Serpent of the Abyss by S.J. Sanders
Chapter 13
Kehtal frowned, watching Slengral as the male disappeared back down the shaft with his hunt. Three danthas was more than one male could eat alone. Was he taking an offering down to the shinara? It was strange that he would do so when clearing the shaft and main tunnels should have been everyone’s primary concern. The females, while enjoying the game hunted from above, did not lack for food in their shinara. They did not depend on the game like unmated hunters did. In their current situation, a male surfacing to make a kill would have been expected, but this was unusual. Especially from him.
For as long as Kehtal had known him, Slengral often went a moon cycle or two without bringing a gift. Not long enough to rouse the attention of the shinara while making his disinterest clear to everyone else. When he did make an appearance with game, it was rarely an offering as fine as a fat dantha, nor was it ever presented to a female in hope of being selected for her clutch. No, when Slengral appeared it often seemed more as an after thought in which he deposited his kill with others and returned. Kehtal always thought that the male disliked the expectation of offerings on principle. He certainly would not make the effort to hunt when the cave was a mess.
Stretching his wings thoughtfully from where he rested on his perch, he drew in a breath and flew up the short distance to Daskh’s tunnel. They had broken away large segments of the blockage, enough to where he could get up to Daskh a bit easier. Although he did not have significant problems flying through before, the extra space to maneuver comfortably made doing so less of a chore.
As usual, his friend—as much as he could consider the grumpy male a friend, which was probably rather sad in retrospect—was resting on his coils at the entrance of his tunnel. Daskh was a strange case in this as well. He was often seen at the front of his tunnel, watching the comings and goings of Seshanamitesh rather than in his nest. At times, Kehtal wondered if the male’s nest was so miserable that he preferred the tunnel to it.
It would have been a ridiculous line of thought, and had been proved so when, in a rare mood of charitableness, Daskh had gifted him with a finely made cushion for his own nest when Kehtal had struggled with making something suitable. Daskh was uniquely skilled at making the softest leathers and was talented at weaving the thick fur of the large gashthans who dwelled in the cooler climates of the mountains.
Every rainy season when the gashthans descended from the mountains to eat the tender plants that sprung up all over the sands, Daskh eagerly hunted them, his larger size little obstacle against the slower, but formidable, beasts. It was not until after receiving the gift that Kehtal realized that Daskh did more than just eat the creatures and use their pelts for crude bedding. Daskh’s abrasive personality and brute exterior belied the talents he truly possessed. In truth, Kehtal doubted if anyone except for himself even knew.
That insight made their friendship even closer. Daskh, while intensely private, would often show him his newest project when Kehtal asked. It was done with much grumbling, but Kehtal knew of no other male he granted such privilege to. Perhaps it was for this reason that he felt so free to speak to Daskh, even if the male was a terrible conversationalist.
At Kehtal’s approach, one of Daskh’s green eyes opened to peer at him. For however he appeared, coiled comfortably on his ledge, he noticed everything around him.
“Were you not just here?” he grumbled.
Kehtal ignored the question. “Did you notice that Slengral is behaving strangely?”
Daskh’s ear ridges flicked, and his wings shrugged up off his back. “Many males start acting strangely when the females near their breeding season,” he observed in a flat, unconcerned voice.
Kehtal whipped his tail dismissively, the tip slashing through the air as if to kill such an idea. “Not Slengral. The females come into their breeding season every two moon cycles. I think I would have noticed him acting like this before.” He drew up higher next to the other male, his wings leisurely flapping to keep in place as he stared down into the shaft thoughtfully. “Slengral never takes more food than he absolutely requires for himself. He just made a good kill that should have satisfied him for a few waking cycles, and I know that he recently visited the fruit caves. Now he returns with three danthas. It is strange.”
“Maybe he has changed his mind about attracting a female,” Daskh mused, a deep humorless chuckle rumbling out from him. “There is more than one in the shinara who would be eager to draw him into her clutch. If he starts now before the breeding season, he will likely be selected.”
Kehtal gave the male a doubtful look. “Maybe I should…”
Daskh sighed, his tail uncoiling lazily as he stretched. “Do not follow him, Kehtal. Leave him be.”
Now it was Kehtal who sighed as he reluctantly dropped back down to his own ledge. He hated not knowing.
* * *
Daskh eyed Kehtal with amusement as the smaller male dropped down to his own tunnel. The male meant well, but he was perhaps the most curious adult Seshanamitesh Daskh had ever spent time around. The male was also, fortunately, a skilled and ruthless fighter, which saved his tail when his curiosity led him into situations better off left alone.
He did not understand what drove his friend, not that he did not find Slengral’s unexpected activity surprising. Quite the contrary. With all the time he spent on his ledge, observing the males of the tunnel and watching for any potential danger—first from predators and now also from the aliens above—he found anything out of the normal attention-worthy, but he only interfered if there was a potential threat involved. A male’s courting behavior hardly fit, though Kehtal’s observations were not incorrect. Slengral had not shown any interest in breeding with the females of the shinara in all the time he had known them. In fact, the male had been very strong in his opinion that the whole transaction was degrading. He wanted a mate, not just a temporary clutch.
Daskh could not pretend that he understood. All males wanted a mate, but every other male he knew of wanted to be selected for breeding. A male of Slengral’s size, health and coloring would have no trouble attracting many females, which made his decisions all the more difficult to understand. Even Daskh secretly desired it, despite the fact that he had long given up on such notions. Though he thought Slengral’s choices odd, he respected them, and respected the male’s privacy when it came to such matters.
He was more curious about the scent he caught on the male when he passed close. Not the scent of prey or anything familiar, but sweet and addictive. It clung to Slengral as if he brushed against a patch of blooming flowers during the wet season. That was not for a few more moon turnings, though. And unlike that fragrance, which was merely pleasant, this dug down deep into him, heating his blood.
The thickening of his sant still alarmed him though it had begun to recede. What was even more worrisome, however, was the need that filled him to find the source and claim it for his own. A hum rumbled through him as his coils flexed and shifted with longing beneath him.
That scent was a mystery that he was far more interested in solving should he get close to it again.