Hunted!

Stone Motions

All goes well through the first hour of the flight, but then the sensors of the Butterfly detect two forms appearing high above out of foldspace, and dropping down toward the Yaoquizque's craft on an intercept course.  At present they are too far away to make our details, but they are closing rapidly.

"Heads up, yaoquizque!" Xoco exclaims.  "Two crafts just dropped out of foldspace and are heading to intercept."  She gives a brief sidelong glance at the gunner, to make sure Yaotlquauhtli is awake and aware.  "It looks like you may be able to get some practice," she adds in a more confidential tone for his benefit.  "I'll see how interested they are."

She gives the controls a tug and sends the craft in a tentative sidestep to see if the incomers will follow, and ready to go to full evasive manoeuvres.  As an afterthought as she plays with the controls of their craft, Xoco asks her fellow Night Warriors: "Just so we know what our capabilities and options are, can anyone fold space?"

"I think we shouldn't take any rash action, maybe they're here to escort us?" ventures Tecolotl.  "But maybe they aren't... I think I can fold space, but I'm not very experienced."¹

Nochehuatl considers the situation.  He's been considering a lot of things lately, maybe considering them a bit too much.  Sometimes time is short.  Now might be a good example of such a time.  "Xoco, sing out if you're going to make any drastic changes, so that Yaotlquauhtli can compensate.  How are they reacting to that change, and how much further do we have to our destination?"

"We are around 1.5 hours from our destination.  At the moment we are some 60,000 feet above unexplored jungle, just a bit south of the equator."

He glances back to check on the gunner... and everyone else, for that matter.  "Is everyone secured?"

"I'm set," says Chipotle, "let me know if there is anything I can do."  He braces himself for the violent maneuvers he expects at any moment.

Centehua grunts a sort of "yes", a bit grumpy still about not being the chosen gunner.  Fine thing to be stuck in a bug ship.  "I hope it doesn't squash like one," she thinks to herself.  She watches Yaotlquauhtli uneasily, fighting the urge to just go over there and gun herself.  It might be better than just sitting here waiting to get shot out of the sky...

The two craft alter course to follow the new course taken by the shuttle.  They begin to spread out to either side of the Butterfly's course.  The shuttle's sensors cannot identify the two bogeys yet, but virtually all foldspace capable craft are military in nature (the Azteca don't have much of a trade system set up with the Tolteca, nor with the planets they have conquered) so it is safe to bet that these things are both faster and more maneuverable.

Xoco glances at the display screen, trying to make out the type of crafts now moving to flank them.  She spares a hand to quickly adjust the controls, trying to refine the reading.  Then she thumbs the comm switch.  "Unknown crafts, this is Lord Night Wind's shuttle Huexocanauhtli.  Identify yourselves and your intentions," she demands.

Static is the only reply to this query.  The two craft continue to close, and continue to spread out to flank the Butterfly on either side. They will be identifiable in about 30 seconds.  They will be in missile range in about 45-60.

"Everybody's strapped in?" Xoco asks rhetorically between her teeth.  "Because we're about to get shaken.  If it comes to shooting, I suggest you wait for the perfect shot, War Eagle.  The Avalanche is not known for its great accuracy, and ammo is limited.  Let them show their intent first, though."

She shakes her head.  "Some Wasp Stings would have been nice..." she murmurs.  "And armour, and foldspace capabilities, and some power.  Other than that, couldn't be better."

Seconds pass and the two pursuing vessels close.  The Butterfly's computer identifies them as two "Stone Motion" aerospace mecha from the City State of Chantico.  The Stone Motion is normally armed with a single Thunderbolt, and a missile bay with ten missiles.  It is both considerably faster and considerably more maneuverable than the Butterfly.

Xoco twitches but keeps her eyes on the control.  "Cats like to play with butterflies," she comments drily.  She flips the comm switch again, shrugging as she does so.  Might as well through the motions, but she doesn't really expect an answer.  "Chantico, you have been identified.  State your intentions."

The answer comes in the form of 16 missiles ripple fired from the internal bays of the two Stone Motions as the two craft continue to close.

Yaotlquauhtli double-checks his controls without looking up.  Chantico craft - that's all he needs.  As if he isn't having a hard enough time keeping everyone off his back as it is.  He zeroes the primary targeting system on the closest craft and locks it, then makes sure secondary targeting is centered and locked on the other ship.  Ammo okay, venting unblocked, rails warmed up...  Flipping the guard off of the trigger, he glances toward Nochehuatl briefly.  "Weapons ready."

The Chichimec mutters something foul as she starts manhandling the controls.  "Engaging evasive action," she announces for her teammates' benefit, and most particularly for the gunner.  "Banking to starboard and up."  She yanks on the joystick.  She announces every subsequent manoeuvre briefly, fighting to escape the incoming missiles.

Well, that is it, then.  "Take what shots you can, Yaotlquauhtli."  Nochehuatl tries to think; do they have any options besides simple fighting?  They are outrun and outgunned up here...  "Xoco, down is good.  We may be a better match afoot, if we can manage it."

Centehua, watching the excitement unfold, braces herself for the incoming missiles.  As she prepares for possible impact, mutters a quick prayer that the Jaguar will hit at least one of those blasted ships with the gun...

Chipotle also braces himself and quickly looks around the cabin for anything which might be useful if they have to ditch.

As soon as there is half a chance to make it convincing, a proximity detonation that doesn't kill them outright, Xoco uses a lame-duck tactic: she jettisons the contents of the small cargo bay to simulate damage (including luggage, personal weapons and shields -- and, unfortunately, the survival gear.)  She throws the Butterfly into a series of violent maneuvers as the missiles close, managing through determination and skill to avoid most of them.  Another locks in on the flying debris that she releases at the last second, but one strikes home directly up the nozzle of the starboard thruster.  Xoco just has time to watch far too many lights turn from green to red when two more missiles detonate nearby and most of the electrical system shorts out in a shower of sparks as the craft is thrown into a violent vertical spin.  In the weapon pod Yaotlquauhtli's targeting computer crashes and the backup system forces him to go to manual aiming while the main system reboots.  The Yaoquizque are alternately smashed back against their seats and thrown violently forward around twice a second by the craft's violent and unpredictable spin, and smoke from the cockpit begins to fill the interior.

Xoco bares her clenched teeth in a silent snarl as she struggles to control the damaged Butterfly aloft.  Sweat beads on her forehead.  "I'll take us down," she yells to be heard over the crackling and bursting of the shuttle's internal damage.  "We don't stand a chance in the air, but maybe we can lose them under the canopy.  Everybody prepare for crash landing."  Her knuckles are turning white, clenching the controls.  "Oh, and if some Aztec wants to impress me, now's a good time to get some divine favour on our asses."

Yaotlquauhtli wrestles with the manual targeting system in a desperate attempt to get at least one shot at the closing craft before the guns were completely useless.  Every time he got close his own ship would shudder or tumble again, forcing him to start over.  "Impress you?" he mutters under his breath, "Well, there's a pointless reason to call on the gods..."  He loses target lock again, and swears a bit more audibly.

The Butterfly drops like a brick as Xoco desperately tries to stay in her seat, fights with the controls, and tries to assess the extent of the damage to the craft with most of the instrument panel gone dead.  Most of the Yaoquizque continue to be shaken about in their restraining harnesses.  Yaotlquauhtli practically pops an eyeball muscle straining to make any sort of sense out of the hash of static on his targeting screen.  But the spirit of the autolock feature the Huitznahua saw fit to grant the Butterfly still slumbers, and is slow to rouse.  He'll just have to take his best shot.  As he lines up the crosshairs on a likely looking chunk of static, a warbling tone sounds from the cockpit.  Their pursuers have launched more missiles.

A low, uninterrupted flow of murmured curses streams from Xoco. Although this will make Yaotlquauhtli's shooting nearly impossible, she decides to attempt evasive manoeuvres.  After all, there is more satisfaction in evading an enemy and coming back to strike him than to die at his hand.  "Hold your fire, Claws," she warns the gunner.  "I'm taking evasive action."  As she speaks, she launches the Butterfly shuttle in another series of hops and jerks on its way down.

Xoco once again throws the Butterfly into a series of evasive actions, but with the main computer down and the craft plunging out of control, it's a bit like trying to fly a particularly non-aerodynamic brick.  Nevertheless, by some miracle of the Huitznahua the missiles streak past the damaged aircraft without hitting, and Xoco once again makes an effort to hold the Butterfly steady enough to give Yaotlquauhtli a clear shot.

The Chichimec lets out a bloodcurdling howl of triumph as the last missile shoots past -- triumph being, in this case, a very relative concept.  She pats the console of the poor maimed shuttle.  "Stay with us, little Butterfly," she murmurs.  She glances rapidly at Yaotlquauhtli.  "Get them, War Eagle!" she adds fervently.

Centehua, trying hard to lessen the thrashing she is getting as the ship zips and zags, adds her two cents. "At least bring them to the ground with us, so we can die fighting them warrior to warrior!  I can also use that weapon if you need help with the controls!"

Ignoring Centehua completely, Yaotlquauhtli wrestles with the firing controls as he attempts to distinguish enemy static from empty static, finally settling on a likely-looking clump.  He spirals the sight in on it and fires with a very brief and silent prayer.

Yaotlquauhtli takes his best guess, mutters a quick prayer, and lets fly, and sees his target blob of static disappear in a satisfyingly final manner.  A few moments later, however, as his targeting equipment comes back online once again he sees that his target blob of static was, in fact, no more than a blob of static, for the two Stone Motions are still closing.

Once again the Jaguar Warrior attempts to get off a shot at the closing enemy Mecha, but the enemy pilots manage to avoid the shot.

Altitude is now down to around 20,000 feet.

Yaotlquauhtli clenches his jaw silently to avoid a stream of curses, which would only make matters worse.  He thumbs the proximity targeter, and the screen blips over to the ship on the right as it approaches. 'Maybe I'll have better luck with that one,' he thinks, and tries once again to center the cross-hairs on it.

Yaotlquauhtli once again targets the nearest of the two enemy Stone Motions.  He utters a brief prayer and triggers the Avalanche.  This time he is rewarded by a blinding flare of energy that briefly outshines Tonatiu himself as a lucky shot triggers the detonation of the Heart of Jade.

The other enemy continues to close undaunted.  Yaotlquauhtli struggles to bring the Avalanche to bear as the last Stone Motion closes the range.  The two fire as one and the Jaguar just has time to see his shot strike home  against the enemy warrior skin before an explosion blows out the last engine of the Butterfly, shooting hot ceramic shrapnel through the passenger compartment.  The controls of the Avalanche and the controls in the cockpit both ignite in incandescent fury, and the Butterfly plummets to earth like its namesake when shorn of its wings.  The jungles of Tamoachan reach up to smash the craft like a fist, and there is only blackness.
 

Distant Thunder

Through a haze like night fog, Nochehuatl becomes aware of his surroundings yet again.  He is still strapped (or perhaps "entangled" would be a better word) in the webbing that secured him to his seat, but his seat no longer seems to be attached to the floor of the Butterfly.  Instead the Yaoquizque finds himself lying on his side in what used to be the aisle, with the seat still strapped to his back.

What's left of the Butterfly is swathed in darkness, lit only by occasional electrical fires sparking from the ruined wiring.  The other Yaoquizque can be seen only as dark forms, scattered around the interior.  Some are still strapped to their seats, others are thrown about like dolls.  Yaotlquauhtli hangs suspended from the ceiling, half in and half out of the destroyed turret of the Avalanche.  Dense black smoke pours from the cockpit, obscuring Xoco's current fate.  Several gaping holes, and the fact that the tail of the aerospace craft is completely missing, attest to the ferocity of the battle, and the force of the landing.  Outside Nochehuatl can just make out stars through some of the holes.

"Wha... uh?"  It takes Nochehuatl a moment to remember just where he is.  As he does, he comes to life and begins to shrug out of the webbing.  Finding it to be not as simple as getting in, he resorts to brute force to pull himself free.

Looking at the situation, he starts to head to free Yaotlquauhtli when the black smoke registers.  Yaotlquauhtli may be uncomfortable, but Xoco might not be able to breathe.  "Yaoquizque, wake up!" he bellows, hoping that if any of them are simply in a daze, that might help stir them, as he changes course and heads into cockpit, taking a deep breath first and trying to stay low, below the thick smoke.

The wind howls through the canyon like a demon, carrying away at last the scream of terror that seemed to go on forever.  The log still awaits.

Centehua Matlalihuitl is fourteen.  She stands, naked, on the brink of a canyon, holding an eagle's talon in one hand.  On the other side of the canyon, she can see her teacher standing, watching her with crossed arms.  Her face seems set in stone, giving away nothing.  She nods to Centehua, curtly.

Centehua puts one foot on the log.  It is slick with moss and rain.

I must not look down, she thinks.  I will not look down.

Down in the canyon is the body of Tepin, another student in her class.  Tepin who had hoped to be a Hummingbird Warrior.

Centehua does not look down.  She steps onto the log.  Walks, gently but firmly, to the center of the canyon, balancing on the slick bark.

I will be a Hummingbird Warrior, Centehua thinks.  I am not like Tepin.  I will not fall.

Without hesitation she raises the Eagle's claw to her face, locking eyes with her teacher as she does.  With deliberate slowness she drives the talons deep into her cheek, pulling the claw down her face.

"Yaoquizque!"

The voice comes from nowhere, startling Centehua.  She feels first one foot, then the other slip out from under her and she is falling, falling towards the rocks below.  As her perspective spins, she catches sight of a figure standing on the brink of the canyon, her head held rigidly upright, her eyes focused forwards.

Me, she thinks with surprise, that's me up there.  The rocks rush up to meet her.  But instead of being smashed to bits, it is as if the rocks themselves have come to life, slicing through her skin like eagle talons, but all over her body - her arms, her legs, her back...  a thousand cuts, ten thousand...

"Wake up!"

Centehua drags herself back to consciousness to find that she is lying tangled in the crash webbing of her seat.  The interior of the Butterfly is filling  with smoke, and lit intermittently by the flash of electrical shorts.  Several holes in the body of the craft show stars outside, and Centehua notices with some surprise that the entire tail assembly of the craft is just missing.  She also notices that she feels as if she has been flayed alive - a consequence of numerous minor cuts and scrapes from shrapnel.

Up near the cockpit, she catches sight of the form of Nochehuatl just before he disappears into the opening.  Dense, black smoke is pouring from the cockpit area.

Xoco screams with rage.  The Butterfly is dropping like a fruit from a tree, with about the same aerodynamic characteristics.  The electrical system is gone, the engines are gone, and the centrifugal force of the Butterfly's flat spin threatens to cause her to black out.  Already the blood is flowing away from her brain, pulling her down into unconsciousness.

"No!"  Xoco screams, "I will NOT die!  Not like this!"

Tamoachan spins past, looming larger and larger with each rotation of the crippled craft.  Xoco struggles with controls gone heavy and leaden.  Not one ounce of strength or concentration is wasted on prayer - Xoco knows that no god will come to her aid.    Inch by inch, second by second, she pulls the nose of the stricken craft up, smoothes out the spin.  Then the trees reach up and yank her out of the sky.

"Yaoquizque, wake up!"

Xoco awakens to find herself hanging from the crash webbing of her seat.  Her face and arms are lacerated by shrapnel, and her lungs feel like she has been breathing hot embers.  But she is alive.  ALIVE!

Not through the actions of any god, or through prayer, but by her efforts - her will - her skills and abilities brought the Butterfly in for a landing.

Through the darkness and thick smoke, she hears Nochehuatl enter the cockpit, shouting for her to wake up.

I've beaten you again, she thinks to herself.  This not referring to Nochehuatl.

Clumsily, she fights her way out of the restraints.  Her fingers and limbs are now refusing to obey her, after serving her so well during the battle.  She concentrates intensely, trying to grasp the release mechanism.  Something so simple should not appear so daunting, but everything is still spinning.  After what seems a long battle, she finally manages to escape the webbing.

She thrashes around in the tangle of her crash webbing for a moment, trying to get loose before she has to inhale too much smoke.  After endless seconds she succeeds and flops sideways out of her twisted seat.  She finally remembers what woke her up, Nochehuatl's voice.  She tries to answer, but instead is caught by surprise by a fit of coughing.  She hangs onto the back of her demolished seat, not sure what to do next, while the fit dies down.

"'m up, 'm up," she finally croaks.

Nochehuatl immediately grabs the nearest graspable appendage (which turns out to be her right arm) and hauls her over the wreckage scattered around the cockpit and out into the passenger area.

Centehua, meanwhile, struggles to extricate herself from her own mangled seat.  The other yaoquizque aren't responding to Nochehuatl's cries.

As Xoco regains the capacity to form coherent thoughts (regardless of what some uncharitable people may think about the matter), she starts checking what's left of the shuttle, trying to see if anything is about to blow, and if so how long they might have to clear the wreckage.  Then she begins trying to wake her teammates, starting with the closest.

As soon as he puts down Xoco, Nochehuatl sets to work freeing Yaotlquauhtli.  His size comes in useful here, as he can simply stand underneath him and prop him up, so that his weight isn't pulling him against the webbing.  Seeing Xoco moving about, he grunts, "Xoco, help Centehua get free, so that she can help you with Tecolotl and Chipotle."

Xoco nods at Nochehuatl's instructions, and immediately regrets this bitterly  when a headache flares up.  She makes her way over to the Hummingbird Warrior, careful to avoid the showers of electrical sparks and bits of twisted metal that make this adventure so much fun.  She does her best to help her companion out of the wreckage of her seat.

Nochehuatl manages to get Yaotlquauhtli free of the tangle of crash webbing, wires, and ducting that are holding him in the turret and gently lowers him to the deck.  The young Jaguar is still breathing, but remains unconscious.  Between the two of them Xoco and Centehua manage to free Centehua from the imprisoning wreckage of her seat.

Xoco notes the stars shining through the holes in the Butterfly's fuselage, and the fact that it no longer has a tail..  The stars weren't there when the craft went down.  While there are several minor electrical fires burning at the moment, and lots of smoking insulation, if the remains of the vessel were going to catch fire or blow up, they would have done it a long time ago.

Probably.

Nochehuatl checks around to find the best route out of the Butterfly, counting where the tail was as an option.  "Let's get everyone out of here, find a clear spot on the ground.  We don't need to be breathing this smoke any longer than absolutely necessary.  Then we can come back and see what we can salvage."  He picks up Yaotlquauhtli again to carry him out of the ship.

As soon as Centehua is freed, Xoco asks anxiously: "You gonna be able to move on your own?  Nothing broken?"

Centehua winces as she struggles to stand. She nods her head and waves Xoco off in an "I'm all right just give me a second" kind of way.  She looks about the wreckage.  Damn.  They have lost precious hours...

Xoco starts moving towards the next closest passenger, who happens to be Tecolotl.  She is somewhat hesitant to touch the spooky Death Messenger, whose limbs all seem to bend wrong, somehow.  She gingerly puts a hand on his shoulder and shakes him.  "Woo-hoo, Tethered Owl!  Wake up!"

"Let me know if you need help with Tethered Owl.  I'll see if I can find Chipotle..."  Centehua begins to move through the wreckage towards the area the Way Bringer should be, moving pieces out of her way as she goes.

Nochehuatl gently picks up Yaotlquauhtli and carries him out of the wrecked shuttle by the simple method of walking out the hole where the tail section used to be.  Outside, it is easy to figure out the direction that the Butterfly was traveling when it came down, as there are bits of wreckage and smashed trees trailing off into the distance.

Still inside the Butterfly Centehua moves to awaken Chipotle.  The priest of Ixcuina moans when Centehua shakes him, and slowly turns his head - regaining consciousness at last.

"Centehua,.... I guess we zigged when we should have zagged..."  He picks himself up, checking for injury.  "Is everyone OK?"

Xoco, meanwhile, moves over to where Tecolotl is lying.  The Warrior of Tepeyolohtli lies unmoving in a heap where he was thrown when his crash webbing snapped.  His limbs appear strangely twisted, as though broken, and his cloak and mask are in disarray.  As Xoco leans closer to examine his injuries she recoils suddenly, for the mask slips off, revealing the ruin of Tecolotl's face.  The Yaoquizque has no facial hair whatsoever, and his head appears to be nothing more than a mangled mass of kelloid tissue and old scars.  Most of his nose, lips, and ears are simply missing - apparently lost in whatever horrible accident scarred him so.  And although one of his arms does, indeed, appear to be broken, on closer examination Xoco realizes that his twisted limbs are twisted indeed - the effect having been cleverly hidden by his clothing until now.  To Xoco, he appears most like an individual who had been exposed to vacuum, and yet had been rescued before death.  Whatever befell the young warrior had been terrible indeed!

Xoco shudders at the sight of Tecolotl's old injuries, strangely moved.  She has never seen damage of this extent on a living person before; even though the Chichimecá are not quite as callous to their wounded as the Azteca, injuries are usually fatal in the Windhomes.  She has no training whatsoever in handling or treating wounds, and is afraid of making things worse.  She takes her hand away from Tecolotl's shoulder and calls to him again, her voice hesitant: "Tecolotl, wake up!"

She turns towards Nochehuatl, Centehua, and the newly awakened Chipotle, chewing her lower lip.  "I think his arm is broken," she says.  "Anyone know what to do about it?"  She coughs again, but the fit dies down quickly.

Nochehuatl moves some distance from the shuttle before putting Yaotlquauhtli down in a small clearing created by the crash.  He carefully arranges the unconscious form, making sure no rocks are stabbing into it.  Making a quick check for encroaching animals (most of them are probably scared off by the crash for a while, he thinks), he heads back to the shuttle quickly.  Seeing that Chipotle has awakened, he moves to help Xoco.  Confronted with Tecolotl's form, he stops dead, trying to make sense of what he sees.  After a long moment, he shakes himself.  "I'll carry him by his torso...  Xoco, carry his legs, make sure they don't get... twisted worse."

Gingerly, cautiously, Xoco moves to follow Nochehuatl's instructions, then stops, considering the situation.  This looks more difficult than the simple order makes it sound.

"Um, wait..." she says.  "How about I get some of the webbing to carry him, while you cut him out of the restraints?"  Quickly, she pulls out her knife to slice through the webbing of a nearby seat.  At least now she can slide or swing his legs onto the net.

Nochehuatl considers this plan, then uneasily considers Tecolotl's body.  "Yes... that's a good idea. It might be possible to secure that arm, as well."  He looks over at Centehua and Chipotle.  "Are you able to walk, Chipotle?"

Between the three of them the young yaoquizque manage to secure the broken arm of the Death Messenger and move him out of the craft.  High above, Metzli and Cuautexcalan cast their glow over the forest. The yaoquizque quickly set about their tasks.

Under the Stars

Nochehuatl, the most skilled at survival, leaves camp to scout the area.  Centehua, meanwhile, begins building a fire and setting up some lean-tos for the injured to rest under.  At some point while they are all waiting for Chipotle and Tecolotl to wake up, Xoco goes back to the shuttle to see if she can salvage anything useful from the wreckage.  She spends around five minutes inside the Butterfly while the rest of the group is setting up camp.  She finally comes back and rests with the others until Tecolotl and Chipotle start to stir.  She looks at the Death Messenger uneasily, but makes no comment -- yet.

She returns with a considerable supply of sharp metal bits and webbing from the seats.  Looking around she finds a stout tree limb that was broken in the Butterfly's crash, and sets about to making a war club.

Chipotle, the only one with any skill in medicine, sets about treating the injuries of the others.  Xoco sits on a stump looking at the remains of the Butterfly and smiling occasionally.  Eventually, Nochehuatl returns to report that there is a nearby water supply, and that game tracks appear abundant, though he does not recognize any of them (this area of Tamoachan has never been terraformed).  Chipotle has brewed a light stimulant, which he gives to Yaotlquauhtli and Tecolotl.  After a few moments the two begin to stir.

Nochehuatl makes further scouting expeditions, trying to get a feel for which directions travel is easier, and which harder.  Travel appears to be easiest to the southeast or northwest, following a stream bed.  Travel is relatively difficult in most other directions, and hardest directly north, where a rather imposing crag covered in thick jungle lies.

He also looks for other suitable camp sites, trying to find places which are both further away from the tell-tale wreckage and more defensible.  The crash site turns out to be about as defensible as Nochehuatl can find - having both a big chunk of hollowed out metal (i.e. the Butterfly) and lots of readily accessible wood.  However, it is also certainly also the easiest to find - its likely that any yahoo, wet-behind-the-ears Yaoquizque who overflew the place could find it, so the further away the party is the less likely it is that they will be found if anyone comes looking.

And, of course, night is the favored time of Yoali Ehecatl.

Finally, he returns and sits, looking at the others.  "We need to know what our status is, so that we can plan what to do.  Chipotle, what is everyone's condition?  Can everyone travel under their own power, or at least be carried?  Xoco, do you have an estimate of where we are... how far and which direction our goal is?  Does anyone know anything about this area?"

Xoco's brow furroughs, trying to remember the final flight sequences.  Or rather, the terminal drop.  She made a lot of evasive manoeuvres...  She raises her head to peek at the stars through the dark canopy of trees, trying to see enough to identify some constellations.  She glances at the two small moons, Metzli and Cuautexcalan.

"When the Stone Motions showed up," she comments, "we were just south of the equator, about an hour and a half from Mictlantecutli, and above unexplored jungle.  After that we might have flown fifty to eighty kilometers.  Might as well say nothing."

As she replays in her head the jumbled images of that flight, a sudden memory makes her smile widely.  She turns to Yaotlquauhtli, beaming.  "Beautiful shot on that warrior skin!" she compliments him.  "It went like a nova!"  Then she remembers that means no possible salvage from the better equipped mecha, and lets out a small sigh, but keeps smiling.  That was a beauty of a shot.

Yaotlquauhtli, lying propped on a log, continues trying to get his right hand to close all the way.  He's almost got it, now if he could just get his sprained ankle to support him...  He glances over at Xoco and grimaces wryly.  "Thanks," he says quietly, "Pity I couldn't have made the same shot a bit sooner."   Then, through the dull throbbing in his head, he finally remembers something.  His eyes cast around the camp, then he asks "Where's my war club?  It was right at my feet..."

"I will go and look for it Yaotlquauhtli," Chipotle says standing up, "we will have need of all weapons before this adventure is through. Perhaps someone could also help me look for suitable wood or metal to make a travois in the event we need to carry Yaotlquauhtli?"

Chipotle moves off into the wreckage to look for the club and any other useful gear or food.  He returns shortly with the big war club.  Many of its obsidian teeth have been knocked out by being bounced around inside, and its a very lucky thing that it didn't kill someone bouncing around back there, but the hunk of wood is still sound, and with a few hours work in the hands of a knowledgeable weaponsmith it should probably once again be a weapon instead of a piece of firewood with pointy edges.

Xoco peers into the surrounding darkness, frowning.  "I don't know where the rumors come from or whether there's anything behind them," she says slowly, "but there are stories running around about this area."  She hesitates, looking back at her companions in turn.  They'll probably think this is crazy...  "I've heard that 'singing stones' have been found recently in this mess of a jungle.  The High Priests deny anything like that is possible, but I've even heard some people say the stones were surviving Ja-Naketh."

She shrugs.  "I don't know what the heck it is, but anyway this could be interesting for Lord Night Wind.  And risky, so maybe we'd better be extra careful we don't wander around solo."

Yaotlquauhtli examines his war club with a practiced eye, verifying that it's reparable.  Looks like the holes where teeth are missing aren't too badly chipped, thankfully.  Glancing over at Xoco balefully, he raises an eyebrow.  "'Singing stones'?"

While Yaotlquauhtli fiddles with his chipped war club, Xoco does her best to put together the travois Chipotle asked for.  She uses the webbing and wires she salvaged from the shuttle, along with sturdy saplings stripped of their twigs and leaves.  Well, she decides at the end, it's not a very nice looking result, but it should hold the weight of one person safely.

She turns to Nochehuatl.  "Well, should we spend the night here or start moving?  I'm for moving, myself.  We can hide during the day and walk at night.  Staying here near the wreckage like a bunch of targets gives me the creeps."

Nochehuatl considers the issue for a few more moments.  "Let's move.  We're far too obvious here, agreed.  We'll head southeast, there's a streambed we can follow.  I'll pull the travois, except when I need to scout ahead.  Someone should be rear guard and hang back a bit; is anyone particularly good at moving quietly?"

Xoco grins sardonically.  "You wouldn't believe it, but I can move quietly.  And I can take care of myself in a fight.  But I don't know squat about hanging out in the jungle, so I'm probably better as rear guard than as a scout.  I'll do any job, though, I'm well enough to pull the travois too.  Give your orders, o fearsome leader."

In one hand she picks up the makeshift bag she used to gather odds and ends to make new weapons, and with her other hand she hefts a crude war club (also known as a tree limb.)  She cocks her head sideways, looking at the Storm Warrior.  No, she corrects herself mentally, the former Storm Warrior.

Nochehuatl nods.  "Right.  Everyone else is fit to move, right?  Anyone have anything they want to add?"  He waits to see if anything will be said.

As no one speaks up, he continues: "Xoco will hang back, I'll take lead, the rest of you keep your eyes and ears open, and try to make as little noise as possible."  He squats down and picks up the front end of the travois.  "Let me know if things get too rough," he says to the battered passenger, and starts off towards the streambed, trying to set a decent pace.

While the warriors start filing out behind Nochehuatl for the trek in the dark, Xoco hangs back, waiting for her turn as the Spirit Warrior equivalent of 'six o'clock Charlie.'  As Yaotlquauhtli walks past, she remembers his earlier question.

"'Singing stones', that's what the rumours say," she nods.  "Stones that sing, not with words, but directly into the mind."  She shrugs.  "Let's just stay alert..."

Centehua rises to her feet from where she had been sitting after building the shelters. She has a solid piece of wood in her hand that she had found while gathering materials for housing, so she would have something to fight with.  Something suddenly catches her attention... a sound in the forest?... the wind rustling through the trees?...

"Nochehuatl!" she whispers, loud enough to be heard, but keeping as quiet as possible. "Lord Night Wind speaks from the southwest to the northeast tonight!"  She looks at all to make sure everyone has heard the comment, as she takes her place within the group.

Chipotle stays next to the travois as the journey begins. He has been elected medic, it seems. He will also select a large branch to carry as a war club if there is nothing better.
 

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