emile fischer

Veckh: Daughter of Dathomir

Dathomir, outer rim, Quelli sector.

One night, under the light of two of its four moons, Dathomir gave birth.

Between the dark mountains and the dead forest of the first continent, a rattataki and his wife escaped the red night thanks to a small campfire. The woman was lying on her back, calm and focused, while the man was sitting cross-legged beside her, his hand resting on his partner's swollen stomach. The night was silent, not a rancor, not a veeka, not even a snake disturbing the serenity of the planet. The stars were shining, the purple mist was leaving, and only the sound of the campfire and the rattataki's slow breathing could be heard. There were never quiet nights, let alone days, on Dathomir. It was a first, for thousands of moons.

"Ru'thak baethar deogh naar. (I see the head, my love.), said the rattataki quietly, as he meditated for his wife. “Gläedoshnn. (Continued) The rattataki was beginning to sweat, but was as calm as a lake on a windless day. She had never given birth, but she knew how. After all, all his ancestors had been there, and had passed on their resentments, their method, their preferences and their knowledge, from generation to generation. Giving birth that night felt like she had done it a thousand times before. She felt no pain, no fear, no weakness. She put her hand on her man's and looked at him tenderly.

The night was long. It was only after five hours of total concentration that a little girl, pale as snow, was able to rest in the arms of her parents. The mother kissed the little thing's forehead and raised her pearly eyes to the starry sky. “Daan'hathaä...Veckh...Daan'hathaä. (Welcome...Veckh...Welcome.)

Thus, it was with his caring parents that Veckh grew up on the isolated planet. They had been living alone for two years before he was born. Originally, six major clans lived neighbors on the first continent. But after the multiplication of incidents, due in particular to encounters with the wildest fauna, the clans decided to leave their land to colonize other continents. Two clans left for the third continent, and the other four migrated to the second, but not the young couple. Veckh's mother was far too attached to her history, to the culture and to all the memories buried under the rock of the first continent. The father, more reasonable, had tried to reason with her, but had finally understood and ended up announcing the final farewell to their clan. They inherited the remains of the village as a gift. It had then become a ghost town, made up almost entirely of old tents and ancient totems, hidden by the mist, but the heritage of the rattataki clan remained hanging there.

Veckh's parents had decided to take what they could from the village and build a house, bigger than the old chief's, just a few steps from the ghost town. Thus they would keep the heritage, without being the only inhabitants of this abandoned nothingness. Their house therefore rested on four trees, which like most trees in Dathomir formed bridges as they emerged from the ground and then plunged back into it. It was said that as they grew, these trees got frightened upon seeing the gloomy landscape of the planet, and buried their heads in the ground trembling. The four bridges, of dead but solid wood, formed the main beams of the house. The father had surrounded the bridges with thick creepers, at mid-height, then had created a floor at the same level, by making diagonals with the creepers, resembling in the end a spider's web, and by placing large leaves covered with silky feathers. Thus their dwelling had two floors. The first was on the ground, on red sand, and the second had a flexible floor and served as a common room, accessible via another vertical, braided vine. The walls were made of the skins of various beasts of the region, the door was only a curtain of woven seaweed, and a small pile of stones arranged in a circle next to the house was used to make a fire and to cook the meat. .

The rattataki family lived there for many years. Every morning, they woke up together, one of the parents went hunting (most often the father) and the other cooked, the day passed, and in the evening, before going to bed, Veckh was entitled to a story told by his mother, sometimes accompanied by the father. They figured Dathomir wasn't going to be their daughter's haven for long. So they decided to speak mainly basic with her, so that she could adapt to the vast galaxy that awaited her. There was always a new story every evening, except for the stories that were too long, which were told over several evenings. Many were improvised adventures, from which Veckh could choose the end, but most came from legends or historical facts of Dathomir. Veckh was still listening with big, round, bright eyes, lying on the feather hammock, dressed in thick pajamas, captivated by every word.

“…and so the last Kwa destroyed the last magical portals, and isolated themselves from the rest of the galaxy by remaining on Dathomir. But… lacking technology, culture and friends, they lost their intelligence and gradually changed in appearance, finally becoming the Kwi. concludes the mother.

“Those same Kwis you are enjoying right now. joked the father. The mother glared at him, and he erased his smile.

Little Veckh smiled in turn, closing her eyes.

"Tomorrow I want a pirate story!" ", she says.

" Still ? his mother joked. Obviously, these were his favorites…

“Tomorrow Veckh, we'll find the perfect ink tree for your tattoos. What do you say ? proposed the father proudly.

The young rattataki curled up on the soft feather hammock. She knew this day had to come, but she was afraid of the unknown, afraid of failure. The ceremony of the tattoos was not a simple thing, nor even pleasant.

“Don't worry naär. You're still too young for that. Tomorrow we'll just find the ink and prepare it. Remember it must simmer in blood for 24 moons. said the father to calm her down.

"Blood of Dathomir!" clarified Veckh, reassured.

Her parents were proud of her. They watched her fall asleep hugging each other in front of her. Dathomir's blood was a kind of purple oil that flowed from the top of one of the tallest mountains on the planet. The ancestors of the six clans said that Dathomir's first rattataki was born by emerging from this substance on a stormy day. It was only a legend, but it was the basis of Dathomir's rattataki culture.

At the age of seven, Veckh had to pass the ceremony. It was a windy and sunny day. She sat cross-legged on a brown wool rug, dressed in a simple, massive animal skin, with her back to a cave carved into Blood Mountain. His parents had brought in a shaman from their old clan. Master Jaevas, as old as he was wise, had taken ten minutes to sit down in front of her, his hips ached so much. When he flipped his hood over his back, Veckh made a natural grimace, but said nothing so as not to offend the dusty debris. The top of his head, the entire area above his ears, was transparent. It was as if someone had unscrewed his scalp, removed his brain, and closed the skull with a glass bowl, adorned with very aesthetic black tattoos that descended to his jaw.

“Ragh thrabatis ak'nuüme deah dideahg brahn'dïmekis? (Who comes to this sacred place for the bloodmark ritual?), says the century-old rattataki.

“Veckh, keahä'Dathomir. (Veckh, daughter of Dathomir.), replied the young rattataki in a firm voice.

The old man raised one hand towards her and the other towards the sky. Then he began to utter gibberish that no one could understand. Veckh's heart was beating hard in his chest. It was like during a theatrical performance in front of a full house, she knew her text, her role, but was afraid of making a mistake. And this kind of ceremony only happened once in a lifetime and was to engrave a long legacy and a kind of destiny on his skin, it was much more than just tattoos. Veckh looked at her parents who were nearby and supporting her with their gaze. She felt her courage rise in her body. She was ready.

When she looked back at Jaevas, and was surprised to see that the crystal dome over his head glowed with a bright yellow glow, as if a sun was rising within him.

"Ganäh ekk'vähn dratht, n'bishä. (Get inked, my child.), the shaman whispered to him, handing him the earthenware pot overflowing with the mixture.

Veckh set the jar down in front of her and plunged both her hands into it, then scooped out the more solid product, and smeared her entire head with what now looked like red mud. She ran her hands over the top of her head, over her little ears, let the excess drip down her neck and the back of her neck, then looked at her parents, closed her eyes and covered her eyelids.

In this total darkness, she could still hear the old rattataki speaking in this funny dead language. She held her breath so as not to swallow the ink, and tried to remain as calm as possible. But suddenly, the shaman's words sounded louder and louder, and she felt as if the purple mud was trying to force its way into her mouth. As the substance dried on her pale skin, she began to have visions. She saw her mother, and her father, standing on a cliff above the bramble forest. Then the scene turned to her bedroom, where she thought she heard a story whispered in the hollow of her ear. The next moment she was flying over the ghost town, and a few seconds later she saw nothing but heard the thrilling sound of a lightsaber activating in an echo. The tip of his nose and the edges of his eyes stung, an icy breath frosted the back of his neck, then a caress tickled his cheek. She saw sand as far as the eye could see, a green cloud snaking the air around her, then the immensity of space. She opened her eyes, breaking the dry crust that covered her eyelids, then the shaman was suddenly silent. The top of his head lit up one last time, then went out.

The mud became liquid again, and flowed over Veckh's body. The uncovered face bore unique rattataki markings. The old shaman smiled and put his dusty hood back on, while the parents behind him tried to hide how proud they were of their daughter. The mother covered her mouth, and the father put his hands on his wife's shoulders. What beautiful designs their child wore!

Veckh ran into their arm and began to smile with them. Then she turned to Jaevas and gave him a grateful look, shyly. The old man smiled in turn and gave two small sharp taps on the top of his head, with his finger, through the hood. An almost metallic sound echoed. He must have been used to the strange reaction of various children. He exchanged a few words in rattataki with Veckh's parents and left peacefully.

That evening, the little rattataki family celebrated the occasion in the beautiful house. The father had cooked well-salted Kwi, grilled veeka with dried plants, and had even gone to get wine at the edge of the continent. The few relations they had with the second land and their ancient people had allowed them to contact Jaevas and at the same time order a jar of wine, which only a few rattataki knew how to make. It must be said that the vines of Dathomir were becoming rare.

The meal was delicious, but the time spent at the table and after in the family room was more important. They had had all kinds of discussions, as if the parents had just had a new daughter by their side. An adult daughter. Not yet a woman, but... as they would have said in their language  : a "  Argaliah't  (≈ mature, ready to be independent).

However, so as not to change their habits too much, Veckh wanted a story before going to sleep. And a beautiful story she had. A tale mixing pirates, jedi, sith, aliens of all kinds, beautiful battles, a little love story, a rich family plot, and which ends with a discovered treasure...

"  what was the treasure mom  ?  asked Veckh, still in the clouds.

Both parents smiled and the mother took down her four silver triangular earrings. They were decorated with very simple rattataki patterns, and shone in Veckh's eyes. After a moment of silence, the mother says  :

"  They are for you Veckh.  »

In rattataki culture, you should know that refusing a gift is a sign of bad luck, non-respect, or even, depending on the context, an act of war. Veckh took them in his hands and inspected them for a long time in silence, from all possible angles. She had seen them every day since she was born, and knew the smallest details, playing with them while cuddling with her mother.

"  Prän'thah mogganhä.  " (Thanks Mom.)

A long moment of silent peace lasted in the room. The light from the torches outside danced on the walls, and the calm wind whispered its usual secrets. Veckh suddenly remembered the vision she had had during the tattoo ritual. She had so many questions.

"  Mom… during my vision, during the ceremony… I saw you two standing on a cliff, near a forest…  »

"  The Pic du Rancor… This is where we met Veckh. Visions show the past, the present, and sometimes the future. That was eleven years ago. A night of eclipse with three moons if I remember correctly...  said her mother nostalgically, looking at her husband.

"  It is also there that four years later, you were born, naär.  We thought it would be a good place.  added the father, putting an arm behind his wife. "  Yet another story to tell...  ?  »

Veckh realized that no story told so far was about his parents. Of their love so powerful, of their past and of their adventures. Unlike their ancestors, who had been entitled to the main role in many stories. She buried herself in the feathers and waited for her parents' sweet voice to begin.

Four years later, Veckh was still a child. Even after the ceremony, the young Äargaliah't refused in a sense to become too adult. She was mature, intelligent, agile, independent, but her life on Dathomir was so restricted, knowing only life alone with her parents, that staying young and lively in her head was no problem. Rather a feat, some would say.

Veckh therefore liked to play at the age of eleven in the various corners around his house. She had discovered a lot of territory on the outskirts, but preferred what was closer to her haven. She knew Blood Mountain, Silver Stream, Bramble Forest and Rancor Peak. She sometimes frequented the areas beyond the Black Bone Plain, but mostly stayed within minutes of her home. Of her own free will, but in addition to the wishes of her protective parents.

But perhaps the place she loved the most, aside from the home of course, was the ghost town. She didn't go there so often, never for long without being accompanied. It was the place accessible to her that she was most afraid of. But she loved fear. The thrill of not knowing what is hidden behind each old tent, between each totem, and in the mansion of the great chief. And then from there, she could hear her father, if he was screaming really loud, calling her for dinner. He wanted to live extraordinary adventures there, with imaginary friends, fierce rivals and magical powers. Sure, his friends were decorated trees, his rivals stones with an ugly face painted on them… but his powers… Oh them, they were real.

His parents called it the Zogën'ra. This gift, this entity, had many names in the galaxy. Others would have called it the Ashla or the Bogen, but most simply called it the Force. Veckh was very sensitive to it for his age, and had had no training. She had manifested her Force sensitivity around age 4, by knocking over her mother's pitcher. Both parents were sensitive too, but barely. She had already surpassed them in this area for a long time, and was therefore self-taught.

One morning, going to play in the misty village lit by a pink sunrise, she took a wooden stick she found on the way. She liked getting up early lately. She had more time to play, and the view of the landscape at dawn was phenomenal. She jumped on the dry and dusty ground without knowing what she was going to imagine fighting. Maybe a giant wolf? Or a baron of the underworld?... In any case, she would do it alongside her wooden allies, and this time, armed with a "real" lightsaber!

“Beware, ugly creature! I'm Veckh, from Dathomir, and you won't hurt my friends! she cried, twirling her stick through the air, violently.

She didn't know rage, but seeing her one would have thought she was emptying herself of something heavy. The sound of his weapon was like an exotic song, varying in volume and frequency randomly, like the whistling of the wind. When she wanted to give the coup de grace to the small Machiavellian rock, she twirled the piece of wood behind her back, in a very elegant but lacking in practice way, and it slipped out of her hands. In the heat of the moment, and not wanting to assume her mistake, she positioned her two hands forward and literally blasted the rock until she started to smoke. When she stopped, her hands stung and her fingers were hot. She watched them curiously and laughed with joy. Another thing his parents couldn't do. She wondered how far the discovery and the limit of her powers would go...

She stared at the old, smoking rock again and turned to pick up her weapon…but she was gone. She looked around for it, spinning around staring at the floor, then bumped into something big... or rather someone.

“Hey there, sweetheart. »

Veckh looked up at the tall twi'lek standing before her, then jumped back. Behind him stood three other men, two Devaronians and a gent, all armed to the teeth. The Twi'lek had blue skin, a hard, square face, and sharp teeth revealed by a smirk. His two Devaronian henchmen were twins, except for the fact that one of them was missing an eye and the other had a ring between his nostrils and was missing a horn. The gent had a mouth similar to an octopus' beak, and a cybernetic hand. The leader with the pale lekkus leaned over the rattataki and held out his hand.

"It's yours I guess...?" he asked, showing her the piece of wood.

Veckh seized it like a savage and took another step back, without saying a word. But who were these strangers? Where did they come from? And what did they want? Veckh couldn't hold back for long.

" ...Who are you ? »

The men smiled and the Twi'lek descended, bending his knees.

"Rogue...Mercenaries...Pirates...we have many names...but I personally prefer the term...Smuggler." Yeah that sounds better. he said hoarsely.

“You are not pirates. assured Veckh who knew what she was talking about.

The men began to laugh and the Twi'lek concluded:

" If you say so. Well... don't hurt yourself with that sweetie. We are going to visit a little..."

He stood up and roughly stroked the young child's bald head, before setting off again with his gang. Veckh watched them go. What strange fanatics... She went back to playing, and thought of the story she was going to tell her parents once she got home... not knowing that in reality, she wasn't going to be able to tell them anything. either, and that it would already be too late.

Two blaster blasts echoed through the mist moments later, and Veckh's staff fell to the ground. She shivered in terror when she heard her mother's torn voice:

“Riidaeh Veckh!!! Riidaeh!!! (Run Veckh!!! Run!!!)

Panic invaded the body of the little rattataki. This new sensation infiltrated his veins, tensed his muscles, made his skin quiver and whispered in his ear "...run...". No longer feeling a presence in the Force that had accompanied her all her life, she ran into hiding, in tears, and a final blaster blast sounded in an echo.

Hiding in one of the ghost town's many gray canvas tents, Veckh, holding her breath, heard the sound of fire consuming her home, saw the orange light cast on the canvas, and a shadow looming over it. The figure of the twi'lek held a machete in his hand, the blade resting on his shoulder. His head looked from right to left, then one of his men called him from afar.

“Chief... You should come and see... The schutta killed one of the twins. »

"  Stoopa... I'm coming  !  »

The evil shadow disappeared from the tent canvas and Veckh could finally breathe. She didn't understand what those monsters had said, but she had to move. And she had to calm down, or at least try. She put her hand on his chest to feel his heart, and after a long and painful moment she succeeded. She thinks of a plan  : trudge out of his hiding place, escape the men... and then what  ? To run  ? run away cowardly  ? ...No... It was his parents that those wild creatures had attacked. They had come to her house. It was Dathomir  ! Veckh clenched his fists and teeth  : his decision was made. She was going to bypass the gang, and save what could still be saved, or die trying.

Veckh stuck his head out of the tent, looked around, and ran to the nearest tent, then to the next, getting closer to the house that was beginning to resist the fire. Only the roof of the chamber was gone, and the walls were scorched, but the last flames were dying on the thick leather walls. She was about to dive into another tent, but the gent came out, knife in hand. Quick as lightning, she recoiled and blocked her lungs. The vile creature thought he heard something, and turned his head. He stared at the tent against which Veckh was hiding...for a long time...not moving. The gan was like a predator staring at its prey through the tall grass. Its large fly-like eyes were attentive to the slightest movement, its open beak seemed to breathe in the smell of rattataki, its three-fingered hand played with the knife.

"  Chief  !  he called suddenly.

The Twi'lek and the One-Eyed Devaronian came running, weapons drawn. The latter clenched his sharp teeth to explode them. His breathing was powerful, and an intense fire animated his eye. The gent waved his hand at them, almost military movements, silent and sharp, pointing his finger at the tent. Veckh closed his eyes, his back to the gray canvas, and lifted his chin. An idea... he needed an idea to get out of there. She opened her eyes wide, lowered her head and stared at the rocky ground. Instinctively, she bent down and placed a hand on the hot stone, concentrating. She called on the Zogën'ra... she called on the Force.

A few steps away, towards the first trees of the forest, behind the village, a large orange rock, the size of a pumpkin, slowly took off from the ground. It levitated as it twirled around itself, rising little by little from the red sand. Arrived at about a meter in height, she froze. Veckh didn't move either, keeping his eyes closed, listening to the men of hell come closer and closer. Then, in a split second, she opened her eyes and took a deep breath. The rocky mass rushed through the ghostly village, hissing, and exploding with a heart-rending noise on the Devaronian's left temple.

His teeth shattered before flying away, his eye popped out of his mush skull, his horn imploded and the rock penetrated under his skin and into his brain, shattering and bursting in turn like a grenade. The headless body tipped to its right, collapsing to the ground under the incomprehensible gaze of the two mercenaries.

"  Name of...  »

The twi'lek and the gent raised their heads and their blasters, and charged towards where the massive rock had come from. Veckh took advantage of the distraction to scurry home.

In the midst of a red mist filled with black ashes, Veckh looked for his parents. His bare feet slid in the hot sand, and his white eyes searched every nook and cranny. Then, at the back of the smoking hut, she saw her father, face down, bathed in a pool of blood, and her mother a few steps away, crawling towards the hut with one arm. Veckh screamed in horror and ran towards her. She helped her mother to lay her head on her knees, and sobbed her hand.

"  ...mogganhä...  she said in a weak voice.

"  ...It's okay naär...Chhhhht... that... it's going to be fine...  her mother whispered, trying to reassure her.

Veckh lifted his little irises skyward, asking the universe for help with just a look. She was looking for ways to help him, looking around, but knowing deep down that it was too late. She saw her father, cold and sleepy, and the one-horned Devaronian lying nearby, a steaming hole in his chest. His mother had had the opportunity to grab her blaster and hadn't missed it, but only after being fatally shot herself. Playing dead in such pain hadn't been easy when the dastardly twi'lek then showed up...

"  Veckh naär... you are an Äargaliah't, you are strong, lively, intelligent, courageous... You will get through this. Be brave...  »

The mother's last smile faded along with her heart. She closed her eyes and leaned her head towards her daughter's belly before exhaling her last breath.

Veckh deposited her parents' bodies in the house, aided by the Force. She took the web of creepers and feathers that had come loose from the chamber, and made a blanket for their eternal rest. Leaving the burial hut, his eyes fell on the Devaronian's corpse. The rattataki's blood swirled, and she rushed at him as if he were just a play ball on an empty field. His foot slammed into the corpse's ribcage, breaking a rib or two, but the rage didn't rub off on de Veckh. She continued, crying more and more, until she collapsed beside him. She curled up and screamed into the wind.

And then... a small metallic object reflected the light of Domir, sun of Dathomir, in his pupils. She narrowed her eyes, and moved closer curiously to the small reek skin bag that was calling her.

All the happiness and gifts in the world couldn't have rekindled the joy in the little rattataki's heart at this moment. But what she saw then had the power to help her... get revenge. And that, she felt the need.

A lightsaber.

Seizing the ancestral weapon that these thugs must have stolen, she stood up and pressed the activator. An orange-yellow blade shot out of the hilt and plunged into the skull of the alien on the ground. Veckh stared at the horizon, stiff as a Sith trooper, as the plasma beam boiled the blood in the pasty head of the corpse.

The young girl plunged into the forest where the last two aliens had gone. His white eyes turned yellow, and his running quickened. She slipped between the dead branches, dodged the brambles that rushed at her, and cut down those that dared to get in her way.

Then she gained height. With gravity on Dathomir being slightly weaker than the galactic average, the rattataki jumped over a root bridge, then another, and another. She looked like a wild animal. This time they weren't going to hurt her anymore... This time, she was the predator.

Soaring through the air and galloping over the earth, the beast finally heard a familiar voice in the distance and accelerated.

"  Hey, mayan stupa  ! Let it go... We won't find her...  »

Veckh charged the twi'lek and thrust the lightsaber into its belly. The mercenary gasped and stepped back without understanding.

"  Chuba...  exclaimed the gent, fleeing and cowardly abandoning his partner without hesitation.

The rutian twi'lek bellowed over the gray moss, clinging to the roots in an attempt to flee, but death on Dathomir is not easily escaped, let alone Veckh. The young girl lowered her saber, and with a sadistic slowness cut her Achilles tendons.

The poor creature screamed in pain. Her cries, at times, sounded like a mixture of crying and laughing. He didn't move, and just endured the worst pain he had ever been inflicted...until then.

The rattataki beast thought for a moment, looking at what was useful around it. She banged a vine hanging from a tree. The vegetable cord shrivelled to the ground, and Veckh approached his victim, the vine in his hand.

"  You won't get away with this schutta  ! I'm going to kill you  ! You hear me  !? I will slaughter you  ! I v...  »

Veckh stuffed dirt and moss into the twi'lek's mouth to shut him up, and blocked it with a stone wedged between his teeth. Then she walked around, grabbed the boots he was wearing, pulled them off, and wrapped the vine around his feet. The man fidgeted, but couldn't defend himself against the girl, because of the hole he had in his stomach. He smashed the back of his skull against the ground in pain, when the vines, squeezed tightly, penetrated forcefully into the crack where his severed tendons were. They entered, and squeezed the mercenary's ankles like a Dagobah constrictor, rubbing the bloody wound with each turn. The poor twi'lek felt his eyes pull out of their sockets as the pain was intense.

Veckh tossed the vine in the air, and passed it over a branch, then it began to pull, and pull, again and again, until the tips of the blue lekkus could caress his face .

"  Veckh... Remember my name before you die.  she told him, staring into his eyes.

The twi'lek died a few hours later, asphyxiated by the blood from his wound in the belly which flowed into his nostrils.

Just one more.

Veckh had been looking for the gent for three hours. He had simply disappeared. She had scoured the jungle like a hungry nexu, but found nothing. The last rascal had fled, and the rattataki refused to believe in abandonment. She would search the jungle for ten more moons if necessary. This coward wasn't going to get away with it.

She decided to rest for a moment, remaining standing but motionless, just long enough to recover, to breathe a little, to think with her eyes closed... She saw her mother, her father, both of them telling her a story in the hanging room. . She smelled the smell of her father's soup cooking on the fire, the perfume of her mother when she came to kiss him. The sound of birds sometimes nesting above their heads. She opened her lids, and her yellow eyes went back to white. The shadow inside her seemed to evaporate a bit to spread across the floor.

Crack...

Veckh did not move. Not a bit. She felt the light breath caressing her spine. Strong and bitter smell. The gigantic weight that pressed the earth so hard behind her back... The shadow on the ground didn't come from her.

She turned her head very slowly, and stiffened at the sight of Dathomir's huge resentment staring at her. She observed his teeth protruding from his powerful jaw, the spikes on his arms and shoulders, the small red eyes. Tiny red eyes that pierced his soul. Then Veckh's gaze turned to the beast's leg. He held in his large right hand the headless body of a gent. Veckh exhaled for a second, and knowing well and truly that the escape would not take her far, she advanced towards the monster, holding out her hand. The beast did not move, staring at the pale palm of this small creature that was advancing towards it. The rattataki walked, slowly, calmly, towards the rancor. When she finally put her hand between her nostrils, the rancor let go of the glove and closed his eyes. Veckh closed his, and rested his head against the animal's muzzle.

"  Daan'heethaä... Gmaramogh... Daan'hathaä. Morgätih Veckh” (Hello...Partner...Welcome. My name is Veckh.)