Going Feet First Ch. 02

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"Check for a trail. The Humans must have left something to track them with."

"Yes, Petra," the other Shadow Stalker answered, setting down her satchel as she headed straight for the plane.

With her partner checking the ruins, Petra began to go over the clearing to search for clues. First thing she did was inspect the fresh graves and the crosses that marked them for any information they may offer. But the characters on the silver tags were foreign, as was the metal, so neither could prove much use unless she lowered herself to defile this resting place. However, she would perhaps probe the Human for his technique in tying knots before she killed him. From what she found in the lashings, his skills with a rope seemed to be quite impressive.

Over at the firepit, she ran a hand over the ashes only to find them to have long gone cold. Standing up and looking about, there appeared to be no more stores gathered here for another night. The footprints on the ground showed several Nekos had come but there was no evidence to show that they stayed. It confirmed her theory that they would have moved on.

A few paces away from the metal beast was a red patch in the grass that dulled the moon's shine off the evening dew. Upon approach, Petra could tell the patch was a significant volume of semi-dried blood. The smell confirmed that it was Human, and there was too much here for to not have been fatal. That meant a serious wound and possibly conflict which in most likeliness had been with the metal beast. It would certainly explain the fresh graves.

Moving away from the crimson stain, the Elder Shadow Stalker turned toward the downed craft. She stopped a moment when she spotted the words "death awaits trespassers" scratched out in Nekonian script on the side of the plane.

Petra cocked her head at this, wondering for a moment if she should proceed. It didn't take more than a moment's pondering for her to shrug it off with a bit of an amused smirk. She stepped past the warning and readied herself to leap up into the craft. Only she stopped when a new smell caught her nose.

Her smirk growing to a smile, she backed away from the craft and wandered over to the brush line in front of the glass face of the beast. Parting several bushes, she discovered a blood-soaked bundle of wrappings partially buried in the dirt, right beside a spot where a male had urinated. One did not need a Lycan to tell that the two scents matched.

The Shadow Stalker grabbed the wrappings and took a deep inhale, planting this unique smell into her mind. When she pulled the cloth away, she tilted her head back and began to sniff the air above her. A grin curled up the corners of her mouth as she found that same scent coming in on the breeze.

"I'm tracking you now, Human," she purred.

"Petra!" the other Stalker called. "I have found something!"

The lead Shadow Stalker turned to her underling inside the metal beast, spotting her through a hole in the side. In her hands she held a curved, plate-like object at least a two thumb-widths thick and wrapped in cloth. A glint of moonlight came off a thin length of loose wire coming out of the top. Her junior looked at the wire, mumbling something before grabbing hold of it.

I warn you of these Humans' new weapons, Farok's words repeated in Petra's thoughts as she eyed the object, they seem innocent, like children's toys. But one wrong move or false judgement, and the next journey you could take would be to Yariid for judgement.

"Teirie! Put that down! Teirie!" she ordered in a sudden panic, right before the young Shadow Stalker pulled the loose wire out from the claymore, setting it off.

....................................

"So, as long as you're with Celia, you can speak her language," Michael asked, a question to which Galen nodded.

For the past hour, the Private had recounted what happened since the morning. The troll, the trials, the feast. Though when he got to the point in the story about his experience with Tanza and the four other elves, he fibbed. Claiming instead that Celia herself was his gift for his success, to guide him and love him as he settles into a new world. The altered version was less embarrassing than retelling the other ceremonies that had been performed, as Michael would no-doubt grill him for the steamy details. If he would even believe that they even happened.

His rifle, however, was one of the more disturbing topics of the conversation as it grumbled when he explained how the moss brought it to life. The weapon somehow became lighter, comfier, and apparently guarded itself from falling into the wrong hands. But at the same time it also made it a sucker for attention. Again, all part of his "reward," if one could use the word for such an insufferable thing.

Any time Galen wasn't holding the rifle, it groaned. Whenever he did hold it, it groaned. Unless the Private was stroking it or holding it in a battle-ready position, it groaned. It wasn't very loud, barely audible if one was speaking in a normal voice, but it was still distracting. It had taken on a personality of its own and it didn't like being ignored.

Somewhere mid-story Galen had found Celia laying her head in his lap as she wrapped herself up in her cloak and listened to him speak. He knew that she didn't understand a word, but she still listened intently from how those pale, white eyes stared with a visible affection. It was almost scary how cute she could be.

"It'd be better if she knew what we were sayin'," Galen commented in response to Michael's comment. "But her magic only is one way. I don' think she got a clue 'bout anythin' we just said."

Mila, with her knees tucked up underneath her chin and pupils expanded to their fullest, kept the entirety of her attention fixed upon the young warrior's new companion. How innocent the Elf seemed all curled up in his lap. Her warm smile was enhanced by her golden glow and the playful expression she had as her ears twitched in reaction to Galen nestling his fingers in behind them. Despite her earlier ordeal coming in she now seemed perfectly at peace with her love. And Galen seemed to be so with her.

How coincidental it was for him to intercept a Tree Elf at the beginning of the mating season. The pure luck of the situation he had stumbled upon. Even more astounding was how he was strong enough to pass their trials and be granted companionship with a creature that others have died pursuing. And her presence was something he clearly enjoyed as he smiled every time his eyes fell upon her and his hands never stayed idle on her skin. They constantly explored, stroked, caressed, or held onto her as though he could not stand to part them.

A light-hearted smirk crept onto the tracker's face as she looked to Celia's innocent face. Legend had stated that the Tree Elves were as open and affectionate as they were beautiful, and she could see now that those old tales were indeed true. This one had her man wrapped completely around her finger, or perhaps they were wrapped around each other's fingers. Just as she found herself with Michael.

How quickly things have changed.

A few silent moments passed after Galen finished speaking, with only the crackling of the tribe's ceremonial fire in the background filling the void. Even the possessed weapon was silent. Taking the opportunity to ask her own questions, Mila cleared her throat and brought everyone's attention to her as she said, "Celia."

The Elf looked up at her, "Hmmm?"

"Do you speak Nekonian?"

After a moment, and much to the Neko's surprise, she nodded and answered, "More than I speak Human. Much more. I've studied it for the past ten years after learning Avien and Lycan. There are few Humans in Atzla, so I had not ventured deep into studies of their tongue."

"Yet it is a Human you are now with," Mila quipped while grinning at the irony.

"Such a... umm... weird happening. Unexpected, that is the word. Unexpected happening. But I do not care what he is, so long as he is with me," she said, placing her hand on Galen's as it sat behind her ear and smiling just a bit wider.

As for the soldier himself, he began shifting his stare back and forth between Mila and Celia. His shocked look gave way to a slight chuckle accompanying a wide grin of disbelief.

"Well, this is even more surprising," he stated, instantly bringing the tracker's full attention back to him.

Eyes wide and jaw falling open, she asked, "Galen? How- When did you learn Nekonian?"

"Whoa, wait, what the Hell is going on here?" Michael butted in as he sat up straight with a frown fixed upon Galen. "What the Hell did you just say?"

The Private shrugged unknowingly in response, which only served to harshen the already tense look he was receiving from his Sergeant. Celia suddenly spoke out a bit in Nekonian, her words prompting both Galen and Mila to nod. Expelling a breath with a bit of force to express his irritation, Michael pressed the ends of his fingers into his brow and pinched down on the bridge of his nose.

"What? What is it?" he questioned. "Could somebody tell me what the fuck she just said?"

"Celia's magic gave Galen more than Elvish tongue," his Neko companion explained. "She had knowledge of Nekonian, and the spell is that he will understand her no matter what language she speaks. She has my language, and now, so does Galen."

The Sergeant was dumbstruck. With one eye brow raised and both eyes wide he looked Galen up and down and shook his head. "I leave you alone for one damn day, and all the sudden you've become a linguist and land one of the rarest girls in the forest."

Galen again shrugged, this time with a smug grin, "I guess Lady Luck's been castin' her smile upon me a whole lot lately. That or someon-"

A sudden explosion cracked off in the distance, silencing the Private as his attention turned toward the miniscule bang. Looking out the front door of the tent, he saw a colossal fireball suddenly erupt into the sky several miles away. And several seconds after came that bird-scattering shockwave. He could feel Celia rattle with fear against him as she laid eyes upon the mushroom cloud rising up into the sky, her nails digging into his arm as it blocked out the moon.

Michael, however, seemed indifferent to the detonation as he focused more on the path outside the tent. Several Nekos began aweing and passing fearful words between each other as they pointed up at the cloud. But then an incredibly powerful voice boomed out over the village, quickly sending the Willhers on about their business. Without much sign of caring, the Sergeant gave a shrug and grabbed his canteen from his pack lying beside his bed.

"The Hell was that?!" Galen demanded.

"The claymore on the plane that I rearmed and set up. It probably ignited what was left of the fuel when it blew. We left a note that said stay out..." Michael answered, taking a drink from his canteen and setting it aside.

"Why would ya leave an active claymore out there?!" Galen roared, fearful at the thought of all the innocent creatures that could've tripped the mine. "I thought you wanted it disarmed after you went through the supplies!"

This got him nowhere with the Sergeant, who brushed off the Private's words without a second thought. That only served to make Galen vibrate in anger, knuckles going white on clenched fists. What made him swiftly cut down his rage was the hug of a fearful Celia around his chest. His outburst had her shaking and drawing even more tears out of the now-frightened Elf.

"Ra'zorlichs," Mila answered, drawing his attention away from Celia and Michael. "They have assassins that do leave their lands. If they decided to send them upon you two, first place to begin a search would be the... umm... the 'Hurr-coo-leez', a beast any intelligent creature would fear or ignore. Do not worry about my people, we have told them what to expect if the Ra'zorlichs set off the trap, though not to that scale..."

Feline feet shuffling over dirt brought the groups attention to a pair of Nekonian feet waltzing up to the door flap. A Willher male stepped in among the gathered while holding a certain air of arrogance to him as he crossed his arms and looked down upon Mila. With an unimpressed look the tracker gave him a questioning look as she asked, "what is it?"

"Mila, you and... umm- you is... rak," he swore, thinking hard for a moment as he struggled with the Human language. After several pauses the large Neko male swore again and spoke in Nekonian before turning to Michael, "You. Elder want. Great Fire. Come."

With a solid nod and a hint of satisfaction at his broken speech, the Willher male backed out the door and marched off toward the village center. After exchanging a few awkward glances with Galen, Michael turned to Mila asking, "Who was that bastard? Couldn't he have knocked first?"

Mila shook her head 'no' as she stood upright, offering a hand to Michael to help pull him to his feet. "That was one of the village messengers. The elders wish for us to join the tribe at the Great Fire. Galen and Celia are invited as well, but they do not have to."

"Celia can't go out there anyway," the Private explained. "There's somethin' 'bout tree spirits trapped in the wood you're burning. It... just... strangles her."

"Tree spirits?" Mila repeated, pausing for a moment as she glanced over to the Elf. She had to wonder how her kind even survived if they didn't burn wood for warmth or cooking. Unless they ate everything raw and could survive the winter with cloaks alone, there had to have been something they did to keep themselves from suffering in the smoke. A single forest-fire and their kind would perish!

Perhaps they pulled any taints or spirits from the wood prior to burning, purging it to meet their needs?

"Celia," Mila said, drawing the girl's attention. "The tree spirits that had you in pain, how can we release them?"

The Elf swallowed while looking down at her hand, watching as her fingertips began to glow a gold color. "I would use magic. It takes only a few words and a few zets, but will do much good for me and the forest."

"Then let's do that."

"But the smoke..." she muttered while trembling and looking up at the Willher tracker. "I can't get through it. It could kill me."

Right at that moment, a light bulb lit up over Galen's head. "Celia, what about the smoke is so dangerous for you? Breathing it? Touching it? What?"

She pondered for a moment on her experience, thinking on how it started at her nose and lungs before it ravaged the rest of her. "Breathing it, perhaps? Why?"

"I have an idea," he declared as he got up and moved to his pack sitting over by the door flap.

"What are you up to now?" Michael asked as he supported himself on his crutch.

"Celia can't breathe th' smoke, else she chokes up..." Galen said as he opened up his pack. "So how 'bout she just don't breathe the smoke?" He turned to Celia, holding up a gasmask for her to see.

Right away she was taken back with a dreaded look upon her face at the mere sight of it. It was as hideous as it was intimidating and completely unnerving. The empty glass eye-ports seemed to stare at her with a sense of evil within that repulsive, rubber face sending a cold shiver running down her spine.

"Is that... Demon skin?" she asked, her voice trembling as badly as her body.

Wondering where she might have gotten that idea from, Galen shook his head and explained, "No, it's a special mask we wear to protect ourselves from dangerous air. It'll protect you from the smoke. Trust me."

"You're giving her your M17?" Michael asked. "If you recall from training, Galen, they don't do shit about fire smoke."

The Private half-shrugged, half nodded, "Yeah, I know, but she couldn't even breathe when she got hit with the cloud outside. I'm hopin' this will just by her a little time so she can do her magic and free th' trees spirits, or whatever her plan is to make it so she won't die by walkin' out into the street."

After a minute of convincing her that the mask was not the severed face of some demon, Galen helped Celia pull it onto her head. Taking no chances, he made sure the filter was tight and the straps were snug and did a basic test to ensure she had a seal. After a quick prayer to anyone who'd dare listen, he brought her toward the door for the moment of truth. Pitting her hypersensitive nature against Human ingenuity.

It was then that Galen's rifle piped up, seemingly calling for him to take it in his arms as he moved away from it. A growl of frustration escaped him with both anger and annoyance seared in his eyes as he turned to the weapon.

"For the love of- Would you please shut up!" he erupted at the moss-covered M14. "You better damn-well behave yourself or I swear, I'll smash you, burn you, and bury your ashes in the muck and take the other M14 we got in the crate! A real nice one with a scope! So buck up, you bastard, 'cause you're seriously startin' to piss me off."

Michael stared with dinner-plate eyes. "You're bat-shit crazy" scrawled all over his face as he blinked at the Private. But then the rifle went silent; not even daring to grovel under its master's scowling gaze. Taking in a deep breath, Galen ignored the Sergeant's expression as he held it a moment before slowly letting it out. Trying not to think about how he just threatened an inanimate object, he threw an arm around the masked Celia to lead her out into the smoky street.

At first her breathing was harsh and staggered as she adjusted to taking air in through a filter. After cycling her lungs several times, though, she managed to adjust to the apparatus. Her breaths became clear and steady, though she couldn't help but fidget with the seal around her face to make it a bit more bearable. But at least she was able to stand freely in the smoke without a recurrence of her previous experience.

"Are you okay?" Galen asked, and she looked to him through the glass of the mask and gave a nod.

"I am, but let us hurry to the Willher's fire," she said as clearly as she could through the muffling effect of the mask. "The less time I must wear this dreadful thing, the better."

...

The Willher's so-called "Great Fire" was a towering inferno several feet high, held in the middle of a large, open area in the village center. Most of the Willher tribe surrounded the bonfire, a hundred Nekos at least ranging from spry, young kittens to wrinkled, old elders. Together they watched the flames dance before them with the crowd abuzz with many conversations and the clinking of celebratory mugs.

Hiding around a corner from the gathering to limit her exposure, Celia found hot tears watering up in her eyes as she spied on the tribe. There were two Neko males stacking several more logs onto the already intense bonfire. A cascade of sparks erupted into the sky and the smoke thickened to add to the agonized screams that echoed in her mind.

"Whatever she needs to do, get it done," Michael ordered behind her. "I don't want to freak out the tribe by showing up to their ceremony with a rubber-faced Elf beside me."

Standing over her shoulder, Galen gave the Sergeant a dirty look before he leaned in and asked her, "What is it that you need to do?"

Answering in Nekonian for Mila's benefit, Celia answered, "Just get me within a stone's throw from the fallen trees, it's all I need."

"Our wood stores are there, against our Elder's hall," Mila said, pointing toward the long, wooden building across the fire from them. There, stacked neatly against the side, was a large pile of roughly cut logs that the tribe drew from to fuel their blaze.

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