S'Rrel Steppes, Ravath Province, Planet Cait:
A cold, bitter wind swept over the rolling grasslands, unable to extinguish the sporadic flames ignited by the disruptor and plasma fire of moments ago. The weapons fire still continued, further out towards the line of sablewood trees in the distance, but less now than before. The battle had been won.
The Caitians who weren't dead had been herded together in a clearing near the Ferasan assault ship, its searchbeams illuminating the clearing with blinding beams that made the Caitians avert their eyes and potentially attempt further resistance, or escape. They stayed silent, defeated now.
An outcome that left a sour taste in the mouth of the Pridemaster of these particular Ferasans who had defeated them. He had perused the pile of bodies stacked at the edge of the clearing: males, females, cubs. Civilians, who had received the orders to come to the local Treatment Camps, but had disobeyed, and attempted to seek refuge out here, in the vast expanse of this wretched Northern Province. Such a waste.
He turned back to face the prisoners. He was an older male, though life had added much more age to him, with bone-grey fur broken with bare scraps where old scars displayed, a patch covered the place where his left eye used to it, and his left sabretooth was broken in half, though its new edge remained sharp as a blade. He enjoyed the reactions of others when they saw him. Few had the courage to ask him why he never bothered to get himself fixed.
But those who did would then be regaled with his tale of how he ended up looking this way: taking on six Kzinti warriors, who had taken umbrage that his Pride's name was one identical to an apparently-renowned Kzinti Pride. He had eventually won that rather... visceral onomastic debate, and these were his medals. Why would he want to remove them, just to assuage the aesthetic sensibilities of others?
He sighed, before calling out, "Pa-Sankh, recall your cousins from the outer perimeter."
His son approached from the shadows beyond the clearing. "Father, there are still a few uncaptured Militia scum out there!"
The Pridemaster shrugged. "If they have survived to this point, they deserve to freeze to death in the forests. Recall them; we're about to eat."
Pa-Sankh nodded and returned to the shadows, as his father turned to face the clearing, and the prisoners gathered together. He began approaching them, his gravelly voice calling out over the distant sounds of the fires, as he spread out his arms, as if to embrace them. "I am Pridemaster Udul-Lit, and you have the honour of being vanquished by the Thousand Scars Pride.
You will not have heard of us. We are not the biggest Pride in the Patriarchy, nor the wealthiest, nor the best-connected. Indeed, we are looked upon as the dregs of the Patriarchy, fit only for the most base of tasks. But that will change, and very soon."
He paused as he heard and scented the rest of the Pride gather. "Because this is a time of opportunity for those hungry enough to grasp it."
He picked out one of the surviving Caitians, a plump, terrified-looking female.
"And we are the Hungriest. As you shall now see."
And then he launched himself at them, the others joining in.
It was time to Feast.
* * * * *
Kaijushima Island, Sea of Derena:
On the other side of Cait, another transport ship ferrying Caitian males, females and cubs landed on a small pad surrounded by thick, vibrant jungle foliage. In contrast to the desert air of Pakui, there was a swaddling moistness here, felt by the passengers as the gull-wing doors rose up and they emerged and looked around curiously.
Their pilot stepped out from behind, walking around to the front. He was an older male with tabby fur and a stubby tail compared with most, and a protruding belly. He was clad in a baggy tropical shirt and shorts, with a set of shaded spectacles resting on his muzzle as he regarded his charges. "I see you've all made it safely! Not that there was any doubt about that, but- oh, ah, hope nobody was too upset about that little drop in altitude over the Strait of Greve-"
"Jinjer."
The male turned at the approach of another male, straightening to attention. "Sir!"
Captain Majes Biggleshen drew up, eyeing his casual gear with some wry disdain. "A 'little drop in altitude'? Care to explain?"
JInjer's tail twitched a little. "The, ah, transport ship takes some getting used to, Biggles. Very modern. Too many safety features."
"Yes, well, with your dubious skills, I'd daresay there can never be enough of those." But then he smiled and patted his old friend on the shoulder, before turning and addressing the new arrivals. "Welcome to the Kaijushima Island Animal Reserve, my friends. The facilities are underground, shielded from outside sensors, so we'll be safe here."
One gray-furred knee-high female cub strode up to him boldly, pointed a finger at him and demanded, "Where's my Dad? You take me to him, or else!"
A female who was obviously the cub's mother swiftly followed, grasping the cub and offering, "I'm sorry, Sir! We've all- We've-"
Biggles smiled warmly. "Nothing to apologise for, Madame." He dropped to one knee before the cub and spoke without being patronising. "Your Dad is downstairs with the other soldiers in our Hospital, getting fixed up. I'm glad that you and your mother have arrived to help him feel better." He winked at her and rose again, addressing the rest. "All of the Militia personnel Captain Hrelle rescued from Agana Mount are in the medical facilities below. Some... might not be ready for visitors just now. But all of this will be explained by Mr Shall in the Reception Area below. Please, follow me."
Ginjir held out an open paw. "And don't forget to tip your driver."
Biggles smacked his paw away. "Get moving, there's a family of Starfleet officers and their families in Highsun waiting to get picked up... and Alji is waiting to land her transport."
* * * * *
Several floors below, Captain Esek Hrelle stood before a viewscreen in the facility's Ops Centre, looking up at a young, cider-furred Caitian male with unusually-long pointed ears and amber eyes. "We've stabilised most of the Militia prisoners, but the Ferasans did a number on a couple of them. We've stabilised them, but we need a surgeon here."
M'Turis, his liaison with the Kaetini Order, frowned.
"There's no one among the Militia families who might be able to take on that role?"
