Cal looked at Whitestar, at the corpse, and back to Whitestar. “Well, he was choking you, and…”

“Enough. Let me think,” Whitestar snapped, rubbing her bloody hands along the back of Thornpaw’s cloak while she stood up. Golden motes collected around the body, and streams of Energy flooded into her and Cal.

***Congratulations! You’ve achieved level 12 Plains Hunter. You have gained 3 agility, 2 Strength, 2 Vitality, and 1 Dexterity.***

“Hey, it says I just gained a level,” Cal stammered.

“Well, you shared the kill. It is fitting.” Whitestar saw that Thornpaw had been wearing a storage pouch, and it looked like a good one. She took it off his belt and bonded with it, inspecting the contents. He had over a dozen good hides and lots of meat - enough for her to get paid more for this outing than in her last five hunts. Still, it was risky going back to camp with this haul; she’d have to sell off the goods bit by bit. She stuffed the pouch deep into her backpack - too many of her clanmates knew she didn’t have one. “Help me drag the body outside, and we’ll stack stones over it. Hopefully, rain will wash this blood before another hunter comes along.

“We could spread dirt and soot from the fire over the blood,” Cal said as he grabbed the dead Urghat’s feet. Whitestar grunted in agreement, and together they hauled the body outside and several dozen yards away. They stopped by a collapsed wall and moved away much of the rubble, creating a depression. Whitestar dragged the body into the space and piled the stones back on top. She backed away from the pile of scree and rocks, then reached into her belt pouch and took out her little folded packet of blackvine tea. She carefully unwrapped the waxed paper and took a pinch of the powdery tea, gently sprinkling it over the unmarked grave.

“Something precious to help you pay your way to the next hunt, old man. You were a scoundrel, but you were Urghat, and I hope you find your way.” She folded up her packet and tucked it away, walking back to their campsite, Cal quietly following behind. When they were back in the ruined building, Whitestar piled the rest of their gathered wood onto the bloody ashes and got the fire going again. Without a word to Cal, she put her pack a few feet further from the bloody soil and stretched out, going to sleep.

When she opened her eyes in the grey light of dawn, she was surprised to see Cal curled up and sleeping on the other side of the firepit; she’d half expected him to run off in the night. The fire was down to embers, and the pool of blood from the night before had blackened and congealed as it sank into the soil. When Whitestar saw the blood, she had a surge of emotion, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was - not regret, or fear, or sorrow. It was more like guilt. She felt guilty, she decided, because she’d killed an Urghat, and she couldn’t exactly brag about it, like if she’d won a duel. She’d killed him because he wanted to eat a human. No, it was more than that - he’d wanted to steal her glory. She growled in frustration at her unusual feelings and stood up. She started to kick the ashes and soot from the firepit all over the bloodstain. The cloud of ash and hot embers flying around woke Cal, who scrambled away from her in a mild panic. “Get up, get ready to march,” she barked at him. After spreading the ash around, she picked up her pack and walked outside, where she found Cal standing around, rubbing his hands together in the morning chill. She turned to the northwest and started to walk, not saying a word.

“Are you really just going to take me to my death, then?” Cal asked, scrambling after her.

“Why wouldn’t I? My kind makes war. We eat our enemies. I’ll gain honor and standing when I am the one to deliver you and your people to the Underchiefs.” She felt a strange constriction in her throat as she spoke and realized it was much like how she felt when her uncles and father teased her or when one of the older hunters made her give tribute. She felt upset, wrong, and she didn’t know how to deal with it. Part of her wanted to turn around and beat Cal to a pulp.

“You’re more than that, though! You like good music! You like wine! You said a prayer for that dead hunter, even though he was awful.” Cal’s voice had a pleading edge to it.

“Those are stupid things. We take those things. The only important thing is strength. I can’t grow stronger listening to you sing. I have to train and fight, and I need to earn opportunities for that. You’re going to earn me a good opportunity, Cal.” She didn’t look back at him while she spoke, and she could hear his steps slow and stop.

“I think you’re wrong! There’re ways to gain strength, or at least Energy without fighting. The System told us that during the orientation! It said you could cultivate Energy and learn to do things that don’t involve fighting with it. When I leveled just now, I learned some kind of singing skill. That’s not fighting!” Whitestar stopped walking and turned around, staring at Cal.

“The System is a liar. Urghat don’t have much Energy affinity. To try to level without killing would be thousands of times slower for us. Our enemies would crush us. You learned a singing skill? That’s very great, but you got the Energy to improve yourself from the death of an Urghat. An Urghat who was much greater than you.”

“Greater how? Because he was an Urghat? Because he was stronger than me? I bet he couldn’t sing as well as I do! I bet he doesn’t know about Bussard cone dynamics, I bet…”

“Quiet! I meant he was higher level than you! But, yes, he was greater because he was an Urghat!” Whitestar walked up to Cal, grabbed his shoulder, and shoved him in front of her. “Now, walk in that direction until I tell you to stop!” He obeyed, fiercely scowling but not daring a retort. Whitestar followed him, silently fuming, unable to take any joy from his compliance.

They walked in silence for hours, and the sun was nearing its zenith when she heard the first baying of some boyii hounds. Cal stopped walking and looked back at her, his eyes wide. She held a finger to her lips and looked around. The grass here was more sparse and not as tall as in the southern end of the plains. She kicked around in a bit of a circle until she found what she was looking for: an old feyris hole. She pulled her knife and started clawing at the soft dirt around the hole, pulling up piles of loose, grassy soil. While she was digging, the sounds of the boyii got louder and closer. She finally judged the hole big enough and said, “Cal, climb in there and curl up really small. I’m going to bury you and try to hide your scent. Those boyii sound like a hunting pack, so other Urghat will be here soon.”

“You’re going to bury me?”

“Not deep! Get in, hurry!” Cal groaned and crawled into the loose soil. Whitestar quickly started shoving the grass and dirt over him, then she broke some branches from nearby shrubs and laid them atop his hiding area. She took off her pack and pulled out the storage pouch she’d stolen from Thornpaw. Then she took out two large, uncured huldii hides from the storage pouch. The brown leather was still freshly bloody, having been preserved in the storage pouch. She laid the hides over the broken shrubs, and then she commenced to build a small fire nearby.

She’d gotten the fire going and was throwing green shrub branches and grass onto it to make a lot of smoke when the first boyii hounds came barking around her. Whitestar whistled loudly in the hunter’s call, and the dogs calmed a bit, circling her and sniffing. After another few minutes, she could hear the lumbering steps of several large Urghat coming her way. She whistled again, making sure there was no question about her being an Urghat hunter.

Three oversized, Urghat warriors came into her makeshift camp, coughing and waving away the smoke from her fire. “What you doing, girl?”

“I’m trying to cure these hides a bit. Who’s asking?” Whitestar snarled.

“Dumb place to cure hides. Go to Ur-clan. Use rack,” he growled, stepping closer to her and sniffing deeply.

“You smell funny, girl. Who are you?” His two friends began to walk, widely, around the smoky fire, flanking her.

“I’m Whitestar, daughter of Goretusk. I hunt. Who you?” She growled, stepping closer to the big, brindle-coated Urghat. He wore a heavy metal breastplate and was clearly not a hunter.

“Har, I be Eyesnatcher! You smell good, Whitestar. Come find me at Thickneck’s clan. I give you taste of Ardeni wine!” He smiled and whistled, motioning for his comrades to follow him, and then they were off, moving west in whatever patrol pattern they were following. The boyii hounds’ baying slowly faded. Whitestar listened, sniffing the air. She made sure to keep feeding her fire green branches, and by now, there was quite a plume of white smoke climbing into the sky. Finally, judging it safe, she ripped away the animal hides and branches and scrabbled the loose dirt off Cal’s hiding spot. She couldn’t explain her relief when she saw his dirt-covered face emerge and his eyes pop open. At first, she tried to tell herself that she just didn’t want him to die before she could give him over to one of the Underclaws. She knew she was lying, though - she hadn’t wanted to see him harmed.