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"Move," His mother snarled as a paw snaked out and struck at the scarcely seven year old cub. D'an-net Vu scampered quickly out of the way, much used to his mother's ways. She had been in her twenties when she'd had the damnation of pregnancy. But for now she had the blessing of a fresh kill, and though the children had long stopped nursing, their very presence taxed her. They could wait to eat. D'an-net Vu and his siblings sat, watching their mother take her fill. She looked up with a snarl, as if she could feel their very eyes on her back. There was a twisted smile to her eyes, "You expect me to feed you?" The cubs squirmed beneath her gaze, unwilling to meet her eyes or offer response. Their mother's face wrinkled with disgust. What stupid, weak children she had spawned. They would learn, one of these days. You got nothing in life unless you stole it from another's hands. Even in hunting, they stole life from another, and for her that was proof enough. The harsh life of a necromancer had only cemented this ideal in her. Fine. If they would act as if the gods hadn't given them a spine, they could act as if the gods hadn't given them an empty belly either. "Find your own meal."

The life of a necromancer was hard. Even before these damnable children she had roamed all over their little continent, moving from one region to the next before the locals could find her. To them, she was evil and death incarnate--and the monicker brought a twisted smile to her face. She had been a daughter of Hurin once. A little sacred healer with a temper that boiled hotter than the spring she would never be christened in. When her mother and father were caught in a rockslide, her father had been killed instantly--buried in the mountain rubble that had served as their shelter. Her mother however.. With her chest caved in, and dreadful red leaking from her mouth and nose, she gasped for air with those wild and terrified eyes. She could not speak, and the only sound that came from her had been a dreadful wheeze. Her little sacred daughter did her best to heal the dieing mother, and when she failed there was a new power that welled up. It was filled with hate at the world, at the powers of the gods and how little they had used them. She had wished so hard for her mother to get up, stand up and be fine, and the corpse did as it was bidden. She was chased out from her home, by the people who had loved and helped to raise her. It was that night when her mother's corpse shambled clumsily back home, and if it had not been for the watchful eyes of the pride, she would have shambled right into that sacred spring. In the mean time, years had passed. Now she was constantly pestered with the presence of three stupid little cubs. D'an-net Vu, whose tail was licked with flame, Dhamir, the largest of the three--and the most stupid, and finally little Lessa. A sacred user, just like mommy. She didn't know if she should be proud or disgusted.

D'an-net nosed his brother's shoulder as he rose, and the larger brother followed as their small sister bounced along. This was becoming a more common occurance. Even when their mother had plenty she was swatting them away from her kills. They had been clever--and lucky--enough to find enough sustenance in their foraging, at least thus far. Lessa scampered before them. It seemed like no matter how bad things got, she still found some way to smile. She took dear care of D'an, and kept Dhamir laughing and playing. "Look!" Her little voice was bright with giggles away from their mother's presence. "Black berries!"
The three of them gorged themselves until their mouths were stained purple and their bellies were full.
"Come on," D'an rose as he spoke. His little belly was tight, and it made him want nothing more than to roll over and sleep, but their mother would be finished eating soon. "We can't get left behind again. Mom won't wait and you know she's cross when we lag behind." Dhamir groaned, with quite the pout on his face. "Can't we stay just a little longer? I'm still hungry." Lessa laughed, "You're always hungry DahDah." She pawed at her bigger brother and giggled as she tugged at his ear, "Come on. Grumpy old D'an is right. Momma will be cross." Dhamin groaned, determined to keep his rear planted, even as his sister tried to tug him along. "But Momma's always cross. Whatsit matter if we're late or not." D'an's eyes narrowed, his tail beginning to lash behind him in irritation as his ears turned back. "You wanna be the one she's mad at? Fine. But if I don't have to, I aint gonna be." Dhamir gave another groan as he rose. Lessa scampered ahead, breaking into giggles all over again. D'an wasn't sure whether to marvel at her bravery, or smack her for her stupidity. "C'mon," she shouted back at her grumpy faced brothers, "Let's make it a game of tag!" Dhamir's face brightened as he agreed and bolted after her. D'an, grumpy as ever, ignored the game for as long as he could--but then the both of his siblings nearly trampled him, and all of a sudden the child started acting like a child, and joined in the game.

The kill hadn't been half finished when they returned, and their mother was nowhere to be found. Something was wrong. There hadn't been near enough finished to fill their mother's belly, and it had been a while since she had brought down a good meal. She should have gorged. Lessa's bright expression paled in fear, "Did..did momma leave us?" Dhamir said nothing, looking more frightened than anything. D'an looked hard at the kill--something was wrong. He was sure he could feel eyes on him, he could feel something, someone watching. The young cub crouched, bright eyes wide. His voice was scarcely above a whisper, hushed and rushed, "We have to go." Dhamir began to groan, loudly as always, and his brother cut him off with a hiss. "Something is wrong. We have to run." Lessa scampered behind D'an, her bright blue eyes daring about the high grasses of the plains, "D'an, D'an I'm scared.." Dhamir got the message, he crouched low and slunk to his brother's side, but the fear was plain on his face. D'an could have sworn that he saw something move in the brush, he kept his voice low, just barely audible. "We follow momma's scent, and we move quiet." His siblings nodded, and followed as close and quiet as they could manage. Lessa had always thought that out of the three of them, D'an was the most like momma. But he wasn't mean like her, he wasn't cruel. He was the one who watched what momma did, he saw the purpose in it even when she was cruel. D'an was the one, at least in Lessa's mind, who kept them safe.

The cubs followed their mother's scent in the underbrush. She had been careful not to leave any visual trace. Hihel'khlai knew well enough when trackers were on her trail. She paused mid stride, scarcely moving as she scanned the forest around her. Something was coming, she could feel the eyes upon her back. With a snarl and a lightning swipe of the claw, she whirled around. Something caught in her grasp before she could even see what it was, and with a yowl it flew, impacting hard against a tree. D'an's vision blurred as he shakily stood, blood welling up from the cuts in his face. His mother's face looked surprised, and for a second almost remorseful before it turned cross once again. "What in S'hem's name do you think you're doing, sneaking up on me you little brat?!" Her voice was low, near a whisper. Lessa rushed forward from where she had huddled behind Dhamir. "We were just trying to find you momma," The little ninja's voice was sweet and as quiet she could manage--she even did well keeping much of her distress out of her tone, "D'an knew something was wrong, he knew we needed to find you and we needed to be quiet, he didn't mean to scare you momma, he really didn't!" His mother's face wrinkled into the beginnings of a snarl as she looked between Lessa and D'an. Those two at least stood a chance in life. That little coward Dhamir--she would be surprised if he survived cubhood. With a low growl she turned, and resumed her pace, wasting no breath on explanations for children who lacked the intellect to understand them. Lessa and Dhamir rushed to their brother's side, Dhamir offering support as Lessa worked at D'an's wounds. Mother would be angry if his blood left a trail for whatever tracked them.

That was when they heard the crashing, when whatever had been following them decided it no longer needed concealing. Three beasts almost twice their mother's size swept around the cubs, and judging by the commotion ahead, more had swamped their mother. D'an, Dhamir and Lessa huddled under the dark eyes of three large males, and when the commotion settled their mother was pushed to them. In a rare display of maternal instinct, she crouched low and growling over her children. D'an couldn't help but notice the way their mother kept her weight off of one paw, how her side heaved in pained gasps. The warriors of the plains had tracked not their mother, but the children. She was just too clever, they explained. They had been on her tail for weeks, ever since she had the misfortune of crossing into their territory. "You would be dead now," Their leader said, his face grim. "If it were not for your children." The hair on the back of D'an's neck stood on end as the gargantuan hunter continued. "Give them to us, leave our territory, and we will let you live."
Hihel'khlai snarled, hackles raised, "You will never take them from me. They. Are. Mine."
The hunter's face turned grim. "Then it's the death of the lot of you." He hardly seemed pleased with her decision. Her death had already been decided, he had only lied for the sake of the children. But now, when cubs snarled at him and stared with livid eyes, there would be no saving them. He would not have his pride straining to feed mouths that would never hold anything but contempt. Yet still, they were children... His eyes had found the stare of one of the cubs, one with bright, livid orange eyes, who despite everything snarled and stared right back. He turned his back on the terrible little family. "We will walk fifty lengths east. When we have reached the end of that fifty lengths we will resume our hunt, and when we find you, we will kill all of you." The words were cold, matter of fact. He might as well have told them the time of day. "Run while you can."
Hihel'khlai wasted no time. "Slow down momma!" Lessa begged, "Just let me help you!" Her mother backhanded her with a snarl. "We have no time you stupid, stupid girl," With a grand sweep she pushed the cub to her feet and pushed her forward. "Now run!"

They ran until their wind was long gone. Ran until their feet hurt, and bled. Just before sunset they came to the treacherous Eastern Canyon cliffs. Hihel'khlai looked at her children with panic in her eyes, where was the path?! There were few, so few safe paths down the cliffs, and she knew not where a single one lay. Hihel'khlai swallowed hard, and turned her eyes to the canyon below her. "We must climb down. If we can make it across the river, we will be safe." Her voice was so rushed, there was no room for malice or sarcasm, only fear. She leaped down to the nearest overhang, a sheer, ten foot drop. Fluidly she shifted, holding her arms out above her. The children hesitated, and her face turned wrathful. "Jump, you stupid little creatures! They will slaughter you if you stand there and stare."
D'an looked at his siblings, and back to the sheer drop. Dhamin stood frozen, and Lessa's face twisted as if she were about to cry. "Lessa!" His voice held the same sharpness as their mother. His sister recoiled as if he had struck her. He took a breath, and steadied himself. "Lessa, you first. Momma will catch you." His sister bit her lip, tears welling up. D'an forced a smile. "Go on, you'll be fine. It will all be fine."
Shakily, Lessa leaned far off the edge, and dropped into her mother's arms. "Now you, Dhamin." His brother shook his head, but D'an found that smile again. "Momma will only be angry if you don't." With a groan, his brother followed into his mother's arms. D'an was poised to follow when the hunters came rushing through the grasses. In a panic, he fell just shy of his mother's arms, just shy of the ledge on which she perched. The sharp rocks of the canyon opened up their maw as if to swallow him whole, and yet they stopped with a grand yank. D'an gave a yowl of pain, looking up for the source. There, he found his mother's panicked eyes, her hand gripped around his firey tail. She mercilessly pulled him up, and gathered her three children tight to her chest as the hunters leaned over the edge. She could have ripped those smug smiles off of their faces and fed it to the carrion birds.
"Look at the little cornered ninja, fellows. Look how she's done our job for us." With that, their leader left the edge of the cliff, and soon, his hunters followed. Hihel'khlai had no doubt that they would wait. They would be sure that she left their lands or died trying. She held her breath for a long moment before releasing her grip on her children. "We're fine. We're fine. They won't follow us into the cliffs, not here. We just have to make it to the other side, and we will be fine." D'an didn't want to ask his mother why the hunters would not follow. He was pretty sure he knew the answer, anyway. Hihel'khlai's arms slowly relaxed, and slipped away from her children. The sun was low in the sky now, and Hihel'khlai lacked the light to find a solid path down. Carefully, she sat back down on their ledge, the children watching her with large, fearful eyes. There'd be no escaping the little beasties now. Maybe she should have just given them to the Almeera hunters, the stupid would never make it down the cliffs. "We sleep on the cliff tonight. Tomorrow we climb." The children swallowed their fear. Tomorrow they would face the cliffs but for now, their tired, sore feet needed rest.

"Shut your trap, Lessa!" Her mother's words cut the cub's singing short as she stared with teeth bared. She would have knocked that smile out of her stupid little face with a well inentioned smack, but the cub danced along a ledge far to high for Hihel'khlai to reach. D'an and Dhamir knew, though. Lessa had always had her little songs, her little tunes she sang when things got scary. Most times, they were nonsense, but she always said it made her brave. That it was a way to let go of all the fear or the hate or the sorrow without it having to shatter your heart to get out. D'an was never sure how right she might have been, but with little Lessa dancing like the world wasn't watching, and singing like her mother wouldn't care, he did feel a bit braver. Lessa cut her song and dance short, and with a deep breath faced that sheer drop one again. Another little song bubbled up, little more than a whispered melody, "And we're so happy... Even when we're smiling out of fear.." The little cub gave a wiggle of the rear, testing her balance for a split second before she simply rolled off the sheer drop. The cub let out a scream, some strange mix of elation and fear. There was one terrifyingly long moment when the world swelled beneath her, when suddenly she realized exactly how far that jump had been. What had looked like only a few lengths earlier now seemed to be miles upon miles, and yet the thrill she felt couldn't quite be called fear. She was dropping out of the world, falling til she hit the sky like one of the great birds of prey. Then suddenly, the earth shuddered beneath her as she landed in her mother's arms, and her cry dissolved into adrenaline driven giggles. "What next, momma?" Hihel'khlai frowned at her child. While she couldn't be entirely angry with the girl, she wanted to tell her to take things more seriously, to be properly afraid of the world around her... But Hihel'khlai saw something in the child, a spark that had long died out in herself. For her, that spark had been trampled when her family had been caught in a landslide, and her pride chased her out. She should.. she should preserve it in the little one.. She couldn't bear to put her through the same pain... She mustered a frown, "Don't look so happy you little twit." Lessa only giggled as she joined her brothers at the edge of another ledge. It had almost become a game. Their mother would jump, fall and climb her way to the next suitable ledge, and the cubs would follow--but who would it be to spot the way? Dhamir stretched out a paw, his expression bright and excited, "There, that one! It's close enough, right?" Their mother half snarled at him, "No you dolt, it would take a miracle for you to make that jump." D'an began to worry as he scanned the canyon wall below him. There were still several hundred lengths before they would be able to leap down safely, but he could see no other overhang or grip that even their mother might be able to reach... Lessa must have noticed the same. "But momma, there's no other way..." She looked up at her mother with those big blues, and her mother frowned. She always frowned. Hihel'khlai scanned the cliff walls--that couldn't be the only way. There were more holes in this canyon than there were in coral. There had to be another way, perhaps she just couldn't see it... She shimmied forward, but to her dismay nothing else came to view.. A string of curses tumbled forward as she coiled tight and launched herself at the forever faraway ledge. Hihel'khlai hit the edge hard, her chest slamming into the unforgiving stone as her claws scrambled for a hold. It was a long moment before the panting coreleo pulled herself onto the rocky ledge.
The children watched in a terrified silence as their mother collapsed, panting on the hot canyon stone. Finally Hihel'khlai pulled herself to her feet. The limp in her back foot hadn't yet healed, and there were two more ribs broken. Such stupid children. This never would have happened if it weren't for them. With a snarl she lifted herself, shifting to her spiderpaw once more. "Get your asses over here." The hate and malice had gone out of her voice, worn out of her. Where there would have been taunts or disbelief, the children only looked to each other as if silently debating who would go first. With reluctance plain on Lessa's face, and fear on Dhamir's, D'an's shoulders dropped with a sigh. The length was six times the length of their mother, head to tail, and twice as far down. He was no where near even half her size. He took a deep breath, and launched himself along the canyon wall. For a moment it seemed he might make the leap, but as gravity began to have its way, and that undeniable force began to drag him straight down D'an realized that he was yet two lengths short. Lessa's eyes went wide and a scream began in her throat. Dhamir clawed to the edge, poised as if perhaps he could leap after his brother, and somehow bring him to safety.
Hihel'khlai felt her heart drop right into that river. As D'an began to drop entirely too short, she was sure, but her child sat clawed to the stone like a spider lost its grip, and he was no where within her reach. In a panic his claws found in the unmerciful stone, a tiny miracle of a ledge--hardly enough to perch upon, and just jagged enough for a child's claws to hold tight too. Desperately, the little child scrambled to the sanctuary of that tiny ledge and his breath refused to come to his body until he was secure.
His mother's face turned wrathful, "Spat Child! Kill us all for fear."
D'an swallowed and after a few tries, managed to stop his limbs from shaking and tear his eyes away from that deep, sheer drop. He gathered his courage, the next jump was little more than two lengths long, short but with a fair drop. He launched himself into his mother's arms, and clung to her. For once, his mother seemed to cling back. She clutched him to her, as if jealous that the stone might have tried to take him. She rubbed his back, the gesture was rough and unpracticed, but she soothed her child until those claws unhooked form her fragile spiderpaw skin and she could set him securely upon the ground.
"Dhamir, you next." Her voice was steady and strong, "Aim for the ledge, and then to me."
Lessa nuzzled her brother, cupping his face in her paws before giving him a kiss on the nose. "Don't worry Dahdah, you'll be fine!" That bright smile could have chased the fear from everything. Dhamir found his ever shaky courage and leaped, but as his claws found the tiny ledge, it gave an ominous crack beneath his weight. He froze in panic, but as the stone held strong, he launched himself to the other side. His mother refused to breathe until he had landed in her arms. She set him down and looked to Lessa, but the child was already in the air, leaping from that solid cliff to the little cracked perch. She landed with all the lightness of a bird, and that wonderful beaming smile that brought all the sun's warmth to their harsh, dark little family. She began to laugh, with those beautiful bright blue eyes. All that bravado, and the gods couldn't have known how terrified she was. Or perhaps it was that the gods couldn't have cared.
In a blink, eternity stretched. An irreversible cracking and crumbling of stone echoed over the walls in an instant as the beautiful child slid down with stone still beneath her paws. Even her smile was denied the chance to flee before she plummeted down.
It wasn't real.
It couldn't be real.
No.
Lessa had been right there. She had made the jump. She only had one more hop and she'd be right there beside them.
The child was disappeared, swallowed by the earth and the river by the time her mother rushed to the edge of the stone.
Hihel'khlai screamed. The boys could only run the scene again and again and again in their minds, hoping to understand it as the cliffs reverberated with the howl of their broken mother. It was only one sound, long and rending.
As it came to an end, she breathed as if drowning until she found the will to swallow it all. D'an sat wide eyed, numb with disbelief. Dhamir had begun to cry, a silent flow of tears that contorted his little face with pain.
Hihel'khlai slapped the child hard enough for his head to bounce off the stone wall. "Stop your snivelling," Hihel'khlai's voice turned quiet and dark, knotted with pain, "Or you'll be the next to fall."


"D'an, do you ever think about Lessa?" The smaller adolescent gave a shrug. He didn't wish to remember their sister in detail. Every time he did, all he ever saw was that smile, and those eyes. They'd been blue like the sky, and her smile was the sun. He heard her laughter. How did that hurt more than anything? "...No." He lied, his voice laced with irritation. There was no use in going over it again, but Dhamin never seemed to see the sense in that. "...You ever think that's gonna happen to us?" D'an-net's brow turned hard, his nose wrinkled and his mouth formed an angry scowl. "Just suck it up Dhamin." His eyes hardened as he turned to his brother. Dhamin might have been larger, even stronger, but he never seemed to harden up. "We haven't made it this far by being weak, Dhamin. It's a luxury we don't get." D'an-net's voice turned impatient, but had somehow softened as his pace quickened as his brother lagged behind. "I know, D'an... I just..I can't help it..." D'an-net paused, if only for a moment. "...I know.. But momma said the world won't give time for that. You know it won't." His little voice drifted off. Lessa died, and spring still came, so did summer. The world carried on--it didn't care that someone who hadn't deserved it didn't make it through. "...We have to keep moving. Else we'll end up the same." Dhamin went silent.
It had been six years since they had been chased into the Eastern Canyon cliffs, since lovely little Lessa had disappeared from their world. Their lives were now filled with desert nights, foraging and hunting what little game there was to be found. They had made their home not terribly far from the Karlaf pride's oasis, and for six years they had narrowly eeked out a living. The two adolescent males were entirely comprised of bone and sleek muscle, far thinner than they ever should have been. Now, as D'an's mane began to come in, it made it hard to hunt, and their mother often left him to care for his brother. They had learned to make and set traps, and spent most of their nights checking and setting. Some nights they ate well. Others they went hungry while their mother hunted.

Where had those idiot children gotten to? It was nearly dawn and they were still trouncing about in the sand. They should have been old enough to start taking are of themselves, and here they were still bouncing about the desert near sun-up. Despite herself, and the irritation those children incessantly caused, Hihel'khlai found herself looking for those two naieve idiots. She had shouted their names, checked the places she thought those dim little things to hide, and nothing. That was when she heard the beginnings of the rukus. Roars, yowls and screams that sounded dreadfully familiar made her blood run cold. Despite herself, terror ran through her as she bolted to the source of the sound.

The scene unfolded at the edge of a pitiful excuse for a pond, filled with long stagnant water. Fire whirled all around them, lighting fur and scorching the desert sand in the night. Some large scarred male, none Hihel'khlai had ever seen, was at the heart of the flinging sand and fire. She could see D'an's bright eyes, blazing even against the beginnings of dawn as he bit down on the back of the male's neck--struggling to find purchase through that thick, matted mane. Beneath them. In the scarred maw of some whore's son was Dhamin's throat. D'an must not have known--or perhaps he did. Either way he still fought for his brother as the male dropped the limp body and whirled to now take the bothersome creature on his back. Rage welled up in Hihel'khlai, it boiled in and through and out of her. The adolescent's corpse moved with a quickness, a cleverness it never should have had--one that had never been expected. The strange, scarred male dropped dead in the sands.
Mother said it wasn't Dhamin any more. Just a side effect. It didn't stop the empty body from following them for the rest of the night.

D'an-net crouched low in the dunes, watching in the night, waiting. His fur was caked with mud, but in the desert nights, it was all he could do to camouflage the beginnings of his flickering, firey mane. His mother's voice spilled out into the dark and the sound of hooves sliding in the sand, that compressed crunch, came hurtling his way. D'an-net was poised, but as the beast lit past he nearly missed his chance. The young corelion launched himself into the air, claws extended and grasping for their mark. His grip slipped, and for a panicked moment he feared he would fall beneath the terrified creature, but he found purchase on the beast's shoulders. The sheer force of his mother's impact sent the beast reeling and D'an with it. Their meal went down quickly, briefly struggling beneath the duo before it stilled and went silent. His mother's silence as she settled down to their supper was the best commendation he would get, and the son took it gratefully. Things had changed after that day. Rather than leaving D'an-net to his own devices when she hunted, his mother had begun to teach him. So long as he helped, so long as he earned his piece, she allowed him to eat. They worked in pairs, and never left each others sight--much to the displeasure of them both.
It had been three summers since they had lost Dhamin. D'an still dreamed of his brother. Never the long talks they've had or the times they'd laughed. Just his brother, broken and empty, shambling after them. Something had hardened in him that day, and it hadn't softened since. This world didn't care about them, and so, the young coreleo refused to care for the world. His mother however, she was barely thirty-five but the world seemed to have worn heavily on her. More and more she questioned her decisions, muttered to herself when she should have been resting in the heat of the day. D'an-net would not admit to himself that he had begun to worry.

They settled in to their meal, eating as quickly as they could. The antelope was large, and the scuffle had been all but quiet. Scavengers would soon come looking and the dawn would burn the sands beneath their feet. It was the best meal they'd had in a while. Both D'an and his mother had worn thin, more skin than muscle, more bone than skin. At least it had dulled the glow of his mane. As the sun began to peek over the horizon, and the few creatures of the day began to stir, the mother and son headed toward their den. Their bellies were tight with food, and as the daylight intensified, they couldn't help but be a tad clumsy. The warmth made them sleepy, and their full bellies numbed the mind. His mother never noticed the snake in her path until the creature reared back, and struck at her face. With a lash of flame D'an struck down the beast. Such a pitiful and fragile creature, but so deadly. Panic welled up in the son's heart. Things between him and his mother, they had never been easy. She had always been hard, harsh and cruel when the times provoked, but she had been his mother. She hat clutched him on those days when she thought she might lose him. Through loss after loss it was those two, just him and his mother who clung to one another in the dark of the desert. Life with her might not have been pleasant. Life without her was unfathomable. His mother scrambled, thrashing as if she could throw out the venom burning in her veins. He tried to plead, he tried to beg--she would, or could, hear none of it. His dark face rippled in anger, twisting to the beginnings of a snarl, "Mother."
The tone was new to her ears, the wrath behind it enough to force a pause.
"If you want to writhe in the sands until you burn, then go ahead."
She could have sworn in the heat of the morning that her own voice came from her son's throat, but something shifted. An almost imperceptible change took the wrath out of his voice, leaving only the sheer will and honesty behind, "But if you ******** don't, be still."
The Mother did as her son told, her body trembling as the venom spread. Until now, she had not realized how large the boy had become. It seemed as if only days ago he was small enough for her to hold to her chest. It seemed as if only days ago that he had walked with his brother by his side, with his sister bouncing along. The fight went out of her.

D'an slid beneath his mother as gently as he could manage, streching her arm over his shoulder and the rest of her atop his back. He pushed on to their den, the way was not far. He laid her down as gently as he could before determinedly plodding back into the day. The Karlaf oasis was little more than half a night's journey from their den. If he hurried in the day... Perhaps he could reach them by sundown.

D'an plodded on at a slow, determined pace. His black coat soaked in the sunlight, made him burn down to his core. The sweltering heat left him panting and thirsty. Travel durring the day was death, his mother had always said--but who was she to talk now? Two nights and she would speak no more, unless he could find a healer in time. He knew so little of what healers were capable of, but if they could heal the way he could turn the flames, then they should be able to fix his mother, no? He pushed on. Kept pushing. Keep the pace. Keep the pace. His thoughts began to wander in the desert heat, and for a moment he could have sworn he had heard, he had seen that dreaded corpse shambling after him. No. That was just the desert's tricks. For a moment.. For a moment he saw a cub, with bright blue eyes and a sunny smile. For an instant he could have sworn it was Lessa, but as the little creature darted off, the laughter was unmistakably male. How.. How utterly strange. With a shake of the head he put his mind back to his pace. He couldn't slack off or he would never reach the oasis in time. He couldn't afford to let his mind wander, lest he lose the way and simply be lost in the desert until he too was dead. With a start he stopped so quickly he landed on his rear in the sands. There it was again, this time just before him. How had he missed the strange little cub?
He giggled at D'an, "Where are you going?"
That big sunny smile, those bright blue eyes, but a boy.
D'an looked at the little cub, puzzled. His answer was hesistant, he shouldn't be telling some desert mirage anything. If anyone saw him they'd be sure he was a loon. "I.. I have to find a healer.. for my mother.."
Somehow the words just elicited another chorus of giggles from the little creature. "Seems silly to me, since you're going the wrong way."
D'an frowned, "I head west, to the Karlaf..."
"You are heading East."
With that the little thing was gone.
D'an stood panting in the heat of the desert summer day, how long had it been? It had been noon not long ago, he was certain. He had looked down and watched his shadow slip beneath him. He looked to the sun, only to find its blinding brightness behind him. His eyes went wide as he turned about, and began to lope west. Panic sent another surge of adrenaline and clarity through his mind. How much time had he lost? How far away had he put himself from his goal? To the sand with the slow pace. D'an kept his loping pace, and rushed westward. Gradually his mind began to falter, going in and out even as his body rushed forward. At one moment, he woke, face first in the sands, and in desperation pulled himself up to carry on. He had to keep going. He must keep going. Just keep going. Just a little further. Just until.. Until the world went black and hot.

He woke in the small shelter. It was a meager little shelter, dug deep in the sands and reinforced and lined with stone to keep the heat at bay. The world around him blurred and trembled when he moved, and the young male pawed at his eyes. "Well. It looks like you've finally woken." The old woman's voice was warm, calm. It almost sounded like she was laughing at him. D'an's brow creased in annoyance as he tried to stand on shaky legs. "I don't have time for this... I need to find a healer..." He took a few steps on the cool stone before he stumbled and nearly lost his feet.
The old woman offered no help, merely gave a lighthearted laugh at his efforts, as if he were a cub attempting its first steps. 'You need water is what you need, sidya."
D'an's irritation flared, and he snarled at the old woman. "I need a healer--"
The old woman's walking stick slammed the stone floor, her expression gone from lighthearted. The lady who stood before him now bore a severe countenance, and D'an was rather sure that if he hadn't cut his words short, the next thing that stick slammed would be his hide. "You listen to me boy. You are in my house, and you will do as I say if you ever want hope of getting my help." She waited a moment, glaring into him, but when D'an offered no response, her expression gentled back to that warm smile and she offered him a pitcher. "Now drink. I don't feel like listening to heat-addled words. Then you can explain what you need me for."
The young man did as he was told, drinking deep. The water was cool and sweet, fresher than he had known since he and his family had cleared the East Canyon river. Once he began, it wasn't long before he found that he had drained the pitcher. The old woman took the pitcher from him with frail hands and set it in its place near the door.
"Now, sidya, what is it that you need of old Ra'ann?"
Though he did his best to speak slowly and clearly, he found himself tripping over his words as they all tumbled out--how his mother needed a healer for a snake's bite, how he had gotten lost in the desert and how now, he didn't even know how long it had been. His expression remained like stone, and even though his worry he kept his temper cold.
"Calm, calm child." She patted his shoulder with a smile. There was not much she could do for such a snake bite. Perhaps if she would have been there the moment she had been bitten she could have helped, but with a full day for the venom to set in, and still half a night--at least--before she could be of any help? Old Ra'ann stood, and gathered what herbs she had. Some for pain, others for sleep. D'an watched as she moved about her stores, stuffing this and that into her little pack and slung it over her shoulder. Soon, she was standing at the door, looking back at him rather expectantly. "Well, are you coming?"

They reached the den but a few hours before dawn. D'an found his mother limp, her face swollen almost beyond recognition. She muttered and rambled, half delirious from the effects of the venom. In moments she laughed through her terribly swollen maw, in others, she cried. D'an sat next to his mother's side--comforting her completely alien to him.
The old healer's face twisted with pity for the poor korliyo as she applied what herbs and medicines she had brought. When she finished her work, she motioned to D'an to follow as she moved out of the den. D'an was hesitant to leave, but reluctantly followed. Old Ra'ann's face was drawn, as if pulled taught by a heavy heart. "Child, you must listen to me, and listen quietly."
D'an gave the old woman a hard look. He was fifteen, and unsure how he felt about being called 'child,' but the look the old healer had given him made him suspect that was not the worst thing. He nodded after a guarded moment, and the elder continued.
"...There is nothing I can do for your mother, beyond easing her suffering. The venom.. it is too deep for me to draw it out." She said the words as gently as she could, her tender as her eyes settled heavily on the ground. At first she had thought she might have been able to at least prolong the woman's life. Now, seeing the wound.. There had been more venom delivered than she had seen in a long time, and in such a place... "...She may live a day, but little more."
D'an turned to return to the den, his movements sharp, agitated. He paused at the entrance. "...Dawn will break soon. You can stay the day, if you wish, and I will escort you back tomorrow night." While old Ra'ann would have much preferred to sleep the day in her own cool bed, she agreed, and settled herself down in a cool corner.

D'an returned to his mother's side. Through the day she never slept. First, she was mostly herself. The herbs had left her groggy, and more relaxed than he had ever seen his mother. She told him not to cry. That he wasn't some girl, or some baby. He was her son. He should keep making her proud, and keep his spat together. Then her mind began to wander. She began to apologize for the way she had raised them, for the loss of his brother and his sister. If she would have just been able to keep her powers under wraps, if she simply would have been able to hold back, perhaps they would never have been found in the Almeera's land. As things became more clouded, she began to weep. D'an wrapped his arms around his mother and held her gently.


"D'an-net Vu.." Her voice was weak now, but somehow the pain had left it. "..Where is Lessa? ...And Dhamir?"
D'an heaved a deep sigh, biting the inside of his cheek as he smoothed his mother's hair. "They're commin momma. Don't you worry. They'll be with you soon."
A smile, though faint on her swollen face, creased her bright blue eyes as she looked up at her beautiful boy. Oh, how had he gotten so big? And then her eyes were just beyond him, they were focused on something far away. Her smile widened, but her voice was a weak whisper, little more than a breath. "Oh, there they are..."
There was no family tree at which to bury his mother. His sister lay in the depths of the river. His brother lay wherever the shambling of his corpse had taken him. D'an burned his mother's body by the last light of day


His steps were slow as he escorted the old healer home under the cool of night. His mane had grown longer, but still had much growing in left to do. Still, it provide more than enough light for the trek back to the Karlaf's oasis. They walked much of the way in silence, at least until the old woman reached her door.

D'an turned to head back to his home, but old Ra'ann cut him off mid-step. "And where do you think you're going child?' D'an paused, looking back to the old woman with empty eyes. Her smile was soft, "I do expect payment for my services... And I have this sneaking suspicion that you might just make a proper one." D'an-net Vu looked at the woman with muted skepticism, "But I am a fire-user."
"No matter," Ra'ann smiled. "I'm sure I'll find some use for you."


And so D'an stayed with the old healer. There was nothing left for him in the desert, and no life he could have survived on his own anyhow. The first few months he passed in silence, but eventually he began to open up. It was strange to him at first, living without survival monopolizing every waking moment. He began to learn all he could about anything Ra'ann would teach him, but most of all he loved her stories. Tales about lusher lands and strange places. He spent his days dreaming of the Yonak falls, the Serpent's road, the Lotus. So many things that Ra'ann had painted as beautiful, wondrous and dangerous places. Slowly, D'an began to smile, then laugh. No one other than Ra'ann seemed to want him in their little settlement around the oasis, but he didn't care. He was happy.
There were days when he wondered if his mother had ever learned any of these things. What her life could have been to make her the hard and cruel thing she became. There were days when he found himself thinking of his brother. He begun to think of him, not as the empty corpse, shambling after him in his nightmares, but as the bright, kind brother that he'd never gotten a chance to appreciate. He wished Dhamin could have known Ra'ann, and on darker days, couldn't help but feel like it was Dhamin who deserved to reach this place, not him. He dreamed of what Lessa would have been like if she had ever grown, but even as he wondered and dreamed, he was at peace. He was happy.

The years began to pass faster. Life was still hard, but now it was so much more worth it. Soon his mane began to grow and flourish. Ra'ann seemed more delighted with it than anyone else. "Look at my little fire-butt, growing up all big and strong." D'an-net could do little more than smile. As he grew older, and they grew closer, Ra'ann became the mother he'd never had. As she aged, D'an became the one taking care of her, and he was happy to. Over the course of ten years, her bones turned stiff, and she became touched with shades of silver and white. Her frame lost its leather sturdiness, and curled under her own weight, but she never paled. "That's it, stop your fussing D'an." The old woman chided as her feather light hands pushed his away. "I might be old, but I'm damned well not a cripple." D'an-net couldn't help but smile, and oblige. She seemed more tired than normal of late, but she managed to move about the little den perfectly fine. Shakily, she sat, and those bright green eyes sombered as she watched D'an move about. "D'an," He paused and looked up. In all truth he needed to get down to the oasis, the fish would be moving soon and he wanted to catch enough for a fine supper, but there was a fragility to his Xoxo's voice that rang strange. With a breath, Ra'ann continued. "What will you do when I am gone?" D'an frowned. "Xoxo, you shouldn't be speaking like--"
"I am one hundred and three years old, D'an. I speak like I want." She cut him off in comically exaggerated fashion. D'an couldn't help but smile, and satisfaction gleamed in her mischievous green eyes. Again she sobered. "And today is my birthday, so answer the question."
D'an took a breath. "I don't know... I haven't quite thought about it."
Ra'ann gave a yawn, "You should go and see the world. Get out of this dusty place." She rose on shaky legs and hobbled back to her bed. "...I think I'll take just a wee bit of a nap. Wake me when you come home, will you?"
D'an gave a smile as he slung his pack over his shoulder. "All right, Xoxo. Sleep well."
"Ratumisha, Rizu."
D'an paused, the note of honesty in her voice strange. She had never quite called him that, not so plainly. It had always just been D'an, even when he had accidentally called her Xoxo, and never really stopped. Confusion and worry began to bubble in him.
"Ratumisha, Xoxo." He half forced a smile as he began to leave.
"Yor x'ajam."
"S'hemingu, Xoxo."

When he returned with the fresh fish, larger than he had ever caught before, he was met with bigger smiles and stories of many 'big fish that got away'. There was no more serious talk, only the smell of good food, and the sound of good company. They laughed and celebrated, talking the night away about things that did not and would never matter. They teased and joked and laughed even more. In some way, perhaps both of them already knew that Ra'ann would not wake the next night. But in typical fashion particular to them both, they would let nothing spoil their time with one another.

When D'an tried to wake Ra'ann the next night, and found the light had left her, there was no confusion. No wondering. Just a raw, bleeding wound opened and not even anger to comfort it. He had never realized how much of a comfort it had been to be so angry, to hate rather than feel. But when his Xoxo passed, passed peacefully and ready and content, it left him with nothing but loss, and not a soul or idea to turn to. It wasn't like pain, at least not any he had known. It was missing. It was grasping for that one thing that had always been there, and now it seemed even in his own heart it was gone. He cried more sorely than he had ever in his life, not with a scream or a howl, but a whispering, soft pain. She had taught him everything that was wonderful in the world, and now--with a smile on her face--she was gone. He buried the old healer next with her family.

He lingered at the edge of the oasis for hours, staring. For all the world he felt like the child staring across the river once more, but this time there was no Ra'ann to stare back.
"You should go and see the world. Get out of this dusty place."
The words were like a whisper he knew he hadn't heard.
So many amazing places she had told him about, so many fantastic people... Perhaps he would make his way to the Hurin, or the Dar-vatta.
And so, at the age of twenty-five, D'an-net Vu began his exploration into Rekkdar...
Let's pray his sense of direction has improved. But as the now 25 year old korliyo took the first steps of his adventure, the exiles closed in. Hardly three days after his departure, the exiles rousted the Karlaf from their home. Life with the Karlaf had already told him what would transpire. Ever since he had heard word of the exile, he and Ra'ann had waited for it...

'S'hem, hear our plea…'

The Fahrel were fierce souls. With ancestors hailing from the inhospitable lands of the western Deserts, their blood had flowed hot for a long while. A group of nomadic warriors, Farhel society revolved around intrapridal brawls and organized fighting. Worth was found not in beauty or nobility or leadership, but rather from power—power that they believed to exist separately from psionics. Such abilities, they believed, only diminished the raw strength of the blood. The only shanak that was remotely socially acceptable among the Fahrel was Sacred shanak, which was found to be vital for such a group that chanced injury so often. Battle ran deep in Fahrel veins. It was less sport, and more a way of life.

With such an atmosphere, it takes little to explain the amount of pride that existed amongst the nomads. Yes, during times of strife the names of gods could be heard on hushed lips, but prayers were acknowledged to belong only out of public eye. So when Kalvu and his wife began to pine for children, little was heard or shown outside of their home. As time passed and Radwi's womb remained woefully empty, no sign of desperation showed on their prideful faces. When his brother and leader Denebh's wife grew swollen and full, quiet prayers were whispered onto the desert's moonlit breeze.

S'hadh was born on the coldest of nights, and was the only of his litter to survive past but a few moments. A tragedy, perhaps, but Kalvu still puffed his chest with pride and spoke of how it surely meant that strength pumped through his son's blood. He was born but a single moon after his cousin Ngava, also the only daughter of a difficult pregnancy, and the two became instantly inseparable. From the time they could walk the two were sparring partners. As Ngava was groomed to become the tribe's next leader, S'hadh was there to lend an ear to the laments of his uncle's high expectations. As S'hadh grew and it became clear there was something different about him, his cousin became his only sympathetic companion.

Long before his first shift, before the average korliyo would have found any skill in psionics, which were foreign enough to the child from the taboo his people held, S'hadh began to have this energy about him. This effervescent glow that gave sign to perhaps a natural propensity for the psionics. From even that early in his life, the korliyo could feel his connection with his people slipping. Warriors laughed, likening the young male as being 'feebler than the mirage child.' Others said how Choqlehut must have done quite a number, if such a flashy show was needed to hide the weakness in his blood. As S'hadh aged further and the psionic glow licked like flames down his spine as his mane grew, becoming more full and more bright, the insults only continued. Even the pride in Kalvu's eyes became dim and though Radwi held only love for her only son, he could see the pain in her smiling comforts.

When S'hadh reached his late teens and attempted to sheer his mane with a sharpened stone, Ngava was the only one to catch his hand. She looked to her cousin with a worried brow and compassionate eyes. "Ngatte," she crooned, cradling his hand with hers and wiping teary eyes dry. "Nijul," she continued. The two were each other's siblings that they never had. The exaggeration of affection made him snarl. "Bojwame," he hissed, pushing her away. He needed no sympathy. Ngava had become the gem of the tribe. And S'hadh? This place could no longer be a home to him. Any attempts to prove himself became lost to claims of him hiding behind his shanak. S'hadh had become a token of cowardice. "I haven no place here, Ngava. Not like this, I don't. I am no Farhel. No fighter."

"The others are fools," Ngava scoffed in return, "Light show or not, you can easily best them. I might even say that you're a worthy opponent to me," she finished with a playful smirk. S'hadh gave an amused snort at his cousin's overplayed conceit, only to follow it with a heavy sigh as his head fell into his hands. In his shifted form, his hair flared about his face. The glowing red and blues blinded him from the rest of the world. "Even if that were true, what could I do about it?"

Ngava only shrugged and gave a resigned, "Perhaps nothing." The sudden passivity made his brow crease. His cousin leaned back, casual in her shifted form with her ankles crossed and hands folded behind her head. She shrugged again, then looked at him pointedly before standing, holding a hand to the side of his face. "Your time will come," she assured before shifting and leaving S'hadh to contemplate her words.

Less than two years later, a time of change had indeed come. In a distant land, a leader sent his kingdom's criminals to the Karlaf's Oasis, and the main pride of the desert left. The ideals of the peaceful pride may have clashed with those of the Farhel, but necessity brought the two together. The Farhel may have had small numbers but compensated with hearty souls, brunting through travels to deep parts of the desert to bring back worthy wares that were of value to the Karlaf. The Farhel economy became dependant on trade to the Desert Pride, and with sudden changes came bubbling turmoil. Unrest settled over the warriors' hearts. There was talk of leaving. There was no more room for the tribe to flourish now that the Karlaf were gone. It was in the pride's best interests to move on. After all, they were strong enough to forge a new path wherever they wanted. This was met with defiance towards the idea that the Farhel could possibly be so dependant on another pride, let alone one who valued weak and placid blood. If the Farhel were strong enough to make a place elsewhere, why not continue pressing onwards where their ancestors had lived and bled? A few lowly criminals surely would pose no threat, and they could made do with trading with whoever they could, even if it meant expanding their bounds.

It wasn't long until petty arguments led to brawls, which threatened to lead to all out civil war. Denebh and other traditional Farhel were faced with a rebellious splinter group that advocated for a new home and S'hadh found himself caught in the middle. Ngava fought loyally at her father's side, while Kalvu spoke of his brother's foolery. "Appan nijul speaks without understanding," he would mutter, low and quiet in the tense desert air while Radwi watched with concern, caring not for these silly arguments and worried for the sake of her family. Of her people. "Such action will bring our people to their downfall," he spat, and when Radwi's gaze met that of her son, S'hadh found it appropriate only to walk away and deliberate which side he stood upon. Ngava had been just as forward as Kalvu, if not for being in the other direction. She disdained her uncle for deepening the rift in the family and for giving the rebellion a powerful voice. Even more so, she disdained him for the position he had pressed onto his son. Her tone, that of a general addressing her army, softened only to comfort her troubled cousin. Still, S'hadh found no solace.

What he did find, though, was a stranger.

The desert sun was dipping low into the sky, shadows growing long and vast against the endless sands, when he saw her unfamiliar form amongst the weeds. She was dark-pelted and bright-eyed with a crack down her core that made him wince. The korliyo made S'dadh take pause. Never before had he met such a stranger. She had a presence about her that made him shudder. With trepidation or intrigue, he couldn't say.

"Fax'ia," the korliyo explained with a charming smile as he inquired, giving her food and drink as he did so. "My name is Fax'ia, and I come from a land far to the east."

An exile, she explained. The words made her frown and S'hadh felt instantly a connection with this korliyo that he hadn't had with another, before. Not even Ngava. Fax'ia told how she became exiled from her land. Deemed a criminal, whose only crime had been that of circumstance. She showed him the deep scar, the upside-down V that marked her side, and closed her eyes as she recounted the story.

S'hadh knew well enough that prides in the east treated psionics differently than his people did—he had no expectation that his was the normal society. So when Fax'ia recounted how she was once a powerful user of the water shanak, revered by her village, he was hardly surprised. The village, she explained, was run politically by a sort of monarch. A lord and his wife. The pair of them served as the head of a council that ran the tribe's affairs. Fax'ia served as a spiritual leader; her capabilities with the water shanak made her spiritually connected to the ocean, upon which the fishing village relied heavily for food, and to Inura, the village's main deity.

Life was good for the korliyo. She was well respected amongst her people, and her village was in a time of peace and prosperity. Then the lord's heart turned to greed. He wished for power over his people in every regard, and sought to take Fax'ia's position for himself. Being a user of the Sacred shanak, the tribe would not believe him to be capable of holding the role of a spiritual leader, so he tried other ways. When the lord approached Fax'ia, the stars bright and diamond-like on the ocean's shores, with a silver tongue and seduction in his eyes, she turned him down, not wanting to taint her position. The clever lord was quick to turn the situation around. He spoke of how Fax'ia had attempted to court him. To steal him away from his wife and make him but a puppet of a monarch. The village grew furious. Words of exile spat from sharp tongues.

They brought her to the Desert's edge. They carved the exile's mark into her side. They brought Electo psions powerful enough to crack her core enough to where it would take months to mend.

S'hadh felt waves of sympathy and remorse. He lay a paw on her core, still with a long crack down the center, and explained how she could make a home, here. If not in his tribe, than near it. Fax'ia gave him a sad smile. And with that, S'hadh had a friend.

The Farhel would have none of it. The presence of a stranger—an exile, at that—only exacerbated the already worsening tensions. Ngava didn't trust the newcomer. Her cousin's psionics she had no problem with, but her culture's taboos and seclusionist tendencies still made her distrustful. S'hadh believed his cousin to be over exaggerating. Fax'ia seemed to be harmless. It started to make a rift.

"Still, Ngatte. We must be wary, especially now. Things around here are becoming unpredictable. The last thing we need is another wild card in all of this mayhem." Ngava was frustrated. More acts of violence were erupting around the pride. Denebh and Kalvu were only perpetuating it all with their unwillingness to compromise.

"She's the only one who understands me, Ngava. Who understands what I'm going through. How am I supposed to just turn her away?"

"By just turning her away, S'hadh! There will be more psions. It's not like she's the only one, or anything. Couldn't you wait until it would be more reasonable?"

"But now is the most reasonable time! With everything that's happening, I need someone where who can help me. She's teaching me t-"

"Oh she's teaching you!" Ngava's voice turned to a hushed scolding. There was pause and both cousins only watched each other solemnly before Ngava broke the silence. "Ngatte, I only worry for you. You know what you mean to me."

S'hadh sighed and looked upwards towards the cloudless desert sky. "Qya. I know."

Ngava moved close, setting her maw into his warm, glowing mane. "Ratumiyu." He responded with a sad smile. "Ratumiyu," he murmured back quietly. It would be the last time she would speak those words so fondly.

S'hadh was becoming more and more skilled and honing his shanak. Fax'ia, though not a Heat psion, helped him recognize feelings and capabilities within himself. She had started to become his greatest ally. Farhel members would watch from a distance with scorn as they trained in the desert's twilight hours. Ngava looked on with worry. The sunrise after S'hadh celebrated with Fax'ia his progress, his first honed fireballs, witnessed in the dark by a number of pride members, a body was found. On the edge of the tribe, Denebh's corpse lay, beaten and scorched.

The blame fell quickly, and S'hadh fled to his home as warriors followed. Just as the psion scum learned to use his abilities, the leader of the pride that scorned him was found dead. How could that possibly have been a coincidence? Ngava led the charge with tears of betrayal in her eyes. She no longer used the titles of kinship towards her cousin. He was an enemy, and no longer family.

In the shadowy den, he was met by Kalvu's dark silhouette. "Ngondi, I didn't do it. I don't know how-"

"Leave." Kalvu's voice was cracking, as if it were forced. Pained. S'hadh paused, tears welling. Golden eyes moved over his home, knowing it would be the last time, and the korliyo turned towards the exit.

It was the labored breathing, like the last breaths leaving a corpse, that made him stop. He turned back towards his father and noticed the twitching. As he moved closer and his mane's glow illuminated the room, he saw the dead eyes… "What is this." S'hadh's voice was only a horrified whisper.

"Oh, only too clever, little dear." Fax'ia's voice sounded as it never had before as she moved from the back of the den. "And still so easy to fool. Sad, sad S'hadh. The bleeding heart so willing to show compassion to a damsel in distress." Her words turned sharp and she snapped by his ear. S'hadh hadn't noticed that, for days now, her core had been completely healed.

A necromancer. It was so clear, now. The tales of her home were but a lie. He had been used. Yes, she was an exile, Fax'ia explained. But not for any fairytale reasons worth spilling tears over. Fax'ia was tainted. A criminal that killed and used those corpses to fulfill horrid deeds. Kalvu had been such a victim. A heat psion as well, though he had hidden it from his son. Easily killed and used to frame the murder.

"And now this place is mine. This tribe of prideful fools. So many powerful bodies. So much can be done with them, don't you think? All of them rippling with potential. And that delicious cousin of yours. Do you hear her, now? She calls your name with disgust. She calls for your blood. What a lovely little puppet she would ma-" Her voice cut off as snarling fangs sunk into her throat, S'hadh's mane flaring. A last guttural breath left her maw. It almost sounded like a laugh.

S'hadh ran from the den, blood soaking his maw, only to come eye to eye with Ngava. He could almost feel her rage, her horror at seeing her cousin, freshly soaked with blood. There was a pause as he only stared, wondering what he could possibly say to make this all right. What must it look like, to her? To see her cousin, for whom she adjusted her morals, covered in blood and the only logical suspect in the murder of her father.

"Njatte, it's not-"

"Don't," Ngava snapped, snarling and tearing, "don't ever call me that. You are no family of mine." She spoke between clenched teeth. She was alone. It was her duty, she explained to the rest. Her cousin, her family, her responsibility. In just an evening, she had become a leader. A warlord. Still, she didn't know what she was supposed to do, now. Her own cousin? It was an obstacle she wasn't ready to face.

"You have one chance to leave, S'hadh. I will allow you to leave in peace, if only for the good times we've had. If you stay, there will be blood." Ngava's voice had become stoic and cold. "If there is any care for us left in you, S'hadh. Go."

He had no choice but to run to the borders, moving swiftly along the sand that had been his home until he could hear the calls no longer. As the sun set on his last day in what would never again be called his home, S'hadh collapsed.

"Rizu," the voice was so soft and gentle, S'hadh believed it to be a mirage until he looked up and saw the sad, warm eyes of Radwi standing over him. He froze, ready again to run. As his mother's nose nuzzled into his mane, his muscles melted and he collapsed into tears. "I saw it all happen, S'hadh. It's okay, I understand." His mother shifted and ran her spider-paw fingers through his mane. "Go, now. Find your home," she whispered, close and loving, "Find where you belong, and burn brightly, there."

Name of the character: Arrim

Place of residence: His pride was nomadic, and so is he! He currently is curious about Darvatta and can sometimes be spotted around their territory. Otherwise, he prefers to stick to rural areas and avoid being seen. He never attends large gatherings of Corleo.

Is he a member of a pride? If so, which one? He is no longer a member of any pride. The pride that raised him, the Hixa, never quite recovered from the necromancer scare. Hinxa's taint was permanent. They had been divided, and that large fissure only grew. Some were angered by Hinxa's exile and left immediately. Others began to question the infallibility of family (if something bad happened to them, would they, too, be turned away?) and left seeking new prides. Without a strong leader, their hunts suffered and their food supply dropped. They declined steeply, and most joined Darvatta shortly after it was formed. Only a few dozen remain, comprised mostly elders of those that were to prideful to consider joining other tribes. Arrim himself left shortly after the events involving his sister when it became clear that he was expected to assume leadership on his her behalf. He has been wandering on his own for almost a decade now.

Personality***:

In many ways, Arrim's looks are deceiving. He seems quite flashy, but he has always been a quiet, muted, introverted individual. Unless he is extremely passionate about something, he would prefer to listen to people than to talk. He is very comfortable on his own and will rarely actively seek out the company of others. He does not like being the center of attention, which is often a problem now that he has such an outstanding appearance.

As a child, his first instinct when faced with new situations was to hide away unless Hinxa was at his side. He no longer has that option. Because he is usually on his own and stands out so much, he has learned to be more confident. For most conflicts or decisions, he will readily yield to others as getting his way is not worth his energy. However, if he thinks something is important he will put his foot down, step up, and persist until it is made right. He has almost nothing left to lose, and not much intimidates him anymore.

Surviving on his own has made Auric into a pragmatic individual. He is judicious, sensible, and unemotional. He sees things as they are and is not easily distracted by drama or idealizations. He performs well under pressure, especially in unpleasant situations, and is talented at figuring out the best means to an end. As a result, he sometimes winds up being pessimistic, cynical, and lacking in imagination. Yet, he is also extremely reliable.

Arrim is inherently humble. The more he learns, the more he is aware that he knows so very little both the world and himself. Although he has seen many places, he did so among the very isolated Hixa. Thus, he feels he still has much to experience in terms of other peoples' cultures. He knows he relied on Hinxa far too much while growing up. He never figured out how to connect deeply to those outside of his immediate family and does not remember how to have fun.

All of these traits sum up to a rather calm, level-headed, individual. Arrim is non-confrontational, patient, and extremely difficult to provoke. He does not lose his temper or and he does not lose his head. These days he would fare much better in a pride than he did when he was young, but he has no intentions of settling down any time soon.

Background*** (if possible, include upbringing):

The Hixa tribe dislikes outsiders and thus is somewhat isolated from other Corleo cultures. They worship their ancestors in addition to the normal gods and consider speaking ill of kin to be a sin. They have a strong sense of pride and honor. Generally, they scorn frivolity, trouble making, and laziness. Cubs were raised very strictly and were expected to be obedient, quiet, diligent, and respect their family above all else. A Hixa may only be disciplined until he or she comes of age. Beyond that point, they are expected to be old enough to understand and adhere to family traditions.

A child is considered to have come of age when he or she can successfully shift into his or her human form with ease, participate in a hunt, and pass a basic psionics demonstration. Those that appear to be wiser and more thoughtful than the others are assigned to the Hixa's council, an assembly that exists to advise the leader. Those that are outstanding and trustworthy like Hinxa are assigned into various roles, the most notable of which is the patriarch or matriarch (this title does not extend to one's spouse). If selected, one becomes a "vice" and shadows adults of his or her destined social classing. A vice does not actually come into a power until a position is opened up by either voluntary retirement or death and succeed strictly by seniority. Others Corleo are considered normal citizens. There is nothing shameful about not being chosen for a governing body, as few generally are.

This environment is very unforgiving but loving. When he was still a member, Arrim felt pressured to work hard to carry his own weight and to not inconvenience anyone else. A significant part of his childhood timidness came from the fact that he was afraid that his failures would burden others... and you can't fail if you don't try!

After Hinxa left, the Hixa had no successor, as it was unheard of to have more than one vice-matriarch or vice-patriarch at once. In the following confusion, many hinted that Arrim might be selected to lead in her place. While he did not have an outstanding record of past achievements, they took his sudden ignition and key decision to be a sign that he should take over. Besides, one of his main weaknesses, his inability to properly use the heat shanak, had suspiciously disappeared with his sister.

Arrim was not willing to accept so much responsibility. He had been admittedly a little jealous of Hinxa's good fortune while growing up, but he took the events of her downfall to be a lesson in "being careful what you wish for". The vote had taught him the hard way that leadership involves making choices that make or break lives. Although his commanding appearance was a decent substitute for charisma, he did not have his sister's courage. He believed that he was a thousand years too young to be deciding the futures of other. Any attempts he made to explain this were mistaken for humility and applauded. Therefore, before the council had a chance to properly consider him for succession, he removed himself from the running by leaving the family. After all, a Hixa is expected to act for the greater good and he genuinely believed that his selection would have been a mistake. How could he protect an entire pride when he could not protect his own angwa!?

Since moving on, Arrim has diverged from his Hixa roots somewhat and become much more open minded and confident. Although he is usually alone, he is much happier. Similarly, his kin who joined Darvatta several years later have relaxed their values a great deal. Those that remain independent are still as xenophobic and inflexible as ever.

How has his unique condition been affecting him?*** The Hixa see Arrim's condition as a sign that he made the right choice to exile his sister. Rumor suggests that it was a punishment for his cowardice instead, sent by the gods to force him to change his ways. Practically, it is a royal pain. It attracts moths at night, makes stealth and therefore hunting nigh impossible, and draws too much attention. Arrim himself simply considers it a part of who he is - a part that only surfaced when the security of his former life was threatened. When Hinxa rose, he fell. When she fell, he rose in turn. His fire is the burden he must carry for betraying his sister, but it is also the light that guided him away from the Hixa which allowed him to grow into who he is today.

His goals/ motivations: Arrim has found life without the Hixa to be surprisingly free. He aims to use that freedom to see the world and different places. Part of him is seeking a new place to belong and another part of his is trying to come to terms with what he did to his sister. He believes that by investigating the leadership of different prides he will gain some new perspectives on his decision. One of his specific goals is to meet the Harbinger and find out why he chooses exile for necromancers. However, this might be easier said than done, as he is unwilling to go too far into Darvatta territory for fear of meeting any former Hixa there.

What kind of people is he the most likely to get along with and/or respect? Arrim expects people to be honest. He's not naive enough to assume that others care about being honorable or have the same morals as he does, he does not care as long as someone is not pretending to be something he is not.

What kind of people is he the LEAST likely to get along with and/or respect? Arrim is not a fan of extremists who are inflexible and accept things without thinking in the name of tradition. Since leaving the Hixa, he has found a lot of their customs to be narrow-minded and ignorant and believes that maybe the pride would be in a better state if they were willing to learn from outsiders.

As a cub there was not much that set Pyrros apart from the rest of the Corleo cubs. He looked the same as any other. It wasn't until he and the other cubs were growing older and reaching their adolescence that it was becoming clear that he realized he was lacking something. No matter how hard he had no psionic abilities. Pyrros was soon labeled as a cripple. The other young Corleos soon far surpassed him and he no longer fit in with them. The strongest of the adolecents lead the other youths into bullying him, jeering at him that a cripple was useless. Only one other young Corleo stayed by his side as a friend, but because of his friendship he also became a target.
In anger and disgust at the other Corleo's loyalty to the cripple as the years went by, the leader of the bullies decided to show what would happen if you chose to go against the wrong Corleo. Without the help of the elder Corleos to protect them the youths were forced into a confrontation. With little fighting ability and fewer numbers they were quickly backed up to the edges of the cliffs. Suddenly Pyrros was rammed over the edge, his friend flew after him, and they both plummeted to the rocky beach below them. The tide was high that day but the waters were not deep enough to save them from harm. He blacked out as he became consumed by intense pain.
When he awoke again much later he found himself being taken care of by a Corleo he did not recognize. The Corleo explained that he had found him and his friend washed up on the rocky beaches. His friend couldn't be saved and Pyrros mourns his loss. Pyrros himself had sustained much damage. He had broken two of his legs, some ribs, and his core was cracked heavily. And such a traumtic force had cracked not only the protective shell of his core but a special and unusual shell that had been coating root of the core. That shell was what had been hindering his ability to use his psionic abilities and his true appearance. His appearance had changed to reflec the shanak his psionic abilities naturally leaned towards. It was like a hyper active scar tissue build up that was even now building up around his root core again. As long as that scar wrapped around his core his psionic abilities would be limited. The stranger gave him a bangle. He told the youth to wear it and it would slowly deteriorate the scarring tissue around his root core, but not completely. He psionic abilities would be very weak until he found another solution. Pyrros realizes that the Corleo is using dark shanak, but accepts the bangle. Before he could question anything more the Necromancer leaves him and Pyrros attempts to crawl after him but the pain of his injuries stop him. There's not much he can do since he is still healing. He would take the knowledge and offering of the Necromancer and grow stronger and find a way to release his psionic powers.