Chuktik staggered back to the forest, unconcerned if the ha’la’ai saw him.  Monsters, he thought, stumbling from one tree to the next.  The histories never told of this!  In every story of the ha’la’ai—even those told to naughty kits as cautionary tales—there was no mention of such butchery.  Nothing in his life or training prepared him for this.

Before long he stood over his captive, blood rising, his heart racing.  He wanted to scream, to thrash, tear, and rend; he was so far out of balance, so far off the Path, he might find neither ever again.  The creature tied to the tree was still unconscious or pretending to be, and uncontrollable anger gripped Chuktik.  He grabbed the battle staff, narrowed his eyes, and prepared a killing bl...

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