Hands up, don't shoot, and I can't breathe.

The matter is continuing because it's important. Americans with black skin have had it very rough for a very long time. The police, while not of a single, uniform organization, have done many remarkable and honorable things over the years. It's tragic that these two communities have to be in conflict.

I'm not black, nor am I a police officer. I am wholly unqualified to pass judgment on this issue. Still, when has that ever stopped anyone?

This escalated when the proper authorities declined to investigate. That was a mistake. The public was not insisting on a conviction; the family, friends, and community at large were not asking for the officers in question to be thrown in a cell right away. They simply wanted the system to follow its proper procedure, for an investigation to occur.

From a purely pragmatic perspective, it was a mistake to not indict the officers. The matter should have been investigated.

There have been accusations of a police state, of martial law; at the very least, there has been an increase in anti-police sentiment, of a correlation between a badge and racism. While certain departments could probably see better representation in the communities serve, the backlash against police in general has been too vitriolic.

Likewise, there have been members of police departments across the country who have condemned anyone who expresses dissatisfaction with the way either high-profile case has been handled. I'm referring to the 'back-turning' incident on the mayor of New York and statements made by police spokespeople about athletes donning 'can't breathe' and 'hands up' t-shirts. This crusade against the protests, too, are an overreaction.

The matter has become too complicated to say we can fix all this with a proper investigation into the officers who ended the lives of these black men; however, the level of turmoil could have been avoided if those investigations had happened when they were supposed to.

Most of us are bystanders in this. I certainly am. The best we can do right now is not add fuel to the fire; support the federal investigations if you believe there was wrongdoing, and encourage the spotlit officers to be cooperative and forthright in their testimonies if you believe them innocent. The thing that none of us should do is lash out at those who disagree with us.

We can't undo what was done, but we can decide to quit making things worse. Let's do that, shall we?

Chapter 9: Inga

Hey, NO. It's Wednesday. Odin's day! That's why this is being posted; we favor Odin and Thor, so those are the days we typically post. Freia ain't half bad either...

I hate the holidays. I'm not sure it's the holidays' fault; maybe that's why we put them at this time of year. Because this time of year is hard. I've associated some difficult memories with the holiday season, and each year, winter brings a darker, number side of me out.

I only bring this up because I feel like the last six chapters have seen a decline in credible emotion, and perhaps in tension/suspense. I'll need your help to know if that's true, because I'm kinda numb right now. I need to be mindful not to bite my tongue until the anesthetic wears off!

If you're new here, start here. Here it is on Protagonize. If you're comfy where you are, then click below.

Chapter 9: Inga

Inga sat with her arms folded and her legs crossed on the creature’s sternum. It was a precarious perch for someone her age, but she needed to be certain it would notice her when it woke.

Luckily, it didn’t keep her waiting long. Its first drowsy groan prompted a sigh of relief. Her tactic hadn’t been the riskiest, but there was always a chance that such a technique could kill by accident.

It lifted its head to look at her; its snout so long that its front teeth almost reached her legs. She was both relieved and amused that it went to the trouble of straining its neck to see what was on its chest: if it had ignored her and just sat up, she might have broken any number of her brittle bones.

Inga didn’t waste any time. Her target wasn’t the simple sort of beast that the tamers were used to, but the noise of higher thought would be diminished while it woke. This was the best time to attempt communication.

I mean you no harm. She focused on the phrase, tried to feel it as much as she thought it. Those who couldn’t tame sometimes believed that tamers and beasts could read the other’s thoughts, but the truth was much more mundane.

Some beasts understood through smell, some could read emotion on a human face as well as any person could, still others got their cues from posture and muscle tension. To let one’s emotion show through every possible avenue at once was to communicate without language. Taming was simply a matter of giving off every possible cue at once. If the listener wanted to understand, they would.

The beast raised its right arm and gently scooped Inga into its hand.

“Elder!” she heard Nuray cry out in alram.

“Hush,” Inga replied. She tried not to feel impatient about having to repeat that request. They’d had to render the beast unconscious to get its attention on her, she didn’t want to lose it again.

It let her down an arm’s length away and began to sit up. Inga was sure this would go well as long as nothing distracted them. The clan had lost much to this creature, but with enough time, it might be able to make it up to them.

As it regained its feet and looked down into her eyes, Inga decided that it would need a name. Every beast in their herd had its own name, and this one amounted to much more than any of them.

“Chomp.” Inga declared. That’s how Idris had described its enormous, permanent smile; he’d said it had a chomp like nothing he’d ever seen. It was simple and inelegant, but only the bearer could make a name disgraceful. “You are Chomp.”

Inga doubted it understood, but it was more for her sake than his. She turned towards Nikhil and beckoned for Chomp to follow.

It always took a little longer to interpret what she was seeing when heat was her light. Inga had been harvesting lummush for years, but she’d never seen either of its ingredients glowing in the wild. Once she got over the initial surprise of seeing the glowing plants, she had immediately understood what made these plants different than any she’d seen before.

Chomp had lain Nikhil down to one side of the three bushes and the surrounding mushrooms. Two of those bushes were just sprouts, so she could still recognize Conan and Gelilah. The shrubs had taken root where their lummush patterns were drawn thickest, on Conan’s chest and Gelilah’s midsection. The mushrooms were growing along the rest of the patterns.

The middle bush, by far the most mature, had taken root in the chest of a vaguely human-shaped pile of compost. Kadmus must have died long before the other two; Inga couldn’t tell if Chomp had killed him or if it had simply found the body and discovered that the seeds in the lummush were using the corpse as fertilizer. Either way, Chomp had stumbled upon a new source of food and gone looking for more.

This couldn’t be permitted.

Inga knelt beside Nikhil, then draped herself over his chest. She encouraged the grief she’d been holding back. Everyone in the clan was family, but her position was unique. All of them were her children; not biologically, of course, but the clan made no distinction when it came to who birthed whom.

Nikhil was a mischievous boy, but he preferred the affectionate kind of mischief. He’d start fights then immediately be the one to try and make peace. That sort of contradiction became a theme for him, and though it was maddening, it was also endearing.

More clever than the average hunter, Inga had always wondered if it was a mistake to let Nikhil join them. He was smart and sociable, they could use him elsewhere and out of harms’ way. Nobody shared her doubt, though. Nikhil refused every other duty.

“You idiot,” she sobbed into his chest. “You knew revenge was wrong. You knew you were outmatched. You knew that, if it got Kadmus, it would beat anyone who tried to fight alone. But you loved too much, you got too angry when you saw the face of their killer. How am I supposed to go on without you around to be the devil’s advocate?”

Inga heard a low, pained moaning from above and behind her. She didn’t need to try anymore, the grief was overtaking her whether she liked it or not. Now that she had his full attention, Chomp was forced to understand what his hunting had done. It was a lesson that could only be learned by suffering, and Inga regretted its necessity, but Chomp needed to know what he had been taking from them.

The lesson was in suffering, and Chomp was being a model student. Usually limited to single and sporadic grunts, his vocalizations were frequent now. At first, he moaned like an anxious child seeking its mother’s comfort. She could feel the weight of its hands hovering above her, flexing nervously, like he was certain they needed to be doing something but he couldn’t determine what.

Eventually, Chomp seemed to find his answer. He turned away from her and took a deep breath. He threw his upper body into the roar, and its power could be felt as much as it could be heard. When he finally stopped, his voice continued reverberating through the nearby mountain range.

He balled his fists and began pounding the earth, ignoring the certain agony in the finger that Evan broke. The impacts sent clods of earth flying and tremors rumbling. The ground was as unbreakable as ever, but Inga expected that was the point: Chomp knew it was the only entity strong enough to harm him.

When the tantrum finally passed, the woods were even more silent than before. Inga hoped the outburst had scared some of their audience away. Countless eyes had been attracted by the scuffle, and many belonged to creatures she didn’t want near her children. It wouldn’t do any good to think about it now; she needed to continue grieving, needed to be certain Chomp would never hunt her children again.

“E-elder?” Dahlia sounded tepid.

“Hush, lass,” Nuray said. “She’s fine.”

“What happened?” Dahlia whispered.

“ ‘e’s…” Evan hesitated. “I think ‘e’s sorry.”

Inga thought so too, and that was all she needed. Still, the grief wasn’t a simple taming spell; it was something she’d been fighting down out of necessity, something she’d unleashed when it was convenient. It took her a full minute to wrestle it down enough to begin the next stage of her plan.

When she pulled away from Nikhil’s body, Chomp was on hands and knees. He stared into the ground, his eyes blank. He seemed oblivious to the world until Inga approached and gently grabbed one finger in both her hands.

It took him a moment to comprehend, but Chomp was obedient. He rose to his feet and held his arm up so Inga could lead him to the bush growing out of Kadmus’s remains. Once there, Inga plucked two berries and a ripe mushroom. She sealed her hands around them and began squeezing with slow and steady pressure.

With some careful massaging, the berries bled their juice into the mushroom, and the solid bits blended into a single paste. It was a tiny batch, but when she opened her hands, even Chomp was able to recognize it as lummush. He grunted in epiphany, then began gathering the remaining crop with his oversized hands.

After mimicking the process, he opened his hands to reveal a much larger batch of lummush. Normally, Inga would need to communicate with the latent light in both plants as she blended them. It had never occurred to her that the berry seeds and mushroom spores would still be fertile after being ground into lummush; now that she’d seen these specimens, it seemed obvious that they’d grow with their light already awakened.

Every living being had light inside them. It was something the body naturally gathered and stored, whether the organism willed it or no. It could be awakened and spent, but to exhaust it was to die. These awakened lummush plants were probably able to thrive because they had the nutrient-rich remains of her children to feed on.

“Ah, no,” Inga scolded as Chomp brought the lump of lummush towards his snout. “Not for eating. For planting.”

Again, she doubted he understood the words, but the message seemed to get through. He lowered his hand and followed her to an enormous, freshly-fallen branch. Inga began to spread her lummush on the bottom of the log’s interior so she could be certain the bush took root in the soil underneath.

Chomp considered, then began to mimic her on the log’s opposite end. He even did his best to match the shape, the same swirling pattern she used to paint the warriors. When they’d both depleted their lummush, Inga pointed at the bushes growing out of her children, then at the patterns they’d drawn. She repeated this until Chomp surprised her with a nod and another sad moan.

This was going well. He hadn’t needed to kill her children to enjoy the lummush berries and mushrooms, and now he knew that. It could be grown from any compost, any plant or animal that had passed. All it needed was a batch of lummush and a source of fertilizer.

Chomp moaned again, then gently laid his hands under each of Inga’s arms. He lifted to bring her to eye level and looked her in the eyes. His snout opened and closed, single tones escaping with each breath, like a criminal trying to repent but failing to find the right words.

I forgive you. Inga performed the full spectrum of taming, but expected Chomp’s cue came from her eyes. She watched his inspection of her merciful gaze, could feel his disbelief and grateful humility.

“Okay, Chomp. Put me down, we have a lot of work to do.”

As he obeyed, she took one last look at the bodies of her children. Back in her old country, back when light touched this place, they’d have been sure to bury the bodies. It wasn’t a ritual that benefitted the dead in any way, but it pretending it did seemed to help the survivors. The clan had no time for such things, had to prioritize survival and accept that it was better for everyone if they left their dead for the scavengers and grass. Still, the thought of leaving saddened her.

“Come, children,” she called. “It’s time to go.”

“We may need ta do some thinkin’ about that, elder,” Nuray replied cryptically.

Inga scanned her surroundings. There was still a large number of onlookers, but they were keeping their distance.

“Chomp will be walking us home, there’s nothing to worry about,” Inga spoke with more certainty than she felt. “It’s going to be a long trip, though. We’re going to be painting the forest as we go.”

“O-kay,” Nuray sounded like she didn’t understand, but seemed to recognize that she didn’t need to. As each of Inga’s schemes had worked, her children had become proportionately more obedient.

“Awh,” Evan grumbled. “I almost hoped I’d get some sleep t’night. Ya sure it can’t wait, elder?”

Elder, elder, elder. They use it like it’s a real title, not just another way of saying I’m older. I wonder if they even know my name?

Inga shook her head to clear the cynicism from it. “You know we can’t, Evan. Perk up, and divvy out the lummush. The sooner we start, the quicker we finish.”

1.) Did you feel anything, or did you feel disconnected from the characters' emotions? You can apply that question to back chapters; at least, I'd like you to. Do you sigh when they're sad, smile when they're happy?

2.) Any trouble with language? Words ya didn't know, sentences you had to read three times?

3.) Are you satisfied with how the conflict with Chomp resolved?

House of Cards

I finally jumped on the House of Cards wagon. Frank Underwood is incredible. The writing is masterfully done, it's always a force of will to root against him; well, not always. At his worst moments, you relish the thought of watching him squirm when the worst can't be avoided.

I guess it's even better when he throws one of his little fits! Because he COULD avoid that humiliation, if he were a better man. But no, he's remarkably transparent; all you've got to do to make him snap is disrespect him.

He's more transparent than the villain-protagonists in other shows, much easier to see through his schemes and it's much harder to believe his victims fall for his plots. That, too, makes it more believable, because it's so much easier to overlook these cues in the real world.

It makes me feel righteous, makes me feel sanctimonious that I am COMPETENT enough to do these sorts of manipulations but not CAPABLE of them. I feel like I'm above that.

Think and feel are two different emotions, though.  It's simply that I wouldn't have the resolve, even if I did have a righteous reason to be a sleazeball (which Underwood does not). It is a part of me that I can only be thankful is absent, just as I can only be thankful for my intelligence. Neither the absent flaw nor the present proficiency are reasons to be proud of anything. I am a product of my nature and nurture, and I have to strive to do the best I can with that product.

Just because it comes naturally sometimes doesn't mean it's right to feel sanctimonious about it. That would put me on the road to becoming like him, if there is such a road. If there's a benefit to be gleaned from this show (aside from the obvious entertainment value), it's to avoid straying in that direction.

Chapter 8: As Wolves

We set a bad precedent last week. If we pretend it never happened, maybe it's okay; I suppose it's only bad if we use it to justify future absences.

Not only was it slow, it was sloppy. Hopefully it comes across as frantic and confused in the way it's supposed to, not in the amateur writer sort of way. If it's bad, tell me, we'll fix it later!

If this is your first time with arbiter, or you just wanna catch up, start here. If you wanna read this with different font and colors, this is your link. Otherwise, start below.

Chapter 8: As Wolves

Stalking the target was easier than she anticipated. Dahlia had never been in the woods before, but with Nikhil’s lummush patterns floating in the air ahead of her, she could move without fear of hitting a tree or falling down a sudden slope.

Save the rumbling thuds of the beast’s footsteps, the forest was silent. Dahlia doubted this was normal. She supposed she ought to be grateful; if not for the creature’s presence, she might have been food by now. As she pinched more lummush off the current ball, though, she found herself wishing something bigger would come along and take them both.

It was hard to be certain if the beast knew it was being followed. She hated it even more for that. Each step invited another image of revenge, of violence and blood and satisfaction. Yet for all her hate, despite the all-consuming need to see this monster die in agony, it ambled along without so much as a glance behind it.

Dahlia wouldn’t have been able to see if it turned to look back, but she was sure it would have reacted to the trail of lummush splotches she was leaving in their wake. A pause in its stride, a grunt, maybe it would even be smart enough to attack her for it; but their pace remained constant. It either hadn’t looked or didn’t care.

The impression left her seething. The loss of Nikhil, Gelilah, Conan, and maybe Kadmus still weighed on her, but the idea that their killer could take them without consequence was even worse. Thus far, it had wounded them with impunity, and it continued to believe punishment wouldn’t come.

A glance back confirmed that she could still see three lummush splotches behind her. So long as her family found the first mark, they were certain to catch up eventually. After seeing it kill Nikhil, Dahlia knew that no hunter would stand a chance on their own. If at least five managed to find them, though… and Dahlia was confident they’d come in much higher numbers. The beast would die, and Dahlia would make it possible.

Somehow, she was able to put her vengeful obsession to one side when she saw a faint, distant glow. At first, it was difficult to tell whether it was real or just some trick of her senses. As she drew closer it became obvious that the light was real, and it was identical to the color of lummush.

The light silhouetted the edge of the enormous tree obscuring its source, then the hunched, short-furred figure of her target as they rounded the trunk. A berry bush stood flanked by two sprouts and surrounded by small mushrooms, and they all shone brighter than the most perfect batch of lummush ever did. As impressive as this seemed, the light still failed to illuminate anything but the plants that gave it.

“Aaay-UP!”

Dahlia’s heart jumped at the sound. “Here!” she bellowed without thinking.

The beast grunted as it lay Nikhil down gently next to the leftmost shrub. Dahlia hadn’t been sure if it noticed her pursuit, but it was certain to know she was there now. It turned and walked towards her, causing her breath to catch in her throat.

Its breath sounded like wind as it came within arm’s reach. This close, she felt tiny, like it could snap her spine with a squeeze of its hand. It took all her will not to cower before it, to stand defiant under what felt like the creature’s judging stare.

The moment felt like forever, but the beast brushed her to one side with a seamless sweep of its arm. The gesture was strong but slow, similar to the way a tamer might guide a dog out of its way with a gentle push. Again she was reminded of Lyn’s observation, that the monster regarded Dahlia the same way the matron thought of Moondancer.

The strange, half-affectionate feeling was baffling, but Dahlia was beginning to believe Lyn was right. Part of her was flattered that the beast thought she was valuable enough to breathe, but most of her was indignant over being too benign to harm.

Before the beast could finish lumbering by, Dahlia hurled the remaining half of the lummush ball she’d been using to make a trail. It gave a satisfying splat as it smacked into his pectoral.

“Dahlia!” the male voice was close. Was that Evan?

“I’m fine!” Dahlia assured. “But he’s coming your way! Look for the mark!”

“We see it!” a woman confirmed. Dahlia was certain that was Nuray. “Don’t move, Dahl, we’ll take care of this!”

Their lummush patterns came into view from behind the last tree. There was something surreal about watching the cursive hunter patterns bob and weave in the darkness, like the letters on a page had floated off the paper to dance in the wind. The mind was a powerful thing, though, and Dahlia could understand her family’s postures and even what weapons they were wielding by the way the lines shifted.

She was worried that only two of them had found her, though. As the battle began, she prayed that more were coming.

“Oi, my sword’s broke!” Evan complained. Dahlia was impressed by how calm he sounded. “ ‘ow’d he do tha’?”

“Got me axe, too,” Nuray sounded just as composed. “Di’n’t hear or feel a thing, though! I wa’n’t even tryin’ ta hit ‘im.  We got us a trickster ‘ere, Evan.”

“Trickster’s got me,” Evan grunted, and Dahlia watched his pattern lift off the ground. His voice sounded strained, like he was being squeezed. “ ‘ang on, I got it.”

There was a snapping sound, and the beast grunted. Evan dropped back to ground level and took a leap back. He drew another weapon off his back and dove forward again, but as he struck, something went wrong.

He clutched at his face and stumbled blindly. His cries were so muffled that Dahlia could barely hear him.

“Oi, wha’s wrong?” Nuray sounded concerned.

“Nuray, help Evan. Hit it with his face.” The unmistakable voice of the elder came from beside the nearest tree. Dahlia jumped slightly; she hadn’t heard her arrive.

“Wha’? Why?” Nuray sounded equally surprised.

“Hurry now, he doesn’t have much time,” The elder urged.

Nuray’s lummush patterns approached Evan’s. Her hand quickly but gently found the back of his head, and she leaned in to talk in his ear. His panicked flailing eased a little, and Nuray led him towards their enemy. She thrust his face towards the beast, and just before contact, Dahlia heard a sharp inhaling, like Evan had been trapped underwater and just managed to surface.

The breath was a cue; both hunters dove away to put some distance between them and the monster.

“Oi, what was that about?” Nuray asked. “Elder, why’d I do tha’? How come it worked? Why are you here? ‘Ow’d ya follow us so fast?”

“I couldn’t breathe,” Evan was doubled over and struggling to catch his breath. “ ‘e put a seal over me face. Was like ‘e had a metal mold o’ me head an’ it fit so tight I couldn’ pull it away.”

“He made it from your axe,” the elder explained. “Well, the steel part of it.”

“ ‘ow?” Nuray was incredulous. “Wouldn’t he need to melt it down, and wouldn’t that have burned Evan?”

“Magic, lass. Now listen…”

“Magic?” Nuray was becoming agitated. “Elder, ya ain’t makin’ sense. Why you out here, anyway? No, first, ‘ow’s a beastie usin’ magic, an’ usin’ it better than anyone I ever seen?”

Dahlia bit her lip. Battle was far more confusing than she could have imagined, especially in the dark. At this rate, they were all going to die screaming at each other.

“He’s not human, but he’s not a beast either. We don’t have time for details, but be satisfied knowing he can talk with the earth inside the steel the same way I can bring the light out of lummush. More importantly, Nuray, why were you just standing by while Evan was getting himself killed?”

“Oi now, elder, I deserve me own turn.” Evan came to her defense. “She was jus’ bein’ fair.”

The elder sighed. “I know you’re all used to hunting like lions, but there are some prey that can’t be handled alone. A lion can claim a kill that no lone wolf never could, but a pack of wolves can bring down a lion.”

“Wha’s a lion?” Dahlia asked. From Nuray and Evan’s silence, she could tell they didn’t know either.

The elder sighed again, more exasperated. “Look, when you encounter something this dangerous, there’s no shame in working together. In fact, it must be done. I’ll settle that with Cascata later, for now, we have work to do.”

“Elder, it’s dangerous, you really shouldn’t be ‘ere.” Nuray repeated.

“Don’t preach to me about danger, lass. Our big friend here could have killed us one by one while we argued. The danger’s done until we put ourselves back in harm’s way.”

The hunters looked in unison to the splotch of lummush, the one that Dahlia had marked their enemy with. It moved only with the slow heaving of its chest; the beast was standing still and patient, as though it were interested in hearing how their conversation would conclude.

“Wha’s he doin’? Why ain’t he fightin’?” Evan asked.

“Because he thinks as well as we do, Evan.” The elder grumbled an afterthought: “Maybe better than some of us. Anyway, he’s practicing moderation. He’s only hunting as much as he needs.”

“Hunt?!” Dahlia recoiled at the word. “Elder, this is war, ya said so yerself!”

“I suspected it was,” the elder admitted. “I no longer do. Jedrek told me how it happened. He told me how Nikhil died, how it was quick and merciful. More importantly, he told me about your valor, of the blood you spilled from him. Yet he refuses to harm you, Dahlia. In war, you don’t spare any enemy. He’s not warring, he’s hunting.”

“With those leaf-muncher teeth?!” Dahlia couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Or wha’, he think our hides’re good for blankets and our bones fer tools? ‘e’s got much better hides and bones ‘ere in the forest!”

There was a pause. When the elder finally replied, Dahlia could tell she was choosing her words carefully. “I have a theory about that. For now, I just ask you to trust my wisdom. I understand your anger, Dahlia, that you want it to be war so you can be justified in vengeance. I’m sorry, my dear; the beast’s kills are as righteous as any we’ve ever made. He was hunting us to survive just as we hunt the lesser beasts.”

Dahlia felt weak in the knees, and despite the stuffy warmth of the summer night, the air felt cold. “So what, we jus’ let ‘im go about ‘is business and let ‘im keep on huntin’ us?”

“No, child. Rest assured, no. But vengeance is not the answer. Can you trust me? Time is short, can you believe I will lead you to satisfaction?”

Dahlia knew she could. She desperately wanted the elder to do so; with all of the futile struggling she’d done that night, she was more than ready to believe in even the faintest of hopes. Forgetting the darkness, Dahlia nodded.

“Good,” the elder sounded like she was smiling, convincing Dahlia that she could somehow see in the dark. “Evan and Nuray, to me. I’ve brought a rope, tied in a gallows knot. We’ll use it to defeat the beast.”

“Wha’s a gallows knot?” Nuray asked.

“A noose. It has a loop and a tail; you pull the tail and the loop closes around whatever’s in the loop. In this case, it will be the beast’s neck. These are usually used on necks.”

Dahlia understood how that could work, and from Evan’s question, she knew he did too. “I thought this wasn’t war. We huntin’ ‘im, then?”

“No, no,” the elder paused to consider. “Has Cascata ever explained how we might not need to hunt, if the world were better?”

“Aye,” Evan and Nuray replied in unison. Dahlia, too, had heard it when Moondancer was tamed.

“We’re making the world just a little better tonight. We’ll be fighting - as wolves do, remember - but not killing. One of you will keep his attention, the other will get this around his neck and pull it tight. Understand?”

“Aye.” The hunters answered in unison again.

Dahlia felt a hint of regret. In her desperation, she’d gotten impatient with the elder. They all had. They’d interrupted her, repeatedly, in hopes that they’d somehow get answers from the elder by talking over her. As each interruption was answered, however, it became clearer that the elder had already figured everything out. Their anxiety would have been eased more quickly if they had just listened and obeyed.

It was funny how their interruptions had eventually gotten them all to be quiet and obedient. They’d been in the way of their own relief, yet somehow, those obstacles still got them to their destination. In the future, though, she hoped they’d all remember to just shut up and trust. It seemed like a waste of time to have obstacles be part of the path.

Dahlia’s mind felt a little fuzzy. Things were simple now, but it took a curious amount of thinking to get back to simple.

“Who wants to handle the rope?” The elder asked.

“Nuray,” Evan answered.

“Yep,” Nuray agreed. Dahlia also thought that was best.

Dahlia could hear Nuray fumble with the rope as the elder handed her the bundle. Nuray felt out the knot as the elder turned to Evan.

“Begin lighting him up, Evan. Don’t worry about conserving lummush. I recently discovered a new source of the ingredients.”

Dahlia glanced at the glowing shrubbery and mushrooms that the beast had led her to. She knew lummush was made from berries and mushrooms. Were they from these glowing plants, and was there enough here to make even one ball? Maybe the elder knew another spot.

“I’m‘a enjoy this,” Evan said in a mischievous voice. Dahlia could hear him rummaging in his pack.

“Pull it tight, Nuray, but just hold it once it won’t go tighter. There won’t be a need to yank. Are you both ready?”

“Aye.”

“It’s in your hands, then.”

“Eat this, ya mongrel!” Evan pitched a ball of lummush as if he could hurt with it. It pegged the beast on its stomach, providing a twin spot to the lummush that Dahlia had tagged it with earlier. As if it understood Evan, one of the creature’s fingers carved a line through the paste. A moment later, its tongue was momentarily illuminated, and it moaned happily.

Evan continued pitching lummush, revealing more of the creature’s shape with each impact. In turn, the beast continued to sample the edible paste. Dahlia couldn’t tell if it was because of the night’s volatile emotions or in spite of them, but at that moment, she was convinced that nothing had ever been funnier than what she was seeing. She doubled over with laughter, and even heard chuckles coming from Nuray as she climbed the creature like a tree.

It seemed like the creature could sense their lack of hostility. Now that their mission had changed, and they weren’t trying to harm it, it made no effort to stop Nuray from lowering the noose over its neck. She braced her feet against its shoulders and pulled with all her might, and still the creature did nothing to dislodge her.

“It -” Nuray grunted from the strain. “-still breathes just fine.”

“Which is fine,” the elder assured. “Just keep the pressure constant.”

For several long seconds, the comedy continued. The beast was pelted with its vibrant food, it continued to be oblivious to the humiliation a person might feel in the same situation, and it continued to lick its fingers as Nuray struggled to keep the noose tight around its neck.

Then the swaying began, and it did a confused shuffle before tipping to its right. Its collapse sent a tremor through the ground. Nuray had jumped free when she noticed, and the four of them watched its limp and silent form for several seconds.

“Get the rope off and help me push it on its back,” the elder ordered. “The noose shouldn’t be a threat without you pulling on it, but we need to be sure.”

“What did we do to it?” Dahlia was confused. She was glad the beast was defeated, but didn’t understand how it had been done.

“Ya ever sleep on yer arm wrong, and it wakes ya up because it stings as it falls asleep?” Evan asked.

“Yeah?” Dahlia confirmed, uncertain of how that was relevant.

“It’s ‘cause yer weight slows th’ blood goin’ ta the arm and without enough blood, the arm gets sleepy. We used that here, we made ‘is head fall asleep by usin’ the rope.”

“Oh,” Dahlia and Nuray understood at the same time.

“He should only be out for a few seconds,” the elder prodded. “Come now, we need to be ready when he comes to.”

They rushed to help her, quickly sliding the limp rope off its head and rolling it onto its back. The elder wasted no time in climbing onto its chest, carefully folding herself to sit cross-legged just below the beast’s neck.

“What now?” Nuray asked the question for all of them.

“We wait quietly,” the elder replied. “This is my task now, and it will be easier if he forgets about you.”

1.) Were you entertained? Did you ever feel like the illusion was dispelled? There's a big portion around the elder's arrival that I'm worried about.

 2.) Any trouble grasping what was going on?

 3.) Any difficulty telling which character was speaking? Any trouble with the hunters' rough grammar?

 4.) Was the action too descriptive? The less likely possibility: was it not descriptive enough?

 5.) Was there some tension? Were you ever frightened for the characters? 

Extra Credit: the meta-critique

 A.) Were you able to connect this chapter to previous chapters? Did you remember everyone's names?

 B.) Are you invested in the clan's survival? Do you have any favorite characters yet?