Page 26 of The Huntmaster

"Ma-una," she said, her accent thick and clumsy, the vowels sounding strange in her throat. Yet, her tone was unmistakably tender as she accepted a wilted star-flower from a small, clawed hand.

I watched her, my heart performing a strange, heavy roll in my chest that had nothing to do with the Zha-root. Last night, I had called her a poison. I had seen her as a fracture in our world—a beautiful, dangerous mistake that would bring the forest down around us. But as I watched her tuck that flower behind her ear, her eyes crinkling with a warmth that felt more radiant than the sun, the word poison felt like a lie in my throat.

She looked... right. Nestled there among the future of my tribe, she looked like a piece of the Pulse I hadn't realised was missing.

"She has been like this for nearly two sun-turns," a voice murmured beside me.

I didn't flinch, though Toren had approached with the silence of a shadow. He stood shoulder-to-shoulder with me, his arms crossed over his broad chest as he watched the scene. His markings were a calm, steady teal, a sharp contrast to my own agitated orange.

"She is not the monster the others fear, Kaelen," Toren said quietly, his voice barely a breath. "I watched her with the younglings. She did not recoil. She did not strike. When the little one, Juro, nipped her finger in his excitement, she did not growl or hiss. She simply looked at him, cradled her hand, and said Zha-lo."

I narrowed my eyes, my tail giving a slow, agitated flick that lashed against my calf. "She is learning the tongue? In a single morning?"

"Sora is a persistent teacher," Toren replied with a faint, rare ghost of a smile. "But the woman is a fast learner. She seeks to understand us, Huntmaster. A threat does not seek to speak the language of the heart. A threat does not let a child pull at her hair."

I stayed silent, my gaze locked on the way her fingers—so blunt and pale—intertwined with the youngling's hand. I remembered those fingers digging into the bark of my hut last night. I remembered the scent of her arousal as she watched me through the window, the way she had witnessed my own lack of control. The memory sent a jolt of heat through me that I quickly suppressed, though my markings flared a brighter gold in response.

"The Vakras will not care for her kindness," I growled, though the bite was gone from my voice, replaced by a weary heaviness. "And the Elders still see her as a harbinger. Her presence has already cost us the blood of our brothers."

"Perhaps," Toren conceded, turning his amber eyes toward me, searching my face. "But look at them, Kaelen. The younglings do not see a harbinger. They do not see a star-beast. They see a new light. If she were truly a poison, would the Alu’un let her sit so close to Her most precious fruit?"

I didn't answer. I couldn't.

Lyra looked up then, her blue eyes scanning the perimeter of the clearing until they landed on me. The laughter died on her lips, replaced by a sudden, sharp intake of breath. The children followed her gaze, sensing the shift in the air, and scurried back toward Sora, sensing the heavy, dominant energy of their Huntmaster.

She stood up slowly, brushing moss from her leather skirt. The star-flower remained tucked in her hair, a jarringly soft contrast to the charcoal hide and the primal setting.

"Huntmaster," she said, her voice steadying as she looked me in the eye.

I recoiled slightly—not physically, but deep within my chest. The title felt cold and distant, a sharp, metallic barrier between us. Only last night, in the heat of my hut, my name had fallen from her lips in a broken, desperate whisper. Hearing her address me with the formal weight of my rank felt like a door slamming shut. I missed the way Kaelen sounded when she said it—as if it were a secret only we shared.

"The Council is finished," I said, stepping into the clearing. The air seemed to grow heavier with every step I took toward her, the scent of my own restlessness clashing with her violet-oil perfume. "Toren, leave us. I have a debt of training to settle, and the sun waits for no one."

Toren gave a respectful dip of his head and retreated toward the lower boughs, leaving us alone in the dying, honeyed light of the afternoon. I stood before her, my height towering over her, yet I felt strangely exposed under her blue gaze.

"You look..." I started, my eyes trailing over the Haka-hide that hugged her curves. I wanted to tell her she looked beautiful. I wanted to reach out and touch the flower she had tucked in her hair. Instead, I hardened my expression. "You look ready to move. Let us see if you can handle the heights as well as you handle the younglings."

The peace of the communal fork was a fragile thing, and I broke it with a single gesture. I saw the way the light died in Lyra’s eyes when I called her to heel—the way the warmth she’d shared with the younglings vanished behind a mask of wary obedience. It shouldn't have bothered me. I was the Huntmaster; obedience was the currency of my life.

But as I led her away from the laughter and the mossy platforms, the silence between us felt heavy, like the air before a lightning strike.

"They’re the first things here that haven't looked at me like I’m a monster or a ghost," Lyra said suddenly, her voice cutting through the humid quiet.

I didn't slow my pace, my tail flicking away a low-hanging fern. "They are young. They have not yet learned to fear the fracture in the Pulse."

"Or maybe they just don't have the baggage you adults do," she retorted, her footsteps light but persistent behind me. "They were curious. They wanted to know why I didn't have a tail and why my skin was pale. They didn't see a 'harbinger.' They just saw someone new. It was... it was nice to feel normal for five minutes."

"Normal is a luxury of the safe," I growled, stepping over a thick, pulsing root. "You are not safe, Ly-ra. And you are certainly not normal."

"Believe me, I'm aware. But the children... they listened. Sora taught me how to say thank you. Ma-una. And sorry. Zha-lo. It’s a beautiful language, you know? Even if half the time it sounds like you’re trying to clear your throat of gravel."

I stopped at the base of the Great Ascent—a vertical canyon of tangled, ancient vines that served as the primary artery to the high crown. I turned to look at her. She had a wilted star-flower tucked behind her ear, and her face was flushed from the walk.

"Up," I commanded, gesturing to the dizzying heights.

Chapter 18

Lyra