This one has been sitting on the back burner for a while. But I've got a lot of time on my hands at the moment, it is! Hope you like it!


It's dark again.

Another night on this planet. How many have gone by?

How long has it been?

Since I was banished...

Yet'rin crouched atop the pewter shingle roof, ignoring the metallic whine it made as it swayed faintly beneath his weight. He gazed upwards at the faraway stars, although their distance made them invisible, their heat lost in the vast void of space between them and the planet. He knew they were still there.

And that they'd never get any closer.

The soft shuffling of leaves filtered into his mask, the dusky smell of soggy and recently overturned topsoil lingered on the wind. Somewhere in the distance a lone creature was digging among some ragged roots, tiny claws scratching against the rough bump surface, scavenging for a pliable scrap. A patch of grass beside the pitiful fence beyond the swing shifted. The branches of nearby tress crackled together in midnight chatter. Nothing of significance stirred.

Well, nothing outside the house...

The hunter turned at the faint muffle-whimper of sound seeping from the thin protrusion beside him. Leaning closer, he could still smell the remnants of smoke drifts within the serrated stone opening. The fire he had started at its base within the tiny dwelling had died hours ago. He cocked his head to the side, tuning out the familiar voices of the night. The discontented murmur came again. He jumped down from the roof and stepped inside the too-small flimsy, dark structure as silently as possible.

Sidestepping various objects that cluttered the warm, fuzz matt floor of the small room, Yet'rin made his way towards the blanket huddle-heap beside the no longer flickering hearth. He could see the two tiny heat-signature frames beneath the thin blanket, one curled in blissful slumber against the side of the fireplace, the other squirming furiously within the cloth tangles, its head weaving from side to side in discomfort.

Tugging the frayed edge of the covers, the confused yautja pulled it free of the creature's face and arms and tossed it to the side. Opening its large eyes wide, the miniscule creature's arms stopped flailing, and its head turned to face the sudden cool breath of air rushing at its exposed skin. Blinking for a moment in the darkness, its eyes darted around the room in fright, cheeks glistening with pixie-dust tear trails. At last pausing to focus on the large dark shape hovering over it in the darkness, it sniffled and spoke croaked a word.


Yet'rin shook his head at the identification, knowing full well its meaning even before his mask translated the term yet again. He forced the strange dialect from his throat, having been practicing certain responses.

It wasn't like he had anything better to do...

"No. Not...'Daddy'."

He watched the little being cringe visibly at the harshness of his voice, watched the glossy orbs widen in recognition and realization and remembrance. He could see the coloration of fear seeping into its body, could detect the liquid streaks lining its face. He reached out a large hand to pat, 'her' on the head.

The length of the fragile-soft hair was one of the easiest ways to tell the two of them apart, he had decided.

With a soft but shrill cry she dodged his touch and fell back upon the floor, yanking the coverlet over her face once more. Hushed but ragged sobs collided with the silence of the room. Yet'rin stood and looked down upon the once again shaking form, but didn't have the slightest idea of what to do.

At least the other one was somewhat easier to console...

That being the other prominent way of telling them apart.

Sighing, the abandoned yautja left the room, padding outside to the comforting embrace of darkness and nighttime banter. Though he wished he could not, he still heard the mournful whimpers slipping from beneath the door to dance precociously into the chilly air and chime inside his mask. He sat down on the porchstep and covered his ears with his hands, an unfruitful action.

Why did it bother him so?

She cried every night...

He didn't blame her.

Not after what he'd done.