REVENANT: PART VII: Club [Prompt 49]
Sorry, this part and the next one are going to be longer than average, it seems. Hopefully they don't "drag" as a result. Thanks for all the comments, and for reading <3
Title: Revenant
'Verse/characters: Revenant/Kadar, Kerwin
Prompt: #49 Club
Word Count: 1697
Rating: PG
Series Summary: In a post-apocalyptic future, a single pocket of Eden remains where a handful of survivors dwell. And then, there are those who were created for this world...
Kadar has been tracking the panther for the better part of the night. During all this time, the boy trails at his side, little more than a shadow, never talking, never tiring, asking no questions, dark eyes diligently scanning an arc of scrub and ground. Every other moment, Kadar's gaze flickers over him in silent appraisal. Kerwin moves like a cat, stalking through patches of forest on the balls of his feet, placing one foot in front of the other, all sleek ripples and soundless motion. Even when he glances upward, some wild spirit dances behind the cage of those heavy lashes, longing to escape. It's now expected that he will accompany Kadar on every hunting expedition. Secretly, Kadar hopes to mould the boy in his own image, although he knows this fledgling still shares the weakness of the female spirit that dominates his life: an aversion to killing, a distaste for bloodshed. But preparations must be made.
Someday soon Kadar will be too old for this, and then he will be of no more use to the Strays.
He grimaces, knees and fingers crackling as he kneels to inspect a dusty patch of earth. Scarred by deep claw marks and littered with splinters of broken scrub, it's only too evident that the prey passed by here not long before them. Kerwin, too, now points to a telltale patch of black fur peeking out through the thorny undergrowth. The boy's hand trembles, probably from the thrill of the chase. Kadar knows it won't take long, in any event, to weed all sensitivity and sentimentality out of him. It never does.
But that's the thing about weeds: they always grow back.
He first detected the panther that night they brought in the newest Outsider. Two sets of tracks met in the depths of the forest, converging at a point, before going their separate ways: one heading for the ocean in a haphazard spiral, the other making a more considered approach towards the clearing. Despite recognizing the second set of prints, and knowing another apex predator would mean competition for an already scarce food supply, Kadar did not follow them straight away. That very spot was where the creature they now kept in the pit had almost taken his life. So he sent Kerwin instead, but the boy's sister and her witchcraft proved too much of a distraction. The child is over-protective of her, distastefully so perhaps. Soon, Ramona has advised, the siblings will need to be separated. This is also where Kadar's hunting lessons come in. All Nethaniel has to do is keep his part of the bargain -- keep Darcy distracted with spiritual sweet-nothings and intangible spellsongs -- though at least her healing skills are of some use to the tribe. And while Darcy remains the single girl among them, Kerwin is not the only one with eyes for his sister.
Yet Kadar can't be too harsh on the boy when he knows his own cowardice let the rival hunter go free.
Now he catches Kerwin glancing warily upwards, distracted from his surveillance duties. Their minds run the same path. Already the stars are beginning to fade, the indigo night melting into smoky violet embers that all too soon will ignite the horizon. In another hour or so, crimson clouds like daubs of blood will stain the sky, slowly paling to amber, ushering in a new dawn, rousing another searing day. By that time, if they have not made it back to the safety of the camp, no amount of skill with eye or blade will keep them alive out here.
It's been almost nine years, and still no one dares to meet this new world face to face.
But tonight, Kadar has no wish to squander their efforts. He shoulders the boy forward, eager to catch up to their target while they still have a chance. Together they press on, ducking and weaving through unending tangles of broken trees and coiled limbs. Soon, however, the tracks become so obvious that even a little child would have no problem following them. As the forest retreats into heavy shadow, the wind begins to pick up, its cold caress prickling the backs of their necks. Kerwin hesitates a moment at the entrance to a ring of black earth, his muscles tense, head raised, sniffing the air. With every breath, a strand of silver mist drifts into the emptiness beyond his body.
This is the very same clearing, though somehow they managed to approach it via a different course.
Kadar, on the other hand, feels no need for any such shows of animal prowess or caution. He makes a beeline for the centre of the clearing, trying to ignore the fact that now his own hands are shaking. It has been so very long. The beast he let slip must be near.
A twig underfoot snaps suddenly, reverberating through the empty night.
Kadar utters a single expletive, and then all the world fills with screams. Shadows on his left side converge into one solid mass, and the feral cat barrels towards him, white eyes aglow as it takes to the air. Just a heartbeat in which to admire its grace, the arc of its slow leap, before the force of its body knocks him flat upon the earth. His head smacks against the ground. The animal is maybe half his length, but compressed into a ball of seething hatred, crushing his torso. Red pulses laced with white streaks of agony threaten to blind him, as great talons sink into his ribcage. The creature's hot breath snarls in his left ear, while its fangs hone in on the major artery that throbs against his exposed throat. He cries out, mostly to keep his mind awake.
There is no time for pain.
Letting out one low growl, the black cat swivels its head to glare at something over its shoulder. Kadar gasps for air. A handful of rocks shower the earth at his side like pebbles skittering over a solid cliff. Kerwin must be trying to distract the beast. But there is no time for admiration either. Kadar's fingertips strain for his belt, his one free hand grasping for the hilt of his hunting knife, pulling out a blade that gleams almost gold with dried blood and rust. As the brute turns to face him once again, the knife edge blurs through the air, burying itself in the creature's own throat. A warm spray of blood splashes onto his cheeks and into his open mouth, almost choking him. The cat falls away, pawing at the earth in desperate confusion, and Kadar springs to a crouching position as quickly as his injury will allow. White eyes glaze over with something almost akin to sadness. Now that he can see it more clearly, the cat's likeness bears equal traces of dog, with a shaggy tail tucked between its legs and a great white ruff turning pink around its shoulders where the blood continues to flow. Kadar reaches behind him for the club he dropped when he fell to the ground. The beast gurgles as it tries to growl, its body convulsing.
It is nearly finished.
First, however, Kadar tends to his wounds, wilfully letting the creature suffer while he strips the remains of his shirt from his torn chest and has Kerwin tie a tight knot around his torso, to help stop his bleeding. He can't help laughing as he brandishes the weapon, black as his foe and made of smooth solid wood. Once upon a time, he was just a humble accountant, playing at being caveman on his weekend camping expeditions. All the weapons he now carries were presents from his late wife, and he has not spared a thought for her in years.
Somehow, this all seems too fitting.
Kerwin turns away as Kadar lands a blow on the dying panther's head. Even now the animal tries to fight back, staggering against the earth, choking on its own blood as it attempts a last defiant roar. He hits it again, and again and again. Six more blows later, the form at last lies still, but for the wind stirring over its pelt. In death it looks peaceful, as things so often do. Generations ago, back in that world of numbers and neckties, its ancestors might have been someone's pets. In this world, however, it will make a fine feast of raw materials and meat. He kicks its broken body, just to be sure the lungs are devoid of breath, then spins on his heel, seeking out his companion.
Is the boy still so repulsed by death?
But Kerwin has wandered to the far edge of the clearing, and kneels down, inspecting something beyond the earth and scrub. Kadar catches murmurs of words, though from where he stands he can't make out what the boy says. Sighing impatiently, and hoisting the club over one shoulder, he walks across the blackened earth. "What the -?" he begins to yell, but is cut short by a frown from Kerwin, who presses a finger to his lips, and then points toward the undergrowth. Kadar squints into the darkness, his night vision not what it used to be. It takes his eyes a moment to adjust, but his ears fill in the blanks between. A high-pitched mewling sound, like a child's toy; a chorus of them, in fact.
The beast also had a family to defend.
He gazes down at Kerwin, who is trying to coax the cubs out of hiding, his open palm and gentle whispers speaking only of warmth and trust, unnecessary tools for a hunter. Not for the first time, Kadar questions his choice (and, ultimately, Ramona's) -- a boy like this will never be capable of making the hard decisions, putting kindness behind the needs of the pack. Sneering, he throws the club down at his companion's feet. Kerwin only stares up at him with those wild black eyes, still not comprehending.
"Finish it," Kadar says, and stalks back over to his kill.
Previously...
REVENANT Part VI: Sixth Sense
REVENANT Part V: Strangers
REVENANT Part IV: What
REVENANT Part III: Triangle
REVENANT Part II: Earth
REVENANT Part I: Water
Title: Revenant
'Verse/characters: Revenant/Kadar, Kerwin
Prompt: #49 Club
Word Count: 1697
Rating: PG
Series Summary: In a post-apocalyptic future, a single pocket of Eden remains where a handful of survivors dwell. And then, there are those who were created for this world...
Kadar has been tracking the panther for the better part of the night. During all this time, the boy trails at his side, little more than a shadow, never talking, never tiring, asking no questions, dark eyes diligently scanning an arc of scrub and ground. Every other moment, Kadar's gaze flickers over him in silent appraisal. Kerwin moves like a cat, stalking through patches of forest on the balls of his feet, placing one foot in front of the other, all sleek ripples and soundless motion. Even when he glances upward, some wild spirit dances behind the cage of those heavy lashes, longing to escape. It's now expected that he will accompany Kadar on every hunting expedition. Secretly, Kadar hopes to mould the boy in his own image, although he knows this fledgling still shares the weakness of the female spirit that dominates his life: an aversion to killing, a distaste for bloodshed. But preparations must be made.
Someday soon Kadar will be too old for this, and then he will be of no more use to the Strays.
He grimaces, knees and fingers crackling as he kneels to inspect a dusty patch of earth. Scarred by deep claw marks and littered with splinters of broken scrub, it's only too evident that the prey passed by here not long before them. Kerwin, too, now points to a telltale patch of black fur peeking out through the thorny undergrowth. The boy's hand trembles, probably from the thrill of the chase. Kadar knows it won't take long, in any event, to weed all sensitivity and sentimentality out of him. It never does.
But that's the thing about weeds: they always grow back.
He first detected the panther that night they brought in the newest Outsider. Two sets of tracks met in the depths of the forest, converging at a point, before going their separate ways: one heading for the ocean in a haphazard spiral, the other making a more considered approach towards the clearing. Despite recognizing the second set of prints, and knowing another apex predator would mean competition for an already scarce food supply, Kadar did not follow them straight away. That very spot was where the creature they now kept in the pit had almost taken his life. So he sent Kerwin instead, but the boy's sister and her witchcraft proved too much of a distraction. The child is over-protective of her, distastefully so perhaps. Soon, Ramona has advised, the siblings will need to be separated. This is also where Kadar's hunting lessons come in. All Nethaniel has to do is keep his part of the bargain -- keep Darcy distracted with spiritual sweet-nothings and intangible spellsongs -- though at least her healing skills are of some use to the tribe. And while Darcy remains the single girl among them, Kerwin is not the only one with eyes for his sister.
Yet Kadar can't be too harsh on the boy when he knows his own cowardice let the rival hunter go free.
Now he catches Kerwin glancing warily upwards, distracted from his surveillance duties. Their minds run the same path. Already the stars are beginning to fade, the indigo night melting into smoky violet embers that all too soon will ignite the horizon. In another hour or so, crimson clouds like daubs of blood will stain the sky, slowly paling to amber, ushering in a new dawn, rousing another searing day. By that time, if they have not made it back to the safety of the camp, no amount of skill with eye or blade will keep them alive out here.
It's been almost nine years, and still no one dares to meet this new world face to face.
But tonight, Kadar has no wish to squander their efforts. He shoulders the boy forward, eager to catch up to their target while they still have a chance. Together they press on, ducking and weaving through unending tangles of broken trees and coiled limbs. Soon, however, the tracks become so obvious that even a little child would have no problem following them. As the forest retreats into heavy shadow, the wind begins to pick up, its cold caress prickling the backs of their necks. Kerwin hesitates a moment at the entrance to a ring of black earth, his muscles tense, head raised, sniffing the air. With every breath, a strand of silver mist drifts into the emptiness beyond his body.
This is the very same clearing, though somehow they managed to approach it via a different course.
Kadar, on the other hand, feels no need for any such shows of animal prowess or caution. He makes a beeline for the centre of the clearing, trying to ignore the fact that now his own hands are shaking. It has been so very long. The beast he let slip must be near.
A twig underfoot snaps suddenly, reverberating through the empty night.
Kadar utters a single expletive, and then all the world fills with screams. Shadows on his left side converge into one solid mass, and the feral cat barrels towards him, white eyes aglow as it takes to the air. Just a heartbeat in which to admire its grace, the arc of its slow leap, before the force of its body knocks him flat upon the earth. His head smacks against the ground. The animal is maybe half his length, but compressed into a ball of seething hatred, crushing his torso. Red pulses laced with white streaks of agony threaten to blind him, as great talons sink into his ribcage. The creature's hot breath snarls in his left ear, while its fangs hone in on the major artery that throbs against his exposed throat. He cries out, mostly to keep his mind awake.
There is no time for pain.
Letting out one low growl, the black cat swivels its head to glare at something over its shoulder. Kadar gasps for air. A handful of rocks shower the earth at his side like pebbles skittering over a solid cliff. Kerwin must be trying to distract the beast. But there is no time for admiration either. Kadar's fingertips strain for his belt, his one free hand grasping for the hilt of his hunting knife, pulling out a blade that gleams almost gold with dried blood and rust. As the brute turns to face him once again, the knife edge blurs through the air, burying itself in the creature's own throat. A warm spray of blood splashes onto his cheeks and into his open mouth, almost choking him. The cat falls away, pawing at the earth in desperate confusion, and Kadar springs to a crouching position as quickly as his injury will allow. White eyes glaze over with something almost akin to sadness. Now that he can see it more clearly, the cat's likeness bears equal traces of dog, with a shaggy tail tucked between its legs and a great white ruff turning pink around its shoulders where the blood continues to flow. Kadar reaches behind him for the club he dropped when he fell to the ground. The beast gurgles as it tries to growl, its body convulsing.
It is nearly finished.
First, however, Kadar tends to his wounds, wilfully letting the creature suffer while he strips the remains of his shirt from his torn chest and has Kerwin tie a tight knot around his torso, to help stop his bleeding. He can't help laughing as he brandishes the weapon, black as his foe and made of smooth solid wood. Once upon a time, he was just a humble accountant, playing at being caveman on his weekend camping expeditions. All the weapons he now carries were presents from his late wife, and he has not spared a thought for her in years.
Somehow, this all seems too fitting.
Kerwin turns away as Kadar lands a blow on the dying panther's head. Even now the animal tries to fight back, staggering against the earth, choking on its own blood as it attempts a last defiant roar. He hits it again, and again and again. Six more blows later, the form at last lies still, but for the wind stirring over its pelt. In death it looks peaceful, as things so often do. Generations ago, back in that world of numbers and neckties, its ancestors might have been someone's pets. In this world, however, it will make a fine feast of raw materials and meat. He kicks its broken body, just to be sure the lungs are devoid of breath, then spins on his heel, seeking out his companion.
Is the boy still so repulsed by death?
But Kerwin has wandered to the far edge of the clearing, and kneels down, inspecting something beyond the earth and scrub. Kadar catches murmurs of words, though from where he stands he can't make out what the boy says. Sighing impatiently, and hoisting the club over one shoulder, he walks across the blackened earth. "What the -?" he begins to yell, but is cut short by a frown from Kerwin, who presses a finger to his lips, and then points toward the undergrowth. Kadar squints into the darkness, his night vision not what it used to be. It takes his eyes a moment to adjust, but his ears fill in the blanks between. A high-pitched mewling sound, like a child's toy; a chorus of them, in fact.
The beast also had a family to defend.
He gazes down at Kerwin, who is trying to coax the cubs out of hiding, his open palm and gentle whispers speaking only of warmth and trust, unnecessary tools for a hunter. Not for the first time, Kadar questions his choice (and, ultimately, Ramona's) -- a boy like this will never be capable of making the hard decisions, putting kindness behind the needs of the pack. Sneering, he throws the club down at his companion's feet. Kerwin only stares up at him with those wild black eyes, still not comprehending.
"Finish it," Kadar says, and stalks back over to his kill.
Previously...
REVENANT Part VI: Sixth Sense
REVENANT Part V: Strangers
REVENANT Part IV: What
REVENANT Part III: Triangle
REVENANT Part II: Earth
REVENANT Part I: Water