out of harm’s way.

An arrow from somewhere on the left lands in the machine’s eye, causing it to stumble. You follow up with the next spike, and the red glow fades. No time to catch your breath, though. Bristleback number four appears in front of the soldier. Again, he is too slow. This time, the machine catches him, riveting him down. His scream jolts through your veins.

You run.

Both Drakka and you reach the scene at the same time, driving your weapons into the machine’s spine from both sides. You have certainly destroyed the heart, but no matter, the soldier’s life has priority. With the last of its strength, the Bristleback turns to Drakka. You seize the moment, reach under the soldier’s arms, and pull him away.

His leg is done, sticking out to the side at an unnatural angle from the middle of his thigh. He whimpers in pain. You are surprised when you see blood on his arm but no wound. Where did that come from?

Machines’ roars die down. The hunt is over. Drakka is with you immediately, bending down to his soldier.

“Jekkoh, how bad is it?” The sight of the leg is answer enough. “Broken. Shit!”

The other two soldiers gather around you. The shock at their comrade’s injury is written all over their faces.

“Take care of him! I’ll get the hearts.” Drakka rises, his gaze sweeping over you. “Loot the resources!”

You leave Jekkoh in the hands of his comrades and go about your task. After emptying the resource containers, you walk among the carcasses, pulling out as many arrows and spikes as you can. Most of them are broken, so you’ll have to make new ammunition this afternoon.

Suddenly you hear Drakka’s angry shout, “By the Ten, this can’t be!”

You look up just as he gives a dead machine a good kick. His face says: bad yield. You approach him. In fact, he’s only holding two hearts.

Two out of six – that’s a miserable rate.

You return to the rest of the squad.

“Only two?” Tenakkoh asks.

Drakka hands him the hearts, nodding to the injured. “Take him safely to Arrowhand. I’ll keep hunting.”

“By the Ten, you can’t go alone,” Jekkoh presses between his teeth, voicing what everyone was thinking, including you, judging by the looks on their faces.

“He’s right. You can’t, leader,” the other soldier agrees.

“I’m responsible for you, Amaxx. I can.”

Drakka leaves, his blade in his right hand, his left raised in farewell. Stunned, you look after him until you feel a touch on your shoulder.

“You fought well,” Tenakkoh says. “Please go with him! We’ll take Jekkoh back to Arrowhand.”

“Yes, please!” Jekkoh joins in. He wants to say something else, but the pain closes his mouth.

You grab Tenakkoh’s forearm and squeeze it. Then, you insert as many intact spikes and arrows as your quivers can hold before following Drakka. There are many dangerous machines in the desert. Of course he doesn’t want to put his soldiers at risk, but he can’t do it alone.

It was right to come here. He needs my help.

Drakka’s mood is nasty. Although he’s walking some distance ahead of you, you can hear him ranting. His volume should alert all the machines around him, but it seems more like he’s scaring them off.

He curses at the Ten, at the damn desert, at Yarra. Even though he insults your friend, you feel sorry for him. Your father would be more critical if Drakka were really as bad a person as he seems at the moment. Now, the second soldier in his squad has been injured within two days and will be out of action for the hunt, meaning he and his remaining soldiers will have to work even harder. The situation must be taking its toll on him. You decide to ignore the curses on Yarra, quickening your pace to catch up with him.

As you are almost on him, he whirls around abruptly, his blade narrowly missing you. Startled, you stumble, tripping over your feet and falling. The knee pads on your armor absorb the impact, but you still graze your elbow.

“You? I thought ... Never mind!” Drakka puts his weapon away and holds out his hand to help you stand up.

You take his hand, it feels huge, and let him pull you up. Then you knock the dirt off your armor and examine your elbow. There’s blood on the fabric and on the ground too, but it’s just an abrasion.

“You’re bleeding,” he says.

Really? You turn your arm, trying to look at it from a different angle, just in case you can’t see the wound from your perspective.

“Not there.” Drakka steps closer and takes hold of your arm. “Here!”

He points to your right hip. The armor there is slashed open, blood dripping out, already drying at the edges. Suddenly everything becomes clear to you. In your mind’s eye, the images of how the Bristleback caught you with its tusk run through your mind.

So that’s where it came from.

“Are you in pain?”

You shake your head.

Drakka looks at the wound again, then to the side, and lets out an angry hiss. His hands are clenched into fists. He reminds you of a Behemoth just before the attack. You almost think you can feel the pulsing of his rage in the air.

“Go back to Arrowhand!” Drakka moves on.

No way! You follow him.

“Huh? I’m serious! Go back!”

He shouts at you, but you just keep running. He stops and intercepts you. Suddenly you’re standing chest to chest in the middle of the desert.

“Do you ignore your orders in Salt Bite, too?”

You would do the devil to ignore Kittay’s orders. That’s just as bad as when Yarra led your squad. However, Kittay isn’t trying to hunt solo to keep his settlement supplied with water. Hunting alone is about the stupidest thing a soldier can do, especially in the desert.

What kind of soldier would I be if I put you in that kind of danger?, you think, gritting your teeth and staring back.

“Get lost!”

Drakka gives you a shove with his chest that sends you stumbling backwards, but it doesn’t impress you. It’ll need more than that. Since you haven’t argued verbally since the Red Raids, you mostly resolve differences in the melee pit. You have fought some outstanding duels in your life. You are not afraid of him. Determined, you step forward, lifting your chin and pressing your chest against his.

You want a taste? Here you go!

His eyes are a storm. If he were in a better mood, he’d have beautiful eyes: warm brown with thick, long lashes. Now, however, he looks as if he’s wondering which machine he should blame for your death when he returns your corpse to Arrowhand.

You stand like this in the middle of the desert for what feels like an eternity, having a silent eye duel. Finally, he gives in and turns away from you.

“You’re really like Jetakka.”

Now that you have won the duel, he raises no more objections to your company. The two of you roam the eternal sands in search of other machines whose hearts would be a worthwhile act to capture.

The midday sun is high in the sky, burning down on you mercilessly, and making sweat run down your forehead when you ultimately find what you are looking for. Two Sunwings bathe in light on the remains of an indefinable heap of metal from the Old World.

“We’ll take those.” Drakka darts into the tall grass, you follow him.

Both machines are sitting with their backs to you, their wings spread wide. You can see their shield launchers glinting, as well as the sparkers further down. Each has two, meaning the machines are undamaged. Drakka needs the hearts, but you’ve been trained not to waste resources.

You pull your bow from your back, nudge it with your elbow, point at the machines, and then at your shoulder, which is roughly where their shield casters sit.

This time, Drakka understands you at the first attempt, but he objects, “We need the hearts.”

You roll your eyes, shrug your shoulders, and point at the sparkers. At least those.

“If you think so ... Not in the mood for any more discussions with you.” He draws his bow as well. “You take the one on the left, and I’ll take the one on the right. On my mark.”

At the same time, you put arrows in, taking aim. Drakka’s bow clicks softly as he straddles it; the spool must have been expensive. Then he counts down, “Three, two ... Fire!”

You were expecting one. Your arrow only whizzes out after his. His Sunwing has already risen into the air in shock, and now he has seen your attack. The light glows red in an instant, and he lets out a cry. No sooner has your Sunwing recovered from its missing Sparker. Now, you are confronted by two furious machines.

“Too late!” Drakka barks at you, rushing out of the hiding place.

You do the same while shooting your Sunwing’s shield caster and then rummaging in your quiver for the extinguishing purgewater arrow. Sunwings are easy to kill if you stay in cover, but they are brutal close-combat enemies with their plasma. You can’t find the purgewater arrow, so you aim your next shot at the fin on the machine’s head.

Get rid of the plasma!

Your arrow misses. The Sunwing attacks you in a dive. You need to dodge, ending up losing ammunition from your quiver. Somewhere behind you, Drakka is fighting with his opponent. You can hear the whirring of his arrows as well as the screeching of the machine. Obviously, his hit rate is better than yours right now.

The thought spurs you on to peak performance. You shoot fire arrows until your Sunwing is set ablaze, then you take aim at his shield caster. When he’s just crawling on the ground, you focus on the remaining sparker.

Something throws you forward suddenly. This time, you can’t brace yourself. Your chin drags across the floor. Immediately afterwards, a second blow hits you, driving through your marrow and turning your stomach. A purple puddle soaks the floor.

“Shit!” A body rolls away from yours, your blurry field of vision showing the outline of Drakka. Is he swaying that much, or is it you? He grabs you by the arms and pulls you up. “Hide!”

He whirls around like a tornado, firing arrow after arrow at his Sunwing until the machine hits the ground with a crash and comes to rest. You stumble towards the grass, not making it five steps before your legs give away beneath you. Then a fire jolts through you, as if you were burning from the inside out. The pain is overwhelming; your body jerks uncontrollably, just for a few breaths until it fades, leaving black dots in front of your eyes.

“Hey! Hey, stay awake!”

You are lifted up, carried away, and set down, your back leaning against something, hands touching your shoulders. You hear your name and strain to open your eyes.

Drakka is kneeling in front of you. The paint on his face is streaked with sweat. Long gone is the anger from a moment ago. Some distance behind him, you recognize a Sunwing, his blade stuck in the machine. It is quiet around you, a strange occasion for the desert. The second Sunwing is either dead or has fled.

“I’m sorry. I realized it too late. I was going to push you.” Drakka runs a hand over his face, smearing the paint even further. “Are you all right?

Slowly, you nod.

“Sure? A plasma blast isn’t for the faint-hearted.”

You try to grin. It’s been a while since you’ve taken a plasma blast. The pain can’t be compared to anything. Even acid hurts less. But it’s survivable. You’ve been through the worst of it already.

“You’re no coward.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “Jetakka wasn’t exaggerating when he said you were tough. Sorry about the arrow. I messed it up. I should have told you I never count to one.”

His hand still presses your shoulder. You touch it and wink: apology accepted. Then you scramble to your feet. Once you’re back on track, you gather your bow and the ammunition you’ve dropped. Drakka takes care of the looting.

As you gather yourselves for the walk back, you see him smile for the first time.

“Two,” he says with satisfaction, showing you the two hearts before tucking them into the pouch on his belt. “The Bristlebacks won’t make much difference, but the Sunwings will, and then there’s your Ravager heart. That’ll secure the rations for the festival.”

Does he mean the solstice festival? Looks like you’ve come here at the right time.

You return to Arrowhand. Tenakkoh is sitting on a rock in front of the gate, sharpening the blade of his weapon. He jumps up when he sees you.

“By the Ten! We had already decided to send a search squad if you weren’t back by sundown.”

“Don’t act like we've been gone for ages,” Drakka says, patting his soldier on the back. “Everything all right with you? How is Jekkoh?”

“Okettoh fixed his leg and splinted it.”

“How ugly was it?”

“Very ugly.”

A shadow flits across Drakka’s face. “So, he roared up to Scalding Spear.”

“I hope Yarra heard him. Then he’ll spoil her beauty sleep.”

“No amount of sleep in the world will help her.”

That line goes too far. You tighten your shoulders, clench your hands into fists, and march past the two men, not without deliberately bumping into Drakka. He stumbles forward, then wheels around to face you.

“Hey, what was that about?”

You’re already a few steps ahead, giving him a venomous look over your shoulder. You know exactly what for!

“If you always have to have the last word,” Drakka calls after you, ”then speak up!

You stubbornly look straight ahead as you walk to your father’s quarters.

He’s sitting in front of the entrance, carving a figure of a squirrel, and rises happily as you approach him. But his smile immediately fades. “Is everything all right?”

You nod and want to push past him, but he stops you. His gaze glides over you, behind to where Drakka and Tenakkoh are standing, and back to you. “Did you have an argument?”

You make a reassuring gesture. It’s all right, Dad. Not worth mentioning.

“So, you had an argument, and you’re wounded too. I should have forbidden you to come here.” His eyes are dripping with guilt. You take his hand and squeeze it.

You’re thirsty, a Bristleback gifted you a flesh wound, and a Sunwing put a plasma blast on top. Still, you’re standing here, and you’re fine. Would your father have taken it so easily? Probably not, as he’s old.

That’s why I’m here, and that’s why I’ll be hunting in your place tomorrow.