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Scent... Alert!... Intruder... Prey?
For a brief moment, Nen-al poised at the crest of the grass carpeted knoll. Slowly, he twisted his thick-muscled neck. The surrounding drear landscape slid beneath his gaze as his black pupilled eyes narrowed in suspicion.
Nothing revealed itself, though, beyond the normal stunted grotesqueries that passed for trees in his world. Huge boulders -- reminders of the ancient Cold Times -- and the rolling, endless hills formed his only companions.
Or so it appeared.
Nen-al thrust his fur-covered muzzle into the early morning breeze. More than his not-unsharp vision, he trusted his nose. Shifting shadows could not fool it as they could his eyes. The scent traces wafted to him on the vagrant air currents moments before waxed in intensity as he swept his snout from side to side.
Perhaps, he thought angrily, another of his kind came to slay his mate and their newborn son.
Immediately, he crouched on all fours. For caution's sake, he extended a trio of curving, ebony claws from each forehand and a double pair from his hind feet. Carefully -- not from fear but from wisdom -- he bobbed his head up and down, left and right as he fluffed out his ears in support of his two primary senses.
The scent beckoned him most strongly from downhill and to his left. With no further hesitation, he glided across the coarse blades of browning autumn grass. Like the restless blanket of morning fog caressing him, Nen-al drifted along the hillside. Tensing the hard planes of his muscles in preparation for any eventuality, he drew back his leathery lips. His long, ivory white fangs thirsted for the blood of the intruder.
Nen-al would make certain that he struck first. Never had he been caught off-guard. He would never have survived such a fundamental mistake.
Abruptly, he froze as an alien form, all angles and silvery hardness, sliced across his line of sight. A tangle of shadows huddling from the rising sun had masked the strange thing. It rose no more than five body lengths from his position.
With a soundless snarl, he lifted his hind quarters in instinctive warning. The bizarre creature did not move. Such bravery surpassed Nen-al's understanding. What manner of beast would dare stand and face him other than one of his own kind? Yet, from that site the intruder scent beckoned him most urgently.
At thought of a possible interloper into his domain, Nen-al felt the first bubbling fires of rall-dai, the frenzy which seized any male of his species in defense of his near barren territory. He would fight to the death against anyone foolish or desperate enough to threaten his scarce resources.
Nen-al did not surrender to that joyous release, however. The scent tantalizing him held an unfamiliar aroma. Caution slowed his step. Prey or foe: first must come that identification. That alone would guide him in how to proceed. Silently, he crept forward.
Nothing stirred in or around the quiet hulk half-buried in the rusty soil. With an almost timid gesture, Nen-al drew his sharp claws along the shiny, curving surface of his find. His eyes widened and a low rumble escaped his throat when the passage of his claws left barely a scratch. Even the rocks littering his land furrowed beneath the force of his hands. But this thing...
Quickly, Nen-al realized the scent drawing him did not emanate from the strange silver rock but merely clung there the strongest. The time had come to discover the true source of that alluring signal. Continued investigation of the new addition to his realm could wait. The creature which had sheltered there would not.
With a fluid motion, Nen-al bent low with his arms at his sides. Scanning his horizon, he protruded a fleshy lump from the bare skin of his abdomen. A hand's breadth in length, the lump emitted a fine spray as Nen-al swiftly circumnavigated the object. Satisfied, he turned and loped away without a backward glance.
He knew his trace would protect his possession. Any denizen of this land insane enough to venture there would find that sticky substance adhering to it in a grip that would spell its death. Nen-al could follow the spore of any creature labeled by his marker. And he would. His territory supported his life. Nothing short of his own death -- not even the signal of another of his kind -- would prevent him from following, finding, and utterly destroying anything rash enough to defy his warning.
Nen-al never gave up. On anything.
As the bloated orange hole of the sun struggled higher above the Hills of Bone, Nen-al knew that success in his hunt was only a matter of time.
Troy Overton hugged himself against the chill of the dying night. His thin, gray jacket kept in little heat. Wearily, he trudged onward. He still had not found his wife's crash-site.
Pausing at the crest of the hill he had climbed, Troy let his gaze drift back across the mist bound valleys he had traversed. Hidden somewhere in that distance lay the now useless one-man capsule in which he had been dropped onto Zehn-Bey. Also hidden somewhere in the hills surrounding him lay his wife, Rozelle's, identical vessel. He had to find her soon. If the cold did not soon claim her, one of the predators which dominated this frigid land would.
Troy shivered. A bitter smile twisted his chapped lips.
The Council members had acted cleverly. They knew better than to execute dissidents outright. "Humane" exile had become their alternative to creating bothersome martyrs.
More like murder by proxy, he thought, shaking his head. They had dropped Troy and Rozelle on the northernmost edge of Zehn-Bey's only continent. The single center of "civilization" on the planet -- a struggling enclave of other exiles -- lay well over a thousand kilometers to the south. The climate was warmer there...if they survived long enough to reach that precarious safety.
For the tenth time since landing, Troy checked the load in his needler. It still read full. The knife in his belt and those explosive-tipped slivers of metal constituted the only weapons he possessed. Neither he nor his wife could claim proficiency in their use. They claimed the titles of writers, not warriors.
The Council thought they had beaten the dissidents. They were wrong, Troy knew. They only postponed the confrontation that would end their abuses.
Not that he would live to witness that glorious day...
One final time, Troy glanced towards the location of his landing capsule. The explosive device implanted in its hull would soon render its possible shelter into a glowing slag heap of worthless metal. He counted on the detonation of the similar device in his wife's vessel to guide him towards her. Until he arrived there, she would have to fend for herself. He hoped she would be all right.
Troy turned. An orange-red ball of fire bulged above the too-close horizon. That small sun offered a promise of at least token relief from imminent freezing. Unfortunately, if he and Rozelle did not find adequate shelter before that sun set below the opposite horizon, they would never see another dawn as spectacular as this one. Protection from the elements must be their first priority. A fire would help. Surround that blaze with a cave and the odds soared in their favor. Buying time, they could hunt for some fur bearing animal to provide real coats and a supply of food.
They had never trained for such a future. If they expected to survive, they would have to tap into untested talents. And he wanted to live. The fight against the Council was far from finished.
With those concerns percolating in the back of his mind, Troy scanned the landscape. A small brook meandered below him. If they followed that streambed, perhaps they might discover an eroded bank which would pass as an initial cave. In any event, it would be better than traipsing up and down these interminable hills and cliffs.
First, however, he had to find Rozelle.
As best he could, Troy scrambled down the eroded slope. The cold water in the stream numbed his lips but tasted good. Carefully, he filled his canteen. Rozelle would doubtless be thirsty. Conserving consumables had never been her forte.
Rising, Troy squinted up at the pale sun. Its light barely penetrated to the depression where he stood. Perhaps the ridge would be better for the moment. Until he found his wife.
Drawing his thin jacket closer, he began to climb.
An unexpected roar of thunder smashed into Nen-al as he loped away from the alien rock. With an involuntary yowl of surprise, the hunter hit the ground. The deafening sound of the explosion rumbled over him, echoing away into the distant hills.
Leaping to his hind feet, Nen-al observed a boiling fireball bursting upward into the chill air. A snarl of rage twisted his lips. The heavy heartbeat of fear washed through him in a rarely experienced sensation. The feeling was not one he enjoyed.
As the crimson flames weakened and slowly died, Nen-al backed cautiously away. Not until the top of the hill lay between him and the seldom seen phenomenon of fire did he relax his breathing.
Pausing on the lower hillside, he considered what had just occurred. No warning of the attack had come. Even more puzzling, he had been certain the intruder had been nowhere within current scent range. So how had his enemy managed such a crafty assault?
On rare occasions, unfamiliar prey had made the mistake of attacking him rather than fleeing. Such oddities, however, had always occurred face-to-face, claw-against-claw. Trickery with flame had never sullied those savage encounters.
Once more the tickling tendrils of rall-dai flickered through Nen-al's mind. Perhaps, indeed, he thought with relish, a true enemy rather than merely prey challenged him. In either event, the contest promised to be a noble one.
Still, it must be swiftly brought to a culmination. The beast might be searching for the lair of his mate. She hid there, weak from the birthing, unable fully yet to defend herself and his son. Nen-al's duty required he see her through the next few days.
Dropping to all fours for speed, he bounded away, eager for a confrontation with the unknown intruder. A new, underlying caution underlay his thoughts, however. He suspected that this mystery beast held many surprises in its unknown claws.
The sound of the second explosion arrived minutes after the first. Troy froze in midstep as he strained to catch the stray tendrils of that signal.
"Damn!" He had been heading in the wrong direction.
Ignoring the insistent pain lancing his side, he turned and angled back along the path he had just traversed. Sweat drenched his clothing. A fresh danger stalked his thoughts: if he stopped now, hypothermia lurked not far behind.
What goaded him the hardest, though, had nothing to do with danger from the elements. What nipped most closely at his heart was the memory of that unnerving howling that had mingled with the echoes of the first detonation. Some...thing...prowled the hills nearby. And Rozelle huddled out there. Alone.
Biting his lower lip, Troy quickened his pace.
Nen-al paused at the crest of a ridge as a second loud roar pierced the empty morning air. How many traps had this wily creature set? His enemy must be powerful, indeed.
Nen-al's gaze scanned his territory. A thin plume of smoke rose above a distant hill. The spore he had been following led away from that locale. Perhaps the beast had circled behind him.
A low growl rumbled in Nen-al's throat. His opponent must be a coward, despite its strength. How else to explain its failure to meet him head-on?
With a visual cue to guide him, Nen-al abandoned the scent trail and loped towards his prey. Caution still tugged at him. The intruder might be more clever than coward: perhaps it sought to lead him astray while it sniffed out his mate and son.
When Nen-al finally spotted the being, it rested near a small pond in Len-nal Valley. Disappointment pricked Nen-al. The creature appeared pitifully small and defenseless. The glorious battle Nen-al had envisioned would not come to past. There would be no rejoicing in rall-dai.
Still, this beast would provide desperately needed food for his family.
As Nen-al crept down the slope, the intruder's back faced him. A swirling breeze wafted its scent to the hunter. Nen-al slowed as he analyzed the trace. Though very similar to the trail he had been following, subtle but distinct differences distinguished it. Could there be two interlopers?
Without warning, the creature stood. Nen-al knew the time had come to abandon stealth. Leaping forward to strike, he easily engulfed the distance separating them.
At the sound of Nen-al's approach, the beast turned. A glint of light from an object held in one of its paws alerted Nen-al to slow his pace. That shiny surface too closely resembled the exploding rock.
Nen-al rarely hesitated. Such a reaction bothered him, indicative as it was of weakness. Carefully, he studied the creature and its strange fur. The smooth face seemed agitated, promising danger, but precisely how, Nen-al could not say.
Slowing his stride still further, Nen-al halted a few paces from the animal. Warily he rose to his hind feet and extended his claws.
Suddenly the intruder screamed and pointed the shiny stone at Nen-al. Flashes of fire erupted in rapid succession around Nen-al. When one touched his hind leg, he howled his pain at its vicious bite.
In reflexive self-defense and new-found fear, he lashed out. With devastating effect, his claws sliced downward with a force only he on his world possessed.
The deadly tips severed muscles and artery and bone as Nen-al destroyed the intruder in payment for its temerity. Bloodlust flared through his brain as he seized the dying flesh and commenced to feed.
A glacial chill stabbed through Troy when he heard his wife's high-pitched scream and its abrupt termination. As fast as his legs could carry him, he ran. Even as he plummetted ahead, he knew he could not sustain such a rapid pace for long.
Cursing his age-diminished endurance, he slowed to a fast jog. With what speed he could muster, he scurried up one rocky slope and down another. His leaden legs protested the unaccustomed treatment. He ignored them just as he did the unpleasant, rasping edge to his breathing.
The sight of his wife's slagged capsule spurred Troy onward. She had to be close, he thought as he huffed past the melted wreckage. She had promised to remain nearby.
As he rounded a jumble of craggy boulders, he spied the pond. He had nearly rounded it when he stumbled to a halt. As he took in the scene before him, his heart stuttered into a rapid stacatto.
Steam still rose from the blood soaking the stony ground. Just enough of the body remained for Troy to realize he would never again see his wife or hold her in his arms.
Sobbing, he collapsed to the cold ground as his wobbly legs buckled beneath him.
What would he do without her? She had always been the fountainhead of his strength, his inspiration. What value could he find in a life of exile if he had to endure it without her?
Lifting his head, Troy saw his wife's needler lying among the rocks.
At least she fought back. At least she had been given that chance.
Wearily, Troy levered himself erect. Half choking, he stumbled to the spot marking his wife's death. Blanking out his thoughts, he piled jagged stones over the bits of cloth and bone scattered about the bleak landscape.
When he finished, Troy paused over the tiny grave. Words failed him. Perhaps later, after he had time to absorb his loss, he would know what to say. For now, the wound pulsed too raw for him to face. Yet that might also be a blessing of sorts. Too many things had yet to be accomplished, and soon. He could not afford to dwell on either his loss or the emptiness threatening to engulf him.
Wiping ineffectually at his eyes, he picked up his wife's weapon. She had expended a quarter of the load. Grimly, Troy lifted his gaze. If she had wounded the beast that attacked her, it might be travelling slowly.
Troy closed his fingers more tightly on the needler and thinned his lips. The thing which had killed his wife and carried away her body would not remain alive for long. He would see to that.
Shoving aside his pain, Troy clambered up the hillside. The trail of his wife's blood boldly pointed the way.
Carrying a large slab of meat from his kill, Nen-al dug his claws into the eroded wall of rock. At the strain, his injured leg gave way on the crumbly surface. For a tense moment, he teetered on the brink of falling. With practiced skill, however, he dug in deeper and shoved himself over the top.
Tren-dar would be pleased. This new prey sported a unique taste; a welcome change from the usual spring diet of ground skitterer and rock hopper. She and his son would be able to eat their fill.
Quickly, Nen-al slid down the opposite side and then loped away along the ravine floor. The meager heat of the sun reflected from the rock surrounding him, embracing his lean body in its luxuriant massage. With graceful economy, he sped on. Life blessed him. It was good that spring had come, good that he and his mate had proved fertile once more.
They saw little of one another. Nen-al brought Tren-dar food and would until she could hunt on her own. His main concern was that his son remain safe so he could grow strong like his father.
Custom dictated that Nen-al leave his food a fair distance from the lair. Physical contact could not occur other than during the season of mating. Experience warned him that to do otherwise courted disaster.
Nen-al observed his son no nearer than the crest of the hill overlooking their sheltered home. Never again did he want to succumb to the frenzy of rall-dai at so inappropriate a time. After the birth of his first son, he had held too much confidence in his own will power. His immense curiosity at the new life had driven him to visit the lair during one of Tren-dar's absences. But when his son had nipped his leg with baby-sharp fangs, Nen-al had reacted with instinctive rapidity. By slaying the closest male, he had eliminated one who might someday challenge his dominance. He had, unfortunately, also eliminated one who carried his genes into the future.
Sad though he had been when he had dropped his limp son's body at the subsiding of the rall-dai, Nen-al had felt no guilt. Such was the nature of his kind. But cubs rarely lived to maturity in even the best of circumstances. He did not want to shorten the odds still further.
Creeping over the final ridge leading to Tren-dar's lair, Nen-al saw his mate and offspring lounging at the cave entrance. Happiness washed through him at the sight.
Watching his son play, Nen-al felt once more a mounting urge to inspect him up close. With Tren-dar there to keep his son safe, perhaps just this once...
Through long habit, Nen-al searched the landscape behind and before him. His wide nostrils flared to catch a sign of possible danger. With the weak midday breeze, however, he would have to trust to his sharp ears for warning of hidden enemies.
As his son began to nurse, Nen-al carefully picked his way towards the base of the hill. To approach near enough to explain the situation and his desire to his mate, he would have to restrain his normal greeting call. If she spotted him too quickly, she might try to drive him away.
Nen-al had traversed half the distance to his family when he stiffened. Creeping towards his mate from the left came an intruder, a male of his own kind who had hidden behind a wall of boulders. Snarling soundlessly, Nen-al dropped his kill and extended his claws in preparation for combat. He would catch the invader intent on his family unawares.
As the male picked up speed, Nen-al realized the stranger would be upon the unsuspecting Tren-dar far too soon. Realizing that stealth now held no advantage, Nen-al unleashed a massive roar and streaked down the hillside. If nothing else, he thought as rall-dai crashed over him in a thunderous wave, he would avenge his family.
Tren-dar did not turn at the sound of her mate's voice. Without a backward glance, she snatched up her son and dashed for the dark shelter of the lair, safety for her child her only goal. Unfortunately, she did not notice the stranger closing rapidly from the side.
The intruder caught her flank before she could retreat any deeper into the shadows. Red blood blossomed on her smooth, brown fur. With a savage scream of surprise, pain, and rage, she dropped her son and spun to face her attacker. Aroused, she could be a formidable fighter. Her shorter claws, however, proved no match for those of the young male confronting her.
Seconds later, Nen-al collided heavily with his enemy. In a blur of teeth and claws, the two males tore viciously at one another. Blood founted from deep furrows in the flesh of each fighter.
Forgotten in the melee, Tren-dar dragged herself deeper into the recesses of the cave. Wicked gashes exposed the muscles and bones in her side and hip. Her breath came in sharp, hard gasps. With a warning growl, she cuffed her too-eager son away from the battle. Turning, she settled against a rock wall to wait and see who would emerge victorious. Her wounds left her too weak to do more.
The interloping male did not have a mate and came eager to carve out his own slice of territory. As the struggle continued, Nen-al could tell, however, that the younger challenger did not possess the stamina of his older opponent. With her first hasty strikes, Tren-dar had acquitted herself well. The rest became Nen-al's responsibility.
Abruptly a lull punctuated the combat. For a crystalline moment, Nen-al and the intruder stared furiously into one another's blazing eyes. The attacker hunched against the boulder protecting the entrance to the lair. His labored breathing accented his distress. Flesh hung from his ripped muzzle in bloody strips. One eye dangled, punctured, from a socket, oddly mimicking the limp arm hanging at his side. Still the challenger snarled his defiance.
Catching his wind, Nen-al surveyed with pleasure the damage he had inflicted. Unfortunately, he fared only marginally better himself. The hind leg that had been bitten by the fire rock throbbed more and more insistently, slowing his reflexes. Attacks that would normally have struck only air had pierced flesh far too frequently.
With his blood flowing freely from numerous wounds, Nen-al knew he had to finish off this intruder soon before he tired to the point where he could no longer fend off his opponent's blows.
Time to end the truce.
Giving vent to a rasping roar, Nen-al leaped for the throat of the stranger.
Troy knew the skipping beat of his heart threatened to undo all of his determined effort. His pulse raced at over one-hundred-sixty. His pace had not slackened since last he had checked that rate.
"Ten minutes more," he muttered. "Just ten more."
The wild call shattering the silence had to be close. Very close. This had to be the one who had shredded his existence into meaningless ribbons.
One more hill, Troy told himself. One final hill to conquer.
Nearly collapsing from fatigue, he reached the top. Below him, he saw the creatures whose battle cries reverberated from the tumbled stone walls of the canyon. Blood drenched their hides and the rocks across which they struggled. Amazed at the ferocity of their combat, Troy wondered what inspired such savagery.
When his gaze drifted over the reddened mass resting near a boulder only meters from his feet, Troy buried any thoughts concerning alien motives. As his face twisted into a hard mask, he realized he had, indeed, tracked down the monster which had destroyed his wife and his dreams.
The time for retribution had come.
Locking away his sorrow for another time, Troy gave full rein to his rage. Mechanically, he drew his needler and forged ahead.
As he approached the bottom, one of the predators opened the throat of the other with a lightning quick swipe of its formidable claws. The ravaged opponent shuddered a moment as a red flood blanketed its chest. Teetering a moment, it crumpled to the ground with the stillness of death.
Troy paused. For a long moment, he stared at the tableau spread before him. Despite his anger, despite his thirst for vengence, he felt sickened by the carnage he had witnessed. He had spent his life in the pursuit of knowledge and a quest for justice. Such gory reality had not formed part of his world. The stylized political struggle that had ensnared him in its net and then marooned him on Zehn-Bey bore little resemblance to the steaming corpse confronting him.
Troy jumped as the victorious animal turned its coal black eyes in his direction. He found the intensity of that glare unnerving, yet less for its wildness than for the glimmer of intelligence he glimpsed there. An alien intelligence, perhaps, but intelligence, nonetheless.
Troy tensed, swallowing dryly, as those feral eyes narrowed. Without conscious awareness, he raised his needler to fire.
Nen-al considered the scrawny creature standing before him. His nose confirmed that here was the one he had tracked from the first exploding rock. Soon, it too would die.
The fires of rall-dai still flickered weakly in Nen-al's brain. Though close to collapse, he gathered his legs under him for one last, devastating assault. He would destroy this unusual animal as he had the other. His family would truly feast.
When the beast pointed the small fire rock at him, Nen-al hesitated, remembering only too well the bite that small object could deliver.
Snarling, he berated himself for his cowardice. The first creature had possessed a fire rock, too. Nevertheless, he had slain it with ease. So he would do again.
Once more, he readied himself for his attack. As he prepared to leap forward, a small black streak dashed past him.
As the fire rock spat its flame, Nen-al lunged for his son. The fiery teeth spat by the fire rock chewed up the stone near Nen-al's head while the beast holding it yelled and fell backward. In his injured state, Nen-al could barely restrain his squirming offspring.
Delivering a heavy blow, he cuffed his son in his mate's direction. This kill belonged to him, he thought angrily. As a thud echoed from within the lair, the tiny growling transformed itself into a low-pitched whimper.
Unsteadily, Nen-al swung to face his enemy. His muzzle wrinkled in puzzlement as his eyelids fluttered. Why did the sky grow dark? The afternoon was far from over.
Swaying, Nen-al squeezed shut his eyes. The image of the animal before him wavered and started to fade into a fuzzy...
Drawing on his final reserves, Nen-al struggled to move forward, to complete his attack. His unruly legs refused to obey his commands. Though he opened his mouth it issue his challenge, the world around him spun and dove into blackness before he could utter a sound. Nen-al crashed with it.
Standing open-mouthed and trembling, Troy gradually realized his needler still pointed at the beast. One shaking finger covered the firing button, but he did not depress it.
Only half aware of his action, Troy lowered his arm. Gingerly, he picked his way closer. The animal he had come to slay still breathed.
For a long moment, Troy gazed down on the unconscious predator. A corner of his brain violently urged him to finish the thing off, to even the score. The coup de grâce would be so easy. First riddle the killer of his wife with needles. Then its mate and cub. Take the cave for himself. Dress the beasts for their fur and meat, enough to last him through much of his journey. He could relax a moment, recoup his energy before pressing onward.
Though he found the prospect enticing, Troy reluctantly decided to shut the door on that temptation. If he followed the savage guidance of that primitive dictator in his head, he would betray all he had sought to accomplish in his career. Slaying this animal would not restore his wife to life. To this creature, Rozelle had simply been legitimate prey, one which had fought back but lost. No malice had been involved.
Such could not be said of the members of the Council. If the responsibility for his wife's death was to be assigned anywhere, it would have to be laid at their doorstep. One day they would pay for that crime. Troy vowed to make that hope a reality.
If the being at his feet could survive its wounds, then let it live. Let it care for its family as best it could. Troy knew his destiny lay elsewhere.
Troy examined the beast that had been slain. Larger than a human, it sported thick fur to protect it againat its harsh climate. That obvious fact told Troy what he had to do.
Steeling himself to the messy and unfamiliar task, he cut away at the bloodied hide with his hunting knife. As he worked, he kept a cautious eye on the predators. The male still lay unconscious on the rocks. The female seemed to prefer the darkness of her cave. Behind her, the cub peered out boldly at the human, baring its teeth in a subdued threat.
When he at last finished his grisly chore, Troy wrapped the tattered hide around a hunk of meat and straightened up. The rest of the carcass could remain. The animals would need nourishment if they expected to heal their injuries.
Wiping sweat from his brow, Troy gazed up at the lowering sun. A few more hours of daylight left. Enough time to put distance between himself and these natives. A rock shelter, a small fire, and the fur would see him through the frigid night. Tomorrow he would scrape the hide in his own clumsy way. He knew enough to do that much, at least. Experimentation would have to guide him afterwards.
One final matter had to be dealt with, however, before he could turn his steps to the south.
Aching and tired, Troy climbed the hill. Two graves on an alien world, he thought as he performed his solemn task. Two piles of stones to remind him of all he had lost.
From his new vantage point, Troy watched as the alien mother crawled to her mate. Though badly injured herself, she looked first to his welfare: licking his wounds, nuzzling him, seeking to restore his life.
As Rozelle always did in her own way for me.
Quickly Troy brushed at his eyes and hurried away. A long journey awaited him. At least a month's worth of walking. This would be the first major undertaking of his life he had attempted alone. He knew now he had no choice other than to succeed. For Rozelle.
It was only a matter of time.
The first thought which solidified in Nen-al's reawakened mind was that he had failed. His prey had vanished, and he would have to hunt again. Straining, he attempted to rise. He discovered to his dismay that he could not.
Then he would wait, Nen-al decided. Eventually his injuries would heal and his strength return. His days of glorious killing were far from over.
As his son joined Tren-dar in licking his wounds, Nen-al smiled.
Perhaps, though, he thought contentedly, some of the killing was finally at an end.
