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Opposing the Dreamers

copyright comidacomida 2019

Lark, unlike many of the other hunters of his tribe had always celebrated the rain. While there were distinct disadvantages to spending hours out in the woodlands soaked through with falling water the entirety of the world felt more alive, more distinct; it was clearer for him and he was able to excel in his task as the tracker.

The hunting pack to which he belonged was one of the greatest among the Crescent Valley Tribe and it was for good reason; all five members had their role and each played to their strengths. Lark's nose was one of the greatest among his people and he could follow a wounded deer across the countryside with sheets of rain coming down even when the sky opened up like a waterfall. Harus, the pack's out runner often accused him of showing off, especially every time Lark admitted to enjoying the rain.

As the youngest in his group, Lark was also the newest to his position, having served with his pack mates for less than a pawful of seasons but he'd already proven himself and he considered his place in the pack to be secure. It also helped that the pack's leader favored him. Garon was an impressive hunter and an even more imposing warrior. Lark had known the pack leader for his entire life and, even though Garon was nearly three years his senior the two had been close for as far back as the tracker's memory went.

Although he remained near to the ground in a crouch, Lark rose his head, testing the air with his nose as he also alternated extending his legs, stretching them to avoid getting a cramp. Chuok, the hunting group's tactician glanced his way and murmured quietly "Lark-- can you smell Harus? He has been gone longer than usual."

Lark twitched his lip upward to the affirmative; Harus was by far the stealthiest of their group, but he couldn't mask his scent. The tracker hadn't lost nose-touch of their out runner since the short, single-shaded-furred hunter slipped off into the shrubbery surrounding their position. It made sense of course, seeing as they were seeking prey upwind of them. Rather than answer verbally, the young hunter simply held up a paw; his tribe used paw-talk when silence was important. He kept it simple: Out runner. Near. Prey.

A distinct blast of breath as an abbreviated exhale was all Garon needed to get Lark's attention. The young tracker turned to the pack leader. The dark-furred hunter offered up a set silent of gestures of his own, finishing with a dip of his small finger to denote a question. Prey. Near. Here?

Lark confirmed with an upward twitch of his lip, then paused, triangular ears folding back as he caught the scent of something new on the wind. He gestured quickly: Wait.

He knew he'd been with the pack for enough time that they all understood his body language well enough to pick up on his concern. Garon responded after a long pause with a simple twist of his small finger, inquiring after Lark's concern. The young tracker answered with a single gesture: Dreamers.

The fifth member of their pack gazed at him with intensity. The light-furred, no-nonsense female was named Gennis. Her skill as a butcher was matched only by her talents as a warrior; she, like Garon, served as both a hunter and a fighter. Despite the pack being away from the village as a hunting party the presence of Dreamers so close to the tribe lands was reason enough to worry and, as Lark knew, conflict was not out of the question, especially if Garon called for violence; then again, he realized, Gennis could as well.

It was rare for any group to have two members whose names started with 'G' since, by tradition, they were the tribe's leaders, but the two worked well together and, since one was male and one female, the elders deemed it acceptable. Although Garon was the official leader of the hunting party, Gennis had the capacity to direct them as well and, when a pack leader gave the group orders it was not proper to countermand them.

As she continued to stare his way, Gennis gestured with an inquiry: Number?

Testing the air again, Lark checked his assessment twice, just to be certain. There was another scent that worried him and so his answer was vague: Three. But.

The paw-talk was not specific enough for him to convey the other scents he was picking up; they were strange. Unfamiliar. Otherworldly. Gennis didn't accept the vagueness. She made several decisive signs of her own and ended with a questioning twitch of her small finger. More. Past. Nose-touch?

Her guess was wrong; Lark was able to nose-touch the scent of all of them, but there were scents unfamiliar to the young tracker that defied his understanding. He tried to elaborate to the best of his ability. Three. Dreamers. Four. Other.

The 'Other' gesture in paw-talk was, in and of itself vague; in Lark's case he meant that he couldn't identify the other four scents, which meant it was a mystery. Rather than give Gennis a chance to quiz Lark further, Garon slid closer to the tracker and raised his own nose, testing the scents that carried to them on the wind. The pack leader didn't even hesitate, and didn't bother signing the answer since there was nothing in paw-talk that could define what it was he identified. "Hunans."

The realization of what that meant made Lark's heart skip a beat. The tribe's warriors were no strangers to dealing with Hunans, but the allies of the Dreamers were a mystery to all others; considering the numerous stories he'd heard about the Hunans, the young tracker wasn't very eager to learn anything directly. Rather than continue in paw-talk, Garon murmured at a volume barely above that of the falling rain. "If they are this far south, then the Dreamers are guiding the Hunans to their city."

Gennis, who was close enough to hear the discussion, gestured for Chuok to join them before she likewise spoke, her quiet tone accentuated by a low growl. "This means nothing good for the village. The Dreamers are not adhering to The Creed."

Although Lark didn't consider himself an expert on The Creed, he knew the peace agreement between the Stewards and the Dreamers had nothing to do with the Hunans. He went so far as to ask "How?"

Gennis reached out and grabbed the bare fur of Lark's shoulders to pull him right next to her, to the point that he could feel her breath on his whiskers. "They are bringing more Hunans to their city... we hold true to our numbers, but they are increasing theirs."

Since before Lark's grandfather's grandfather, his people, The Stewards, had adhered to the law of nature; ages past, their people had run rampant, abusing their planet and they all but destroyed the world. The Stewards believed that a balance had to be maintained and, as such, their numbers were carefully controlled. Another sect, The Dreamers, had often fought with The Stewards over numerous disagreements but, with the world in tatters, they ultimately created a peace that would let each faction pursue their own ends; The Stewards desired to live in harmony with the recovering world while The Dreamers wanted... something else.

Chuok, who had caught what Gennis had said, added in his own assessment. "There are Hunans here?"

The pack's tactician, like its leader and butcher, was also no stranger to war. Out of the five of them, in fact, only Harus and Lark himself were strictly hunters. Garon filled Chuok in. "Lark smells three Dreamers and four Hunans."

Despite Dreamers being poor fighters, Lark had hear tales of Hunans and their otherworldly skills. Their weapons were unlike anything The Stewards had seen and, if the stories were to be true, Hunans had a sixth sense that let them perceive even the most stealthy of warriors. Whether spiritually aware, or psychically sensitive, the tales said that the moment a Steward could sense a Hunan that the Hunan had known about them for far longer than was safe. Lark began to feel his leg twitch in concern.

A comforting paw came to rest on his shoulder as Garon looked to him. "We can do this, Lark. If we take them by surprise we can destroy the Hunans before The Dreamers increase their numbers... but you will have to be a warrior this day."

Lark voiced his concerns. "But... won't they already know about us?"

Gennis snorted, scoffing beside him. "You believe in those tales?"

The young hunter shrugged. "Saden said that Hunans can sense a warrior from many hills away, and that they--"

She responded by smacking him with the back of her paw. "Hunans see well, but that is all. They are almost deaf and they have face masks that make their poor sense of smell even worse. They are not gods and they are not demons... they can be killed."

Garon gave him another slap on the shoulder. "Gennis and I have killed Hunans... the trick is to stay under cover. If The Dreamers do not know we are there then the Hunans will not know either... just do not go into the open-- they can see past our Spirit Marks."

That statement surprised Lark more than anything. "They can? How?"

Spirit Marks were a rite of passage for warriors, and the most celebrated hunters also perfected the art. Carefully mixed pigments and herbs were formed into paints that were applied to the fur, allowing already skilled stalkers to turn invisible in natural surroundings. If Hunans were able to gaze past Spirit Marks-- no, Lark didn't even want to consider the significance of that power.

Chuok continued the discussion amidst Lark's silence. "Target the Hunans first... their weapons are too dangerous to leave them alive."

Gennis snorted. "Not all Hunans are armed... many do not carry weapons."

The tactician glanced toward Lark. "Do you know how many weapons are there?"

The tracker had no way of knowing since he didn't recognize the scent of Hunan weapons. He tested the air again and realized that the travelers were even closer. Lark was familiar with The Dreamer weapons; they had a very distinct scent. "I know all of The Dreamers have burst throwers..."

Garon let out a chuffing snort. "Three burst throwers? Our last attack must have them fearful to continue their betrayal."

Lark was honestly surprised. "This isn't the first time?"

He knew that The Dreamers had been interacting with Hunans for longer than he'd been a hunter, but the thought that they were so flagrantly acting in opposition to The Creed was almost beyond belief. "Do the elders know?"

Gennis growled. "They are willing to overlook it for now, but they have given war parties permission to intercept these transgressions when we can."

Garon twitched his lip in confirmation. "And we can this time... if you are with us."

Lark knew that it wasn't so much an offer as it was an obligation. Stifling a helpless sigh, the tracker tweaked his lip as well. "Of course, Garon."

Gennis seemed pleased. "Good. When Harus returns we will strike."

They didn't have to wait long.

* * * * *

It was Lark's task, in conjunction with Chuok to choose the spot for their ambush. The pack's tactician specifically asked for the young hunter's help because he wanted to make certain that the Dreamers wouldn't be able to scent them. There were still issues concerning the Hunans since, according to Garon, the strange creatures saw far better during the day than at night and the hunting party had no control over the hour of the day. Lark tried to resist the urge to be concerned about it and instead focused on what he could control, and that was choosing the best spot from which to attack.

As a hunter, Lark was no stranger to violence or danger; many of his tribe's chosen prey animals had the capacity to injure or kill an unwary or inexperienced pack. All hunters were also skilled in the way of combat and he'd spent years sparring, testing himself against others his own age in structured matches; what he hadn't done before, however, was fight in earnest. Garon had said that he and Harus would be providing support; if they fought anyone it would be The Dreamers and yet, despite knowing that the Hunans wouldn't be his concern, they were what filled Lark's mind the most.

The young hunter was a decent fighter; while hardly the best in his tribe, he was skilled enough that he often bested other males several years his senior. The Dreamers, he knew, were soft and unwise in the way of combat; they lived in their cities, hiding away from things that would force them to fight to survive and they relied heavily on their burst throwers, arm-length pipes of metal open at one end that fired small, whistling spears much further than a trained warrior could throw.

He'd once had Garon explain to him how they worked, but it wasn't something Lark could truly fathom; he just attributed it to one more piece of lore lost during that cataclysm that nearly ended the world. The Dreamers were always trying to resurrect the old ways, and that was something that Lark had no interest in exploring. What he did know about the burst throwers was that they had the capacity to be deadly at long range, but up close they were a liability for the wielder. Chuok had obviously chosen the ambush spot accordingly.

Since The Dreamers had wagons, the path they would have to take through the mountainous terrain was limited to a rocky cleft between a pair of low hills. According to Gennis, the Hunans always traveled toward the rear of the wagons, meaning the three Dreamers guiding them would be at the front. As such, Lark and Harus were stationed by the near-side of the pass; it was their task to engage the Dreamers by surprise, getting inside the usable range of their burst throwers and finishing them off. Chuok, as a warrior, was also assigned to their side of the pass so he could help the other hunters overpower them with minimal issue. That, however, still left the Hunans.

Despite what Garon had said about Hunans and their ability to see past Spirit Marks, both he and Gennis adorned themselves with them, muting their natural shades and expertly painting into their fur shapes and textures that would match their surrounding. By the time they were done Lark could scarcely see them, and he knew what he was looking at! Still, their task was to remain camouflaged until the wagons had passed and attack from behind, taking out as many Hunans as possible as they could before anyone could react.

It was a gamble or, rather, it would have been had the warriors of the group not been so skilled; Chuok was confident they could succeed and, so long as they Hunans were handled quickly and efficiently then their strange weapons would not be put to use. From the way Lark heard Garon explain them, the Hunans used tools that looked similar to burst throwers, only much more refined and elegant; hearing any weapon associated with the Dreamers as 'elegant' seemed strange to him, but he had little doubt that he would see one in far too short a time for his liking, and so he waited, hiding with the bushes as he heard the sounds of the wagons approaching, and the voices of Dreamers talking amongst themselves.

Lark had heard stories from a young age that said once, long ago, the Stewards and Dreamers were of a singular creed but, to see and hear the strange people it was almost unbelievable. The Dreamers spoke in higher tones, not unlike the yipping and yapping of young pups-- they were also smaller than Stewards, and broader... chubby, even. What always made Lark most uneasy whenever he saw one was that their tails, unlike the long, graceful, swaying tails of the Stewards, those of the Dreamers curled around upon themselves, making the fluid motions of body language and stance harder to comprehend.

The Dreamers leading the wagons were situated in a row of two ahead of the wagon, and one following along behind it. The two in the lead were tall for their kind, though still several inches shorter than Lark. Their fur was well kept where visible as, unlike The Stewards, they covered the majority of it with single-color, mid-toned clothing. The third Dreamer was shorter than the two in the front and, unlike them, had a much more neutral build, far closer to the lithe, wiry form of a Steward. Like his companions, however, he was also armed, meaning he was a threat.

Lark watched the three closely; the two in the front were absorbed in their own discussion, burst throwers slung by straps over their shoulders and seemingly oblivious to the world. While that would have made the hunting party's task easier, what the first two lacked in awareness the third made up for with them some; he looked present, astute, and almost skittish. Lark could smell the trepidation on him and, even from a distance, he could see the smallest Dreamer's grip on his burst thrower was so tight that his paws were shaking.

Whether the third Dreamer's awareness was due to general neurosis or an actual premonition of something about to happen, Lark didn't know, but he didn't like it. To complicate matters even more, the young hunter saw that the third Dreamer was not alone, and Lark got his first view of a Hunan. Or, rather, considering it was covered from head to foot, he got his first view of a Hunan's clothing.

The Hunan was about the same size as the Dreamer it was accompanying. It walked on two legs as well, with a fluid gait that was just as smooth as its traveling companion, but lacked the sure, balanced steps of a warrior. That thought brought Lark a degree of reassurance. He was further encouraged by the fact that it didn't have any obvious sign of a weapon. Once the most prominent things to note were checked off in his mind, the curious young hunter watched it more closely, trying to figure out the significance of the strange symbol on the cloth covering its arm: while the entire suit was a single color, two lines meeting in the middle were in a darker shade shown prominently near the Hunan's shoulder.

Lark didn't know what to make of it for certain but, based on what little he knew about symbols used among the Dreamers, he figured it could have been a mark of office or ranking. If that were the case though, why was the Hunan unarmed? It was a question he knew he wouldn't be able to have answered so he pushed it from his mind, carefully preparing himself to jump into the fray. The wagon and the front running Dreamers were scarcely a stone throw from where he and his companions were hiding; it wouldn't take long. Then he heard it: not only were the Dreamers in the front speaking, but the Hunan was talking too! It knew their language!

It's voice was alien, and unsure, as if it had trouble pronouncing words that it only barely knew. Lark had a hard time putting a description to it-- part youngster and part something else. If voices had a texture, he would have said that the Hunan spoke with a flabby voice... the words were correct but the pronunciations were all wrong. Any number of possible explanations could have existed as to why, but the young hunter couldn't waste the energy to figure it out so he settled on it being a matter of the Hunan's mask muting its tone and purposefully chose not to give it any further thought.

In addition to wearing more clothing than a Dreamer, the Hunan had a hood that covered the entirety of its head and where the hood ended a strange mask blocked off a view of anything within. Unlike a wooden or bone mask of a Steward, the Hunan's had a strange reflective quality, almost as if it were made of ice, or of water pulled from a still pond and turned sideways to hide all proof that it was anything more than clothing that moved without anything inside. Lark shivered silently at the thought; there were plenty back at the village that thought Hunans were evil spirits. He forcefully banished that unhelpful thought as well.

As the first two Dreamers pulled even with where Lark and his companions were hidden the third Dreamer came to a stop, finally removing his paw from his burst thrower so he could turn to address the Hunan traveling with him. "Stop. You ask too many questions. I was brought along to help bring--"

Chuok, ever the tactician, used that moment of distraction to seize the initiative, leading the charge with a howl "For the Creed!"

Harus was only a step behind, leaping out from behind cover to rush the second Dreamer. He and Chuok reached the front lines at the same time, crashing into the two Dreamers before they could get their burst throwers in a position to fire. Lark sprang out from cover, realizing that the third Dreamer was his responsibility. He had more ground to cover than the other two, and his opponent had already benefitted from the second of delay. The young hunter saw the burst thrower as the Dreamer wheeled it around, readying to fire; Lark acted.

Spinning to the side, Lark was out of the way before the powerful blast of air and the spear carried with it shot past through the line of his charge. Springing up onto the rocky wall, the young hunter barely missed a step as he lost no speed from the side-step. Burst throwers, he knew, required time to make ready to fire a second time, and the Dreamer had no chance to prepare another. Drawing his skinning knife, Lark was upon him in an instant.

The Dreamer blocked the first strike with the bony part of his forearm and fell back, pushing the Hunan beside him out of the way even as he drew a long, curved metal blade. Lark took a moment to position himself for a blade fight, staring down his opponent. The Dreamer, in return, faced him and hunkered down in a poor imitation of his own stance; Lark knew in that instance that his foe had probably never trained for combat. It was fortunate, in his mind, because he already knew the outcome.

His enemy actually spoke. "Why are you doing this? The Creed says that you people--"

Lark didn't offer an answer; taking the distraction of the Dreamer talking as a welcome invitation, the young hunter hopped forward, grabbing his enemy's blade-paw by the wrist, and finished closing the distance even as he pulled the Dreamer toward him. His opponent stopped talking when Lark's knife buried itself into his throat. Lark yanked the weapon back and pushed the Dreamer to the ground, where he gasped at the hole leaking red streams onto the soil. His task was not yet done however, and he turned toward the strange creature who stood far too close to him, unmoving.

Once again, Lark realized that the Hunan was unarmed; for some reason it didn't provide him much relief, and he came to the conclusion that there wouldn't be any until the alien thing was dead. He returned to a combat stance but, rather than prepare for the same, the Hunan raised its arms, revealing gloved paws with five digits each. Its voice came out from beneath the mask which, curiously, had no eye, nose, or mouth holes. "We are not here to fight."

It was mind-blowing to hear words come from something so otherworldly and it was enough to make him pause. The sound of a weapon discharging snapped him out of it quickly enough. The sound of a burst thrower was a singular deep, billowing, hollow sound, but what Lark heard was an ear-rending crack. It was sharp, sudden, and loud... and it wasn't singular. The sound repeated numerous times in ear-burning bursts... five or six at a time, and three times in a row. It was followed by an exclamation from Chuok "Harus!"

Turning, Lark saw that Harus was laying on the ground unmoving, his blood gracing the dirt near him and all over a tree beyond him; strangely, there was no spear in him, no arrow or dart or weapon of any kind. A moment later, the young hunter was collided with by a heavy weight from behind a split second before the weapon sounds started anew, far faster and far more plentiful than was possible with a burst thrower.

Quickly rotating his body, Lark managed to land on his paws, realizing in that second that the Hunan had run into him, tackling him to the ground. Strangely, the Hunan hadn't lost his balance, and was facing away from him, shouting back in the opposite direction. Crouching in preparation for renewed combat, Lark was stupefied to realize that the wagon next to him had lost most of the wood that made up its side railing; it appeared to have been torn apart by termites. He also saw that the Hunan who had run into him seemed angry at another Hunan... and the second one was holding what could only have been one of their weapons.

It was, in some strange way like a burst thrower and, strangely enough, 'elegant' was somehow a suitable word for it. The weapon was held similarly to a burst thrower, but the lack of a large air tank on the back end meant that the Hunan was able to hold the back of it against its shoulder; it looked like a stable position from which to aim, not unlike a bowman taking a bead on a target-- only the Hunan's target was Lark!

As the Hunan nearest him continued shouting at the armed Hunan in a strange, chittering language, Lark was surprised to see that the nearer Hunan was actually interposing himself. A moment later it didn't matter; Garon was right behind the armed Hunan, and with a singular, smooth motion, brought his blade across the thing's throat. It bled red, just like any Dreamer or Steward.

The battle was all but over; all of the Dreamers were slain and three of the four Hunans remained and they did not have strange weapons like the dead one. Garon approached Lark, tail swaying with tempered goodwill. "Well done... well done, Lark. You finally had your first battle, and it was a good one."

The remaining three Hunans quickly drew back, giving space to the Stewards as the hunting pack gathered up. Chuok came toward the alien creatures from behind, ensuring that they were pinned between the pack and the wagon. Gennis drew nearer to them too, growling softly "Now we just have these to finish."

Chuok let out a dejected huff. "They aren't warriors. They have no weapons."

Garon growled as well. "They killed Harus."

The one that had addressed Lark spoke again, speaking Garon. "We are not here to fight."

Garon turned on the speaker. "And you still killed Harus."

Lark interjected, pointing to the one that talked before gesturing to the damaged wagon. "That one pushed me out of the way. I might have died too."

Gennis growled. "Dishonoring yourself by crediting an enemy is not the warrior way, boy."

A second Hunan spoke up. "We are not your enemy! We're here to foster peace!"

Gennis reached out a paw and smacked the second Hunan, not even addressing it before turning to her pack. "Other Dreamers will have heard the fight. We should kill them and be on our way, Garon."

Lark didn't know what possessed him to do so, but, against his better judgment, he spoke up. "No."

Garon's response was immediate; baring his teeth, he pounced Lark, carrying him to the ground. "You have been combinative lately, Lark. It isn't your place to decide what we do. I am the leader of this pack... do not forget that."

In any other situation, Lark would have quickly given in, but, despite the otherworldly nature of the Hunans, he couldn't see them as things to destroy, not after what little interaction he'd had with them suggested otherwise. "We should leave them be. There are three left, and we put down three Dreamers; the balance is retained."

Garon's grip on Lark's shoulder was strong enough that his claws dug into the young hunter's flesh. "And if I say that we kill them?"

Mustering up as much courage as he could, Lark announced. "Don't."

Gennis chuckled from off to the side. "It sounds like he's challenging you, Garon."

The pack's leader immediately stood up, pulling Lark with him as he spoke, voice immediately going cold. "Do not challenge me-- I won't show you any mercy, pup."

The young hunter objected quickly. "Garon, I--"

Garon held up a paw. "No. We are past words and you have forced me to respond. If you are staying loyal then YOU will be the one to kill the Hunans... otherwise, you are challenging me."

Almost every last part of Lark told him use his blade and give the Hunans and quick and painless death... almost. Putting his knife back into its sheath, the young hunter regarded the pack leader. "I'm not doing either, Garon, I--"

He wasn't ready for the bony back of Garon's paw colliding with his cheek. Lark stumbled into the wagon, bouncing off of it. He took a moment to regain his balance, finally settling back into a cautious stance as the pack's leader growled at him, brandishing his claws. "Kill the Hunans. Now."

Lark shuffled his weight from one foot to the other. "That one saved my life, Garon... these things aren't enemies."

He managed to block the next swing, which only seemed to make Garon angrier. The pack leader turned his paw so he could grip Lark's wrist, squeezing it hard enough to make the younger hunter's fingers tingle, and his next words were as much growl as anything else. "Then you are challenging me."

Swallowing his hesitation and already regretting what he was going to say, Lark twitched his upper lip. "I am."

The fight was over in a matter of seconds; Garon didn't hold back. Searing agony went through Lark's arm as, having never let go of the young hunter's wrist, the pack leader had beat him unmercifully with only one paw. Garon stopped only once Lark was barely standing due to his grip and then, slamming his free paw down on Lark's shoulder, he began pulling... and pulling... and pulling. Lark had heard the sound of a butcher tearing a bone free of its joint before, but never had he heard the sound vibrating through his own body.

When Garon let him go, Lark fell helplessly to the ground; his arm landed a few seconds later. Vision blurry, and occasionally going black, the young hunter could only gasp for breath through the pain, his entire body shivering as Garon leaned over him, still growling. "You dishonor yourself and your name, Lark... but I will tell mother you died in combat so you do not dishonor our family."

The next few moments were a blur as distant shouts signaled the approach of the Dreamer reinforcements. Garon called a retreat and Lark could do nothing but lay on the ground as he grew colder, watching the three remaining members of his former pack disappear into the forest. He didn't know what would come next, but he assumed death. Instead, he felt paws grip him and roll him over.

He looked up into the strange ice-like mask worn by the Hunan with the strange symbol on its shoulder. It spoke to him. "Hey... Lark, is it? Stay awake... don't go to sleep."

The Hunan's paws moved deftly around his body; the creature had a device that it was using, but Lark's vision had gone so blurry he could scarcely make out what was being done. After a few seconds the agony in his side went away and he simply presumed the end was coming. He blinked his tears away and his vision cleared just enough to watch as the Hunan reached up and pulled its hood back; its mask came away from its face as well.

The Hunan was a strange creature; it was furless, except for a dark toned waft of fur atop its head. Its face was blunt, with scarcely any muzzle to speak of. "Lark... hey... stay with me here. I'm gonna help you, but I need you to stay awake, okay?"

It made little sense to the young hunter. Why would it help him? He couldn't very well ask it, nor could he possibly explain how he was beyond help. In the end, however, he couldn't say nothing. "You... are a... a strange... creature... Hunan."

It bared its teeth; the Hunan had some sharp teeth, but it was hardly an impressive gesture but it was accompanied by a laugh. "Well.. when I first met Oolau I thought you looked pretty strange too."

The word spoken by the Hunan caught Lark's attention; 'Oolau' wasn't a word used often among The Dreamers, referring to the people collectively before the great schism that nearly ended the world. Since Lark said nothing, the Human continued speaking. "My name is Mason, and I'm a healer."

The sound starting the thing's name was alien; Lark had never before heard the vocal sound since it certainly wasn't one an Oolau could make. The Hunan gestured to the symbol on his shoulder as he spoke. "I'm going to help you... you'll be okay." but everything else trailed off to blackness.