° Shainon and Loriat: The Jungle °

stories of the Taratus Clan by Neishai

Warning: As mentioned on the main page, the histories of the majority of Tarati are explicit. Gore especially, with some very strong language. This mostly true for the first few chapters of our story, afterward things will mellow out greatly. But until then, you have been warned!

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There was a brief, barely audible rustle of leaves by the edge of the clearing. A man jumped and gasped, sweat droplets taking a flying leap off the edge of nose and brow. Everyone's senses were on edge, their range of emotions ranging anywhere between nausea and ghost-white terror. Whispers tittered upward from their mouths like nervous chickadees.

"Where are they?"

"What was that?"

"Is that them?"

With a suspicious frown, their leader, a tall, muscular man, indicated to one of his subordinates near the perimeter with his gun, go check it out. Nervously, with machineguns trained at the brush before him, the shaky young man advanced.

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A large patch of dappled sunlight moved silently through the woods. A flash of pink, and of glistening red, revealed the moving jungle for what it was. Shainon panted as quietly as he was physically able yet it was slow thunder in his ears. Earth powdered his upper arm where it clung to a sticky slick of warm blood.

He came upon a glade just the size he needed to care for his wounds. He curled his furry body in the cradle made up of a mossy stone and a fern-covered tree root, stretching the afflicted limb out to examine. A fresh spurt of blood, like a hot spring, left a runnel down his arm. He hissed in pain, then licked dirt and blood from the wound. A flesh wound.

The large catlike creature allowed himself a sigh of relief, and his was whoosh of metallic breath. Only a flesh wound. Quickly, nearly silently, he unfolded two leaves he had been carrying, picked up in-flight. They were known for their healing properties. He chewed them, careful not to swallow the juice, then applied the poultice to the oozing wound. He bit his tongue against the pain, tears in his eyes, then wrapped the wound with a large leaf and length of pliable vine.

For several moments he rested, listening to the muffled sounds of the world around him. He listened to birds, monkeys, insects, and other animals that would warn him of danger before even he could sense it. Above his head, he heard a soft cackling; looking up he caught a flash of shining black shadow before it disappeared from sight.

Loriat, you must be more careful, he sent to his one known surviving friend. A shifter like himself, only subtly different: she had started life as a bird, while he had always been a man. Their differences were both subtle and vast. Each had both a human and an animal form, but only Shainon had the half-human, half-animal, or taratus form. That was an enigma itself, for none of the tarati knew why this fact was true: other human-turned tarati had this taratus form, but no animal-turned tarati ever had. Apparently this is what their masters had been trying to change.

Do not be angry. I merely wanted to offer some reassurance … to ease your mind, she replied, adoration coloring her mental-voice.

Another difference between human-tarati and animal-tarati was their psychology. While both varieties were equally intelligent in many ways, the latter often looked up to, and often felt awed by, the former. Much like one's pet, they viewed any human-taratus as their superior. Such was the relationship between Shainon and Loriat, something despite all his efforts Shainon could not change. Perhaps it was just as well, for while their forms and even their level of intelligence had been changed, the core thought processes could never be changed. It was like trying to change the rules of gravity.

I'm grateful, of course. I just don't want to see you get hurt. Any sign of the others?

No, and that is as it should be. If they survive, we will all meet at the rendezvous.

Yes. Reluctantly putting them from his mind, he turned his thoughts forward. There was perhaps a mile to go to the rendezvous point. All involved in the escape had agreed upon a meeting place, to regroup, to count heads, and to take solace in the knowledge that there were any survivors. This is where Shainon and Loriat were now headed.

The necessity for all of this enraged Shane. There were many reasons for his wrath.

Shane. There is something -- In his mind, Loriat's coherence ceased abruptly with a scream. For hundreds of feet in all directions, birds took flight, monkeys fled through the trees, all screeching in terror as machinegun fire tore the façade of tranquility like a gauzy piece of cloth.

Lori! Get out of here!

Shane!

You must! No bird would remain here, you'd give yourself away! I'll check it out.

Right. Her voice was choked with horror, but he felt her acquiescent mental-nod. Shane … it was a spotted cat … please be careful.

Shainon felt a sudden nauseating dread fill his stomach. He didn't respond, but Loriat knew all too well that he had heard. The bleeding had finally stopped, giving him the freedom of movement without leaving a trail behind him, like liquid red streamers drizzled on the bright-green leaves and detritus.

As he neared the fountainhead of machinegun fire, he heard the voices of about ten agitated men, all speaking in their native tongue.

"Shit! Juarez, you moron, can't you tell a freak from a fucking cat?!"

"Shut up, man. At least I didn't piss my pants."

A flurry of nervous laughter choked itself off of its own accord. Everyone stared at the leader as he mopped at a fresh chest wound with a handkerchief; he sighed and shook his head. "Its pelt's not even salvageable," he muttered.

Hidden in the bushes not three feet from the closest man, the one called Juarez, Shainon forced himself to silence. More innocent blood shed remorselessly. It made his own blood boil with rage and disgust. Over the acute foulness of death and fear, he could smell that this jaguar had been a female, and that she had not been alone for long; two half-grown cubs had been in her care, and if they were anywhere nearby, they would come to avenge their mother.

He assessed the men as he took in these bits of information. There were seven men total; his initial estimation had been inaccurate. But this man that led them could be counted as two men, for all of his physical strength and shrewdness, and even with the gash staining his camouflage jacket and shirtfront. The man closest to Shane -- he had been the first to fire -- chuckled with a hint of hysteria to his voice and stepped away, toward the corpse of the fallen jaguaress. With a sneer, he kicked it.

"Let's go," the leader growled, lip curled and motioning with his gun.

Before that order could be followed, the jungle erupted with more roaring and screams. Juarez was the first to fall, a pair of huge paws sinking into his shoulders as wicked canines pierced his skull and spine. His scream was the loudest, the most inhuman … it was also the shortest.

Shane paused for a moment, still under cover, slack-jawed. Shane!

He blinked, shrugging his shock away. He was covered in spattered blood, his ears rang with the noise, but otherwise… I'm all right, Lori. I trust you are too. A feeling of affirmation filled the link that bound them. Good. But they won't be for long!

Shainon had growled with the last thought and jumped through the underbrush, following the example of the jaguar cubs. He had been right, they had come to exact their revenge. Unfortunately one was already on the ground, panting, drooling blood. The cherry-red fluid oozed out his nose and ears, from various wounds including the bloody stump where a leg and shoulder had once been. And Shane realized that the messy wound was the result of machinegun fire! He would not be on this earth for long, a fact that saddened Shane in some primal, bloodthirsty way. A pity he could not have brought down more, Shainon's jaguar side seemed to say, while his human side wept bitterly for the loss of yet another young life.

The other cat, the sister, was still doing a great deal of damage, with little casualty suffered on her part. What had once been a team of seven strong young men was now down to four. Shainon soon added to the she-jaguar's barrage and with a snarl headed straight for the leader. As he charged, he shoved one man aside, into her grasp; she roared gleefully and the man screamed with profound impotence.

"And now you will die!" spat Shainon as he tackled the burly man to the ground.

The man hit hard, the breath rushing from his lungs violently under the massive weight of the jaguar-tarat. He choked as twin claws, Shane's thumbs, dug into the soft flesh on either side of his throat. "No…" he gasped breathlessly.

Shane! Stop and get out of there! More come…

"No!" Shane hissed a string of curses, a spasm of his fingers opening punctures in the man's neck, barely missing vital life-giving blood vessels. The bloodlust was too great, the desire to kill irresistible … the act of killing would almost be described as orgasmic. I've come too far. I could kill them all … for her … I can't let go, not now!

Please, Shane… Lori's cry was nearly hysterical. There's twenty coming, at least! We must find the others.

Shane's glazed stare finally cleared as he took a deep, relieved breath. The man beneath him was pasty, his normally dark skin slick with sweat and bloodlessly pale. Few times had he ever seen such an incarnation of hate, and never directed at himself. A weaker man might have died from the fear alone that this creature incited.

Roughly, Shane rose and yanked the man to his feet, putting his body between himself and the wave to come. The last man had fallen, and Shane's partner in crime slunk back into the shadows with but one last backward glance, one of acknowledgement, and perhaps even gratitude. Farewell, sister, Shane thought. I am sorry.

Then the others came.

"Leave me be," he hissed, "and your leader shall live."

The men wavered uncertainly. Shane crouched just enough so that he and his captor were at eye-level. There was no clear shot.

The man had seen the intelligence return into the creature's eyes, and knew he might yet survive. He nodded. "Do what he says."

Shainon lost no time disappearing back into the jungle. When he was far enough away, he chopped the man's neck smartly, unconsciousness and the ground meeting one another with great force. The remainder of his journey was in the trees, where he would have liked to be in the first place.

He met Loriat along the way and was relieved to hear that others had survived, among them his siblings through his mate.

They reached the glade without further opposition. Then there was a great flurry of blue wings, a gust of wind, and the pair found themselves face-to-face with something straight out of mythology.

"A dragon!"

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