Page 9 of Claimed By the Krijese

Kala

After two more successful turns of hunting, Sorin and I head for the Tavikhi village. We still have much more to do in order to make sure our food stores are supplied with enough to get us through the cold season, but it is important for Sorin to enjoy being a kit. While I am away, Ortak is responsible for the safety of our people.

It is a pleasant day with the sun shining brightly. It peeks through the leaves making spots appear on the ground. The trees are fully in bloom so the trek down the hillside is sufficiently shaded and protected from most of the heat.

“Perhaps Healer Sage will be feeling well enough to let us meet her kit.” Sorin’s hope is evident in his quickened pace, despite my warning she may still be too tired for visitors. His stubborn need to see them both is wearisome at times.

“We have already spoken of this.” I have let some of my kit’s behaviors go undisciplined since he nearly died and havereceived many words of caution from a few of the elders. “You will allow Healer Sage to rest. Is this understood?”

Sorin flinches at the harshness in my tone. It has been many moon cycles since I have been this firm and there is a small amount of guilt for causing his reaction, but I do not soften my hard gaze. He must not forget how to listen and follow instructions.

“Yes, Gogo.” His voice is small and he hangs his head in defeat.

We continue descending the hillside path until there is a break within the walls that forms a narrow corridor. I pause at the opening and breathe in deeply to scent for any danger in the air. The only things I smell are the blooms of the nenuphar bush, a hint of animal droppings, and the bari that makes up the field separating the hills from the forest where the Tavikhi reside.Confident in the safety of continuing, I lead Sorin out from the protection of the trees and into the open field with bari nearly as tall as him. Only his head is visible over the top of it and he follows close to me as I clear the way for him to move unheeded.

Above our heads, two mellenje fly together in loops and patterns. They dodge each other, only to come together briefly, before separating again. They call out to one another as they pass, the ends of their wings whispering at the slightest touch between them. Sorin usually helps the trip to the Tavikhi village go faster with his endless talking, but he is quiet behind me. Without his constant conversation, the silence is uncomfortable. I know I am the one who caused it with my reprimand, but I am not skilled enough with words to fill it, so silent we will remain.

Finally, we reach the other end of the field and step into the shade of the forest again. Another mellenje calls out, only thissound is slightly different. Most would not notice, but since I am familiar with how the Tavikhi communicate to each other without words, I reply with my best attempt at a dhembe growl. Like the mellenje call, something about it is just off enough to make it recognizable.

There’s a rustling in the trees above, and out of nowhere, a familiar Tavikhi scout drops to the ground with a solid thud. In his hand is one of Benham’s well-crafted blades. I incline my head, but keep my war-axe sheathed at my back.

“Greetings, Katem.”

“Greetings, Kala and Sorin.”

“We come in peace and friendship.” I slam my fist over one of my hearts in the Tavikhi sign of respect. Sorin mimics the gesture.

Katem does so, as well. “We welcome you in the same.”

Sorin and I leave him to return to his hiding place within the trees and weave along the path. The echo of several mellenje lead our way, until we reach the clearing that opens to the village. Two guards are posted at the entrance. They nod in greeting. Although Sorin and I have visited the Tavikhi many times over the last seven or eight moon cycles, I can still feel the stare of the warriors along my back.

Considering how long our people warred with theirs, I do not take offense at their caution. I have done the same on the few occasions any of the Tavikhi have stepped into my village. It is not that they are not welcome, but we have nothing to offer visitors, so they are infrequent. My people are barely getting by as it is.

This place is far different than where Sorin and I live. Here, it is teeming with life. Tavikhi and humans alike move around the village with laughter and loud conversations. In the distance, the sounds of the warriors in the training arena reach me. Wooden staffs strike against each other, along with capped swords I’ve witnessed as the males—and a handful of females—spar.

“Sorin, you are here.” Talek’s grin is wide as he runs toward us, his small tail thrashing behind him and a sparring stick in hand.

My kit thrums with excitement, and his sour mood dissolves with the arrival of his young friend. The Tavikhi pounds his fist on his chest and Sorin does the same.

“Greetings, Talek.” He glances around. “Where are the others?”

“They are sparring, but when word arrived that you were here, I came to greet you and take you to them. I have told Carter about your axe throwing, and he is anxious for you to show him as well.”

Sorin glances up at me in question. I squeeze his shoulder both in permission and apology.

“Go. Enjoy yourself.”

“Thank you, Gogo.”

The two kits run off in the direction of the the rise that descends into the training arena without a backward glance. I head to the healer’s tent to speak with Kyler, but do not make it two steps when my name is called out. I turn and find Zander approaching.

The shefir of the Tavikhi tribe halts in front of me and each of us fist our chests.

“Greetings, Shefir.”

“To you as well. What brings you to our village this turn?”

“Sorin has been anxious to spend time with the other kits. We have had three successful turns in a row of hunting, so I thought we would take a break and resume stocking our food stores on the next turn.”

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