“Consider your options, little kitten,” the old crone, Whisper, purred from atop the rocky outcropping she had claimed as a basking stone in the fading sunlight. “There are always options.”

Encore’s tail twitched as one of the slobbering targs gnashed its slick teeth, causing thick globules of spittle to drip from the base of its tucks. A second to their left scraped at the ground, digging a furrow into the dark, loamy soil.

“I am out of options.” Encore hissed, swinging their spear around to the third targ that edged an inch too close to the rear, the bright metallic tip glinting in the waning orange sun. With a frustrated exhale, it backed away beyond the leaf-shaped tip, leaving drips of hungry saliva in its wake.

“A childish untruth if ever there was one.” Whisper stretched one arm out into a fading ray of sun, her gnarled joints flexing with a crunch.

“I am surrounded.” The targ to her left let out a deep growl, its flanks shuddering with pent-up energy.

“That does not mean you have no options.”

Encore felt the burning eyes of her quarry flare as each took a tiny step closer, closing the circle just beyond the reach of her spear. With a burst of energy, she swung the weapon in an arc again, but none of the trio were deterred this time. Three days they had been chasing this group through the forest, following two days of study, watching them in their grove near the small watering hole. They had charted their movements, their cycles, their preferences. Only when they believed they understood the prey completely had they decided to pounce. What had started as a group of five had quickly turned to four and then three as they chased them easily through the underbrush.

Now it seemed the beasts had gone on the offensive.

“What is the first lesson of the hunt?” Whisper mused from the safety of her perch.

“Now is not the time for a lesson, old woman.”

“It is always time for a lesson, kitten. The sooner you realise that, the quicker you will learn.”

“Help me, Whisper,” Encore pleaded. The burning in their thighs was fading into a seizing pain, a sure sign of their body’s fatigue after three days of unrelenting chase. They might be able to take out one targ, but the other two would surely take advantage and gore them in the process.

“No, shant.” Whisper gave a sharp laugh as she spread-eagled on the top of the warm red stone. “Not until you answer my question.”

The smallest of the three targs did not give them a chance to answer as it erupted into a charge, aimed full pelt towards the young hunter’s weary form. Its howl echoed through the tree stumps as the ground shuddered beneath its ugly cloven hooves. Whatever the Klingons saw in these creatures, Encore did not know; they were vile beasts, all horrid tusks and mangy fur. With a desperate surge of energy drawn from unknown reserves, Encore threw themselves to the side, swinging the slender spear in a wide arc in the hopes it might fend off the ugly creature. A push of resistance from the wooden shaft suggested that it had made contact, but as the dust began to settle, the targ merely howled and groaned with a shake of its hefty shoulders.

Three targs remained.

“The first lesson,” Encore muttered through bared fangs. “Is to wait.”

“Wrong.” Whisper rose to a standing position, her tall, feline form silhouetted high above the scene against the last of the fading sunlight. Behind her, the sky burned with the last glimpses of the planet’s bright red sun as a smattering of the most insistent stars began to peak through the golden sky.

The second targ let out a wild cry as its blood boiled over and took its chance to charge towards Encore as they struggled to their feet. With a desperate yelp, the young hunter rolled to the side, hurling the spear with a furious throw towards the attacking beast. A low squishing of the sharp spearhead piercing flesh indicated it had hit the mark, and the targ skidded to a stop against a nearby boulder with a sickening crack.

“A good shot, but you are now weaponless.” Whisper hissed mockingly. The elder Caitian had a reputation amongst the clan for taking a twisted enjoyment in watching her pupils struggle. Encore had seen nothing to dispel that rumour.

Encore struggled to their feet again, the two targs now circling to face them. Their hackles were raised into spiny manes, and their eyes flared with a furious, desperate desire to take their revenge.

“Rule one.” Whisper chimed as she hovered at the edge of the tall boulder, her claws carving deep cuts into the rockface as they clenched against the stone.

Encore could feel their side beginning to sting from an unseen wound as the warm scent of dark blood filled the air. Perhaps the targ had been more successful than they had given them credit for, though it had paid dearly. The situation seemed inescapable. Encore could turn and run to the forest line, attempt to lose the targs in the thick undergrowth and hope that they would take their losses and leave.

The largest of the targs growled through its long, cracked tusks. The alphas of the pack it had the fire of relentlessness behind its dark eyes. Encore doubted it would give us the chase now that the blood was heavy in the air, and fleeing would only earn her another litany of lessons in a chastising tone. As the golden sun finally settled beyond the horizon and the arena fell into darkness, it all seemed hopeless.

Suddenly, a gleam of quicksilver caught Encore’s attention at the edge of the treeline, hovering in the darkness, unnoticed beyond the pair of murderous beasts. Encore’s heart skipped a beat as the muscular form of Spring over the Glade stepped silently from the shadows, a tall stone hammer swinging from his gigantic arms and a single long clawed finger pressed against his scarred lips.

“Lesson one, mistress,” Encore whispered, a sudden clarity settling into view as Spring lifted the hammer above his head. Above them, Whisper dropped into a crouching position, clutching at the edge of the boulder with all of her gleaming claws.

“Never hunt alone.”