Roakan found the humans ugly with their furless pink skin, flat faces, and tiny bodies. How the other sa-khui males resonated with such weak creatures was beyond him. Why would their khui pick a mate bound to die so easily? Why would his chief bother saving these feeble things?
He didn’t bother learning their language or their names, barely spared them a second glance. Why would he? He had a mate, his khui belonged to his mate and he would never take another. No matter how many moons passed since he lost her, he would never find another. The other males, the young unmated hunters, were desperate to resonate with one of the humans. Fools, he would growl to himself, fools loving weak creatures bound to die.
He had bared his teeth when his chief sent him to rescue one of those weak creatures who had wandered out on their own. Why bother? Roakan fought the brutal winds that slashed his face for two days. He was the best hunter in the tribe and could track a dvisti through a blizzard; following the human’s careless path was effortless. As expected, he tracked them to the Elder’s Cave. What he had not expected was finding them tangled in a mess of brightly colored ropes and shiny silver tools as they dug into the walls of the cave.