The swarm sprinted headlong as fast as we could through the jungle. I lead the way, constantly humming to the tune of my [Innervating Address] in the hopes it would spur my swarm onward. It helped, a little, but not enough.

I was unsure if I was imagining it, but I could hear the thumping of heavy feet in the jungle behind us, chasing, gaining.

“MOVE FASTER YOU FANGLESS WORMS!”

The panic in my voice spurred those who could move faster to greater haste, whatever they could garner, but there were several who couldn’t keep up with the rest of us. They slowly lagged behind, and in some I could see panic, fear, but others, a type of acceptance. A pack of older keelish whose names I didn’t know looked at each other, nodded, then deliberately slowed themselves.

“VICTORY BY FANG AND BLOOD! VICTORY! VICTORY! VICTORY!”

The pack of twelve, old and experienced members of the swarm, grinned as they stopped and prepared for their deaths. A part of me wanted to tell them to hurry up and keep running, but the majority of my brain rejoiced in the possibility of slowing the relentless pace set by these incredibly dangerous individuals.

The humans were close enough that I could hear the keelish screams of agony when the squad was ambushed by the pack. There was a coughing explosion of flame, the crash of craggy stone on stone, and calling voices ushering the humans on their advance.

The twelve keelish made no sound again after just a few seconds.

Suddenly, the thought crossed my mind–Took was out on a hunt, and she had Ishtar with her. Were they ok? Had they been found? Were they the source of that initial explosion? Panic tried to weasel its way into my mind, but for the first time, the khatif mentality was welcome when it cooled my thought process, focusing me on the reality that if I didn’t escape this attack, and soon, then it wouldn’t matter if Took and Ishtar still lived.

I wanted to scream out my frustrations, to push the swarm to move ever faster, but I tried to contain myself and my impotent frustration. The cool, wet air around me tried to dampen my raging emotions, but I didn’t let it as I felt condensation settle onto my scales and run down my body. With each step pushing me ever further along and my heartbeat thundering in my ears, I continued running.

A flash of gratitude crossed my mind as I realized that there was no way that the swarm could have kept this up if we hadn’t been on the move so consistently for the past weeks. I was almost grateful, but the reality that a contingent of High Speakers on our trail immediately dampened and killed that moment of positivity. With my body’s condition, I certainly could have surged past the rest of the swarm and almost certainly ensured my own survival… but I wasn’t sure if I wanted to do that.

My efforts fluctuated between beginning to pull ahead of the rest of the swarm and slowly falling back into the main body as I pushed [Innervating Address] to its utmost to try to urge the rest of the swarm on. My indecision cost me.

I began to hear the screams of terror and pain behind me, filling the air as my swarm fell prey in small groups to the attacks of the attacking humans. The attacks were methodical, precise. They shaved off our numbers and stragglers without overextending their efforts in a Calling. Groups of five or so died unceremoniously and cried out in panic, but occasionally there were groups who, seeing their eventual fate, turned to fight with cries of “VICTORY!” “FOR THE SWARM!” and “KILL!”

I watched the swarm thin behind me, and again the khatif part of me thought it best that the weakened and inept sacrifice themselves for the extended survival of the fittest. The ever more quiet human part of my mind protested, thinking of the lives that they could still live, but my methodical, detached side tamped those thoughts down: I needed to survive to mourn them anyway, so focus on survival.

Sweat ran down into my eyes and I furiously blinked it away as a windword rushed past us. I gritted my teeth–did these bastards somehow have reinforcements ahead? How could we possibly…

Wait…

I don’t sweat.

The water running down my body was condensing ever more rapidly, and I could actually hear the rushing, crashing sound of water ahead of us. Looking, a vast, rapidly flowing river rushed ahead of us, several miles wide. The hope for escape once again kindled in my chest, and I screamed out, “CROSS THE RIVER! WE CAN ESCAPE YET!” The swarm picked up what little speed they could as we rushed headlong down the gentle slope leading to the vast river before us.

I prayed to Nievtala that there was no Waterspeaker in the High Speakers behind us.

[Mualtir POV]

The chase had gone on much longer than expected–these keelish were many times more competent and careful than any other body of the pests had ever been before seen. To make matters worse, the scum had begun carrying weapons. This was exactly what the Great Purge had been for–keelish beginning to reattain a shadow of their former power. Thus, Mualtir needed to make sure that the scaly, Dulvroc-begotten filth were disposed of before they could cross the Samutelia, especially since they were near to the narrowest, shallowest crossing within about 80 miles. She couldn’t allow Narsha’at to corrupt and blood-soak the souls of the innocent.

With a murmur, Mualtir conjured up a windword, hoping there was nobody about to be blindsided by hundreds of keelish. She sent it forward, and it was simple:

“Keelish coming your way. Keep out of our way, we’ll take care of it. –di’Thnufir.”