Bryant was properly humiliated, his embarrassment rolling off him in waves like the humid heat of the jungle. The arrogance that had fueled his mistreatment of the prisoner evaporated, leaving behind a frantic desire to atone. To get on the floor and show his leader his belly in submission.
He bowed his head low to Roy a silent, submissive acknowledgment of his failure and reached down to help Otis onto his feet, this time with a gentleness that was far more performative than sincere. Once he had apologised, Roy let the matter go. After all his men were representatives of his character, he could not let them tarnish his reputation.
Roy waited patiently, his pruple eyes fixed on the interaction. He stood perfectly still until the young soldier had taken a respectful step away from the old male, ensuring the hierarchy of the moment was restored. He then looked at Otis again, his gaze narrowing.
"How long have you served this tribe as an Elder?"
Otis straightened his thin shoulders, smoothing the threadbare fabric of his cloak. "Nearly twenty-two seasons now," he answered. Roy could feel the sudden, resonant pride in the old Margay's voice—a flicker of the dignity that the war had tried to strip away. "I have always been treated fair, good warrior. They made me feel as important as those who participate in the hunt to provide our Margay cubs with meat."
Roy shook his head slowly, a look of profound disgust crossing his features. He wasn't impressed by the longevity; he was disappointed in the male's apparent cowardice. Serving a clan, a family for so long and yet sees fit to condemn them in exchange for his own safety; this elder was truly not worthy of praise.
"Yet, you stand here today and tell me after twenty-two seasons of fair treatment, you betray your princess now?" Roy's voice was like a as cold as ice. "Your word is not trustworthy."
Roy did not waste another minute on the old man. His stride was determined, his boots thudding against the earth as he made his way to the heavy doors of the fortress. He didn't ask for entrance; he pushed the eager beastkin out of his path with the effortless strength and stepped inside.
Outside, Otis was motioned into the cluster of his surviving tribesmen. He was left to huddle in the dirt, worrying about his fate and the fate of the women he loved, while Bryant rushed after his leader like a pup desperate for a scrap of approval.
Inside, the fortress was a skeleton of its former glory. Roy was methodical in his search, his predator's eyes taking in every detail. The first floor was a graveyard of memories: rubble was strewn across the floor, litter covered once-gorgeous hand-woven rugs, and the long stone table at the center of the room where the leaders had surely once shared meals had been violently overturned.
The wooden staircase leading to the chambers above was still intact, though just barely. The steps were creaky, complaining under Roy's weight, and it was a dangerously narrow climb. Most of the side railing had been torn away during the breach. If a female or a cub were to lose their footing in the dark, there would be nothing to prevent them from tumbling down into the wreckage below.
The landing on the second level was just as pitiful. The wind howled through the structure, whistling through a gaping hole in the center of the stair cheek wall where a projectile must have struck.
As soon as Roy reached the landing, Bryant rushed ahead of him. In a clumsy show of bravery, the soldier elongated his claws, the obsidian nails glinting in the dim light. He clearly took his role as temporary second-in-command seriously and meant to protect his leader from any lingering Margay shadows.
However, as graceful as a feline might be in water, Bryant was a disaster on the rotting wood. His foot caught on a loose, jagged board. He lost his balance, his arms flailing as he pitched forward, flying directly toward the gaping hole in the wall.
Roy sighed, the sound barely audible over the wind. With a lightning-fast reflex, he caught Bryant by the nape of the neck just before he vanished into the drop. With a swift flick of his wrist, he sent the soldier tumbling in the opposite direction.
Bryant landed with a dull thud against the opposite inside wall, which thankfully remained solid. Roy watched him shake himself like a wet dog to rid his fur of the shivers before the boy scrambled up and came chasing after him again.
Shaking his head in exasperation at the inept soldier's puny attempt to protect a Black Panther General, Roy didn't bother taking any further precautions. He started down the hallway, his nose twitching at the scent of stale incense and old wood.
When he reached the first chamber and found the door barred against him, he didn't knock. He simply kicked it open with a controlled burst of power. He ducked under the low door frame, the Margays were built smaller than his kind and stepped inside.
The room was a bedchamber, illuminated by the flickering light of six burning candles. It was unoccupied, and Roy took his time studying the space. He was mildly surprised at how Spartan and orderly the chamber was, especially when his keen scent told him it belonged to a female.
In the Claw Kingdom, he was used to females surrounding themselves with a clutter of possessions such as jewelry, high grade hides and fine silks, just to name a few.
This room however, was vastly different. A large bed made of soft straw and neat, thick furs was piled at the center of the room. A single chest made of dark wood sat against the left wall, and a clay pot of fresh water occupied the opposite corner. Not a single article of clothing was left behind to give Roy an approximate size or shape of the woman he was meant to capture.
He turned to leave, but his path was blocked by the overly eager Bryant. A low, vibrating growl and a single sharp glare from Roy's purple eyes removed the obstacle instantly. Bryant scrambled backward, nearly tripping again.
Making his way to the second door at the end of the hall, Roy stopped. His keen hearing picked up the low murmur of two voices, and his nose caught the distinct, underlying scent of at least one Margay beastkin and a heavy scent of healing herbs within.
The hunt was narrowing.