Swallowed by shadows

[Tenzin]

By now Tenzin found the one called Mik a mild annoyance. His manner was cocky in the way of a lone male roving constant for his next mount. It didn’t offend her; it was nature, after all, and she wished him well in the search. But it made her want to bare her teeth all the same, and chase him along faster to his next diversion rather than be bothered by his hopeful sniffing. He did not understand pack; she was sure of that, and it was that sense alone which made her bristle. He offered the invitation, but he did not care if they followed. He looked only to the importance of his own entertainment, and judged the worth of those in his company by such measure.

Once back in the fresh air she was keen to move on. The neighbourhood into which they emerged was not salubrious, but she did not think either man needed further escort and so she considered her obligation complete. By now her taste for the hunt had been sated, but was not replaced by the lure of game Mik proposed. Though neither was she ready to go home. The wolves were quiet now, and her heart was yet restless. She would find some place to wash along the river, and then tend to the weapon sheathed about her waist. It was with that resolution firmly set she would have slipped away, but for the pause she gave at Andre’s words.

In rural India there were still those who respected the old ways; who welcomed the rākṣasa hatyārā into homes and at table, and still gave thanks. Tenzin mourned deeply for how broken her people were in the west; for how much had been lost and torn and ruined, unrealised until she had travelled to Moscow. Here, the Athari were not honoured as warriors and protectors, but reviled as fanatics and murderers. And with good cause. That was what grieved her most.

She doubted he meant what he said with half the formality she chose to ascribe the sincerity. He didn’t even know what she was, but it chimed some bittersweet nostalgia in her chest, for things that were and things that should be. Tradition was important, and nothing grew from ashes without effort. Despite her hidden nature, and the death warrant her own people would place on her head at its discovery, she would honour vows made to her dying breath. Jacinda was proof that things might yet change.

“Don’t owe,” she said after a moment. “Is duty here.” She tapped her chest, then offered a formal nod that touched the edges of a bow. “But accept of honour, with thanks. So much forgotten. Is nice.” The quick smile returned as she straightened, a snort of laughter dispelling what had had the air of ritualistic formality. “Plus, stinky work tonight. So maybe little owed after all.”

She gestured him after Mik. She would follow.