They made good time in the morning; Cal did as he was told and sang while they walked. He said he wasn’t really good at making up lyrics, so he sang songs from his homeworld. They were different from any kind of songs that the Urghat sang, and Whitestar had to hide her pleasure by forcing a scowl to her face while they walked. It seemed to intimidate the human even more, and he apologized for his singing after each song. Whitestar, ever sparing with her praise, only grunted and told him to keep singing.

By the time the sun was high in the sky, and the Sisters were starting to rise in the west, the human was limping badly, and their progress had slowed. “I won’t carry you all the way to the Ur-clan. Why do you falter?”

“My feet; they’re blistering, and I’ve got some sharp pebbles or twigs stuck in them.”

“Sit.” Whitestar looked around slowly, making sure nothing moved in the grass nearby. She took several long, deep sniffs of the air and then removed her pack and sat down. She pulled a large swatch of soft leather from her backpack and took her leather knife from her belt pouch. She proceeded to shave long thin strips from the leather swatch, then she cut the swatch in half and, using her tool, poked holes along the edges. She ran the leather strips through the holes and pulled them tight, fashioning crude leather shoes.

While she’d been working, Cal had been digging at the soles of his feet, pulling out splinters. Whitestar tsked and said, “Such soft skin. I could walk these plains for days with no discomfort, even without boots!” She slipped the makeshift shoes over the human’s feet and pulled the drawstrings tight, tying them off. “There, now you can walk faster.”

“Um, thank you, Whitestar,” Cal smiled at her as he struggled to his feet.

“Don’t thank me, fool. I’m your doom.” Whitestar snorted and continued to walk, listening for the human to catch up. “Sing something, Cal,” she commanded when his footsteps caught up to hers. Cal coughed, clearing his throat.

“I think you’ll like this one - it’s about a famous farmer in my world called Old MacDonald.” He proceeded to sing a lively tune about a farmer with many strange-sounding animals. Whitestar especially enjoyed the parts when Cal would make sounds like the animals. She found herself wanting to sing along but kept a straight face and surveyed the surroundings while they marched.

They continued this way until late in the afternoon and had marched deep into the heart of the plains. The Great-fang mountains were still purple on the horizon, but they filled more of the sky. Whitestar was sure that they’d reach the Ur-clan encampment by the end of the next day, so she began to look for shelter for the night. These plains were pockmarked with ruins of the old ones. Most had been explored or closed off, so that the surface buildings were reasonably safe to use as shelter. She was confident that if they turned east a bit, they’d come upon some ruins with intact buildings to use as a shelter. Usually, Whitestar wouldn’t worry about making a fire and sleeping under the stars, but she was hoping not to be noticed by other Urghat hunters before she returned with her prize. “Time to be quiet now, little human. Follow me closely.”

They turned east, and, as the sun began to set, and the Sisters were high in the sky, their destination came into view: jumbled broken stone walls, overgrown with grass and lichen spread out in front of them for several miles. This was one of the great cities of the old ones millennia ago. They had been ancient history even before the System came and crushed the worlds together. Whitestar led Cal among the broken walls and buildings, looking for a structure with four walls still standing. After a short search, she found what she was looking for. It might have been a temple or meeting hall in another life. Now, it was just a large stone structure with four walls. It had no doors in the openings, and the windows were empty of glass. The inside was filled with dirt, broken stone, and decayed piles of wood. Maybe the wood had been furnishings or roofing material once upon a time, but now it was mostly dust and jumbled rot.

“Who lived in these ruins?” Cal asked, following her into the building.

“Old ones,” Whitestar shrugged, putting an end to the discussion. She piled some dried grass and bits of wood into a cleared area in the center of the building and used her fire striker to get a flame going. “Gather a pile of dry wood, human. We’ll sleep warmly tonight.” As Cal moved to obey her, she brought out her wineskin and refilled it with her Replenish Water spell. She didn’t make a big deal out of it, but she was quite proud of that spell; very few Urghat had the Energy affinity required for creation magic. Even so, it exhausted her Energy to cast it, and she sat down to rest while the human finished making a stack of dry wood.

They sat for a while, neither speaking, as they ate more dried meat and drank the water from her skin. Whitestar could see that Cal was disappointed by the strength of the mostly-diluted wine, and she laughed inwardly - he must have been hoping to drink himself into oblivion again. After eating and sitting in silence for a while, Cal asked, “Are your people going to kill me?”

“That will be up to the Overclaw. I imagine he will want to question you for a while before he eats you, though.” She looked at him closely as she spoke, and she could see the pale skin beneath his new, black face-fur grow paler.

“Eat me?”

“Yes, human. What did you imagine we’d do with your kind?”

“I don’t know, couldn’t we trade with each other? You know, become friends? Make an alliance?”

“Cal, human, the Urghat don’t need alliances to be strong. We grow stronger by conquering and eating our enemies. I’ll promise you this: I won’t eat you, Cal. I can’t speak for the whole Ur-Clan, though.”

“Listen, Whitestar; you seem like a nice, lovely lady. Don’t you think you could let me go?” Cal reached forward and tried to hold one of Whitestar’s furry hands with his two pale, furless hands. She pulled back.

“Are you trying for another beating, human?” Whitestar’s voice had a dangerous growl to it. “Sing something relaxing, and maybe I’ll sleep before thinking of how I want to punish you.” Cal pulled his hands back and sighed, his face a study in dejection.

“All right, Whitestar. This is a song about a place called Alabama and a man wanting to go home to it.” The human began to sing a song that had a lovely tune, and Whitestar could almost picture the blue skies he sang about. Some of the words didn’t make sense to her, but she thought it might be her favorite song that Cal had sung.

“Well, well. Aren’t this some pretty singing?” The rough, nasally growl came from the doorway to the old building, and when she heard it, Whitestar leaped to her feet, pulling out her hunting knife. Cal sputtered and stopped singing, backing away from the fire. “Calm down, missy. It’s just old Thornpaw. What clan is you from?” The shadow in the doorway moved forward into the light, and Whitestar saw another Urghat, an old, lean one. He was tall but stooped, and his long, thin arms hung down past his knees with his stooped posture. His face-fur was grey, and he was marked with many scars. As he walked closer, waiting for her answer, his grin widened, exposing yellow fangs and two tusks, both broken and cracked.

“I’m part of Goretusk’s clan,” she replied, still holding the hilt of her knife.

“Ahh, Goretusk, is it? Kind of a pissant clan, isn’t it?” His grin continued to widen as he walked toward the fire.

“Try saying that to Goretusk’s face. You’re lucky I’m a hunter and not yet a warrior-named, or I’d lay you out for that.” Whitestar bristled.

“Oh? Gonna lay old Thornpaw out, are you?” He stepped closer to the fire, and Cal began to scoot backward like he might jump to his feet and run.

“Stay still, Cal,” Whitestar growled, stepping forward toward Thornpaw.

“What’s this, then? It has a pretty voice and a pretty smell. Shouldn’t you offer to share your meal with a fellow hunter?” Thornpaw stepped closer, a long stream of saliva starting to drip from his lower tusk where it protruded from his mouth.

“This isn’t for us! I’m bringing him to the Underclaws, and they’ll let me in to see the Overclaw after they hear my report!” Whitestar stepped forward, trying to make herself bigger. Even with his stooped posture and wiry build, the old hunter was more physically imposing than she was.

“Oh, the Underclaws, is it?” Thornpaw stepped closer and reached out a clawed hand toward Cal. “Look how soft it is. Let’s just have a taste, then. We can still get a reward for bringing him in with some parts missing.”

“There’s no we!” Whitestar slapped his hand away from Cal and continued, “I have the information. I captured him.” Suddenly Thornpaw’s demeanor changed - he stopped stooping and rose to his full height, slapped Whitestar’s hunting knife from her hand, and grabbed the fur at her neck, driving her back against a wall.

“You’ll need to show respect for your betters, welp!” he growled, squeezing his fist full of her fur and driving his knuckles against her throat. “I could use a little warm company and a delicious snack. I’ve been out on the hunt for weeks.” Whitestar was having trouble breathing, and she could feel the wiry strength in the old Urghat’s grip, but she didn’t reply. She reached behind her, groping along the top of her belt for one of her other knives. She’d just gotten her hand around the hilt and was ready to yank it free and give this old bastard a mark to remember her by when he howled, let go of her, and spun around.

“You dare?” Thornpaw screamed at Cal, who was scrambling backward, Whitestar’s hunting knife gripped in his hand, blade drenched in blood. Thornpaw reached for the hatchet he had slung on his belt, and, without thinking, Whitestar drew her knife and buried it to the hilt in his kidney. He coughed out a terrible cry of agony and stumbled forward into the fire. He howled again as his hands fell into the coals, and Whitestar jumped on his back, driving him down into them, stabbing him repeatedly on the side of his neck and shoulder. Arterial blood pumped forth, and his struggles soon subsided.

“Why? Why? You stupid idiot,” Whitestar looked up from the bloody mess at Cal, and it wasn’t clear if she was talking to him, the dead Urghat, or herself.