Public Hunting

[Amos]

"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​

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.

 

[Turok]

The Kiffar didn’t need to tell him to quiet twice, or even once for that matter. Turok held his voice, eyes sweeping wide before honing in on what might be the source of the noise. He had knives and grenades, a sword and a flying glaive, pistol and bow, but it was the rifle that filled his grip.

He heard another hiss, lower and slower, as if a predator was testing its prey. The Ewok trained his blaster that way, eyes peeled, and waited to take aim with a fistful of steel. A breeze tickled his fur. The temperature was mild but he could feel the heat between the trees. Something slithered. Something sinister.

“Hutar!” He whispered. Just then, something sprung out from a branch to pounce down at him. Green, lean and mean with four limbs, a long tail and vicious teeth. Finger on the trigger, Turok squeezed. The beast dropped at his feet before it could reach him. It wasn’t alone though, not by any means, as more poured forth from the trees.

Amos