Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

'Hunter,' they called him.

Swift and silent as the shadows beneath the trees on a windy day. As sudden and unexpected as an early spring blizzard and twice as cruel and cold. Four arms each brandishing a blade rusted over with blood. His skull-like face sun-bleached and bare of flesh. The skins and bones of his quarry knitted together into grizzly armor.

They spoke of him only in hushed whispers about the fire or in the safety of their homes, as if merely speaking his name would be enough to summon him. For as far back as even their elders could remember, he had always haunted these woods. Some supposed he was the spirit of a vengeful Gelfling warrior, taking his dues from the living. Others had it that he was some creature of the old and lawless age before the rule of the Lords of the Crystal. Many others still believed him to only be a horror story to keep naughty childlings indoors after dark.

The Bone Man, the Pale Butcher. Death's Messenger, Childling's Fear. Devourer of Gelfling, Bogeyman of the Endless Forest. A thousand titles he possessed, all ill-gotten yet well-earned.

Nothing but frightened bleating from Gelfling and Podling chattel as far as he was concerned. He was moved by their fear and reverence as much as the Claw Mountains were moved by the wind. Let them spin their ghost stories and superstitions; nothing mattered to him but the Hunt.

skekMal lifted his beak to the evening breeze and drew in a deep breath. His talons dug for balance into the bark of the branch he perched on while he closed his eyes and concentrated. A thousand different scents sifted through his brain before he locked onto the one he was searching for. A second and third sniff confirmed his suspicions. Though admittedly faint, his quarry was most certainly near.

He opened his eyes once more. Sunset bled through the canopy as the three Brothers sunk one by one below the horizon. Fizzgigs and crawlies rolled back to their burrows through the undergrowth far below. In the distance the rapids of the Black River roared, the water still high from the spring floods. The beasts of the day had already gone to sleep, and those of the night had not yet woken. The air was pleasantly cool and dry as the winds drove off the damp, carrying even the quietest noises for miles around.

Ideal conditions, in other words, for spindlehorn bucks looking to rut a few does before dusk. A pity that at least one of the poor bastards would never get the chance. Between his current position and the river were several thickets perfect for bucks guarding and courting their harems. Though there was no telling from this distance which thickets said bucks were actually occupying, much less identifying which had the worthiest head for mounting on his wall.

Time to put his ears to the ground then. Slipping like so much water down the great tree he had settled in, he landed soundlessly in the leaf litter. He lurched onto all fours and twisted his neck until the side of his masked head was pressed to the soil.

A warren of fizzgigs yipping and growling immediately to his right. Some distance behind him, the steady tip-tip of a landstrider herd on their evening graze. Further on still the thunderous passage of rolling armaligs. None pleasing to his ear, a growl rising from his throat-- 

Ah, there! A mile or so ahead of him, the bell-like staccato of eight paired hooves treading hard-packed dirt. A harem of roughly a dozen by his reckoning. The lighter, dancing steps of several does -- and the much less graceful plodding of a buck. A big one, too, by the sizeable tremors he made. At last the Hunter had found his prey.

Another quick check of the breeze and he noted that he was downwind of the buck and his harem. Good: he would need every advantage in this Hunt. Spindlehorns were notoriously skittish even in the rut. The least little rustle of leaves or snap or a twig could send them bolting, and not even he could keep stride with one at full kilter. Unless he wanted to be pursuing the buck for miles, he only had one chance to truly take it by surprise.

Rising once more in a fluid motion he set forward at an easy jog. He ran with talons-first to keep his approach silent. He leapt over creeks, ducked beneath fallen trees and low branches, scaled up rocky outcrops. Not so much as a leaf rustled with his passage through the forest, and he was every bit the silent harbinger of doom the tales proclaimed. All his senses narrowed to the path before him with a razor’s edge of focus.

In scarcely minutes he arrived at the edge of thicket. The fresh and rank musk of spindlehorn told him this was the spot as he ghosted up the nearest tree. From his hiding spot in the branches above he surveyed the herd. 

The wide-eyed does milled about as they browsed the lower-hanging branches of shrubs and trees. Their blue hides ranged from cerulean to a pale wintery shade, and each had white spots mottling like so many stars down their backs and each of their eight flanks. He scarcely acknowledged them, however; his gaze trained immediately on the cobalt buck keeping a sharp watch at the periphery. 

Desire and hunger burned in his gut as he took in those silvery and gnarled antlers that reached for the sky, those haunches all fat from the summer grazing. He had to dig his talons into the wood to keep from purring at the thought of sinking his blades into that supple flesh, of breaking its bones like so much dry kindling. The beast was only a stone’s throw away. A well-aimed throwing knife would easily slit its throat open and have it bleeding out in an instant.

But what was even the point if he could not get his talons dirty in the act? If he could only coax it a little closer, he might leap upon its back. Dig himself into that thick pelt and latch his jaws around its neck. Crack those bones between his teeth until the beast went utterly still and its emerald-green blood flowed freely...

He chuffed quietly through his nose to clear his throat. Then, a muted keening rose up from his chest. The sweet and heady notes that sounded from him were a perfect imitation of a doe in heat. 

No sane buck would ignore the call, and right on cue the beast’s ears swiveled and its head turned in his direction. Immediately the spindlehorn began tramping towards his hiding place, grunting in answer to the hunter’s lure. Another few moments and it was poking its great head right under his branch as it searched in vain for the doe it sought.

His legs coiled beneath him and his breath froze in his chest. His entire world narrowed on the beast, its musky scent and the beating of its three hearts. He waited, waited for the buck to take just a step closer so he could pounce without goring himself on those sharp tines. 

Closer. Closer. Almost--

A loud wailing suddenly split through the air. The silence shattered into a thousand pieces, and it sent the harem scattering with it. Even as he lunged for the ground, the buck’s white plumed tail was already disappearing into the underbrush as it bolted.

skekMal’s snarl echoed harshly in the thicket. Scarcely had he righted himself before he was stalking towards the source of the noise. He did not know what manner of mewling creature had ruined his chances tonight, but by the Hunt he would take his due vengeance on its hide!

He did not have to search long or far before he found it. Or them , rather. He came upon the lip of an old gully a short distance from the thicket. At the bottom, scarcely visible in the waning light of day, lay the prone form of a grown Gelfling. Beside in the leaf litter it was the one who had interrupted his hunt: a crying, dirty childling.

Well, he certainly would end its suffering and its negligent guardian in short order.

“Seems like you’re a long way from the road,” he growled and put his hand to one of the falchions at his hip. “Tell me, Gelfling, do you know whose territory you’ve trespas--” 

The scent of rotting flesh stopped him short. He wrinkled his nose and surveyed the scene again. Sure enough he saw flies droning around the larger Gelfling, dry blood clotted in its dark hair and clothing. Upon closer inspection he saw the ruddy spot on the rock where it must have bashed its head in. Further up on the opposite side of the gulley he saw where the rain-weakened ground must have given way to send the poor bastard tumbling in the first place.

No wonder it had not stirred when he approached. He had been speaking to a proper corpse.

How the childling had managed to survive the fall was beyond him. By all rights its little skull should have been smashed in as well, or at the very least its bones should have been broken all the pieces. Yet he saw no more than a few bruises on its face and limbs as he slid down the gully wall and stepped closer. It was certainly in a healthy enough condition to continue bawling up a storm. 

He crouched a short distance away, tilting his head and taking a better sniff. Beneath the stench of death, he smelled milk and sweetnut oil perfume. A female then. The childling was a bit more difficult to discern, but by his already-large ears and broad cheeks skekMal could tell that it was a male. Most likely a little recently-orphaned son and his dead mother then.

And what worthy retribution was there to be found in that? There was no challenge or glory in gutting a helpless cub. (No matter that it had scared off his quarry and its whimpering grated against his ears like a rusty knife). He could not even take his pound of flesh on its guardian, useless and dead as the bitch was now.

“Brothers burn it all!” he cursed. Was his Hunt never to be honored?! 

Just then the brat finally took notice of the newcomer. Big bright bug eyes stared at him, lapis lazuli-blue with a muddy ring of brown around the pupils. His face was muddied and pudgy, still holding onto his baby fat. He went silent as he looked up at the silent giant of a Skeksis. A curious-sounding coo escaped him, and for the moment he seemed to have forgotten whatever had ailed it before.

skekMal squinted back at him before scoffing. Ignorant little beetle, so at ease in the presence of one who could end his life with a single flick of a talon.

“And what are you staring at, eh?” he rumbled crossly. “Didn’t your dame teach you to mind your betters?” He smirked a little as he took a seat in the leaf litter. “Don’t suppose she was a much sharper Gelfling than you. Not if she was stupid enough to trip down a ditch and leave her whelp to fend for itself in the wilds.”

The childling paid no mind to the insult as he continued babbling and staring at him. More the point, he did not think the brat comprehended what he was saying at all. Too young and stupid to even know how to talk yet, most likely.

“Not that it really matters how smart or not you are,” he continued, talking to himself as much as insulting the little Gelfling. “Come dawn, you’ll either be dead from the cold or in an arduff’s belly. Maybe both, if I get my way. The wilds will avenge me, and you’ll get what’s coming to you.”

There was little hope of survival for a childling alone in the woods. Yet another weakness of the Gelfling race, in his opinion. A landstrider calf could run and keep up with its herd within hours of birth, but it was at least a full ten trine before a Gelfling whelp could feasibly live on its own. That their families insisted on coddling them from birth was the only reason their species still lived in such great numbers upon the lands of Thra.

Meanwhile the brat had begun to walk towards him in the ungainly way of a toddler. skekMal hissed lightly at him in a wordless warning to keep well away. The Gelfling was not to be deterred, however, and he defiantly forged ahead across the gully floor. When he was within arm’s length of the Skeksis, he reached out with a grubby hand to grab at the pommel of one of many knives strapped to his legs.

His hissing bled into a snarl as he roughly pushed the brat away with the back of one hand. The Gelfling promptly fell onto his backside with a little squeak. skekMal thrust his beak at the childling, and he snorted an angry and hot breath that buffeted his hair.

“Try that again, and I really will gut you,” he hissed, punctuating his point with a rattling growl.

What he did not expect was for the childling to screw his little face up and growl right back . Or to throw his fists up and make a powerless and uncoordinated punch at the Skeksis’ beak. skekMal chirred lightly in surprise and pulled back for a moment. Only a moment, however, and before his indignance rose up again.

“Oh, we’re a brave little beastie, aren’t we?” he mocked. “You’ve also got a crawlie’s chance in a pit of hungry gobbles against me, and you’ve got even fewer brains than I gave you credit for.”

The childling garbled a growl right back at him in a crude cadence that only vaguely resembled speech, but it was true match in fury. The brat jumped up and down, and his arms thrashed about as if he meant to strike the Skeksis again. 

Tiring of his misguided courage, skekMal brought one hand mercilessly down on his chest and pinned his slightly weight to the ground. Squeaking in alarm, the childling went sprawling. skekMal rumbled and would have said more had something not just tumbled out of the brat’s pocket. 

With his free hand, he plucked what looked to be a dark, polished stone from the ground. Runes and symbols were inscribed on each side: a Gelfling name-stone. Had he been Gelfling he might have been able to properly read the dream-etching, but for the most part it was useless gibberish to him. He could only make out the Stonewood emblem and a single word written in Common-Speech.

Rian.

skekMal glanced towards the childling again. The brat had begun biting at and drooling all over the tattered fabric of his gloves. Not struggling or crying or weeping. Only fearlessly prodding and poking at him as he had from the moment he had met the Hunter. 

By all rights he was the weakest and most helpless creature in the Endless Forest, and yet he did not act it. His mother’s body lay cold and rotting beside them, but he was not lacking for life or curiosity or bravery. Moreover, he stood his own against the heartless master of these woods, even if it was only his youth and ignorance that emboldened him. Loathe as skekMal was to admit it, this little ‘Rian’ had a spark he (grudgingly) respected.

“Well, seems like fate’s decided to throw you a bone,” he laughed humorlessly. Getting up, he unceremoniously hefted the childling facedown onto his shoulder. “I’ll be taking you alive tonight, beastie, instead of just your screaming head for a trophy. Pray to Thra I don’t change my mind too soon.“

Rian only giggled, wiggling his legs as the Skeksis climbed out of the gully and into the dark of the waiting night.

Chapter Text

It was only as he was tying the childling up that skekMal realized he had no actual plan where said childling was concerned.

“Stop your twitching, ‘less you want to strangle yourself,” he ordered gruffly as he secured the last knot.

Rian had the audacity to whine petulantly back at him and kept right on struggling with the corded ropes. He had lashed a makeshift harness made of nebree-gut rope across the childling’s shoulders and chest. The opposite end was tied firmly to one of the corner posts in the Hunter’s den. It was just long enough to let the childling wander perhaps a dozen steps in any direction. Judging by the sound of his little grunts and scuffling on the packed dirt floor, the brat was quite indignant about his situation.

 “Only got yourself to blame.” He did not spare the childling another glance as he stalked off. “You want to tear around like a rabid rakkida, then you’ll get trussed up like one.”

He grabbed one of his whetstones and an old rag from the table beside the firepit. With his retral talons he began undoing the straps of each of his scabbards. He knelt on the pallet of furs that served as his bed. Each knife and sword was placed neatly in front of him. He took each blade in turn, first rubbing the blood and grit off with the rag and then taking the whetstone to cutting edge.

In the silence of his task (or as silent as it could be with a Gelfling brat squealing and rolling about on the opposite end of the room), he began to think. What was to be done with a childling he could neither eat nor kill? 

On the one hand, he could just as easily set him loose in the forest again. More than likely he would meet the sorry end the Hunter had originally planned for him. Or, with his luck lately, the childling would live to spoil another of his hunts. Fate and chance were heartless bitches in that, and he was not fool enough to tempt them.

There was also the option to drop him at the nearest Gelfling homestead. He could be rid of him in an instant that way. No doubt some soft-hearted peasant or warrior would take one look into those bug eyes and go all gooey for him. The beastie would likely get himself adopted in a hurry assuming some surviving relative did not come to claim him. Ah, but there were only Stonewoods in these parts, and once again there was the possibility of their crossing paths again in the future. Once again a loose end he did not have the desire to let tangle itself in his business again.

He paused in his sharpening of one knife, staring at his reflection in the dully reflective steel. He glanced up at Rian again, who had somehow managed to get the rope wound about his little legs and was tugging in vain to get free again. 

It would be so easy, really. To forgo his honor as a Hunter and do away with him here and now. He would not even have to dirty his blades. One quick snap of that puny neck between his talons and the little nuisance would go right along with his mother back to Thra. One might even consider the act a merciful one.

What had the whelp ever done to merit his better nature, anyway? True, he had a fighting spirit, but still he had ruined the Skeksis’ hunt. He had torn out the beating hearts of grown Gelflings and eaten them for less. Better to kill him now, take his vengeance, and be rid of a potential pest down the line. It would be easy, so easy...

When the sound of the summoning horn blared through the window, skekMal came back to himself with one hand loosely gripping the childling’s throat. He blinked in bewilderment. He had not even registered putting his knife down and moving across the room, much less laying hands on the brat. Rian thought it was some sort of game, cooing as he teethed on the Hunter’s leather glove.

Growling in his throat, he swiftly stepped back. His head snapped towards the window when the horn sounded again. Quite a few trine it had been since the others had called to him, more than he could count on his twenty-odd talons. Any real enemies they had met their end on his swords many more trine past. What sort of sun frenzy had led them to summon him now?

“Safe again for another sun-turning,” he grumbled as he strapped on his weapons once more. He stalked towards the door, stopping only to turn and point a talon at Rian. “Don’t think this is over, beastie. Soon as I’ve returned, we’ll finish what we started.”

“Bleh,” was the brat’s brave retort as skekMal slammed the door shut behind him.

“You took your sweet time strolling up here, Hunter.” skekVar was one of the few who had the nerve to say as much to his face. A head taller and far fatter than skekMal had ever been, he stared down his nose at him. “Our Emperor grows impatient.”

“Heh!” skekMal did not turn to acknowledge him as he stepped past him down the hall. “That’s a laugh. You say that like the old buzzard had any patience to begin with.”

skekVar bristled and stomped after him. One meaty talon shot forward to take hold of the bone of the Hunter’s pauldron and halt his path. “Speak of His Majesty that way again, and you’ll be the one left to the buzzards! You forget who holds your leash- Ah!”

One quick swipe of his caudral arm had the General staggering back as if burned. Three neat claw marks bloomed across his cheek. The black blood that bled freely from them also dripped from skekMal’s talons.

“Do be careful. Might’ve taken your eye if you were any slower.” skekMal flicked his long tongue out to lap at and clean his claws. “I might well be the mad dog the rest of you call me behind my back, but no one’s got my leash in hand. Remember that and you might save yourself a bit of face next time. Literally.”

He heard skekVar snarl behind him and felt the weight of his glare between his shoulders. Otherwise he made no move to stop or speak to him the rest of the way. Certainly none of his other brothers were brave enough to make a similar challenge, save for skekSo, but then their oh-so-glorious leader had no need for it.  Out of all of them, only the Emperor had no cause to fear the Hunter’s mercurial temper.

The hot wind sweeping through his animal skins told him they were near their destination. Sure enough the wan violet light of the Crystal soon appeared in the gloom of the corridors. If he stilled himself for long enough, he could even feel its discordant humming and the greater rumble of the fiery shaft beneath it. Stone gave way to ornately gilded tile beneath his bare talons as they entered the Crystal Chamber proper.

“Hmmm, he arrives at last!” came the Chamberlain’s wheedling voice (one of many things he had decidedly not missed in his time away from the Castle). He dipped his head, his wrinkly neck wobbling and his beady eyes considering. “Greetings, Hunter!”

“Whimpering worm,” skekMal replied tersely, sending skekSil skittering back with another whimper. His gaze was trained on the Skeksis robed in black and gold behind him. He nodded once, a bare modicum respect scarcely shown to anyone but their leader. “Emperor.”

“Hunter,” skekSo drawled, lifting his scepter in acknowledgement. His murky eyes glowed before the Crystal, first glancing over at skekVar’s still bloodied face and then narrowing shrewdly on skekMal. “It is never a dull day when you grace our court with your presence.”

“Enough with pleasantries,” the Hunter rumbled, talons tapping on the tile.  skekVar harrumped behind him. “Tell me what you dragged me from my hunting for.”

An easy chuckle sounded from skekSo. “Always so quick to business, skekMal. I suppose it is an admirable thing in our beloved Hunter.” He took to pacing slowly around the Crystal at the center of the chamber. “We have a little hunt of our own, you see, and we have need of your nose and your talons.”

“Little traitorous fizzgig has escaped us!” skekSil chimed in. “Has seen things he should not have seen, knows secrets meant only for Skeksis!”

skekMal growled and took a pointed step towards the Chamberlain. “Get the point, will you...”

“The point, Hunter,” skekVar grunted as he shoved past, “is that the former captain of the Castle Guard has laid eyes on the Crystal and now knows what we have taken from it. He cannot be allowed to live and make rumors of our secrets to all of Thra. He will be your next quarry.”

“You summoned me to hunt a Gelfling?” skekMal’s hackles rose and his primary talons fell to pommels of his swords. “Then I think I really will take your eye this time for the insult. Squash the little insect yourself. You’re certainly hefty enough for the job.”

“And certainly strong enough to pummel the insolence out of your cracked skull!” skekVar roared.

“At ease, both of you,” the Emperor ordered calmly, the lightest current of steel beneath the silken tone. He fixed a firm gaze upon skekMal. “We did not summon you without just cause. Our spies tell us he has run and hidden himself in the Endless Forest.”

“Have already sent word to Stonewood Clan.” skekSil bobbed his head as he hummed. “Know him to be fugitive, enemy of Lords of the Crystal, will capture him if they can. But captain is clever. Hides like crawlie in burrow in the Forest where he thinks we will not find him.” 

He tilted his head and stared skekMal down as well. “Still, no Gelfling can hide from mighty Hunter, yes? Can track down captain and snuff out his life and his lies, yes?”

“We need this little annoyance done away with,” the Emperor concluded, “swiftly and discreetly. He may not be the mightiest or strongest, but Ordon of the Stonewood has proven himself a capable warrior against the Arathim rebellion.” He offered up a Gelfling-sized piece of armor, a crested helm. No doubt it belonged to fugitive. “If nothing else, he should make for an amusing diversion before you are finished with him.”

skekMal made no effort to hide a snort of derision. No Gelfling his brothers set before him to bleed out could offer a real challenge for him. He was half-tempted to turn on his heel and walk right back out the front gate and leave the lot of them to go rooting for the pest themselves. Still, if he did not put himself to the task, they would only keep baying at him until he gave in.

Leaning forward, the Hunter took one, two, three deep sniffs of the armor. He committed the scent to memory: Stonewood, trees, leaf litter, steel, Arathim viscera -- and a subtle note he could quite place yet felt so strangely familiar.

“Fine, then,” he rumbled. “I’ll pluck his spying eyes out of his skull and leave nothing for even the worms to gnaw on.” His red eyes burned hot as coals at skekSo. “But call on me like an errand boy to clean up another of your messes, and I’ll never heed the summoning horn again. If the old Mariner can learn to live happily on her own, don’t think I’ll give a single passing fuck about up and leaving for good.”

“Then let us all pray,” the Emperor replied, glaring back with equal intensity, “that we never come to such a pass.”

(***)

In the end it was even more pathetically easy than he anticipated to track down the fugitive.

Whoever had gotten a hold of him before skekMal had given the Gelfling a good thrashing. A stumbling scent trail speckled with rosy-colored blood followed him nearly all the way from the Castle, down the tributary, and then finally northeastward into the forest. 

The First Brother had not yet touched the horizon when he came to stop at the great old tree. Olyeka-Staba , or whatever they called it, he knew to be considered a safe haven for Gelflings and Podlings and all who called the Endless Forest their home. No fighting or violence was permitted upon this ground, and all might find sanctuary beneath its branches. All which meant precisely nothing to a Skeksis, especially the Hunter.

The scent trail ended in a hollow between two larger roots. Blood pooled amongst the stones there, and when he dipped his talons within he found it still warm. The breeze of shallow, pained breathing batted against his face as he peered into the hollow, and two bark-brown eyes stared glassily back at him.

“They told me you’d be much harder to find,” skekMal sneered as his talons sank into one weak leg. It took no effort to drag the Gelfling out into the light. He delighted in his pained groan, in the way his dragging body smeared the blood across the roots and stones. “Told me you’d be a fighter, too. I’m hoping you don’t prove them wrong on both counts. Never did take too well to being disappointed, personally speaking.”

“Go back to whatever hell you and the rest of you parasites crawled out of,” Ordon rasped, batting at his talons with no real strength in the motion.

“Already there, Gelfling.” He chuckled darkly. One talon scraped harshly over the scar that split from the former captain’s eye down to his jaw. “Hm, guess you must’ve been a fighter once to earn these beauties.” He was vaguely reminded of a particularly old spindlehorn he hunted once: once strong and beautiful, but now old and well past its prime.

His talons moved further down to the bleeding gash in the Gelfling’s side. One hooked into the soft and giving flesh of the wound and yanked harshly. Ordon cried and convulsed underneath him, and skekMal shivered to feel his agony. “And who gave you this, then? Looks like the General’s handiwork. He always did like to gut them. And they say I’m the butcher, ha!”

“Th-then end it already, monster.” The Gelfling’s breath came in shallow, rattling pants even as he bared his teeth against the pain. “Isn’t that what they sent you to do?”

“Right enough.” He traced his talon over his face again, this time in pointed circles around Ordon’s eye. “But since you can’t give me a proper chase or brawl, I’ll have to find another way to pass the evening. So be a good little Gelfling and give me a proper scream, eh?”

He played with his quarry for much of the remaining afternoon in the same manner. His talons piercing his flesh, and taunts fell easily from his lips. More than once he lapped roughly at the edges of his wound, as eagerly as a fizzgig at a saucerful of tree-ale. 

Indeed, there was nothing so sweet or heady as the life of his prey flowing down his maw, dribbling onto the earth beneath them. His cries were music to his ears. The skull that served as his mask was smeared all over with a dark mauve as he all but shoved his beak into the gash. When he pulled away, viscera hunt from his teeth and blood dripped sloppily from his beak.

“Hm, guess the old buzzard was right after all: this was an amusing little diversion.” He tilted his head at the half-dead carcass before him. “Now, look at me.” When he did not do as he was bid (likely the bastard had no strength left in him anyway), skekMal roughly grabbed his jaw and twisted his head to face him. “Yes, that’s better. Take a good look, Gelfling--” He reached down, talons curving in and centered on Ordon’s eye socket. “--because I’m the last thing you’ll ever spy in this life.”

(***)

By nightfall, all that remained of the former captain was burning merrily beneath the branches of the great tree. The Hunter sat by the pyre and supped idly on the flesh of the Gelfling even as the flames feasted on his bones and belongings. Afterwards he cleaned his mask and face of the blood with his tongue until not a trace remained. Satisfied with his work, he stood up and left the fire to eventually burn itself out. At his neck hung a little leather pouch still wet with blood, his newest trophy dangling from the collar of bones.

Ordon of Stone-in-the-Wood would never see anything again, but his eyes would nonetheless be forever set upon the one who took his life.

Chapter Text

By the time he returned to his den, the Little Sister had already danced her way across the sky to the opposite horizon. It was already the deep of the night, judging by her azimuth. Both moon- and starlight filtered down through the trees to cast gentle shadows and make wavering pools of grey light. Insects trilled brightly in the trees. All around could be heard the soft snores and breathing of sleeping beasts. 

Only his dark figure marred the beauty of it all as he leapt from branch to branch. Many long trine had he spent in these woods, had learned every nook and cranny by sight and scent. Even blind or on the darkest nights he could navigate his way through the never-ending trees. He was master here, and there was neither tree nor rock nor crawlie he did not know within it.

Indeed he felt every inch a king with his new trophy about his neck and his belly full of Gelfling meat. He still had the taste of blood on his tongue and in his throat -- sweet and tangy and full of iron. He was in that rare good mood that only ever followed a successful hunt. Not even the sacraments of the Sun Ceremony left him with this satisfaction or peace.

As he approached upon his home, he mused on his weaker brothers. Holed up in the tall towers of the Castle, constantly posturing and preening and squabbling amongst themselves. Decadent and weak, covered in silks and finery they did not have to lift a talon to earn or make for themselves. Waited upon day and night with all the strength and wildness long domesticated out of them. 

The mere thought of becoming like them made him scoff. Lords of the Crystal, they called themselves.

Lords, indeed. Lords of Decay, Lords of Rot, Lords of Nothing. All their power and riches came from their position alone, positions they had earned through deceit and pretty words and the rest of their useless politics. Without the worship and tribute of their Gelfling subjects, they were nothing. 

Where they bartered for power and security, he took what was rightfully his by force of his own talons and blades. Where they hid themselves away from the world, he lived and thrived in it. Where they lived in constant fear of their own mortality, he conquered and made a weapon of his each day.

Let them call him mad. Let them think they controlled him. Let them believe their own lies. He knew better, after all. 

skekMal had not forgotten about the little fizzgig he had tied up back home and still needed to do away with. Yet even that annoyance had died back to a buzz at the back of his mind. In the wake of his errand, even the failure of the spindlehorn hunt was nearly forgotten. 

A pity the euphoria of the evening was not to last. Indeed, it bashed itself repeatedly on his front door and suffered a rather gruesome, lingering death on the threshold. 

The smell was the first thing to register with him. His nose wrinkled with the smell of burning meat as he pushed the door open. Or at least attempted to open it, as he found it suddenly much more difficult to do so than yesterday. As if there were something jamming the door.

“What in hell…?” Another firm shove or two still would not open it. He backed up a little and rammed his side squarely into wood. Finally it gave way with what sounded suspiciously like one of his piles of bone trophies clattering to the floor in a heap.

He made his way inside at last, expecting to see one of his trophy shelves fallen from the wall.  The scene he beheld was instead more akin to the aftermath of setting an armalig colony loose inside a fine pottery shop.

It was not just one of trophy piles that come unbalanced; nearly all of them were upended and scattered across the floor. Spindlehorn and jumperbuck antlers were strewn in broken pieces across the floor. Plates of arathim exoskeleton, once in a neat pile in the corner waiting to strung into armor, were laid about like so many empty plates after one of the Gourmand’s midnight feasts.

All of his weapons and skinning tools were in a similar state of disarray. Usually laid out in neat piles on the work table, now they too lay upon the floor waiting like a pile mounder traps. A careless step and he was liable to land and impale himself in a pit of bones and blades. 

Bits of shattered bone crunched underfoot as he carefully moved further into the mess. Then something softer, squisherier. His lips wrinkled in distaste to see it was trodden-on bit of nebrie meat that had earlier been hanging from the rafters. Indeed, a glance up to the ceiling and he saw that nearly all of the curing meats from the last several weeks of hunting had been torn down. Half were rolled and ground into the dirt. The rest was burning to an inedible crisp in the firepit.

And who should he find by the fire but the little Gelfling pest himself? All flopped on his side in a tangle of pelts dragged from skekMal’s pallet. Sleeping without a care and his pudgy belly looking quite full from what was most likely the Hunter’s pilfered meats.. Scarce inches from the firepit itself where a stray cinder could light the whole makeshift nest and its occupant on fire at any moment. 

A surprise and bloody, bloody pity that it had not.

It did not take a genius to put two and two together and realize that Rian was the one behind the mess. No Gelfling ventured this deep into the forest, and one whiff of the decay and blood that forever hung about his den kept any sensible beast from coming anywhere near.

How he had gotten loose mystified the Hunter for a moment. That nebrie-gut rope was new, and he never made mistakes in his knotwork. Certainly most of it still hung securely around the childling. A quick inspection of the tattered end of the rope yielded bite marks with blunt impressions distinct to a Gelfling’s molars. The brat had actually chewed his way free.

skekMal was almost impressed. The tableau of destruction before them was a dedicated piece of work for a Gelfling brat who could have been no older than three summers. Unfortunate, for the childling, that his nonplussed wonder was far exceeded by his anger.

“Oh, you must have a deathwish,” he snarled as he fell on to crouch over the sleeping childling. One hand closed around that scrawny neck, right where it had been only this morning.

“You ruin everything you get your paws on, don’t you?” He snarled as he dug his claws in slightly. Had he not just come back with a full belly from a hunt, he might have drawn blood. “First my hunt, and now my den...” 

And somehow the brat was still managing to nap through his own impending execution. The Hunter snorted a hot breath and shook the little body “Wake up, you little shit!”

Rian finally stirred at the noise, and those oversized bug eyes blinked open, infuriatingly slow to focus. The child’s face scrunched up, no doubt in pain and confusion. He seemed as if he were ready to start bawling. All the better, in skekMal’s opinion.

“Going to start your wailing again?” He chuckled as his lips pulled back in a smirk. “Good. I’ll enjoy the chance to silence you.”

Before he could tighten his grip or so much as reach for a blade, however, the brat threw him for another loop. Instead of crying and struggling for his life as he should have in the face of the dreaded Hunter, those eyes brightened with recognition. And, much to the Hunter’s consternation, he also saw joy. 

Once, hundreds of trine past, he had been on a hunting trip in the labyrinthine caves in the eastern foothills. The Ascendancy still infested the Caves of Grot in those days, and the Grottans had not yet settled in. He had been on the trail of an especially challenging quarry -- a Makrak warrior, if he remembered correctly.

He had paused at one of the myriad streams that criss-crossed the caves when he happened to see a clutch of nurloc eggs in the middle of hatching. Their dame must have been dead or otherwise occupied for she had been nowhere to be seen. He doubted the little worms would have met their ends so soon had they been properly guarded.

No sooner had the first poked its head out of its jelly-like egg than the shrieking of a z’nid bird echoed through the cavern. skekMal had watched with morbid fascination as the four-winged beast alighted on the side of the nest. The newborn nurloc had stared dumbly at the bird before crying out for food, imprinting on the very first thing it saw.

Not a minute later the z’nid bird had pecked each and every one of those eyes blind. Even to this day he could still hear the weak and pitiful wails of the young nurloc as it was eaten alive by the very creature it thought to be its mother. Within an hour, the nest had been completely devoured.

The Gelfling brat reminded him so much of that nurloc: wide-eyed, stupid, and trusting.

“And you don’t know any fear of death,” he rasped, more to himself than the Gelfling. “Not even when it’s showing you its teeth...”

“Gah!” Rian agreed. 

Two chubby hands reached up to clutch at the bone of his mask. skekMal chuffed in disgust. Immediately he let go and pulled his head back. The brat was stronger than he looked, however, for he only dug his fingers in and was dragged along.

“Don’t try and get cute with me.” His snarled again at the childing. (Though the severity of his expression was likely diminished by his crossed eyes as he focused on the childling that was dangling from his beak.) “I’ve still got half a mind to eat you for breakfast if I can’t salvage anything from this mess.”

Even as he said so, he could hear his own threats growing emptier each time. If he really meant to rid himself of the childling, he would have left him as a corpse beside his mother in the ravine the night before. Which still left him with the dilemma as to what he should do with the brat. Not to mention putting his den back to rights.

Suns above, he could do with a swig or two of grog right about now.

Rian squealed in delight even as the Hunter dislodged him with a firm shake and sent him tumbling back down on the pallet. skekMal turned away with a grumble under his breath. His tail twitched as he crouched down to begin picking up a scattered rack of skinning knives from the floor.

He was not even allowed time enough to sink into his own pensive thoughts before he felt a slight tugging. Growling, he turned to peer over his shoulder. Currently Rian was pulling at his tail like a rakkida pup wrestling a bone away from its littermates. Not a minute after narrowly escaping the Hunter’s wrath and the brat was challenging him again!

“Less sense than a sun-frenzied fizzgig in heat,” he muttered. A twitch and a quick whap! of his tail sent the childling falling on his backside. “Buzz off, beastie.” 

Yet the Gelfling was not deterred -- of fucking course not -- and kept right on griefing the Skeksis no matter how many times he was yelled at or knocked away. Reluctant admiration rose once again like so much bile in his gizzard. The brat was persistent and tireless and certainly not lacking in his peculiar brand of foolish bravery.

“Enough!” he barked as he whipped around. “I’m not your bloody nursemaid, so stop hanging on to me, you little parasite!” He jabbed a talon at the brat’s face. “And what’s more you’re going to start earning your keep from here on out. You owe me a life-debt now, and you’ll spend the rest of your trines in my service to repay it.”

skekMal had never before wanted or needed for a servant, and in truth he still did not. He had always hunted alone, relying only on his own weapons and senses to see him through each day. Every near-miss and triumph was met on his own terms. If he could not cling to life with his own talons, then he rightly deserved to die.

Even so, keeping a Gelfling raised solely to do his bidding was not without its advantages. A second pair of hands to tend the den in his absence, a second set of eyes and ears to track down good hunting. Young and guileless as the brat was now, with proper training he would one day become as good as skekMal’s own shadow. If that boundless energy and fearlessness could be harnessed, channeled and focused, then the brat would become a fearsome hunter in his own right. 

Well, as fearsome any Gelfling could be, at any rate. 

The Hunter would make proper use of this Gelfling. Unlike his brothers, he knew how to make proper use of the lesser races beneath them. No fawning worshiper or useless lackey would he be, but a living tool beholden only to him.

“I’m your master now, and you my servant,” he rumbled with a heavy note of finality, staring down imperiously at the childing. “Until the day you return to Thra, you will walk with me. Understand?”

There was no comprehension in Rian’s eyes, but all the same he responded with arms raised and a smile on his young face. “Yeah-yeah! Yeah-yeah!”

In spite of himself, the Hunter smiled back. “I’ll grant you this much, beastie: you’ve got spirit! Ha!”

He had been so scared and alone that day. That day when his mother fell down and never woke up.

Rian remembered the suns disappearing one by one beyond the forest. The ravine was quickly cloaked in shadows as night fell. All around he could hear strange noises and see the glowing eyes of creeping beasts by moonlight. And his mother felt so cold as he buried his little face against her, seeking comfort and safety in her scent.

Then he came out of the shadows. Bigger than his father, bigger than any grown-up he had ever known. Taller than the tallest tree, or so it seemed to the childling. All the sounds and terrors of the night fled before him, and for the first time the young Gelfling had felt safe .

For as loud and growly and grumpy as the strange four-armed giant was, Rian knew he had nothing to fear so long as the Hunter was near.

Chapter Text

Working Title: Walk with Me, My Little Child (Speak with Me, My Only Mind)

Duos: skekMal and Rian

Ships: skekGra/urGoh, skekSa/urSan, skekMal/urVa (maybe??), Rian/Deet (plot time permitting)

Plot

(1) 

• skekMal hunting in the Endless Forest for spindlehorns (swift eight legged animal with gnarled horns similar to deer) when the cry of a nearby Gelfling toddler scares his quarry off 
• finds a very young Rian next to the animal-ravaged corpse of what might have been his mother
• considers killing the thing for ruining his hunt but has a steadfast rule against killing adosclent animals and almost opts to leave him to the elements instead
• takes a slight shine to Rian when the child growls back at him (and finds out his name on his name-stone)
• decides to take the child with him for now

(2) 

• Unsure of what to do with Rian and not wanting him to ruin anymore of his hunts, leaves Rian tied up in one of his hidden hunting lodges
• summoned to Castle of the Crystal to track down and execute Ordon (who, having seen the marred Crystal, ran from the Castle and must be eliminated discreetly
• skekMal finds and kills him in short order, taking his eyes as trophies, looting the body for evidence/goods and burning the corpse

(3) 

• skekMal comes to regret his choice in leaving Rian when he returns home to find several of his trophy skull piles upended, his curing meats torn down from the ceiling, and Rian about to set his bedding (i.e. palette of skins) on fire by the hearth
• skekMal very seriously considers dropping the child off outside the nearest Gelfling settlement before he considers that he might be able to put that wild and destructive energy to use

(4) 

• skekMal begins to train Rian in the art of hunting from an early age: first teaching him how to sit and move silently (learns to make a game of it), then how to track, and then how to kill (will hold with no tears from the lad on this one)
• not afraid to let a bit of fear and pain be Rian's teachers: evidenced by incident where Rian is none-too-gently chewed on by a pack of fizzgigs defending their pups
• skekMal has horrible bedside manner as he disinfects the bites with some tree-mead, that's just what the whelp gets for foolishly harassing a fizzgig pup
• shoos the gelfling away to his chores and ponders to himself that he feels like he's raising his own restless fizzgig pup

(5) 

• Rian tires himself out completely one night after a long hunt
• skekMal grumbles to himself as he reluctantly pulls the child up on to his back with his secondary arms, firmly denying any sort of affection for this little burden even as he pulls Rian a little more securely to his back

(6) 

• heated standoff between skekMal and urVa over Rian's fate
• urVa calmly but firmly insisting that Rian's place is among his own kind and that skekMal has no business molding the child to his dark ways
• skekMal staunchly refuses, saying he will not be dictated to by anyone save his fellow skeksis and that the child's life is his to do with as he pleases
• urVa takes note of skekMal's round-a-boutely protectiveness of the Gelfling but makes no comment on it

(7) 

• skeMal summoned once more to the Castle for the thirty-three trine two-sun eclipse (Lesser Conjunction) ceremony
• all skeksis in attendance to feast, plan their next conquests, and for far-travlers to bring news from abroad
• rumors go around that skekMal has a little Gelfling pet and that the Hunter is going soft and needs the help of lesser races to accomplish his hunt
• when skekVar confronts him directly on the matter, the two end up coming to blows in a Trial by Talons
• skekMal reaffirms his reputation as the most brutal and feared among the skeksis and none dare to question him on his choice of inter-species partnership again
• skekSil  and skekSa (seperately) nonetheless makes note of the Hunter's association with this gelfling

(8) 

• skekMal decides to put some distance between himself and meddling Mystiks and skekSis
• the two begin traveling across Thra on their hunting trips now that Rian is old enough to keep up with skekMal in his travel
• their travels take them first north into the Crystal Desert
• one night seems them camping by a cliffside in the desert
• Rian remarks on the guide they met earlier in the day (Rek'yr) and his strange flying beast (Bennu/Crystal Skimmer)
• skekMal quizzes Rian on how to use the stars to mark the changing of the seasons and subsequently the migration of certain prey
• wordlessly allows Rian to huddle closer against the cold desert night, pulling Rian against him and his furs as the child falls asleep and skekMal keeps watch

(9) 

• travels take them further north near the Claw Mountians
• meet up with trouble when Rian is ambushed by a pack of rakkida while hunting landstriders near an oasis
• skekMal arrives just in time to keep him from being killed, but not before both of them sustain serious injuries
• skekMal runs carrying an unconscious and barely-alive Rian, hoping to make for their home Endless Forest before he too gives out from exhaustion

(10) 

• skekMal fades in and out of consciousness, vaguely aware that he and Rian are being dragged across the sands on a sledge by someone (urVa)
• eventually wakes up to find himself at the Circle of the Suns in the care of skekGra and urGoh, having been brought there by urVa
• skekMal intitially hostile, immediatley getting up to stand over Rian and demanding what they want with him (much to urVa's pain as his wounds reopen with the movement)
• skekMal eventually pacified by the pain of his own injuries, though he insists on sleeping closer to Rian

(11) 

• Rian blames himself for nearly getting the both of them killed
• skekMal is quick to shut him up, his injuries were of his own doing and if he blamed Rian in any way he would have just as sooner left Rian to the mercy of the rakkida ("You're mine, beastie, mine to me")
• Meanwhile urVa and skekSa meet, speaking briefly over a plan to bring skekMal to them

(12) 

• skekMal's injuries keep him and Rian stuck at the Circle of the Suns for some weeks after 
• Rian delights in the company of urGoh and skeGra, who in turn delight in entertaining a youngling with their puppetry and singing (and much to the utter lack of delight on skekMal's part)
• a convalescing urVa notes aloud skekMal's protectiveness over the gefling, alluding to the larger change in skekMal's manner; skeMal insists that he only wants to keep the Heretic/Mystiks from corrupting the hunting partner he has spent so long training; urVa counters that he might not have a hunting partner for much longer if he keeps taking risks with the Gelfling's life

(13) 

• skekMal insists on leaving as soon as they are able, not caring for the strange nonsense the Heretic and his Mystik are spouting
• urVa gives skekMal a "calling-stone" in case they find themselves in trouble again
• skekMal makes a beeline back towards the rakkida territory to take vengeance on their would-be killers ("any beast that's learned a taste for skeksis can't be allowed to go on living")
• lure the rakkida into a landstrider stampede and kill most of the pack
• a single pup (Larka) is left alive; Rian convinces skekMal to let him keep and tame it for his own use; skekMal approves in a twisted way of taming and subjugating the very beast that might have killed them

(14) 

• head southeast into the Spriton Plains, cutting across the grasslands to the Black River
• pass by Sami Thicket during a major festival where the Drenchen and Spriton come together
• Rian sneaks off while skekMal is asleep to join in the festivities (Larka's whining at being left behind wakes the Hunter up anyway); meets with a young Gurjin and Naia (children of Maudra Laesid)
• Rian starts to wonder what he has been missing in this life as a gelfling

(15) 

• an angry skekMal corners Rian shortly after leaving Sami Thicket (has had staunch rule against associating with other Gelfling without his permission and presence), scolding him over potentially alerting skeksis and urru to their whereabouts; in truth, skekMal is angry that the Gelfling might try to tempt Rian away from his side and risk losing the gelfling he has come to care for altogether
• they travel in silence for sometime along the banks of the Black River
• before they can make-up, Rian lured to shore (Larka follows after) by lantern/song and kidnapped by urSan (in joint plan between her and skekSa)

(16) 

• skekMal finds Rian missing and follows his scent track to the river, smelling strange Mystik and finds trail has gone cold
• has no other way of tracking him and no one else to turn to for help except urVa and calls him with the calling stone
• skekMal demands to know what has become of the Gelfling, to which urVa has no answer but guesses that it must have been urSan who took him though he cannot imagine why
• conjecture that Rian and urSan must have gone down the river to the Great Sog and southern coast beyond; make a temporary truce to pursue them together

(17) 

• Rian wakes (from dreams of Gelfling he swears he has never met before but seems so familiar) in the depths of Vassa in the personal quarters of skekSa, stripped of his weapons and his trophies
• skekSa reveals herself shortly after ("You might have done your poor little body a mischief in your sleep if you had been allowed to keep them.")
• easily subdues an angry and confused Rian's attempts to fight and escape past her, trying to placate him with soft words and firm touches (not too disimilar to the way one might approach a small and wounded animal); pulls a whining and wiggly Larka from her coat as a peace-offering
• bids him to follow her to someplace they might talk a while, and a slightly more pliant but still wary Rian follows after
• Rian in the meantime wonders if he will ever see his Hunter again
• urVa and skekMal move south through the Spriton Plain and into the Swamp of Sog, swiftly and in-sync as if they had been traveling companions for trines
• urVa still moves somewhat slowly for skekMal's taste, but his knack for reading the wind and the skies is admittedly useful as they take the swiftest path for the southern coast; meanwhile skekMal's mind is consumed with thoughts of Rian, of how he has been hurt and stolen in his time with skekMal, and begins to wonder if there is some wisdom in urVa's warnings after all
• end up finding signs of Rian's passage by the river (the skull-mask he had won from his very first hunt under skekMal's tutelage)

(18) 

• skekSa feeds an admittedly hungry Rian (though she has to eat some first to show him it's not poisoned) remarking on his manners and appetite ("You're as wild as he is, though not half so mad, I hope.")
• Rian again demands to know why she's brought him here and what she wants and what has she done with skekMal
• skekSa corrects him in saying he was only ever the bait and that she wants his lord and master, not his little gelfling
• she wants a little heart-to-heart with skekMal and this would be the only way to draw him near without the knowledge of their fellows
• Rian makes to attack her again, but she knocks him out easily
• does the same in kind to a barking and prtoective Larka; wonders to herself aloud if skekMal has found the little bread crumb trail she left for him to find
• skekMal continues to find weapons and pieces of armor/trophies belonging to Rian down the river, secretly beginning to fear the worst
• he and urVa continue to follow the trail of belongings until it runs cold near a small port town (Sea-Meet) on the far side of the Bog
• skekMal's temper finally snaps when urVa remarks on skekMal's patience ("My Gelfling may well lay dead in the hands of your own, and you  lecture me on patience?!")
• turns on his other half in a blind rage before they are seperated by the kidnapper in question: urSan

(19) 

• urVa, barely holding skekMal back from attacking her, questions urSan on her involvement with the skeksis
• urSan does not answer immediately, merely saying she has been sent forth to bring them to skekSa and Rian
• a still-livid skekMal threatens to take thieving hands as trophies if she does not take them post-haste
• urVa, for once in tune , promises consequences as well if urSan does not make her intentions clear; as they walk, urSan reveals that she has come to work more closely with her darker half in recent trines ("All my long trine I have swam the rivers and sea of this world, coming to love all the flora and fauna that dwell in their waters. And it was only loving them and letting go of our kind's detachment and complacency that I saw the true wisdom." / "A compass is only a useless bauble without a ship, and likewise the ship is lost without its compass.")
• when urVa questions how taking unwilling Gelfling figures into that arrangment, urSan admits that her visions have not let her see that end yet
• only that taking Rian and bringing the five of them together would bring about some greater good ("After all, without the goal of retrieving the Gelfling in common, would you two have ever come together as you have?")
• their talking is interrupted by a yipping Larka; against urVa's warnings, skekMal is swift to follow her to the docks, finding skekSa and a bound and unconscious Rian ("Ah, so you finally made it! You and I are long overdue for a little heart-to-heart, dear Hunter.")

(20) 

• skekMal and skekSa talk between themselves for some time
• skekSa questions skekMal on the nature of his relationship with the gelfling; when skekMal refuses to directly answer, the Mariner opts to use Rian for further leverage by putting a dagger to him, making a gouge for every time skekMal evades a question
• urVa questions the wisdom of urSan's alliance, wondering what is truly stopping skekSa from hurting the Gelfling or abusing her relationship with urSan
• urSan admits there is very little she can do to hold skekSa back from her darker impulses but swears upon the stones if skekSa proves beyond saving that she take her own life before skekSa harms another soul;
• on pane of Rian's life, skekMal admits that he has come to care for the Gelfling as his own
• skekSa pulls back somewhat with the dagger, saying that there is no shame is holding a fondness for Gelfling ("Why would I begrudge you for taking a liking to one Stonewood whelp when I myself look after a whole blasted clan of them?") but that skekMal must never let them forget that he is their master first and their friend second
• reveals to skekMal that the rumors of his becoming weak over his doting of Rian did not settle after his fight with skekVar and that there are many back as the Castle who not hesitate to use him as leverage to tame the Hunter to their whims
• when skekMal snarks as to what concern it is of hers, she replies that she knows he loves his independence from their inane politics as much as she loves her own and that a skeksis ought not bow to the will of any creature, not even their Emperor
• invites skekMal to rest with his little Gelfling in the warm embrace of her hospitality while he thinks on what to do next
• skekMal unbinds the Gelfling, holding him closer and pressing his ear to his back to hear his still-beating heart when he believes skekSa is not looking ("On the bones of my prey, I'll not let out of my sight again, beastie.")

(21) 

• Rian wakes up from strange dreams again, panicking a moment before he realizes that  Larka and skekMal are with him, once again within Vassa
• Rian immediately begins to apologize, swearing that he did not leave on purpose before skekMal replies with a swift bark
• skekMal soon soothes his worries, however, telling him that he knew it wasn't Rian's fault
• in a show of forwardness he has not dared since he was a childling, Rian leaps into skekMal's arms to hug him tight, and for once skekMal does not push him away; his dreams and their last argument have not left Rian's mind entirely, but puts them aside for the moment, simply glad to have his guardian back once more
• urVa, urSan, and skekSa meanwhile "take council" with one another, indulging in a bit of smoking from a multi-hose hookah ("One of the few good ideas those sand-sifting Dousan ever had, ha!" "In moderation, the Spriton smokeweed _is_ most enjoyable, yes." "If the two of you start singing sea chanties together, I am afraid I will have to take my leave post-haste." "... What?" "One of the consequences of our people working together, among others, is the tendency towards discordant duets." "Ah, so you have spent time with the Wanderer and his companion. How is our brother?")
• skekSa tells urVa that she and urSan mean to leave this land and her kind behind for good soon, and that she will take whatever Sifa are willing to go beyond the horizon with her
• the only thing she waits upon now is the oppurtunity to convince skekMal to go with her

(22) 

• skekMal refuses skekSa's offer out of hand
• skekSa does not press him much further on the issue, but asks the Hunter how much long he thinks the Emperor will allow him to run freely here and there
• skekSa tells him that she and urSan are porting with Vassa in Cera-Na to make preparations for their voyage and intend to depart in three unum's time; keeps the offer open for skekMal and Rian to join them if they wish
• when they land in Cera-Na, skekMal promptly leaves, hoping once again to put distance between himself and those who would seek to control his way of life
• urVa asks where he is running to this time; skekMal snaps that he is the Hunter and does not run and that he will go where he pleases and kills as he chooses; urVa briefly pleads with him, to think on the words of their skeksis-joined bretheren and not choose the path his fears and vices lead him down, to think of Rian if no one else
• before skekMal can snap back that he _was_ thinking of Rian in this, they are interrupted by the sudden arrival of the (???) (And this was as far as I plotted.)