Silently, I continue to watch while Ah-Lanah gathers herself, pushing her now damp-looking hair from her face and neck. She rises, dusts off her lovely rump and takes a deep breath before making her way back to the village. I follow from high up in the canopy, guilt warring with a feeling of want as I oversee her safe return to the tribe. My feet make no noise when they land on the soft, springy debris of the jungle floor and I stand there, still within the shadow of the trees, watching her walk back as though she'd been doing nothing at all extraordinary.
But it was extraordinary to me.
So extraordinary, I almost don't notice the jungle fall quiet.
It takes a single rustle of something beside me for all my senses to spark. I grab the life-stone dagger that's strapped around my thigh and thrust it toward the threat, up and under his chin.
"It is nice to see you, too, Second Spear Mavyx," says a cool, deep voice.
"Tryk," I growl, the tip of my blade resting on his throat. There have only been a few Trixikka cast out into the wild to become Shadow-Wings during Rynn's time as High Spear and mine as his second. Tryk is the only one I have ever met with again after his banishment. I suppose most of them die out there. I've heard tales of some losing their sanity and trying to cross the great salt-water. But not Tryk. Tryk would never leave his lame-winged brother. "How did you get so close without detection?" I ask, sneering. My Protectors are certainly lacking this day. I shall have some stern words for them.
He doesn't answer at first - simply stands there, no move to defend himself nor attack. His calm twinned with his blackened skin-stars unnerve me somewhat, though I'd never admit it to the Shadow-Wing himself. They look like nasty, mottled bruises appearing and disappearing across his body. It's not right, and only serves to remind me that this male has committed a grievous crime and was forced to drink the sap of the night-tree to stain his skin-stars pitch black.
Tryk's eyes land on my heart-stars, pulsing and full of life and light. His lips curl into a smile and he juts his chin out toward my chest. "Which one caused that?"
"That is none of your concern, Shadow-Wing," I spit.
He nods, his temples shadowing with his dark skin-stars as he seems to ponder something. "You act like your Protectors have any kind of rule over the depths of the jungle, Second Spear. They do not." His dark eyes stay on mine. "No-one rules over the jungle, Mavyx. I know, I am part of it." I clench my jaw and tip his chin up a little more with my blade but he continues. "The one with flame-hair. She comes into the jungle when she can. I have seen her - I have watched." For a second my gut twists. He has watched one of our females? Did she do what Ah-Lanah came here to do? A growl builds in my chest.
Then I begin to hate myself.
How can I feel anger at this male for something that I am guilty of? Of possibly witnessing what I, myself have watched? My tail thrashes behind me as I realize I am no better than a despised Shadow-Wing.
"She cries," he says, and suddenly I am confused. Chaz-Titi? She would not cry. I almost want to snort at the very idea. The small one they call Bea? Yes, she has been known to weep, but Chaz-Titi? She is so bold and happy - too happy sometimes.
"You are sure? Why would she do such a thing?" I ask, nudging his throat with my knife.
Tryk is calm as he raises a single shoulder in a shrug. "You see a lot from the shadows, Second Spear and I can only tell you what I have seen - more than once. She slips away from your Protectors, comes to the seclusion of the jungle and talks to herself in riddles until she's reduced herself to tears."
I do not believe it. Narrowing my eyes at him, I ask, "why are you even here to witness this, Shadow-Wing? My High Spear permits you to visit every now and again, butthishe did not agree on."
Tryk's attention is pulled from me, his eerie dark stars going wild across his skin. Following his line of sight, I see the very female in question, Chaz-Titi, as she comes out of her hut, finger-combing her hair. Tryk wets his lips. "I'm just keeping an eye on things," he says absently before finally tearing his gaze away from the female, one side of his mouth turning up. "For my brother."
I grunt, withdrawing my dagger. "Do not let me catch you lurking so close to the tribe again."
His expression doesn't change in the slightest as he holds my glare. "Do not worry about me, Second Spear," he says, turning away and melting into the darkness of the forest. "I don't get caught."
Standing in the shadows of the jungle, I feel an unwelcome unease settle in my stomach. The females must not be allowed to wander into the jungle as they please - it is not safe. But why are they doing it? What compels them to put themselves in danger?
Clenching my hands into fists, I fight the growl building in my chest. I do not know these things. I know combat, and training, and many ways to kill a mimyckah.
I do not know anything about females.
CHAPTER 9: ALANA
I'd tried really hard not to think of my feathered idiot while masturbating the other day.
I tried, and I failed.
The tension had built and built, like a rolling snowball since he'd whisked me off up to that mountain cave and offered to'kees' my cunt. I needed to do something or risk bubbling over. Normally, touching myself was strictly a night-time activity, but sharing a hut with two other girls seriously put a dampener on that plan. Sleeping it off didn't seem to be an option either, not when my own dreams turn against me and conjure images of Mavyx covering me with his huge, muscled body. So when I noticed an opportunity to slip away to see to my own needs, I took it.
And if the only way I could reach the finish line was to picture that stupidly handsome slab of bird-man on his knees with his head between my legs - then so-motherfucking-be-it. That shit is between me, my imagination, and that scary-ass jungle out there.
I'm allowed to imagine it. It doesn't mean a thing. It doesn't mean I'm his, and it doesn't mean those twinkles on his chest are significant in any way, either.
One of the reed-like sticks I'd been attempting to weave into a basket snaps in may hands. Damn it. Maybe making myself come the other day didn't relieve as much tension as I thought. Briefly, I glance around, contemplating slipping out to the jungle again before catching myself. I'mnota horny teenager, riddled with hormones. What iswrongwith me?
"Here," Bea says with a small smile, handing me one of the deep pink reeds. "The thinner ones have more give."
