Ratho passes out while clutching Thae’s body to his chest. Until the keening ends, I tremble on the sand. Soon, Mirko pulls my hair, urging me to rise. I stop the flow of blood from Ratho’s leg with strips of winder skin and bandage his side as well. Then, Mirko and I quickly make a fire of shrubs. To keep the living warm is the first work. Despite our tears for Thae.
The gash in my ankle burns. I knot another winder skin tightly about it and tug my torn boot onto my sockless foot. Between my toes, blood squelches.
With his forehead pressed to hers, Ratho does not wake or release Thae’s empty body. She is flopped over his arms, head twisted at an unnatural angle. I wait as Mirko sings a last song to Thae. The deep, long notes for his friend echo and reverberate for her life lost, and with each I feel his pain gush through me and pound against my centerself.
Pulling in a jagged breath, I stand and approach the cat. The one remaining eye is open and glazed, confirming death. I kick the carcass, but the body is so dense it barely moves. I kick and kick until sweat and tears race down my face.
“Where are you, Creator Spirit?” I scream. “Why did you let your creation destroy what is precious to us?” I pull at my hair and stumble. “You leave me here with a wounded partner separated from his rapion. Why? Do you even hear me?” My words strike the rocks and fling into the silent sky. “Do you even exist?”
Mirko lands heavily on my shoulder. I heave my thoughts back to what we can do. Me and Mirko.
The Madronians will send no one to our aid. A personal distress call will go unanswered. All idiocy. It is my duty to get my partner back to the mesa, despite the reality my friend is wounded and has been divided from his rapion before Severation. He may not recover from either. The blame and scorn for Thae’s death alone could destroy him.
I wipe my face on my sleeve. Regardless of any god’s attention or existence, I have to do what I can, right now.
I kick the cat again and roll it onto its back with my hands. Its thick, dirty fur crams between my fingers. Mirko cuts the bola ropes with his talons, and the feline’s legs flop open.
I plunge my knife into the skin and saw downward, opening the belly and circling the vent. Accidentally, I rip the bag, and the entrails steam raw and pungent. Mirko leans over the guts but then turns his head from the stench.
I cough and retch. The cat was ill. I yank on my javelin until it yields from the carcass with a sucking, wet noise. Mirko stands back. I use the point to pound the rib cartilage. The thuds shake upward through my own bones, and the cage breaks in two.
Throwing my javelin aside, I grip the broken bones and pry them apart. A crack snaps the air. My bloody hands worm through the organs, but when I cut out the liver and tilt it to the firelight, Mirko hisses at the piece covered with diseased spots.
Everything is tainted. But, but what about the heart!
My fingers slip through the blood until I grasp it. Sliced free, it fills my palm. The heart of a desert cat I helped kill. Quickly, I wrap it in a winder skin and stuff it into my pack.
After wiping my hands in the sand, I cut around each paw, the tail, and finally the massive head. My stomach rises once more while the skin gives way beneath my knife. I lift and slice it from the carcass. Mirko helps by pulling the skin up and out for me, and soon we are both immersed in the earthy, sticky vapor from our efforts. I reach the back and roll the cat to carve away the other side, and a groan escapes my lips. Ratho still doesn’t stir.
Sweat runs off my chin. My knees drive into the sand while I cut and rip the skin free, until muscle lies exposed in the moonlight. Hard, thick bands twist around the beast. Mirko chews the backstrap from the cat. The sinuous piece is good for sewing, and he lays beside me. Finished, we collapse and drink deeply from my water sack.
The cat’s blood dries on my face and tightens my skin. I glance again at Ratho by the fire. He is unchanged, but his wounds do not seep. I chance a look at Thae and can see even in the faint light that Thae’s lustre has dimmed with her centerself gone. “We must hurry, Mirko.” He bugles and rises into the air.