A Familiar Face [Bloodhound x Fuse]

Delivery

The Óséður lay in its nest, half-covered by leaves, eyes closed, its scaled sides rising and falling in the deep slumber of hibernation. Bloodhound frowned. Months of tracking had finally led them here, but they would have to wait through the winter now to claim their prize. Once the first green shoots of spring began to poke through the ground, they knew the beast would awake hungry and search for sustenance. Then, they could resume the hunt.

Boone stepped forward, never turning away from the creature. Their stomach sank at the glint in his dark eyes fixated upon its curled-up form. They had seen that look before from poachers, but never from him. Greed. He took a step towards the beast, reaching for the steel contraption at his belt that would bind its limbs.

Bloodhound snatched his wrist before he could unfurl the device. "What are you doing?"

He yanked his arm out of their grasp. "We finally found it!" He took another step forward, boots crunching the dead leaves. "Aren't you excited?"

"Já," they said evenly. "But, it would not be right to capture a creature who is unable to protect itself. It would bring," they muttered to themself, searching for the translation for the word they needed, "shame."

Now the man did turn to face them, his prior expression replaced by scorn. He laughed, a short, cut-off sound. "This just makes things that much easier. We hunted it all this time, and now we found it. I don't see the 'shame' in that."

"Boone, that—" They swallowed with difficulty around the hard lump that formed in their throat. "If you did this, it would dishonor nature, the Allfather." And me, they wanted to add, but refrained. They had helped him, guided him. If he were to take the creature, the blame would rest on them as much as on him.

He scoffed. "I wouldn't expect someone like you to understand. I spent a lot of money to come here, and even more is waiting for me when I bring this thing back."

Someone like me? A slow-rising fury began to burn within them. "I will not allow you to take it." Their fingers hovered over their axe. "I forbid it."

"Forbid?" Boone's eyes narrowed as he glanced at their hand poised at their weapon. "You'd fight me?" He gripped the still-sheathed handle of his own knife and squared his shoulders.

"If I must." Their voice shook as angry tears threatened to spill under their mask, but they blinked them away. "I will protect this land from any who would desecrate it."

The air between the pair was thick, the tension pulled taut between them. Neither moved, barely blinked, waiting for the other to do something, anything.

Finally, he shrugged. "Fine. Let's just go back to camp."

The walk back was tense, neither caring to quiet the thump of their boots against the earth and half-rotted leaves. Boone threw logs down on the ash and impatiently started a fire. He sat before it, brooding, staring at the flames that licked at the logs. Bloodhound stood at the edge of the clearing, hesitating. Eventually, they sat across the campfire but didn't make eye contact with him. The man let out a big breath and stood, hands crossed over his chest. He walked over to Bloodhound and shifted from foot to foot.

"Look - I'm sorry."

They tilted their head up towards him, the oranges and yellows of the firelight reflected in their dark lenses. "So you will not capture the Óséður."

The corners of his lips turned down and he sat beside them and slipped his arm around their shoulders. "I have to. I can't wait until spring."

"Do not touch me," Bloodhound snarled, shoving him away.