Swiftcurrent Creek rasputin

muskrat hurt, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from making more noise as he stalked closer, circled her. she did not fear the man, for if he had wanted to kill her, he would have done it while his teeth loomed behind her skull. 

why did he not kill her? muskrat's belly was full, the only consolation in a skin of hurt; she would have gladly taken the fullness into death.

he spoke and the harsh lemon eyes flashed with insult. carefully, both to avoid inviting his wrath and to tend her aching body, muskrat sat up.

"you give insult to awqalli. i swamp panther. i fight." a paw raised to touch the thin ridge of ragged pink scar. "i kill." muskrat glared at the man. "you capture awqalli, you keep until repay."

to be sent out into the world injured was not the reason for offense. muskrat had borne her pain and kept herself alive. it was in his refusal to see her own quick prowess that she was insulted. her tribe kept those they defeated in battle for six journeys of the moon. sometimes an enemy warrior, no longer an enemy after half a year, stayed among muskrat's people. but while there, they were expected to do the hardest labor and the most dangerous hunting.

but these were not her people. he was not. muskrat lifted to her feet now, the worthless hind dangling, and took a strong step away from the warrior, though her eyes did not leave him. the rudeness of the man and the rejection of their dance as fighters, it could be left behind if he truly meant to let her leave.