Amos
The Feral
"Pain is a language. The most honest language. When I hurt you, you tell me truths you would never speak otherwise. That is not cruelty, that is communication.”
-Darth Maladi
-Darth Maladi
Myrkyr - The Outer Wilds
The scent of dead meat lingered in the air.
Ahead of where Amos lurked hung a beast he'd captured that morning, it's skin half stripped, it's blood still dripping on the floor. Around him the sound of the jungle called out in all directions, a song that felt fantastically familiar. For once there were no throngs of people, no speeders, no starships buzzing and screeching in the skies above. Here on Myrkyr the wilds had won long ago, a blissful peace that his soul had been aching for.
Behind him a quiet hiss echoed out, the sound so close it should have sent a chill down his spine. "Quiet."
The Amphistaff slowly slithering up his back stopped almost instantly, it's serpentine head offering only an affronted glare as it stilled itself.
On Kiffu, hunts had been sacred. His tribe had seen them as a rite of passage, beyond gender, birth, or maturity, they had marked one in status beyond all else. The results of a hunt could mark you both good and bad, though now it all seemed so very trivial. He shifted ever so slightly, moving his weight from the top branch as he let his eyes wander across the dense jungles in his surroundings.
They would be here soon enough.