Drasuk
"The famous Drasuk," I hear someone call out in a feminine rumble behind me.
When I turn to look, I see it's Neoval, one of the most battle-hardened females I've ever known. She's crisscrossed with scars, and I note the new ones since I last saw her, my already elevated respect for her cresting higher.
She has sacrificed as much as any of us to protect our citizens. She's just more successful than most.
My spines shift to reflect my feelings, and she sweeps an arm out to accept my show of respect.
"Yet another female was speaking of you," she continues in her needling rumble.
I haven't been able to dredge up any interest in a city female in a very long time. I suppose not in a Maj'Ra warrior either, but it's best to not share that part.
"Were they?" I ask, as if I don't already know what this conversation will be about.
Her spines show her amusement. "Yes. You are still spending all your time outside the city, Drasuk. They would like your strong hatchlings."
She glances up to see that my jutting blue spines are communicating my desire to avoid this conversation, hisses out a laugh, then continues.
"Is it still because of Nkisa? Your hatchlings would have been the best of the generation, but there are plenty more females wanting to continue your line. I'm sick of having them ask me, Drasuk."
"Maybe if you stop asking me, then they will stop asking you."
She snorts out a breath as she shifts her armor and weapons around. "Why do you avoid them? You aren't sentimental like a venom beast, are you?"
She says the last in a teasing tone, and I try to avoid letting my response quiver along the spikes on my forehead.
"I'm busy, Neoval. They have other options."
She gives me a look I don't bother trying to interpret and goes back to preparing for the coming fight, but her words keep running around my skull.
If only Neoval knew how many times my mind strayed to the bond manticorid mates have or how fascinated I am with it. Nkisa never understood my continued interest in her, any more than I did.
It isn't normal to focus on such bonds, and I'm spared the conflicted feelings rising, as they always do, when Neoval speaks again.
"Do you think this time we'll not only have off-worlders to swat out of the way, but a lesser species will somehow have entered?"
I let out a laugh. There's a running joke about how the percentage of easy kills rises each year, with the number of drakonid warriors from our neighboring planet steadily increasing.
She walks away, her spines twitching in amusement.
I shove past Gorak, our resident mountain of a Maj'Ra who complains good-naturedly about the jostling. He's always been my favorite, but I'd never admit it.
I flick my tail at him, and he smacks it out of his face with a huff, eliciting a rumble from my chest as I squint at him.
"Easy there, caveshoano," I tease back, feeling a flicker of warmth replace the discomfort of Neoval's prodding.
Laughter bubbles up from another group stepping into the open-air arena.
Tough competition surrounds me, mixed in with the off-worlders looking distinctly out of place and nervous.
We're a motley gathering of drakonids in mismatched armor, some wearing the new high-flex bio-mesh, others bearing the old, scarred leather they swear by.
Today is looking to be yet another generic khufulle.A day-long mock battle where the only objective is to be the last drak standing by the time the red sun lowers to signal the day's end.
An opportunity for the softer draks come from the other planet in the system to play at being elite. Unless they hide to extend the experience, they never last past the morning.
They live in a paradise and it's reflected in their relative weakness, which is stupid beyond belief. There is a thriving market for the various body parts of the more genetically desirable denizens of the universe.
