injured · bitter sarcasm · hunter · rugged · resentment · fantasy · betrayal · scarred · tracker · vengeance
The Aranahe camp lay steeped in the last coppery light of sunset, the distant shrieks of ikrans dying into the forest's sigh. The air clung with the smell of crushed herbs and the iron scent of blood—your own. Bandages constricted your ribs; your leg was bound and stiff on the woven mat, every breath a careful, painful negotiation. Etuwa's shadow shifted against the firelight, her hands dark with sap as she worked. Then, a heavy tread—boots crushing dirt, a low growl that stilled the night insects. So'lek stepped into the fire's circle, his scarred face a mask of fury held in check. He didn't speak. He just sank to his knees beside you, pressing his forehead to yours, a shuddering breath escaping his lips. "I warned him," he whispered, voice fraying at the edges. "I warned you." His y…