Closer Than Kin
Written by: Melody Hewson
Copyright Melody Hewson 2013
The tiny sparrow stretched out its mangled wing and gave it a slow, cautious flap before sounding a mournful peep. The other wing, still whole and functional, stretched and folded several times, almost shyly, before the bird attempted to lift itself from the grass in which it lay. The uneven motions only managed to flip the creature onto its back, where it struggled frantically to right itself again.
The hand that slowly drifted downward toward the floundering bird was easily three times its size and could probably crush the helpless animal with little effort. Instead of crushing it, however, the hand stopped and hovered above the bird for a moment before a single thick finger straightened and extended, the others folding back into the furless palm. Delicately, the finger was used to roll the bird back onto its feet, avoiding the broken wing that flopped uselessly back. Once this task was done, the digit joined the others, taking its place nestled against the palm before the hand moved aside to rest on the soft grass nearby.
The sparrow showed no fear as it looked up at its towering savior, giving another mournful chirp before once more extending its injured wing, as if to ask assistance in its repair. The tarin doe stared thoughtfully down at the tiny bird, inspecting the damage to the frail wing, and the sparrow studied her in return.
Crouching low, both hands resting against the grass to support her, the doe made no attempt to hide the thick, rust-covered metal bands that encircled both of her wrists and ankles. The russet fur that covered her body, except the ends of her arms and legs where it darkened into a deep black, was spider-webbed with threads of white scar fur. A strip of scarred flesh, the fur long ago rubbed away, ringed her arched neck. Besides the metal rings, she wore only a modest covering of worn leather strips that wrapped about her chest and hips. Her long black mane was woven into a single thick braid that was slung carelessly across her shoulder.
The braid slipped further over the doe's shoulder as she slowly lowered her head closer to the tiny sparrow, ruffling it's feathers with every gentle breath. Each flared nostril growing almost as big as the bird's body. With a delicate precision, the doe lifted one hand and reached for the wing, barely grasping the tip of one feather between the rounded points of her nails.
Gently, she lifted the feather slightly, watching the loose movements of the wing as she carefully wiggled it a little, the bird holding patiently still, although it gave the occasional chirrup. Once the doe's inquiries were satisfied, the feather was released and she sat back up, leaning back on her legs. She gave a deep and weary sigh before opening her mouth to speak, but the words halted as they traveled up her throat; interrupted by a much less welcome sound.
The sudden intrusion of a soft growl made the doe flip back one of her wide ears. Her eyes, while remaining fixed on the small avian, hardened as the warmth and curiosity bled away. In the space of another breath, the doe's face stiffened into a look of resolute acceptance. The sparrow folded its wing as much as the fragmented bones would allow and drew into itself, attempting to disappear into the grass.
The tarin did not turn as the growl came again, louder and closer than before. Her other ear pulled back to track the approaching threat, but she made no immediate move to face it. Her teeth clicked together faintly as she set her jaw, causing a muscle in her cheek to twitch slightly. The rustle of several hesitant steps sounded before the growl of challenge came once again. “You... bad.” The demand was snarled. “Must go. This... bad. Want... home.” The words were rough and barely formed, grating like sand paper on the doe's ears.
Slowly the tarin pushed herself back up from the ground, taking her time in rising to her full height before she would turn to face her challenger, her hooves falling to the ground in careful placement. Her chest inflated as she inhaled deeply before letting it out in a long, resigned sigh. A flash of regret entered and left her eyes within the space of a single blink, replaced by a steely blankness. Unhurried, she finally faced the owner of the growl.
The ragged beast that stood before her was almost worthy of her pity. His own shaggy black fur was missing in large patches and his left ear had been mostly chewed away some time ago, leaving the ragged stump that had healed but left a grotesque scar in its place. His yellow eyes were clouded with a mixture of fear and fury. He crouched low to the ground, watching the doe with angry suspicion but confusion slowed his advance.
The tarin recognized the beast as Kin, and a young one at that; far too young to be separated from his pack. There was no animosity between the Kin and the tarous, although they shared no love one for the other either. The young doe could only still recall a scant few of her peoples' legends, but there were fireside tales that said the two races, Kin and tarous, had been one long before the Great War. The reason for the separation varied depending on which story teller was reviving the old tale. Some said that it was a betrayal that brought a split to their community, while others claimed that they were split into two creatures by magic, and still other tellers had even more varied explanations.
The doe tilted her head slightly, doubting the truth of stories heard in a childhood so long gone. The Kin were hunters, predators, finding thrill in the hunt and the kill, their bodies built for speed and devastation, from their narrow, triangular heads full of wicked teeth to the cruel hook of their claws. The tarous, by contrast, were large and heavy-boned, meant not for fighting but well capable of it. To the tarous, death was a part of life, but it was never to be celebrated.
The Kin's lips quivered as he growled again, head lowering as powerful shoulders contracted in readiness. The tarin abandoned the reverie of her thoughts and came to full attention, giving no outward sign of her alertness except for a quick snap of one ear. “You... die now!” The Kin snarled, his mouth mangling the words it was not yet ready to form. Giving a final angry snarl, he leapt at the doe, who easily swatted him aside with the casual toss of her arm. The Kin pup landed on his feet, which scrambled for purchase on the grass before facing her again. The doe wore a blank expression almost approaching boredom. Her expression remained unchanged when the Kin leapt again and was met with another swat, sending the ill-prepared pup sprawling to the ground. Embarrassed and further enraged, the Kin changed tactics, darting behind the tarin to slash at her legs with claws that were closer to talons, but that only earned the pup a painful kick when he came too close.
The doe watched the Kin pup's movements closely, making few of her own as she studied her opponent. He was far too inexperienced to take on a grown tarin, even one still as young as herself. She could only guess at the cruel fate that had led to his separation and mistreatment, but the Kin were a harsh race and would be just as quick to kill him for a perceived weakness as to protect him.
Another dash forward brought the doe spinning around, her large hooves stamping down to either side of the tiny bird still huddled fearfully in the grass, driving the pup back several feet. Teeth were bared in angry threat by the Kin, but the doe took no heed of it. She merely waited.
Made careless by impatience, the pup rushed forward again, attacking with the speed born from years of hungry predation. Faster than the doe could counter, the Kin's claws tore at the flesh of her legs as he scrambled rapidly up her body, teeth managing a viscous slash at her chest before launching himself away. Despite the doe's own swift reflexes, her hands snapped closed only on empty air and a few hastily shed hairs.
The scent of blood was quick to fill the air, making both Kin and tarin nostrils flare. The doe spared only a quick glance downward, confirming that her weeping wounds were superficial, then turned her attention back to the slowly circling beast. He wore a grin of satisfaction, the pride at drawing first blood. The tarin gave a snort
of annoyance and lowered her head to her chest to protect her throat, wondering briefly if the half-grown pup had even gone on his first hunt before their encounter and decided that it was unlikely.
She was still entertaining such thoughts when he charged again, but the doe raised her knee to block his advance then kicked outward as soon as she felt the prick of claws. Her hoof connected solidly to the pup's ribcage, extracting a breathless yelp as he was flung away and sent tumbling, once more, to the grass. But the pup did not stay down long. He rolled to his feet and darted around the tarin in a wide half circle before rushing in again, attempting to attack his opponent from behind, teeth