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B'alam were sharp of teeth and swift of claw. Muscles bunched for the pounce, and their eyes looked their prey directly. They were predators. Carnivores. They ate...other creatures. It wasn't something Tl'iish was comfortable with. He doubted even if Stillwater himself had stood by his side to teach him how to hunt he would ever be comfortable with it. And in this city by the lake, his horrified tribemates had told him that no matter how much contrition he showed, however long he prayed over the sad little graves, to bury what remained of their prey after the meal was the worst disrespect a B'alam could show to their prey. They told him to seek out the Chief Tanner and deliver unto him his questions.
The tannery was full of bones and skins, and the scent on the air was not the most pleasant. But Tl'iish lifted his head towards the sky and breathed that scent in, letting it coat his nostrils and paint his lungs with the scent of them. He had decided when the other B'alam directed him here--this would be his home. If the Chief Tanner, Wave Runner, by name, could teach him--would teach him--then he intended to make this his home and his vocation. Tanner. Showing respect to the dead. Alleviating, in some small way, the guilt of killing. Yes. This was what Tl'iish wanted to do. He watched the tannery for signs of movement. The Chief Tanner would be there, he was sure.
When he finally spotted the object of his quest, he padded quietly down towards him, stopping several feet away from the Chief Tanner. He said not a word. Tl'iish did not like speaking. He would speak only if another spoke to him. And even then, his words would be short. If the Chief Tanner wished to speak to him, he would. But Tl'iish would not leave until he had been accepted as a student.
Ririka