SwitchBladeRats

 She clawed back into consciousness with a shocked gasp early in the morning. It quickly broke into a coughing fit. She tried to lift her hands to hold her throat but something stopped her.

Kx'leo was draped over her hips, still snugly inside of her. He stirred at her coughing, flipping them lazily onto their sides. His knot had deflated just enough she could pull herself away, but it did little to ease the burning in her chest. She looked at the man— her mate, with terror. 

Tears started in the corners of her eyes, hands flying over her mouth. Kx'leo stirred again, a hand brushing her cheek as he mumbled something vaguely comforting. Her eyes drifted to their connected kurus. Quickly, she snatched hers back, breaking the bond. Kx’leo made little more than a grumble at the sensation. 

A part of her soul ached, longing to share her pain and alleviate it. But her mind bit back; he is too weak, too scared, unable to help. A silent sob shook her chest, tears falling into the furs and fibers beneath her.

She lay there for a while, doing her best to quiet her crying so as not to wake up the monster sleeping next to her. All her grief, terror, and pain crashed over her in waves. The storm only growing stronger at each swell. It was unbearable.

Her eyes glide to the side of the dark tent where weapons were displayed. His trophies from past raids. It'd be easy, she thinks. A brief pain, then it goes cold and black. 

She sees the Omatikaya boy lying in his blood. Imagining each step he took to be free of the demon that now snores at her side. She glanced at him only a moment before carefully turning herself onto her belly, and then onto her feet. Her tail gently swayed behind her, tracing each step the boy had likely walked before. It’s only three strides to the wall. 

She examines each blade, trying to find the right one for the job. A small onyx hunting knife draws her eye. It was sharp, with a small bone handle. It had sigils carved delicately into the hilt. Anurai, perhaps. 

Trembling fingers reached out to the handle.

Kx'leo stirs, suddenly aware of the lack of heat at his side. He cracks his eyes open, still half asleep. He sees Mawn'a standing looking at the wall. A flicker of annoyance burns in his chest. Now what is she doing? He thinks with pinned ears.

When she reaches for the small hunting knife, his gut twists. He sits up as quietly as he can. Surely she did not believe she could get away with stabbing him in his sleep. 

But to his horror, she points the blade down at her own outstretched arm. His heart stops, and before he could think it through he leaps into motion, throwing furs off his back. 

He stumbles coming off the bed, chest colliding with her back as he reaches desperately for the knife. A heartwrenching cry leaves her when it is pulled from her hands.

Kx'leo throws it across the tent, spinning her to face him. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” He roared in her face, heart thundering.

She shrinks down into herself, hands covering her eyes as tears start again. He looks at her, ears pinned, annoyed at her audacity for tears. 

As she sinks to her knees, his eyes wander his tent to collect what just happened. Starting at the bed, then over to his trophy wall, and finally on the knife now resting by his work bench. With a click, it dawns on him exactly what she was about to do. 

He feels sick to his stomach as a twisted fear grips him. Then, anger burns over. He, Kx'leo, a raid captain for the Mangkwan, would feel such fear?

He grabs her hands, roughly ripping them from her face to force her gaze even with his. Bloodshot eyes glisten with unshed tears right through his rage. 

“I never thought you so weak,” he hisses. Mawn’a recoiled as if he hit her. He continues, disgust evident in his voice, “what a fucking disgrace.”

Mawn'a folds into herself with a wail, as tight as she could. Kx'leo stills. He was expecting a cruel remark, or some kind of attack, not… this. He just stares at her in disbelief. 

With a huff he crouches down and hesitantly touches her back, shushing her. She curls tighter into herself at his touch.

“Do not cry so loudly. You will wake the clan,” his voice cooed softer, though there was still a biting edge of annoyance. Mawn’a took a shuddering breath, still lost. Tears leaving fresh tracks down her cheeks before dripping to her knees. Her grief, still eating her whole.

Huh, he thought, not sure what to even do with this. As he sat there, watching her sob, He recalled what others would do to calm a child. Mothers rocking their babes, toddlers sunk into shoulders.

It was not even second nature to him. 

He cautiously gathered her up into his arms, holding her to his chest while she sobbed. It is slightly unsettling that she lets him. Something sharp wraps around his heart. His chest is so tight, and it feels as if stones sit in his throat. Why?

“Mawey, Mawn’a. Do not let the others hear you,” he grumbles gentler while rocking her softly. Still she cries, curled into his chest, but at least a little quieter.

He rests his head on top of hers trying to think how to remedy this situation. What usually makes me feel better? He muses, still rocking her gently. Her sobs settle into small hiccups and sniffing as he hums in thought. 

 A good fuck or a bath usually does it. 

He looks down at the woman, immediately finding the hand shaped bruise encircling her throat from earlier in the night. He decides on a bath.

She doesn’t resist when he scoops an arm under her knees, and lifts her against him. Her arms even snake around his neck on instinct, just holding herself up. 

He balanced her on his knee while bending down to a basket, pulling a pxenfyin to wrap over her. She shivers as he ties it loosely at her neck. He holds another wrapped around his own hips, and heads for the door. 

The sun is just peaking over the horizon when he exits the tent. The village barely stirs, night shift guards practically asleep at their posts. Morning fires being lit. No one pays them any mind as he walks, mate clutched to his chest. 

Mawn’a does not pay attention. Her eyes are emptily staring at her own lap, clutching the cloth over her chest with one hand. She doesn’t have any thoughts. Just an ache that feels right out of reach. 

And then warmth, starting at her toes. 

She looks up now, taking in her surroundings. Kx’leo still holds her as he steps into a pool of water. It is steaming at the surface in the cool morning air. Several other pools of varying sizes dot the area. He wades into this one until the water is at his hips, just skimming the bottom curve of Mawn’a’s rear. 

Kx’leo lowers himself onto a stone shelf beneath the waters surface, settling Mawn’a over his lap. It seems careful, despite the tension running through him. Clenched jaw, and shoulders set like stone. 

Mawn’a curls inward automatically, just trying to stay small. Invisible. Her gaze locked onto the fabric clutched between her fist as it soaks up the water. 

Then the fabric is being peeled off of her, and tugged from her fist. Her hands shake at the absence. She doesn’t look up as Kx’leo tosses the covering to the warm stone beside the pool. 

He cups his hands beneath the surface, and brings the steaming water up to stream down over her shoulders. She flinches. His ears flick in annoyance, but he does not speak. He just does it again. 

Over and over he watches as the water tracks in glistening streams over her mottled skin. One hand stays loose at her side for when she threatens to curl into herself further. 

Mawn’a’s sniffles are quiet now. Exhausted and empty. The sound causes something to twist unpleasantly inside of him. His grip tightens around her waist a fraction. He is frustrated, not understanding why the sight of her like this unsettles him so much. 

She should be fighting. Snarling, threatening to bite. Glaring with that fire in her eyes that has always seemed far too great for her body. Instead she sits limply in his arms, staring at nothing. 

The thought sparks fresh anger. His tail lashes sharply through the water. “Why?” He finally growls out between his teeth. Mawn’a does not answer, and the silence frustrates him more. 

“Why?” He repeats with more force this time. She shrinks beneath the sound, her breath coming fast and shallow. 

Like the paint that floats off of him in strands, his anger loses shape. The fight draining from him as quickly as it came. He stares at her, confused by the hollowness left behind. He lets out a long, aggravated sigh. He just cups more water over her shoulders. 

The heat loosens the tensions in her spine little by little. Water runs over bruises, healing cuts, and skin that has spent far too long locked tight with fear. She dares a quick look over him. Over the places the paint is being stripped by the water. The warrior who made villages tremble seems strangely diminished sitting here, washing someone tenderly. 

Her eyes snap up to his when he speaks again. “You are a fool.” He mutters. 

Mawn’a laughs. It shocks both of them into sudden stillness. It’s brittle enough to make his stomach flip. 

“You gave me the idea.” She says in a rasp, looking back down at the ripples on the surface. 

His hand pauses half way up to pour more water, the contents trickling through his fingers. His head tilts down to catch her eye, tight with agitation. 

“What?” He asked in an exhale. 

“You showed me.” 

His gaze remains fixed on her, but his ears press back in question. But then, it comes to him. The Omaticaya boy. The memory he had forced into her mind. 

“That is my only way out of this. That is what you showed me.” She says quietly. 

Kx’leo stares at her in utter disbelief. “That is not—” he cuts himself off in a scoff, shaking his head. “No.” He says firmly, dropping his hands away from her. 

“I was trying to scare you—”

Mawn’a looks up to him quickly. He sees it again. The fire burning behind her eyes, fueled by fresh rage and new pain. Those blood shot, exhausted eyes, imagining every single way she wished to tear him apart. 

“You believed me too proud to try.” She rasped, suddenly pushing off of his lap to stand on her own in the water. It sloshes around her sharp movements. Kx’leo stays seated where he is. 

As she stands, staring at him, the warm water seems to seep further into her bones. Her knees tremble from exhaustion at her little outburst, and she turns away. Her shoulders shake as she tries to settle herself again, not to waste energy on trying to make this monster understand. How could he possibly understand? 

The water moves in small waves as he moves behind her. A rough hand lays gently on her shoulder. The other gestures to the pool from her side. Slowly, Mawn’a sinks to her knees, letting the water come up just under her shoulders. She does not look as Kx’leo caresses her back, pressing his thumb into sore muscles. Using the water to work the tension away in painfully gentle strokes. 

He lowers himself behind her as he works. The silence burns between them. Each caught in their own world, unsure of how to make the other see it clearly. 

“I was worried.” He says softly behind her. So soft it could’ve been carried away by the steam. Not an admission at all.

Mawn’a kept her eyes on the ripples and ribbons of steam. Just allowing the emptiness to cradle her anger. Smooth it into a shape she does not have to strain to hold onto. 

“You do not have the right to worry for me.” She says through strained muscles in her throat. 

Kx’leo grabbed her by the shoulders again, hard enough now to make her flinch. Her breath caught as he spun her around, and caged her against the steep edge of the pool. His eyes bright with emotion she did not quite have time to decipher. 

“I am your mate.” He says coldly through his teeth. Each word has her flinching harder into the rock surface. 

Then he pulls back, and takes her wrist to guide her deeper into the pool again. She stays still as he turns her back around, and resumes cleaning her off more diligently. Wiping his hands along the creases and curves of her body. Ignoring when she tenses or whines. 

He leaves her sitting, sniffling and processing on the stone shelf as he bathes himself. Wiping away the rest of his paint, and ensuring he is well scrubbed even without his precious soap berries.

The walk back to their tent was tense and quiet. More people were awake now preparing for the day. Some sat and reapplied ash paint while others cooked breakfast. All stared as the raid captain marched by, dragging his new mate behind him hand clutched around her wrist. They whisper about the bruises and wounds adorning both.

Kx'leo stops dead in his tracks when he sees his tent flap open. An uneasiness washes over him, hand flying for a knife that wasn't there. Right. He was in nothing but his wrap without a weapon. With a frustrated growl he snapped to Mawn'a,

“Stay close.”

He lets go of her hand, ears focused on  his tent. Eye flick back once to make sure she is following. She is, her other hand rubbing her wrist.

Cautiously he stepped into the entry way, muscles tensed to jump for a weapon. 

What he saw had him tense for another reason. Kx’leo instantly lowered his stance, eyes to the ground after finding the Tsahik standing in his tent. 

Wukula stood casually next to her, leaning against the center support beam, loose and entirely too entertained by his comrades' anxiety. 

“Tsahik,” he greeted with a further dip of his head before looking back at Mawn’a, and gesturing her inside with a tip of his head. Just as cautiously as he had, she stepped inside. Though when she found their guest, she did not lower herself the way Kx’leo had. First she looked at the Tsahik with her chin held higher, then her eyes slid to Wukula. She clutched the damp wrap tighter against her as Wukula’s eyes trailed over her.

She glared at him, body going rigid. Something in those eyes bid her to run, setting off every alarm bell she had. Her ears pinned as she fought her tail from lashing.

Varang looked around the torn apart room with those calculated yellow eyes before finding the couple again. Her tail snapped just once when Mawn’a did not avert her gaze. 

“It seems you have had a long night.” Varang says in an almost bored tone. 

Kx’leo can’t help a grin. “Nothing I could not handle, Tsahik.”

Then Wukula pushed himself off of the support post with a chuckle, approaching Kx’leo as he straightened.  “Do I have to remind you of your duties for the Sä’eoio?” He asked with a smile as Kx'leo rolled his eyes.

“Of course not, brother.” he huffed as Wukula took him by the shoulder. Kx'leo paused, looking at Mawn'a who was still holding eye contact with the Tsahik. 

Wukula caught the way his glance carried a little too long. That smile turned into an annoying smirk as he clapped a hand over the back of Kx’leo’s head, hard enough to make him glare back with half a snarl. 

“Love sick already?” Wukula teased as Kx’leo jerked his head away from his grip. Then, Wukula looked over Mawn’a more properly. Eyes raking down, nearly salivating over the way the thin covering plastered against her wet skin. 

Kx’leo was looking at her too, but for once there was no lust in his eyes. 

“Tam tam, ma Kx’leo. She is a big girl, she can handle herself.” Wukula said in a low chuckle as Mawn’a angled her cutting glare to his yellow eyes. She couldn’t stop her tail snapping now. 

Kx’leo made a sound that might’ve been a growl as he stood straighter, and reached for Mawna. But Varang’s voice stopped his advance. 

“Your mate will be attended, Kx’leo. Go, you have work to do.” 

Kx’leo dropped his hand. He gave one more look over his mate, and then back to his Tsahik with a bow of his head. 

“Yes, Tsahik.” He said evenly. 

Mawn’a stood like a stone as Kx’leo quickly dressed himself, being teased and chided by Wukula the entire time, until the older warrior clapped hands over his shoulders and began guiding him outside. 

Wukulas gaze stayed locked on Mawn’a’s as they passed. What is that guys deal?

And then, there were two. 

The women stared at each other. Each waiting for the other to make the first move.

Mawn'a shifts her weight. The wet cloth begins to stick uncomfortably cool in the morning air. Varang smiles coldly and tilts her head.

“Sit,” she demands, pointing to the disheveled bed.

Mawn'a feels her resistance fade to exhaustion. She knew that at least this Tsahik wanted her alive. She slowly walks over to the bed and thumps down unceremoniously. 

Varang peels the wrap from her flinging it to the side, face grim at the bruises around her neck. Her black stained fingers trace the marks. Mawn’a fights the urge to flinch at the touch.

“It seems your husband is very… passionate,” Varang muses. Gracefully she walks over to the work bench, searching through until she finds what she is looking for. Three stone jars sealed tight with hide. 

Next she pulled out a small but very sharp blade, looking it over. Mawn’a ears pinned, nerves shot from the previous 72 hours. Gathering what she needed, Varang made her way back to the bed. Her hand caressing Mawn’a’s head as she went. 

This time, she did flinch, leaning away from the Tsahík's touch. Black stained hands quickly found her Kuru and pulled, forcing Mawn’a to hiss up at the woman. The hiss dies quickly when the knife appears in sight.

“Im giving you a great honor, you know,” her hands trailed down her braid to the end. She slowly began to untie it. Mawn'a's stomach tightened. Slowly Varang undid her braid piece by piece to expose her kuru.

“Not many get to say the Tashik prepared them personally for their Sä’eoio,” she hummed, starting to undo the decorative braids on the sides of Mawn’a’s head next.

“I am thrilled.” Mawn'a says through clenched teeth, hissing when Varang pulls her hair a little too hard.

“Stop pretending your life is over. You simply have a new path to walk,” varang growls softly. Mawn’a feels the knife begin to cut against her heads right side, leaving only uneven stubs of hair behind it. Her nails dig into her palms.

Mawn'a's ears flick back in anger but she holds her tongue. There is nothing she can say here. Nothing that will benefit her anyway. She sees the game Varang is going to play. Manipulate her and brainwash her just like every other lost soul here. And it would be better for her to let Varang think she could do the same to her.

“I have that new path for you,” black hands continue to gently cut away at her braids. Varang murmured to her, voice melodic,

“if you were to walk outside this tent right now, the clan will only see you as Kx'leo's woman. A prize to be won,” 

she paused.

“Or taken.”

Mawn'a shot her a glare.

“So I'm trapped then?” 

Varang chuckled, pleased that the woman seemed to be walking into her plan.

“You can sit in this tent and be used by your husband and convince yourself of that,” varang hummed, hands caressing the other's shoulders, “or you can leave the tent and have the people see you instead.”

Mawn'a scoffed, keeping her head straight and her body stiff.

“Show them who you are, gift them your knowledge. Make our children stronger.” Varang coos in her ear.

“be our midwife.”  

Mawn’a actually felt her breath hitch. She did not expect an offer like that. She turns her head just slightly to look at the Tsahik from the side of her eyes. 

“Let me give you something no one else here can. A life that will belong to you— not Kx'leo, or any other who lays hands on you,” she continues, offering the poisoned gift. Mawn’a tensed, not wanting to be too eager to accept and be seen through. So she bit her cheek and stayed angry.

Varang chuckled and bent down next to her right ear, arms wrapping around her shoulders, “Take your time, think this over, Mawn'a. I will call for you in a couple days for your answer.” slender fingers walked over her collar bone.

“As you wish… Tsahik,” she responded with bite.

“Good.” Varang straightened up playfully, booping her nose and going back to removing her side braids and shaving the sides of her head.

They stay quiet as scraping fills the tent. Her head smooth under the razor. Soon her Tlaim styled hair is no more. Only a singular thick braid coated in ash to dull the bright brown to a cool grey.

A cool slap on her back snapped Mawn’a back into her body. A black hand passed her the largest of the three jars.

“Cover what you can reach, I will get the rest,” Varang commanded, rubbing ash stained paint against her back. Mawn'a follows the orders that the Tsahik gave her. Empty, simply moving through the motions. The exhaustion from the past days fights settling the longer she sat.

“How is Kx'leo treating you?” Varang's quiet murmur once again brought Mawn'a back from her empty mind. Blue and green eyes snap to cold yellow, closing when varang begins painting red beneath her eyes. 

“What does it look like to you?” Mawna rasps back, throat still sore from the various abuses.

“Mm. His toys tend to not last long.”

 Mawn'a's ears flick back at Varang's statement, her tail thumping once. Varang takes a breath to continue, still painting down to her chest. Mawn'a cuts her off.

“Let me guess I should thank you,” her eyes snapped open once again, voice sharp. To her surprise, Varang smiles.

“You learn fast. I have given you protection along with your chain,” She grinned while dipping one hand in the next paint. “He is sensitive, believe it or not. The bond will keep him aware of your value.”

Mawn'a fights rolling her eyes, choosing to close them instead. She takes a deep breath through frayed nerves.

“Hm, piercings would look very nice on theses,” Varang mused as her hand held one of Mawn’a’s breasts, slender thumb rolling over her nipple. Mawn’a's tail shot straight up like she was struck by lightning, whole body tensing.  

Varang just smirked and continued painting. Mawn’a eyed her nervously until her tail relaxed into short flicks.

Was she making a joke?

The Tsahik continued diligently painting the woman until she looked like just another body in those grave. After the final stroke Varang guided Mawn’a to stand, holding her hands before opening her arms wide. Yellow eyes surveyed the work carefully. 

“This will suffice. The paint suits you. Think on what placement you want for the Sä’eoio piercings,” The Tsahik stated, still looking over her work. “You have some time before Kx'leo returns. I suggest you rest. Very important for your health.” 

With a knowing grin, she walks over to Kx’leo’s work bench and picks up the blade that had been laying there since morning. Mawn’a swallows stiffly. Varang simply places it back on the trophy wall, fingers lingering over it for just a moment longer than coincidence.

Mawn'a suddenly feels very small. She takes a shuddering breath to hold herself together. Varang snakes out of the tent, and only then did Mawna let herself sag. Her knees dropped to the bed, eyes stinging with fresh tears. As she was about to let herself break, the rustling of the tent flap drew her attention.

“Sorry to disturb you, Tsahik ordered me to keep watch over you… until Kx’leo returns,” a slender woman says as she stands in the doorway. Her skin is painted in ash. Lines of black painted under her eyes like tears, matching Mawn’a’s. Those bright yellow eyes pierced into her, but they were not unkind. Instead, they held a surprising warmth behind them that she had not yet seen in any other Mangkwan.

“Oh goodie,” Mawn'a muttered, rubbing her forehead with the heel of her palm and turning her back to the new intruder. Slowly she pulled the furs back together into bed. She hates the way his smell clings to the blankets, but she is too tired to actually do anything about it.

The other woman’s eyes lingered on her as she moved around, taking in the cuts and bruises in various states of healing. The paint hid most, but these eyes were trained and sharp. 

“My name is Sanska,” the woman introduced herself, voice low and soothing, “I am a healer here.” 

The woman, Sanska, placed a pile of clothing on the surface of Kx’leo’s work bench before approaching casually. 

Mawn'a stalled from slipping into the bed, glaring suspiciously at Sanska. The woman was lithe, but not from fighting. She held the form of a hard life carved out in the Ashlands. Her hair was braided and bundled around her kuru up and out of her face. Her eyes were drawn back to Mawn’a’s face, creased with minor concern. 

“Will you allow me to look over some of your injuries?” Sanska asked gently. Mawn'a felt some of her anger melt at the simple question. The genuine care. It was… conflicting. 

“No. I can treat them myself given the proper time,” she replied over her shoulder while finally getting into the bed.

“Right now I just need to rest.” She snapped, but then her ears dropped with a bit of shame. This woman had not done anything to slight her. Not yet at least. 

“Thank you, though. My name is Mawn’a,” she said softer before signing oel ngati kameie to Sanska. 

Sanska gave her a gentle smile as she lowered to her knees, shaking her head softly. “We do not do that here. But, it is a pleasure to meet you regardless.”

Mawn’a gulped, feeling a slight embarrassment. Of course they do not greet each other in the way a follower of Eywa would. What could the possibly have to see of each other. But Sanska stayed relaxed. 

“Rest. I will be no bother.” Sanska hummed while leaning herself back against the center support beam. The same one Mawn’a had been tied to hours ago. Mawn’a’s stomach churned, her eyes flickering away. 

She laid herself down, and forced her eyes to close. Thankfully her thoughts did not hound her. Sleep was a welcomed friend, wrapping around her to snuff out this nightmare if only for a moment.