Archive of Our Own

Aloy hesitated.

It’s not often that she does, that instinctual habit of being decisive and assured drilled into her from her early training with Rost.

When Dekka approached her, bleeding and bruised from the battle to congratulate her on their victory at the Grove, she’d asked Aloy if she would stay for the traditional celebration to follow that evening after such a monumental fight. She went to politely decline, as Aloy does, when she saw Kotallo speaking with Ivvira on the other side of the room. She was gushing over the battle, reenacting what she had seen of his metal arm judging by the motions.

He must sense Aloy’s gaze, because his dark eyes shift over to her and she sees the small smile that takes over his painted face. It is surprisingly soft, despite the viciousness of the day.

And so Aloy hesitates to decline. 

Just as she had, for just a moment, hesitated to decide Regalla’s fate when it came to her as the victor.

Her mind had been swirling; she knew that Regalla was beyond formidable and who was she to deny such a valuable asset in their fight against the Zeniths to come? In their fight against insurmountable odds, now that she was defeated, could her legacy of Hekarro’s former praise help them to rescue Beta and Gaia?

And then she saw it, the turmoil in Kotallo’s eyes as they all waited for her judgement to pass. Suddenly all of her racing thoughts were screeching to a halt when flashes of the massacre at the Embassy plays in her memory. She sees Kotallo, then an unknown man to her, sacrifice himself in a futile attempt to save their former High Marshal. Watches as he raw-arms against a bristleback and the crunching, grinding sound that was just barely louder than his screams in the chaos.

She sees the dead bodies of all she had briefly glimpsed. 

She knows then when she has always known–that this isn’t her fight to win. She needed to win it, obviously, but it was never hers. She had carried the wounds of the Tenkath since that day with her tirelessly. With all those she met, fought with, fought for, their fight became one she championed behind. 

She may not be Tenakth and there will be plenty of moments to come where she must make these impossible choices, but today is not one of them. She was a blade at their side, proudly. She refused to let Regalla’s army destroy more of these incredible (albeit, misguided at times) people. 

So she did what she shouldn’t have hesitated to do from the beginning, and allowed Kotallo the chance to close the book on this bloody chapter of his history. Allowed him this closure for the fallen brethren that she will only ever know through stories.

So when Dekka asks, and she sees that gentleness that she feels guilty to be on the receiving end of, a full face of relief looking back at her, she doesn’t decline the invitation.

And he can’t hear her on that side of the room, especially with Ivvira talking his ear off, but he smiles at her with a warmth that makes her heart soar.

“I must thank you for staying for this evening’s celebration, Champion.” Dekka is all smiles, her wounds from the hold-out against Regalla’s rebels wrapped and stitched up. 

“Aloy please, Chaplain.” Aloy tries to remind her while she sips on her lowland wine. “And it’s no big deal, really.” 

“Far and wide our people know how you would rather sneak off into the night than celebrate.” Dekka teases, leaning against the same wall Aloy is currently against. She’d needed some quiet, there were so many Tenkath in and around the Grove preparing. It felt suffocating. 

She wasn’t going to stay and would rather not, but she obviously isn’t going to tell that to Dekka.  There was so much to do and a nagging sensation of guilt and suffocation would squeeze her heart every time she thought of the fear Beta must be going through right now trapped with the Zeniths.

The panic seizes within her again and she clears her throat to try and shake it.

They will not hurt her, they need her to be healthy in body and mind to carry out their plans. Gaia is in security protocol. They are safe as they can be for the moment.

After all, Sylens said he wouldn’t arrive at the Base for another two full evenings from whatever slimy cavern he was holed up in while his master plan was carried out.

She quite literally cannot rush their rescue mission, so a few hours of rest at the Grove seems justified. And she wasn’t an idiot, she saw how much it meant to Kotallo to have this chance to be with his people, with her in attendance.

“I was raised as an Outcast. I’m not really used to these types of parties.” Aloy is a little bashful as she admits it, but she finds herself wanting to share it with Dekka. 

Elated that she had decided to attend, Kotallo spent a good chunk of time while they were in the infirmary telling her why a Tenkath celebration is a much more ‘Aloy-inclined’ event. No fancy gowns or pageantry like the Carja, no extreme etiquette breaches to fear, and best of all–it wasn’t an event about her. She was just an honorary guest to the event, not the one at its center. He made her feel so at ease about it all. They’d still talk and probably fawn over her, but as an ally and peer, not as a savior.

“Yes, Marshal Kotallo informed us of the ridiculous circumstances regarding your upbringing. It is terrible. The way your tribe cast out an innocent newborn through no fault of their own,” She has all the rage of a mother and an elder of her people and it warms her soul. “But if that is what brought you West to meet us, then I am glad for that at least.”

Aloy smiles at Dekka, she is so warm despite her ferocity. She scares Aloy in the best kind of way. She’s glad, this time, that Kotallo had given them the quick run down. Probably when he thought she’d escape at the first possible moment.

She is glad now that she stayed, even if it is new and uncomfortable. 

“We will carry out the Wings Ceremony just after dinner in the Arena. It will be a sight to behold.” Aloy doesn’t want to be rude, in case she was supposed to know what the ceremony was by now so she says nothing. 

She usually just asks Kotallo to fill her in on the customs so she doesn’t look stupid. 

“It will be an incredible sign of unification for the tribe. Normally it is on the of the Clan Commanders who is voted to take part, but Marshal Kotallo was so insistent to the Chief before. He will make a remarkable Chaplain, Ten-Willing, when he comes of age.” Dekka continues, not seeing the frown that tugs Aloy’s lips. She doesn’t know what Dekka is talking about, and while Kotallo can be pretty vocal and stubborn about things, he normally isn’t the strongest advocate for something he wants–especially to his chief. 

“In fact much of the ceremony was already finalized when he came in and insisted that you be the figurehead for the ceremony. After all, who better to bestow the Wings of the Ten than she who literally flew on them?” She laughs but Aloy’s blood has turned to ice. 

“Kotallo asked for this?” Comes her response through gritted teeth.

“Oh, not asked Champion–demanded. He made a very passionate argument for your defense that even Chief Hekarro had no rebuttal against. Not that we aren’t honored you accepted of course. But it’s so breaking of tradition that we hadn’t even considered it.”

Her ears are ringing. Her skin is itchy. 

“Kotallo did that?”

“Indeed. He is quite remarkable, wouldn’t you agree?” Dekka asks sweetly.

Aloy takes a long sip to kill the rest of the wine in her chalice. She pushes off of the wall and smiles something at Dekka that she hopes comes off totally normal and cheery.

“He’s unbelievable.” 

“You are unbelievable!” Her words are loud in the room she finds Kotallo in, surrounded by Ivvira and a few other soldiers from various clans. There is a venom in her voice that parts the sea to her target immediately.

To his credit, Kotallo is immediately terrified. He braces for an attack, his jaw tightens, and his finger twitches at the rage he sees as she stalks towards them.

“Come on, cadets. Why don’t we go make sure the dinner preparations are going smoothly?” Ivvira starts to shepherd them to the door Aloy just stalked through. They whisper something, staring at her with various mixtures of awe and admiration.

Aloy doesn’t humor it. 

She lands in front of him with an echoed stomp.

“Good to see you Aloy.” Ivvira says with a dry humor in her voice. Aloy nods but doesn’t look away from Kotallo. “It was nice knowing you, Marshal.”

Kotallo’s eyes break to look at Ivvira as she continues herding the young soldiers out with a questioning, desperate look. “I’ve been on the receiving end of that look from my commanders before. Ten be with you, Marshal.”

When they leave there is a long tense silence that lingers between them. 

“I can explain,” He tries.

“You better.” She snaps back. “I have a happy Sunwing perched just outside of the Grove.”

His eyes flicker, the topic of flight always going to be at the forefront of his interest. But he nods at her gracious opportunity to explain.

“You told me no pomp and circumstance. No ‘Carja formalities’ to deal with. No savior treatment, no anointed nonsense” She prompts. “Your words.”

“Yes, and that was true.” He nods, fidgeting just slightly before standing at a sharp attention in front of her. “At the time. I…admit I forgot about the Wings Ceremony until later.”

“Ah, so negligent.” It’s a dig they both know she doesn’t mean. Afterall Kotallo is nothing if not incredibly tactical and focused. 

“Yes. We just held one during the Kulrut and they are normally so few and far between.”

“What is it?”

Information first, always. Rage and action after.

“The Wings Ceremony is normally performed by our higher ranked soldiers; the Chief, the Chaplains, the Marshals, the Commanders. After great feats of strength or bravery and during celebrations such as this evening, a selected designee will award one of the soldiers with the Wings of the Ten, one of the highest honors of the tribe.” He recites it like he’s a young boy in his education and she is glad that he is clearly nervous at her emotional state.

“What do the Wings do?”

“Those that receive the Wings are immensely respected and valued within the tribe and amongst all the clans. They can not only petition to reach Squad Commander status immediately, they are moved into very serious tactical and leadership roles for the tribe for those that want them. They can also receive their inked Wings legally.”

“It’s illegal to get wings inked?” She doesn’t know why that matters to her.

“Yes. Only those who have been decreed by the Wings, or by the Chief on special exception, are permitted to receive them. Even when we ink our exploits, the inkers must be creative should a soldier be looking to get something like a Stormbird on their skin.”

Now that he says it, she doesn’t know if she’s seen any wing tattoos on anyone except Hekarro.

“So this is a big deal?” She was dreading that. It isn’t that she is the person being recognized, it’s that they want her to do the deciding. Which wouldn’t be the end of the world, of course, but knowing how important the moment is culturally makes her feel like a fraud.

“Extremely. Only a handful of Tenkath have their Wings at all.”

“Okay. But Dekka said the ceremony was finished being planned, so why did you go in there spear flying to involve me?”

“Because I know you hate attention.”

He says it simply, like it’s obvious, but all it does it upset her more. Her hands go flying up incredulously.

“So you make me the center of attention?”

“At ease for a moment, Commander. Allow me to explain.”

“Start talking, Kotallo or I swear I will–.”

“I will do my best.” He takes a deep breath, sizing her up. “I admit I unintentionally eavesdropped on a private conversation between the Chief and Chaplains earlier. They had decided, through a series of votes from the various soldiers and clans, to award the Wings to Commander Tekotteh.”

Aloy can’t help but scrunch her nose in distaste for the man, livid at his early treatment of the two of them. 

“So you wanted to get back at him by ruining my evening then.” She gets it, honestly, but she’s still so hurt.

“No, Aloy please listen. When a soldier is granted their Wings at this ceremony, they essentially become the celebrity of the day. And, as a result, take part in a dance with someone of their choosing. If Tekotteh was given his Wings today, he would have propositioned you.”

Aloy ponders this for a few moments. “Kotallo, I would just say no.”

“It isn’t that simple. Yes, of course it is your right to decline him, but there is a longstanding bit of insult to do. It is considered highly disrespectful to not accept the dance. And, if you did dance with him, well…as you know the Tenkath are quite vocal and creative in their gossip. Rumors would fly about him taking you to bed before the evening has finished.”

“So, let me get this straight. I have the complete choice to say no, but it would be a bad thing to do for everyone’s reputation and if I grin and bear it, then the tribe gets to make assumptions about my sexual exploits?”

“Yes.”

This feels ridiculous and the exact reason she doesn’t stay at these damn affairs. Too many rules, expectations, faux pas to commit.

“By insisting that you are the one who decides who earns their Wings today, you can select someone not only worth–even if for whatever reason you decide that to be Tekotteh–but also someone you are comfortable being near. It is unusual for the Wings recipient to request their dance from the person who bestows the Wings, at it is usually from a high member of the tribe.”

“So, I won’t have to dance?” She sounds small when she says it, much of the rage bubbling down to a simmer within her, Now an uncertainty taking its place.

“No. As an Outlander you would not be held to that expectation and could easily stand with the Chief as an observer, rather than an active participant after you designate the Wings. And, as a double sided victory, you flew on the Wings of the Ten. You could decide to give the Wings to an un-inked, unblooded cadet and no one would question your reasoning. You quite literally cannot be wrong.”

She absorbs all the information, seeing where he was coming from. He hadn’t thrown her under the wheels, he had been looking out for her. Desperate for her to save face with the tribe since she had agreed to stay in the first place, but finding a way for her to take part to her own level of comfort–without massively insulting the Clans or falling victim to noisy mouths of gossip.

Kotallo does see her, always has seen her since she brought down the Bulwark. And she feels a little exposed at being so visible, but ultimately she appreciates the gesture.

She feels lost for words–there’s somehow too many and not enough in her throat. 

“Champion.” They both turn to Dekka as she enters, none the wiser of the explosive conversation that had quite resolved. “I wanted to assist you in some last minute preparations for the ceremony and answer any questions you may have, I know you have never attended one before.”

She looks back to Kotallo for a moment and his eyes are pleading hers for forgiveness. She sighs, relenting to his logic and gives a tight smile and nod.

“That’d be great, Chaplain. Thank you.” When she turns, Dekka is suddenly much closer, so much so that Aloy nearly flinches back. Her eyes are scanning her face.

Her paint.

“Such a unique design, Champion. Quite beautiful. Our painters will do their best to recreate it for you after you finish bathing.” Aloy forgot she had requested use of the Marshal baths to get the grit and grime out of her hair and body while her armor is being cleaned and repaired.  One of the few perks of her renown is the way her equipment is never left to linger long before it is tended. 

She opens her mouth to decline, remembering how close the painting experience was with Kotallo and not quite sure she wants to deal with a stranger.

“There is no need, Chaplain. The design is my own. I will be able to reapply Aloy’s paints prior to the ceremony.”

When she glances back at him, she sees him standing with pride and her body warms. It is his design, he had made that abundantly clear before he departed the base ahead of her to prepare for Regalla’s assault.

She remembers, for a second, the warmth of his lips and the slightly bitter taste of his paint when he kissed her goodbye. 

“I see.” When they look to Dekka, there is something unknown and blazing in her eyes. It feels like all the lights of Hidden Ember are shining on her, like Dekka can read her mind and saw this private exchange at full volume. “Come with me then, Champion. I will get you situated in the Marshal quarters. When you are ready Marshal Kotallo can come and apply your paint.”

Aloy knows there’s subtext in the wryness as Dekka speaks, but she is still too inept at these relationships to fully understand what she is saying or implying.

All she knows is there are now bundles of nerves in lieu of all the anger she had just felt. 

But she is here and she committed to being here and Kotallo did everything he could to make the experience as painless as possible.

So she takes a deep breath and does what she does best–ask too many questions while they walk. If she’s going to be roped into this, she’s going to do it right. 

There are hundreds of Tenakth. The Grove is packed to the brim, the arena seating shoulder-to-shoulder with members of all the clans. On the floor of the arena, a large banquet area has been set up with dozens of tables for some of the higher ranked individuals. Squad leaders, highly ranked squads, chaplains, etc.

A long table is set up by the entrance to the Arena, where they herd in the machines for the battles. There, sat in all his massive influence, is Hekarro, dressed and presented pristinely as the pillar of Tenkath strength and unity.

Aloy and Kotallo are sat on either side of him and honestly, she doesn’t know if she’s thankful for that. They hadn’t really spoken when he came into the Marshal quarters to apply her paint after she got ready in her newly polished Nora Thunder Warrior armor, a personal favorite of hers. 

The air between them was so thick and Aloy felt small wondering if he was upset at her for lashing out earlier the way that she had. He seemed content as he easily painted her design, as though he had dozens of times before, without the use of the Focus to reference this time. 

When he finished he stood and gave her a polite bow before excusing himself to get ready for the festivities himself.

Before he left, Aloy noticed when he reached up and tapped the beads–her beads–on his necklace twice when he saw her twirling one of her own with her freshly redone braids.

It felt like a silent conversation between them.

And now, here, surrounded  by so many people Aloy can’t decide if she’d rather be near him to hide or away from him for space. The 3 high Chaplains from the clan as well as the 3 Clan Commanders are also sat on the large stable and Aloy is almost relieved that of all the options, Drakka is the one sat next to her.

He’s been delighted in chatting to her, speaking of his own exploits during the fighting, his arm resting casually on the back of the chair she sits on. He is animated and boisterous, but Aloy finds herself comforted in his presence; he has come a long way since his dispute with Yarra and has really stepped into the role well. She constantly listens for grumblings from the desert tribe citizens and while nobody is perfect, so many of them find Drakka’s leadership a vast improvement to morale and survivability. 

She also finds Drakka’s endless flirtation to be a comfortable constant, something that she doesn’t take too seriously even if she knows he would, in a heartbeat, follow through with it if she gave him the go-ahead. She finds their banter fun and pressureless, which is a comfort in this unfamiliar scenario. 

After a round of some food has been served around the entirety of the arena, Hekarro stands and adjusts his headdress. He looks to her and Kotallo with small nods and they stand in silent understanding.

For a moment, Aloy laments that she has worn her own headpiece for the armor. In the wilds she finds it tedious and in her way, but at least she could hide behind it when it feels like every single set of eyes are on her when they move to the stand in front of the table.

Hekarro’s command is absolute, his hand lifting up and a silence falling across the entire arena, even to the high seats. 

“Tenakth.” He booms, the acoustics of their stage designed perfectly to carry his booming voice through the space. “Today, we close another bloody chapter in our tribe’s great history. Today, we are victorious against those who would wish us harm. Today, the Wings of the Ten have carried us to another era of peace ahead.” 

A boisterous cheer carries in the Arena and Aloy can’t help but look in wonder at the sight. All of these people, all of these soldiers, celebrating after such a gruesome war. 

“We honor those who lost their lives in the traitorous wake of Regalla’s misguidance and hatred. It is through them that it is possible that we stand here on the winds of victory–on the winds of greater change.”

Another cheer.

A new pang in Aloy’s heart when she thinks of Varl, who did all he could to protect Beta. When she is home safe, Aloy will forever tell his story as one of success. 

“If there was ever a doubt within you, do not judge too harshly. For I, myself, wondered if this violence and bloodshed of our brothers and sisters was the only path forward.” That surprises her. Hekarro had been so stoic in their fight since she arrived and nearly challenged him to get to Aether below. He had been so assured in his vision for peace. 

A moment of clarity washes over her; even the right choices will fill you with doubt. As a leader, that fear and concern will always be with you when you think of the people you are in charge of. 

“But the winds of change carried us through. The Wings of the Ten arrived at our side when our fight seemed to tilt away from our favor.” Grumbling from the crowd then. 

“For too long, we Tenakth have lived our lives too singularly–too obsessed with the glory of battle. Even if that means we fall into a blaze. Today, I challenge our people to a new focus in our lives–to thrive. We must stop going into our battles expecting the worst to befall us.” Aloy’s ears perk up and she looks directly up at the massive chief at her side in awe. “Do not misunderstand me; our ferocity and prowess as soldiers will never waiver, will never soften. But today’s victory demands that we expect more from our lives than a bloody end; but a long life full of glory and family and camaraderie. Look amongst you, my people.” She watches as everyone turns to look around them. And she smiles when she catches Kotallo looking at her from Hekarro’s other side. “We are all Tenkath. The beauties and traditions and culture of our individual Clans is what strengthens us for the moments such as these–when we all stand together, brothers and sisters in arms.” 

“Today as we celebrate our victory and mourn our losses, it feels fitting that she who assisted us on the Wings of the Ten award one of our great soldiers with their Wings.” Heat rushes to her cheeks at the loud roar of the audience but she keeps her head high, refusing to cower. This is important, and she played a part in it. 

She does not want to regret.

“The Champion is not just my own, she is a champion for all of you.” Hekarro turns to her with light in his eyes and she nervously returns a small smile to him. “Aloy, today we ask you to award the Wings of the Ten to a soldier who exemplifies what it means to be Tenkath–what it means to carry out the legacy of our people to be immortalized in the stories we tell to our young. Have you made your decision?”

Dekka had walked her through the process, so she is relieved that she doesn’t have to come up with a speech of her own. She nods and the arena erupts again. Every single person rises to their feet at attention, arms clasped behind at a soldier’s rest, chins held high.

Even the lowest ranked soldiers on the highest seats stand proud, in case she should decide to award it to them.

After all, it is fully her choice. And she struggles to feel worthy of such a monumental decision, but she thinks of Varl at her back urging her forward and reassuring her and she tries to harness that braveness.

Hekarro gestures for her to go ahead but she instead rests her hand on his arm and pushes up on her toes to whisper up to him.

When he pulls away, his eyes are glistening and she swears she sees a tremble of emotion in his throat. 

She steps forward and allows Dekka to come and hand her the badge and she admires its beauty for a moment. Golden wings on a carved eagle, gemstones inlay. 

“To be Tenkath means more now than ever before. Far too long have we refused to expand our minds to the possibilities of what it means to carry the strength of our people. When we lost the Marshals, Regalla thought she was crippling our vision of peace and unity–but how she was wrong.”

As he speaks, Aloy looks to where Kotallo stands at attention, his eyes closed and face serene. She knows intrinsically he is thinking of Fashav and his comrades and she swallows hard, once again mourning people she had never met. Hekarro speaks of strength, of survival, of growth and she walks over—her decision assured in her soul.

Behind Hekarro she sees the knowing smirk of Drakka, the proud acknowledgement of Atekka, and the twisted resignation of Tekotteh. 

When she stops moving, there is a beat of silence before the arena explodes in cheers and celebration. Kotallo’s eyes snap open, fear of missing the moment and settle on Aloy in front of him immediately, arms slightly outstretched with the Wings presented to him. She sees him mouth her name, cannot hear it among the near chaos of the arena around them, but it all melds into a distant hum.

She takes in his sharp paint on soft features, the brown eyes that immediately well with tears he will try to contain, and the way he almost immediately goes to shake his head in rejection of her decision. 

“Champion.” She looks to Hekarro, who has lifted his arm to silence the excitement in the room around them. “Have you any reservations in your decision?”

She smiles at him and then to Kotallo, shaking her head. “None. There is none more worthy than Marshal Kotallo.”

He wants to speak, to challenge her but no words come out. “It is what I choose.” She says more privately to him. 

After a long moment of searching her eyes, he nods once and slowly lowers to his knees. There is an overwhelming intimacy of the moment, his eyes never wavering in their gaze as he submits down to the ground. 

His metal hand reaches out to brush the side of her leg, though she’s sure it is not for balance. She’d been surprised when he was wearing it, but he simply said it was easier to leave it on for all the soldiers who wanted to see it than to keep taking it off. 

She doesn’t really pay much more attention to the more formal words of Hekarro’s ceremony, instead just listening for her cue to reach out and adhere the Wings to his chestplate. He is staring at her reverently and although the attention would normally send her hiding in the hills, she instead accepts it joyously. All of this stress and uncomfortableness is worth it to see what this means to him.

Because even if he has come to accept his life with his disability, she is fully aware that Kotallo would always struggle with his doubt and worthiness to his people. That over-eager and egotistical soldiers would always challenge what he was capable of, even if he’s proved himself ten times over. But now, with his badge, in this ceremony, and when he receives his ink there will be no question as to what it means to be worthy of the Ten.

He stands, eyes still never leaving hers, reaching up to touch his flesh fingers over the badge for a moment before moving up to tap the beads of his necklace.

The arena is in full celebration, his name being screamed from the highest seats down to the celebratory whoops of the commanders at the table. Aloy steps aside and gestures with her head, a clear order that he follows without hesitation. 

He steps forward and, to her great surprise, lifts his metal arm in acknowledgement. The crowd goes absolutely ballistic as he does. Loud bangs of drums and shots of fire firing off. 

“Even when he completed his trial by machine to maintain his title,” Hekarro starts, suddenly at her side. “I worried that the Marshal would never recover his soldier’s spirit. That he would be a shell of a man until death claimed him for themselves.” She flinches at that. “You have given him purpose and reignited his soul, Aloy, and for that there will never be enough thanks.”

“Thank you for letting him help me on my mission.” Aloy smiles up at him.

“Thank you for bringing him back to us. He is my son in every way but blood.” She believes him. He steps forward and clasps his hand on Kotallo’s shoulder and the radiant smile he gives him when he turns is worth all of this ceremony. 

“Feast and be merry and know that today another era of our people’s great history has begun.”

Kotallo is nearly swarmed by people on the arena floor, even as more food is brought out and left on the tables. The sudden closeness of everyone has her backing up, eager to slip away for a little.

“Trying to sneak off again, Desert Flame?” She crashes into Drakka whose arms go out to steady her immediately when she turns. 

“I just don’t want to distract anyone away from Kotallo.” She answers a little breathless. She is relieved it is Drakka who she bumped into.

“Nah, don’t worry about that. I think you’ve guaranteed multiple warm beds for the Marshal now.” He says it with a laugh, but his eyes are appraising. He’s testing the waters, gauging her response. He’s much more cunning than he’d like others to believe.

“Good.” The word tastes bitter in her mouth and she doesn’t know why. It doesn’t bother her, the way he’s being swarmed by all those people. Even the ones who are awfully close to him. Even the lowland soldier who is letting her hand linger on his arm. Even as she presses herself up to him in a false moment of clumsy accident.

“Ah, well now it all makes sense.” She looks back to Drakka, whose eyebrows are waggling at her. “No wonder I can’t convince you to join my bedroll. You’re all hot for the Marshal.”

She shoves his chest for some distance between them and looks around, relieved that there is too much ruckus for gossip hungry ears around. 

“Shut up, Drakka.” She hisses at him. “Have you considered the possibility that I find you obnoxious?”

“Of course I have.” He reaches up to stretch, purposefully flexing a bit as he does. “You wouldn’t be the first to use their body to shut me up.” He laughs when she glares at him. “But, since you haven’t by now it must mean that someone else has caught those pretty greenshine eyes of yours.”

“Oh that’s what it must mean?” She drolls as she moves around him. He easily walks in stride with her, throwing a casual arm around her shoulder as she stalks to the table serving drinks. “It couldn’t possibly mean that I meant it when I said my mission is too important to waste time rolling around in your bed?”

“Definitely. I mean, don’t get me wrong,” He looks over to where Kotallo is still surrounded by so many people and appraises him for a moment. “I can see it. The Marshal had a reputation and the looks to back it up.” 

That twisty feeling is back in her stomach. She sees Kotallo kissing her in the hallway again. How much more experienced he clearly was. 

“But I guess I just hoped my natural charm would win you over in the end.” Even though she hears the truth to his words, he nudges her shoulder with his own, smiling earnestly at her.

“Maybe one day, Drakka.” His eyes light up, always eager for the crumbs she leaves him, laughing in excitement.

He goes to speak but a throat clears to their side. Her smile slips from her face when they see Tekotteh standing there, his normally grumpy scowl twisted into something extra ugly today.

“Commander. Champion.” He seethes out and Aloy is immediately annoyed.

“Well met, Commander. That was some good fighting today.” Drakka is all charm, but she can hear the tightness in his throat. “You and the Marshal are certainly the pride and jewel of the Sky Clan.”

Drakka also doesn’t like Tekotteh. Interesting.

“I need a word with the Out–the Champion.” He gestures his head, buzzing off Drakka which just sets her anger ablaze all over. How dare he speak so terribly to another Clan Commander?

“Sure thing. Desert Flame, I’ll grab that thing you needed right away.” He says with a wink as though he explained everything.

He explained nothing.

And then he was gone, leaving Aloy with a full goblet of wine trapped talking to a man she detests.

She hates parties.

“What do you want, Tekotteh?” She likes to see his jaw twitch in tension at the casual address, but as they love to point out she isn’t Tenkath and is under no such obligation to be polite when respect isn’t given to her. 

“You must be feeling quite smug after that show.”

“Well, I flew on the Wings of the Ten, I think I’ve earned more than a little pride in that.”

She should feel bad, throwing his tribe’s fundamental belief and religion back at him. But she doesn’t. She is proud of what she did today. Proud to use the gift Beta gave her to end the war and stop the needless bloodshed while also getting what she needed from Sylens. He makes a disgruntled sound, his sneer ruining his paint.

“Now if you’ll excuse me,” She goes to push past him and nearly drops the glass when a large hand wraps tightly around her forearm. He yanks her too closely and squeezes so hard that she hisses as he pulls her up onto her toes closer to his face.

“I meant your little spectacle with the cripple.” The sheer audacity of his words momentarily leave Aloy speechless. Callous and jaded and hatred is in Tekotteh’s heart where there should have been pride for a soldier he nearly raised. “A little birdie let slip that I was to receive the Wings today until you inserted yourself again where you don’t belong. You make a mockery of my people.”

“You’re a disgraceful rat, Tekotteh.” Aloy spits as she says it, attempting to pull out of his grip. “You should’ve been dealt with a long time ago but if you’re so eager to meet the Ten early, I’ll happily send you there myself.”

“Is that a challenge?”

“It is a promise.”

She dumps her goblet on his chest but it doesn’t distract him enough to loosen his grip much. “Half of a man clearly isn’t enough to put you in your place.”

“He is more of a man than you will ever know,” She goads. “In fact, maybe you can ask him for tips on how to satisfy the pitiful women who end up in your bedroll. Because I guarantee you, Tekotteh, Marshal Kotallo is a better man, soldier, leader, and lover that you will ever be”

“You insolent bitch.” His free hand rears up and Aloy realizes with an easy recognition that this man is about to hit her. And then, once he does, she gets to make an example out of him. So if the stinging of his hand is what it takes to avoid causing an international incident, then so be it.

She doesn’t have to worry though, because his hand hits something hard before it reaches her face. Her arm is released and she stumbles back, desperate for distance from him. A strangled sound escapes Tekotteh, one of extreme pain and discomfort.

Good.

The hard thing he hit instead of her face was metal, the metal of Kotallo’s arms to be precise. The arm which has since easily twisted Tekotteh’s into a painful hold behind his back. His other hand pinches into that sensitive spot between the neck and collarbone and Aloy would wince if sympathy if she could muster any. Kotallo is squeezing–hard. And he forces Tekotteh down to his knees as he gasps and groans against the pain.

“You snake.” Kotallo spits at him, yanking the arm up so much that Aloy is sure he will tear the muscle or rip it out of its socket. “You dare to treat Hekarro’s Champion with such disrespect?”

“This…isn’t the place for a Marshal’s justice.” Tekotteh wheezes through his jaw dropped in agony.

“There is nothing Marshal about this, you bastard.” He leans down so that the crowd that has gathered cannot hear him. “This is coming from me to you; man to man.” Kotallo’s eyes flick up to Aloy, who is rubbing the soon-to-be bruise on her arm from his grasp. A vicious sneer paints his face in response. “And as a man, I should rip out your stones for this transgression against her.”

Tekotteh stutters for a moment, weakly attempting to adjust his position to lessen the very real damage he’s about to receive on his arm before his body slumps slightly in acquiesce. He mumbles something.

“What was that? You’ll have to speak up, Commander.” Aloy is certainly glad that even at his ‘worst’ in knowing her, she has never had to deal with this side of Kotallo so closely. 

No wonder the Carja fear the ‘blood-thirsty cannibals’ of the West.

“I said I yield!” Tekotteh shouts to the grumblings and whispers of their audience who have stepped away from the celebration to observe.

Kotallo is a man of honor, so he releases him immediately.

Kotallo is also a very human man, so he shoves him down into the dirt.

He steps over the writhing body of his former leader and stands in front of Aloy, his face softening as he approaches immediately.

“Are you alright?” He asks softly, his hand coming up to move her hand out of the way off of her arm to assess the damage.

“All good.” She smiles a little at him. “Though, if he had hit me, it would’ve been fair game.” She makes the joke and he humors her with a smirk, but his eyes are still tracing the obvious finger marks on her arm. “I’m okay, Kotallo. I promise.” She reaches out to reassure him and it snaps him out of his hyper-focus on her arm to look her in the eyes.

“I apologize.”

“You did nothing wrong.” She reassures him. “I’m the one who got into an argument on your big day.”

He frowns and looks down at his metal arm. 

“Yes, an argument about me,” He seems so sad now and all of the warm feelings she felt during his ceremony seem all but memory.

But no. She is tired of letting big moments be ruined by egotistical men in power. So she takes a step away from the table, almost surprised when he doesn’t follow her immediately.

He must think I’m upset. 

“Well, Marshal, I hear the man of the hour gets the first pick.” She gestures back to the center of the arena, where the final event of the ceremony is prepared. He looks at her a little dumbfounded, as though cautiously optimistic in what she means when she says it. 

“That,” he looks back to where some Sky Clan soldiers are helping Tekotteh to his feet and assessing the damage to his arm. “Is correct, yes.”

“So do I have to go join the line of adoring fans or are you going to ask me first?” She lifts her eyebrows in challenge, pleased when his mouth parts in surprise. She keeps walking, turning back to navigate through the crowd of people that part to her.

She smiles up when a warm hand settles on the small of her back and guides her back to the banquet table at the center of the arena. 

“Is everything well, Marshal?” Hekarro stands where he’d been before, talking with Dekka and Atekka as they approach. There is a twinkle in his eyes, he must have enjoyed the little ruckus Aloy caused. 

“Tekotteh ill represents the great people of the Sky Clan.” Kotallo grumbles, not removing his hand from the small of her back. She wonders if he finds it comforting or if he is afraid she will bolt if he loses contact with her.

“It is of her people to come to that conclusion themselves and demand change, Marshal.” Hekarro reminds him, even as his eyes zero in on the bruising mark on Aloy’s arm with a frown.

“I’m sure a formal complaint about my conduct will make its way back to you after the celebration tonight.”

“Perhaps. But from what I can tell, you acted honorably in defense of your tribe and of your current Commander.”

“I’m sorry.” Both men look at her with something akin to surprise. “I should have de-escalated the situation sooner.”

“That is not your responsibility to bear, Champion, I assure you.” Hekarro reaches out to rest a hand on her shoulder and she is surprised that she doesn’t feel suffocated with how close they are.

How far I’ve come since the East.

“Tekotteh did not act admirably for his position, I saw him raise his hand to you outside of a proper challenge. Rest assured, his conduct will be addressed so I hope you do not let his action reflect poorly on us.”

“Never, Chief.” She assures him with a smile.

“Good. Now, Marshal, the stage is yours. Have you selected your escort for the drums?” Aloy remembers from Dekka that ‘the drums’ are what they call this first dance, being that they detest the word ‘dance’ as being something soft and weak. 

“I have.” Kotallo removes his hand from her back and holds his arm out for Aloy with a radiant smile under his paint. “Commander, would you do the honors?”

She loops her arm through his and smiles nervously up at him before looking back at Hekarro. “If this goes as badly as I think it will I hope you’ll forgive me if I never show my face at the Grove again.”

Hekarro lets out a barking laugh that Kotallo joins in on as he navigates them to the center of the Arena. A sweeping hush begins to settle over the crowd as they observe the two of them. Her face is on fire as the whispers begin.

“I have seen you take on Thunderjaws with less fear than this moment.” Kotallo muses as they approach their starting point.

“Thunderjaws are easy. At least if I mess up against one I know I’ll just die instead.” It’s a grim sort of humor that she’s pleased Kotallo finds so funny. She doesn’t know that she’s ever heard him this light ever in their time together. 

“Trust in me, Aloy.  I will not fail to guide you.” It’s a serious tone that she recognizes and the entire arena is quiet by the time they are standing across from each other. He holds out his hand to her in a respectful question that she takes immediately so she isn’t left standing on her own.

The first thing is relief when he sweeps her into position; at least he knows what to do here. Her hand rests in his and his metal hand is pressed where he’d been before at the small of her back. “At ease.” He commands her when the drums start. She’s glad it is not as slow as she expected and she catches on to his steps easily after a moment of watching their feet move.

It is nothing insane, and relatively simple, to step back when he steps forward and to mirror to the side when he does.

It is joyously repetitive and she looks up to him. “This isn’t hard.”

“You see, nothing to fear.” He smirks at her.

“You’re teasing me.” She accuses as they continue to step to the drums. 

“I am afraid it is too easy with your Outlander tendencies.” He admits, lifting their joined arms. She is confused but feels the natural twist in her body when he guides her through an easy spin and reconnects them. 

“Yeah, yeah. Poking fun at the outcast–how original.” She hits his shoulder as she says it.

There is a comfortable quiet between them, out of the corner of her eyes she can see that many other pairs have joined to dance to the drums now that they’ve kicked off the evening. Yet Aloy makes no motion to end their dance.

“I am glad you stayed today.” His voice is a gentle hum through her bones, as it so often is.

“Me too.” And she means it. She’s surprised that she means it, but she does. Varl’s loss is still so raw, Beta’s kidnapping is gnawing at her chest, but it is eye-opening to allow herself this time when time is quite literally out of her control at the moment. She doesn’t want regrets, doesn’t want to hesitate when it clearly matters to those around her. Not like before. 

It is still a new feeling, this humbling pride she has felt since Kotallo painted her face in the privacy of his hidden alcove. But as her eyes rests on the beads of the necklace she made him, Aloy finds it is not as terrifying a feeling as it once felt so allow this closeness to someone around her. She is so in her head that she stumbles over his feet, which he easily corrects before she even has the chance to apologize. 

“You’re a good teacher.” She points out as he naturally helps her find the rhythm again.

“I am a man of many talents,” She can’t help but chuckle at that. “But I can tell you are elsewhere in that mind of yours.”

“Yeah, sorry. Just thinking.” She tries to brush him off, not really sure she wants to open the can of worms in there right now.

“I truly am sorry that Tekotteh hurt you.”

“Oh, don’t be. He needed somebody to be mad at.” She shrugs it off.  

“Still. To see him lose his composure like that was surprising.”

“That was probably my own fault,” She is a little sheepish when she admits it. “I may have implied that he’s terrible in the bedroll.”

His eyebrows shoot to the sky at that. “A great insult indeed. I’m tempted to ask you to show me your holo of it.”

“Oh no need for that!” Her voice comes out squeaky and she curses internally, knowing she’s immediately given herself away. He looks at her expectantly. “I may have also implied that you are a better lover than he could ever be.”

He’s unforgiving when she tries to loosen out of his grasp and slip away, instead locking her into his dancer frame immediately. His eyes are blazing now and she does not miss the way they look down at her mouth, just as he had done before he left the Base the evening before.

“A bold assumption.” His voice is hoarse and she sees hims wallow thickly around it. 

“When in the Clanlands, you know.” She thinks she may just die of embarrassment right then and there. “It’s a common enough insult in the fighting pits.”

“I am honored you would stand up for me in such a way. Even if I was supposed to be standing up for you at that moment.”

“Wait, yeah that reminds me. How did you see us over there?” She stutters in her steps again, but he easily corrects as he had before. “Last I saw, you were surrounded by your adoring fans then suddenly you were there putting Tekotteh to the dirt.”

“Ah,” He sighs, relenting in his intense focus of the topic for a moment. “My adoring fans? Sounds like something akin to jealousy, Commander.”

She bristles at that, feeling some type of offense. She wasn’t jealous. That wasn’t what it was. She just happened to notice all the people that were around him. All the bodies. All the beautifully fit men and women who were clearly throwing themselves at his feet. That’s not jealousy, it’s just observations. 

“Commander Drakka came to me.” His words snap her out of her internal justification.

“I’ll grab that thing you needed right away” 

She smiles, feeling a surprising amount of emotion at the interference. For all his flirtation and carefree attitude, Drakka had easily known what she would need in that moment.

“I’ll have to thank him for that.” She says it with a smile but notices the tight line of Kotallo’s mouth. “What’s that look for?”

“I admit, I saw the two of you pull away from the crowd,” He pauses, eyeing her as though she should understand where he’s going with this. “I, for a moment, assumed that you had accepted his proposition.”

She was about to argue with him, understanding enough about this evening’s celebration to point out that Drakka wouldn’t have been able to ask someone to dance with the drums until Kotallo had when she catches something mirrored in his face.

Oh.

He thought she’d accepted his longstanding proposition of intimacy and that they’d snuck away from the crowd to do so.

“Is that jealousy I see, Marshal?” She is all teasing, relieved that they can each give and take now that they’re on level playing field. Perhaps now she isn’t so proud to admit that she was feeling some kind of way about seeing all the people so openly offering themselves to him. 

“Yes.” She expected him to banter, to deny, to tease. But his full admission nearly halts their movements completely, though as a lead he continues to guide them even as her legs turn to stone. 

“Oh.” Is what all she manages to get out. 

“This surprises you.” It isn’t a question, but like always she hears it regardless.

“Yeah, a bit.” But should it? Last night, just before they kissed, he had told her that she misjudged his discipline about her. 

“Does it upset you?”

She lets that question settle before answering too quickly. “No.”

“I see.”

So it sits there between them, this giant Tremortusk in the room. Something obvious and needing to be discussed, but neither of them acknowledging it clearly.  

“I wouldn’t,” She starts, an unknowing need to clarify tumbling out of her. “Sleep with Drakka, I mean.”

He eyes her cautiously, as though she were a wild animal preparing to flee at the slightest bit of quick movement.

“I told you, I’ve never done this before.” She reminds him, rolling her neck to look anywhere but him. 

Have they been this close the whole dance? Or is he suddenly closer than before?

“I remember.” There is an unmistakable heat in his voice, as though it is all he can remember of her at the moment. “Although, I would not fault you if you did. From what I hear, the Desert Commander is quite adept in these matters.”

Damn this jungle heat.

“Of course your people would just talk about that.” She is so embarrassed. For a moment she thinks of how Varl would react, normally on her side in the more private culture they grew up with. Here in the West, there are no qualms when discussing many things that would make the Nora scandalized beyond belief. Less taboos about intimacy, nudity, romance, even the casual nature of many of their encounters.

It was a culture shock for sure. 

“It is my duty as a Marshal to keep an ear to the ground about all manner of things,” He is all serious when he says it, even if she can hear the jest in his tone. “The torch Commander Drakka holds for you is no secret. Neither is the moans of the satisfied soldiers who visit his quarters late at night for–”

She doesn’t let him finish, her hand clamping over his mouth to silence him lest her embarrassment turn her to ash.

“That’s enough.” She nearly desperately commands, feeling the twist of the smile under her palm. She shoots him another warning look before returning to the dance frame and continuing. 

“I cannot help but to wonder what on earth you Outlanders talk about if so many topics are considered ‘off-limits’ as Varl would say.”

“Just stop talking, Kotallo.” She commands, to which he smiles down at her.

“Yes, ma’am.”

It is some time later, after their first dance had concluded, that Aloy notices a shift in the Arena. The drinks were flowing, the drums had changed their tempo. She sees the closeness of many of the soldiers, some pairs exchanging heated kisses or lingering touches. She even sees some groups beginning to form and her cheeks are hot at the sight. 

She’s noticed it before, the purposeful touch of the Tenakth. And she may have reservations about public displays of touch but many here certainly do not. But she is starting to get overwhelmed, the sheer exhaustion of the day both physically and mentally beginning to catch up to her. And yet she isn’t sure how to properly leave these events now that she is here and is surprised to see that no one else has really left, even as the energy has shifted so clearly from something jubilant and casual into something else entirely. 

Kotallo had been roped into several dances with soldiers much more familiar with the dance than she. And, now that its been pointed out, Aloy doesn’t try to deny the feelings of jealousy she feels as they press their bodies against his.

She isn’t sure if she’s imagining the way he keeps his touch respectful and polite, but she definitely is not imagining the obvious way his dance partners are attempting to seduce him.

She feels that nagging sensation she had felt when she first saw the silhouettes of Varl and Zo while she’d been healing. A shocking desire to be able to take part in something that seemed so freeing and easy for others. 

Song after song, partner after partner Aloy’s blood is kind of boiling. She drinks a glass or two of wine, eyeing the exits. Waiting for just one person to leave so she can do the same.

She has easy conversation with many of her peers that she’s met over the past few months, but always with Kotallo’s massive form in her peripheral despite her best conscious efforts. 

It is late and she’s about to say damn it all and leave when Kotallo is suddenly at her side. 

“How long does this celebration normally last?” She asks, her social tank nearly obliterated for what she is sure to be several months. 

“It will go long after we retire to bed.”

She can’t help but focus on the ‘we’ of his words. She’s about to ask him about it when a delightful whoop makes its way to them.

She looks over to where Hekarro has swooped up a Lowland soldier, arm wrapped tightly around the back of their knees and resting over his shoulder like a sack of food.

A joyous cheer follows as he politely nods to several of those around him.

Somehow his eyes find her and Kotallo and he gives a friendly salute with his free hand before turning away towards an exit, a woman now visible as she laughs loudly and attempts to hold herself up to look at those they pass.

Atekka.

“Oh, um.” Aloy’s face is on fire when she realizes what she is watching, the implication obvious in the teasing shouts and gestures from the soldiers they pass. “Are they really–”

“If you were looking for the polite time to exit, it is now.” She looks up to Kotallo who is searching her face with both a measure of teasing and something far, far more tense.

“So everyone waits for the Chief to…” She doesn’t know how to finish the sentence. “I mean, Hekarro is–”

“At ease, Aloy, I beg you.” He is laughing at her and she can’t help but shove his chest. Damn him. Damn his people and their openness in this. Damn it all. “It is common to wait until the honoree of the evening lays claim to their partner for the evening.” He says it with a lightness at her discomfort, but she is thinking too hard again.

“So…they were waiting for you to carry someone off to bed?”

“Yes. But being that I did not and several soldiers were about to turn this into a very public event for your innocent Outlander eyes, it seems the Chief took it upon himself.”

So Hekarro had been looking out for her when he made that display? She doesn’t know whether to be thankful or mortified.

“Do not fret. He and Atekka were squadmates in their youth. They frequently leave events like this together.” He laughs, lifting up to tuck one of her braids behind her ear.

It is so casual and easy, the way he does it. But she knows the Tenakth are so easily intentional with their touch.

Sure enough, she sees some of the more heated individuals making a show of scooping up their partners and nearly sprinting to exits.

“It seems a little barbaric.” 

“It is reminiscent of an older time, yes.” He laughs. “It comes from a story of a Ten commander who carried his partner out of the flames of battle and was so desperate that they survived that he took her under the night sky.”

She groans and hides her face in the very casual way he talks about it. There’s no way she’s being prudish, it just cannot be normal to talk about it this much. She’s about to start leaving when a thought pops into her head.

“Wait, is it a problem that you didn’t carry someone out of here?”

“It is no problem.” He laughs again.

“No, but, shut up,” She groans again, head tilting back as the cogs of her mind turn.  “You Tenkath thrive on gossip and you mean to tell me it isn’t an issue that the Wings recipient didn’t leave with somebody?”

“It is uncommon, but not unheard of. Do not think too hard about it.” He waves it off but that just bothers her more. Why hadn’t he taken someone out of the arena? It’s not like he would have to search far for a willing participant. Hell, even now there are eyes gauging him up to see if he’ll look their way and scoop them up.

That jealous feelings returns with vengeance. That, coupled with her absolute need to get out of here makes the option clear.

“Carry me out.” She hopes she sounds totally normally and casual about it, but there is a small quiver in her voice as she says it.

“There is an implication when you carry a partner out of here, Aloy.” She bristles at the way he spells it out for her, as though she’s too oblivious to have caught on to it herself.

“I know that. Carry me out of here.” She tries again, firmer this time, turning to face him squarely. His eyebrow is arched in challenge as he looks down at her and she sees the finger on his hand twitch.

“I thought you did not want to find yourself on the end of the Tenkath gossip circle?” He challenges.

“I didn’t. Not with Tekotteh.” She scrunches her nose as she says it. “But the way I see it, I am ready to get out of here. You deserve to carry someone out of here just as you would normally.”

“Aloy–”

“I’ve had enough of people doubting you because of your arm, Kotallo. If you don’t carry someone out of here, that will be what they focus on today–not your Wings. And if you aren’t going to take one of your many willing participants, you may as well take me.”

There is an unsaid undercurrent between them. She doesn’t ask why he hasn’t taken one of the others who so clearly want to go with him. He doesn’t tell her what it is that has him standing next to her instead of someone else’s bed. 

“Are you certain?” That little bit of uncertainty and cautiousness is back, the same from the hallway of the Base the night before. And just as before, even if she’s unsure about a lot of things, she is fully confident in Kotallo.

“Don’t make me beg now, Marshal. It’s unbecoming.” It is a full tease, one she expects him to bounce right back. But instead that sharpness and confidence of the man before her takes any words from her throat. 

“It would be an honor to hear you beg.” So he is teasing but she is also on fire. Damn this ceremony and the wine and her feelings and this whole evening.

“Yeah well, good luck with that, you scab.” The Tenakth insult works well, surprising him just for a moment. 

In a flash he crouches down and knocks her legs out from under her, throwing her over his shoulder easily, his metal arm locked behind her knees and hands scrambling for purchase on his sculpted back. She manages to push herself up enough as Atekka had to look around, releasing with horror that a similar shout of surprise had escaped her and all eyes were now on her.

There were plenty of scathing eyes–jealous eyes she now identifies. Plenty of celebratory cheers and whoops as he begins to walk towards an exit. There are some crass, but rather respectful all things considered, taunts as they pass and Aloy tells herself the redness in her face is strictly from the blood rushing to her head at this angle.

As they leave, Aloy catches sight of familiar desert paints and a deceptively soft design to caught opponents off guard.

There, with his arm tossed casually over Ivvira’s shoulder, Drakka looks to her with a knowing and teasing smirk. He lifts his free hand and salutes her with two fingers as she’s carried out, leaning down to whisper something in Ivvira’s ear. The new Marshal can’t help but laugh loudly and turns to Drakka, purposely letting her hand trail from his chest down to his belt. 

Aloy has nowhere else to look and she can somehow still hear his barking laughter when she slips against Kotallo’s back when she tries to hide her face from the outward display.

“You alright up there, Commander?” He jostles her a little on his shoulder, chuckling when a nervous sound escapes her as they clear the Arena exit. 

“Don’t get cheeky, Kotallo.” She snaps back at him. “Just get me somewhere quiet.”

“With pleasure.”