----------------------------------------------------------- - The Ta’ainvel - – By Khan – ----------------------------------------------------------- 2. With the help of the four brigands, they managed to bury all the dead in less than five hours. By then the sun was setting, and the four women had started to cook a meal over a fire in the centre of the parked vehicles. They looked up from their cooking as the seven men and the Ta’ainvel entered the circle, and Jante saw open fear on the face of the obviously youngest of the four. The other three looked only at him briefly, stifling curiosity, and one even showed a hint of…no, it could not be. Yet the scent he picked up from the women as he drew closer was quite clear. There was certain fear in the one looking to be about twenty with short black hair, and she kept as far from him as possible, and he happily accommodated her. The other three practically reeked of curiosity, yet they hid it well. He probed the scents further, and found what he thought he saw in the face of the fourth woman. Desire, perhaps even lust. He decided that the sooner he was on his way again, the better. ”We have yet to present ourselves,” said the man who had come up to Jante and the dead Warrior, and this was true. They had worked those five hours in grim silence. ”I am Michael Langley.” He was a dark-haired tall man, with a strong face. He looked to be about thirty and very fit. The Human extended his hand, and following Human custom, Jante took it. ”I am Jante e’Darin,” he said in his accented Dinathinian. The other two came forward and presented themselves as Thomas Langley, a tall and lithe man roughly twenty years old with blonde hair, and Jonas Moore, short and thin man with a keen look and almost black hair, looking to be about twenty as well. ”And this,” said Michael, ”is my wife Anna.” He indicated one of the curious women with long blonde hair and dark eyes about the same age as Michael. She merely nodded at him, and he returned the nod. ”This,” said Jonas, ”is my wife Elisabeth.” He smiled at the frightened woman, but she did nothing by way of greeting, merely stared. Jante frowned. Do these Humans allow their emotions to show so clearly, he asked himself. ”This is another of the Langley clan as well,” said Thomas, indicating the other curious woman, ”our sister Marie.” She had short red hair and strong green eyes. She looked no older than twenty-five. He nodded as she did, and turned to the last of the four women, almost dreading. ”I am Charlotte Westings, pleased to meet you Mr e’Darin.” The brown-haired woman smiled, no, beamed at him, with her blue eyes as she extended her hand. He took it, and smiled. She was very pretty, and looked to be his age, about thirty-five. ”Jante. Call me Jante.” ”Then you must call me Charlie, all my friends call me Charlie,” she said, and slowly pulled back her hand, letting it touch every part of his palm. The tingling sensation remaining after the woman’s hand nearly made Jante want to rub his hand against his pants. ”Charlie.” She nodded, her long hair framing her face with shadows, and Jante turned just in time to see one vexed, one interested, and one fearful face quickly turn away. He quit clearly saw, however, that the vexation was not at him, but directed at Charlotte. ”Come,” said Michael, ”let us eat.” The brigands received one bowl of warm stew each, and sat quietly against one of the vehicles eating. Even though Jante was sitting, Thomas had to look up at him as he spoke. ”Jante, it was very fortunate that you saw those brigands, and we all owe you a debt of gratitude. How can we repay you?” ”You owe me nothing.” A little short perhaps, but Jante was serious about debts. ”Surely, there must be something we can do for the man who rescued us.” The pause at the word ”man” when Charlotte spoke was not quite perceivable, but it was there. ”There is nothing you owe me. Any of you.” He glanced at Charlotte, to see her frown ever so slightly. The rest of the evening passed with the usual banter of a campfire, talk about the weather, the trade. The subject of society as it was before the Ta’ainvel came to Earth was carefully avoided by the Humans. Then, when the moon was high, and the hour was going towards midnight, the Humans excused themselves claiming enough excitement to last them a lifetime had made them tired. It was midnight, after all, thought Jante. So he graciously accepted a blanket to replace the ones he had burned, and placed it at the entrance to the small camp. The four large vehicles of the caravan started to hum, and thick metal plates quickly extended around the wheels and hollows, making a complete protective wall. The only place left open was where Jante had placed his blanket. The brigands were given places at the very centre of the enclosure, and lay down to sleep. Jante sat leaning against the front of one vehicle, his rifle beside him, and watched the four brigands slowly fall asleep. Not until all of them were breathing regularly, and not moving, did Jante allow himself to doze off. The four claws he had aimed at the face of the dark shape he had pulled down while coming abruptly awake quivered when he saw who it was. Charlotte. He growled, and let his claws slip back into the top of his hand. ”What in the name of the Gods do you think you are doing woman, I could have killed you,” he growled in a low voice. ”Yes you could, but you wouldn’t have. I posed no threat to those feral instincts of yours,” she said with a smile. He now saw that she was wearing a heavy cloak, but that had slipped open as he had so roughly pulled her off balance, and he saw that she was wearing nothing else except a thin nightgown. Gods, he thought, I can’t deal with women not content to keep to their own race! The smell was so strong now, that smell of desire, lust, so strong that he nearly kissed the woman. But he didn’t. ”What are you doing, sneaking about in the middle of the night?” ”I’m answering calls of nature,” she said shortly, but made no move of walking away. ”And you just had to do that outside the enclosure? I thought you could do that in those trucks of yours.” ”A different call, Jante,” she said, and smoothly sat down on her knees, facing him. She leaned forward, and before he could, or wanted to, stop her, she kissed him. The Ta’ainvel may be feline creatures, but they had evolved much like Humans had, with five-digit hands and feet. The nose had receded, and looked like a slightly larger, furry version of the Human nose. They still had feline ears, but they were more on the side than on the top of their heads. The strong forehead of an intelligent species also added to the Humanoid appearance. The lips that Charlotte’s met were split, like a cat’s, and the fur in Jante’s face tickled her. He pushed her firmly away, and stood. She looked up at him, then stood as well. ”You make it hard for me to repay you, Jante,” she whispered with a half- smile. ”I told you, told you all, I need no repayment,” he said silently. Jante had been facing out of the enclosure, and Charlotte inwards, so she clearly saw the knife that glinted behind Jante, and gave a small shout. Jante swirled, extending claws as he did, and they raked across the chest of the brigand who stood there. The knife dropped to the ground from his limp hand, and so did the brigand. Jante growled deep in his throat as two of the other brigands advanced on him. Stretching his arms behind him, he crouched, and jumped between the two, letting his arms sweep forward. The result was devastating. Blood spurted from eight deep wounds in face and throat of the two men, and they fell to the ground, already dead. Jante wiped his claws on one of the dead men’s jacket, and let them disappear from sight. He saw the last of the brigands, the sixteen-year-old boy, sitting frightened beneath his blanket. He ignored the boy, and walked over to Charlotte, sitting wide eyed on the blanket he had just vacated. He squatted beside her. ”Its over. You have nothing to fear anymore,” he said, letting a slight purr into his voice, soothing, as he knew it was to Humans. She started crying, and when she clinged to him, burying her face against his shoulder, the smell of fear slowly left her. The fight had taken less than ten seconds, and the only loud sound had been that of Charlotte, shouting. The three men looked out of the windows of the vehicles, saw the blood and the dead men in the slanting moonlight, and swore.