(no subject)
It's supposed to be a simple task; but, of course, it isn't.
First one of the great Clans asks for more information drawn by observing pyode amedha. Lesser hunters scatter to see if they can find it. Cre'hktdi finds that most hunters are making beelines for the best grounds, and wouldn't care to quarrel or risk interfering with their hunts by getting close to their sites. So she goes to an outpost where she passed by a tiny group once; they're still there.
The asteroid is low-gravity, but the base itself is properly equipped. It's utilitarian, with tightly controlled energy and huge metal shapes and walls covered in grilles. With space just outside and with the planet's mass so cold, they've chosen to use a wide ventilation system.
That doesn't interest her. What does is the way it's so silent but for something that repeats; run through her computer, it's a very faint distress call.
She investigates.
It leads to a hunt. A good hunt. The pyode amedha, she discovers, have brought two kainde amedha eggs into their shelter. Two hard meat, eight soft. One still survives, barricaded into a back room.
It takes her half a day to stalk and fight both, and the death of the first one gives away her presence and turns a hunt into a duel for the high ground. She's only hunted these once before, after all.
She finally climbs all the way up a filtration column where air is cleaned, and watches for it; she hears it behind her almost too late. It knocks her throwing mines from her shoulder. The bundle clanks and clatters down the column's insides as she fights. It grazes her with a tail-strike, but she gets a little space and gets her disc in one hand and it's over.
She scans the vents; her bombs have fallen out of sight. The vents are too narrow for her to manuever; something smaller could make that last turn. . . She growls once and goes to find something more suited to cut through metal. There's got to be one here. She opens the door and steps through.
Which is how she enters the bar, smelling of the high-energy zing of elation and the oily musk of aggression.
First one of the great Clans asks for more information drawn by observing pyode amedha. Lesser hunters scatter to see if they can find it. Cre'hktdi finds that most hunters are making beelines for the best grounds, and wouldn't care to quarrel or risk interfering with their hunts by getting close to their sites. So she goes to an outpost where she passed by a tiny group once; they're still there.
The asteroid is low-gravity, but the base itself is properly equipped. It's utilitarian, with tightly controlled energy and huge metal shapes and walls covered in grilles. With space just outside and with the planet's mass so cold, they've chosen to use a wide ventilation system.
That doesn't interest her. What does is the way it's so silent but for something that repeats; run through her computer, it's a very faint distress call.
She investigates.
It leads to a hunt. A good hunt. The pyode amedha, she discovers, have brought two kainde amedha eggs into their shelter. Two hard meat, eight soft. One still survives, barricaded into a back room.
It takes her half a day to stalk and fight both, and the death of the first one gives away her presence and turns a hunt into a duel for the high ground. She's only hunted these once before, after all.
She finally climbs all the way up a filtration column where air is cleaned, and watches for it; she hears it behind her almost too late. It knocks her throwing mines from her shoulder. The bundle clanks and clatters down the column's insides as she fights. It grazes her with a tail-strike, but she gets a little space and gets her disc in one hand and it's over.
She scans the vents; her bombs have fallen out of sight. The vents are too narrow for her to manuever; something smaller could make that last turn. . . She growls once and goes to find something more suited to cut through metal. There's got to be one here. She opens the door and steps through.
Which is how she enters the bar, smelling of the high-energy zing of elation and the oily musk of aggression.