The hunt hadn't been on for more than fifty heartbeats when a searing, stabbing pain lanced through Kypra's left flank. Mid-gallop, she stumbled, twisting away from whatever had impaled her flesh, vision flickering with the blinding pain-- but the source of her unexpected wound stayed. She writhed once, twice, thrice, before she realized she could not dislodge it, for it was not attached to any creature. Blood soaked her fur, staining her pelt red in a small river down her ribs and to her soft stomach.

It was a stick. A long, straight, smooth stick had been plunged into her flank. Kypra shook her head rapidly, then glanced to her right. Her quarry had escaped, squalling and shrieking. It would have caught up with the other Preda Bens by now and be thoroughly guarded again, for all that she'd scored a deep gash on its haunch in her attempt to take it down. Her hunt had failed.

The sound of air splitting apart caught her attention, and she snapped her head around. A second stick was flying at her, sharp end first. The Nhauvra jerked to her left, removing her head and neck from its path, but it sliced open her pelt along her right shoulder. She grunted as new blood began to flow, clouding the wind with its metallic scent and hiding the identity of her distant attacker. Who would throw sticks made for hunting at her, a predator? Who would risk a Nhauvra clan's wrath by trying to kill one of its own?

Almost as an afterthought, Kypra bared her teeth towards the source of the two sticks, towards the longest grasses, and shouted a warning hail. Most of her words, carefully coughed out in Kalash, were bluffs; the stick remaining in her side was weakening her with each moment she stood upright. She thought that, through the overwhelming burning of the wound, she could feel the tip of the stick nudging the opposite side of her ribs.

No answer was returned. Eyes still scanning the field, the hunter wrapped her tail around the thin stick as best she could and began tugging. She couldn't draw it out in a straight line - her tail was not so deft - but with enough effort, she jerked it out of the now-widened hole in her flank. Red liquid resumed its torrential exit from the furred lips of the wound, and Nypra felt her body begin to succumb to the blood loss.

The air whistled a warning, and she twisted around. A stick, from the forest behind her. The treeline was far closer than the crops of tall grass; she didn't have time to dodge.

Her tail snapped forward, the spade-shaped protrusion on its tip slicing into the bulk of the stick just before it struck her. It gashed open her haunch, derailed from its course, but the wound was minor. Nypra felt a vague sense of surprise that her reflexes were still so sharp; the earth and short beadgrass below her stomach had been stained crimson already. And with the danger of continuing attacks, she could not attempt to heal herself.

The young Nhauvra drew a deep, shaky breath, ignoring the searing pain that the action elicited from her flank. The bugling roar she released echoed across the open fields; the sound would find her clansmen and they would come. Home was not that far, these were her fields, their fields, she had been hunting their herd...

Her outcry was cut short as another stick sank into her stomach just an inch away from her right haunch. She choked and let herself fall, breathing rapidly and shallowly, and again used her tail to draw the stick out of her flesh. This hurt far worse than the first one, which had encountered mostly muscle and bone; this one had hit the soft parts inside her, her innards, and she wondered if she had any chance of living. Either way, her clansmen would avenge her...

Nypra rested her head on the thick, wet grass and listened for the scream of the air. One more well-aimed stick would end her.

Her eyes fell closed as her body expelled more of her life onto the earth, smearing her pale pelt with brilliant red. She kept track of her breathing, carefully, regulating each inhale and exhale so that she didn't fall unconscious. She heard creatures approach on light paws and slit open an eye to watch them.

Grey-furred two-leggers, five of them. They wore the skin of other animals around their torsos and loins, and they carted more sticks around their shoulders. Only one of them hung back, warily, its short-muzzled face contorted in what might have been a frown. Two others unwrapped thick stretches of rope-like hide from their hips and held them in both clawed hands, slowly approaching on wary paws.

The wind whispered sweetly to her and brushed the scent of blood away, just for a moment. Long enough that she could catch a new scent from the fields.

"Stay away from me," she growled raspily in Kalash, thumping her lean tail on the ground as though the motion would strengthen her voice. The creatures paused only briefly, exchanging glances, and then the two with hide-straps stepped closer again.

The one that had stayed at the fringe of the small group suddenly lifted its arm and pointed a digit towards the grasslands. It shouted something, and the three without straps took up their sharp sticks.

Nypra counted her breaths, making sure they were regular. The air tasted metallic now, blood tainting the wind, and she wondered if the blood was corrupting the air inside her, too. If that happened, would she drown, as she would if it were water inside her air? The wind was hers, and though the blood gave her life, it wasn't hers, not like the wind. She couldn't have blood in the wind, flooding her...

There was a shrill scream that brought her attention outside herself again. One of the grey creatures was thrashing, its midsection impaled upon the horn of a mighty earth Nhauvra. The warrior tossed the creature aside, almost idly, and smashed another to the ground with his huge paws. Nypra winced as strange blood spattered on her face.

A Nhauvra hacked once, and she caught a glimpse of a fire clansman rearing back, his throat slashed shallowly by a stick. Nypra bared her teeth, but the clan's minor ngran-kresh caught the falling fighter and began healing the wound before it could kill him.

"They are dead," a gravelly voice whispered into her ear, and Nypra struggled to open her eyes again. "Do not move. Ziala will tend you." The blurred, broad muzzle of the earth warrior came into view, and she felt the ground itself shift as her clansman settled next to her, his flank to her back, his warmth and breath and steady heartbeat a comfort to her.

Ziala, the ngran-kresh, approached her and laid a gentle, webbed paw on her cheek. "Hear the world singing in your ear," she whispered to Nypra, whose eyes fell closed again. "And I will put the lifewater back in your body, to save you."

Nypra listened to the wind playing in the leaves and the grasses, the oscillating waves of pain in her body becoming more distant as her mind moved its focal point outside her flesh. For a while, her spirit sat upon a tree limb and was painted by the sunlight sifting through the boughs of the yellow-leafed tree. There was no thought or need for it, no worries or concerns; just the sunlight and the bark and the leaves-- and the wind.

Ziala spoke, an alluring whisper of solidness and movement, and the hunter was drawn back to her body. The blood had dried and crusted on her pelt, and aches pounded through her muscles, but she was no longer bleeding. She was hale and whole again. The water and the earth helped her stand, and she looked over towards the fire that had been hurt. "Chiang will be fine," Ziala murmured, round dark eyes flicking to the sleeping warrior. "Dychi is going to take you back now."

"They are dead?" Nypra managed, scanning the area for the corpses of the grey creatures. She didn't see them, but there were wide swathes of blood on the pale blue grass.

"They are dead," Dychi affirmed in his dark voice, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with her. Gently, he nosed at the top of her head. "Let's return, little huntress."

Together, the earth and air Nhauvrae walked the fields back to the rest of their clansmen.