Midday sun hung high over the forest, its light seeping through a thick canopy, casting shifting shadows on the ground below. Devavrata walked a narrow path back from the ashram's well, the celestial bow slung over his shoulder, water skins dripping cool against his hip. Yesterday's raid stuck with him, the fire arrows blazing, Dronaresh's wild glare, the ashram holding strong but marked by smoke. His boots crunched on dry leaves, the Ganga's pulse a steady beat in his chest, but a rustle caught his ear, sharp and sudden, beyond the trees.
Kshema strode ahead, his crimson leather catching the light, his bow gripped tight like he was ready to strike. "Bear tracks," he said, his voice edged with a hunter's thrill, nodding at faint claw marks scratched into the dirt. "Big one, same beast from before. I'm taking it down today."
Devavrata slowed, squinting at the tracks, too clean and fresh in the soft soil. "Wait a second," he said, his tone calm but firm. "Those don't look right. Could be a trick."
Kshema glanced back, his smirk quick and sharp. "A trick? It's a bear, not some schemer. You fret too much, river-son."
Aruni jogged up from behind, his short bow bouncing, his voice fast. "Bear's good. We can hunt it together, can't we?"
Vikrama followed, his knife sheathed, his eyes sweeping the brush. "Together makes sense. Tracks or no tracks, something's out there."
Kshema waved them off, his pace quickening. "Keep your eyes peeled if you want. I'm not waiting for a crowd. That bear's mine." He broke into a run, vanishing down the path toward a gully ahead, its slopes steep and dark with shade.
Devavrata swore under his breath, handing the water skins to Aruni. "Stay put and watch around you. I'm going after him." He took off, wind stirring faintly at his heels, the bow in hand, Kshema's red figure just visible ahead.
The gully rose up, its walls tight and rocky, vines trailing over the edges like snares. Kshema charged in, bow drawn, tracking the marks deeper, his voice ringing back. "Come out, you monster. Face me!"
"Kshema, stop!" Devavrata shouted, closing the gap, wind swirling stronger as he scanned the ground, too smooth, too perfect. "It's a setup. Get back!"
Kshema spun, his voice a growl. "Setup? The bear's right here. Stop yapping!" He took another step, and the ground gave way. A net snapped up, thick and rough, catching him mid-move, yanking him high. Spikes burst from the dirt below, rusted and sharp, grazing his leg as he swung, blood dripping fast.
"Blast it!" Kshema roared, twisting against the ropes, his bow dropping loose, tangled in the net. "Get me out of this!"
Devavrata lunged, wind surging at his call. A quick gust sliced at the net's edge, tearing it enough to send Kshema crashing down. Spikes flashed close, one cutting Devavrata's arm as he hauled Kshema free, a hot sting spreading red across his skin.
Kshema hit the ground, rolling to his knees, his leg bleeding, his voice hoarse. "What was that?"
"Trap," Devavrata said, grimacing as he clutched his cut arm, wind fading. "Dronaresh. Those tracks were his bait."
Shadows shifted, outcasts creeping from the gully's rim, bows drawn, ragged and tense. Dronaresh stepped forward, his gaunt face twisted with a grin, his voice scratching out. "Red one's mine. Knew you'd chase it, proud idiot."
Kshema scrambled up, grabbing his bow, his glare fierce. "Proud? I'll rip you apart for this!" He fired, the arrow streaking. Dronaresh dodged, the shot sinking into a tree with a thud.
Devavrata stepped in front, wind howling. A blast scattered the outcasts' arrows, knocking them back on their heels. "Not here. He's got the advantage. Pull out!"
Dronaresh laughed, a dry, bitter sound, his bow lifting. "Pull out? Too late. Red one bleeds for me!" He loosed, the arrow winging Kshema's shoulder, slicing deep, blood soaking his leather.
Kshema staggered, grunting, his next shot wild but hard, clipping an outcast's arm. "Bleed? I'll take your head!" His voice wavered, pride bending under the pain.
Devavrata grabbed him, wind swirling to shield their retreat, pushing him toward the gully's mouth. "Move, now!" He fired a wind-shot back, toppling two outcasts off the rim, their shouts fading as they fell.
They stumbled clear, Kshema limping, blood trailing from his leg and shoulder, Devavrata's arm dripping beside him. The outcasts held off, Dronaresh's voice growing faint. "Next time, red one. Next time!"
Back at the ashram, Aruni and Vikrama ran up, eyes wide. Aruni dropped the water skins, his voice quick. "You're hurt! What happened out there?"
"Trap," Devavrata said, steadying Kshema as he slumped against a tree, breathing hard. "Dronaresh lured him in. Nearly pinned him for good."
Vikrama knelt, eyeing Kshema's leg, his voice even. "Rough cuts. Spikes got you?"
Kshema shoved him away, his voice low, tight. "I'm fine. Keep your hands off me." His eyes flicked to Devavrata, sharp but shaky, a crack showing through the heat.
Devavrata ripped a strip from his tunic, wrapping his own arm, his tone calm. "You're not fine. Sit still." He tossed another strip to Vikrama, nodding at Kshema's leg. "Bind that up. He won't do it."
Kshema glared but stayed put, letting Vikrama tie the wound, his silence heavy, a thanks he wouldn't voice. The air calmed, the ashram quiet, the midday sun climbing steady overhead.
Parashurama stepped out of his hut, axe over his shoulder, his broad frame cutting through the light. He stopped, his eyes sweeping them—Kshema bleeding, Devavrata cut, Aruni pale, Vikrama steady. "Caught again?" he said, his voice a deep growl, edged with bite.
"Dronaresh," Devavrata said, standing tall, meeting his gaze. "Rigged a gully with tracks to draw Kshema out. Almost had him."
Parashurama's eyes narrowed, sliding to Kshema, who looked away, jaw clenched. "Hate blinds," he said, his voice heavy, sinking deep. "Watch yours. It'll kill you quicker than any spike." He turned, axe swinging low, walking back to his hut without another word, leaving the warning to hang.
Kshema stared at the dirt, blood drying on his leather, his voice a mutter. "Blinds nothing. I'd have had that bear."
Devavrata crouched beside him, his tone quiet, solid. "No bear. Just him. You ran straight into it."
Kshema's eyes met his, fierce but softer, a flicker there—gratitude buried under pride, bending slow. "You got me out," he said, low, almost lost in the wind. "Didn't need to."
"Needed to," Devavrata said, a faint smile breaking through. "We're in this. Can't lose you yet."
Aruni sat nearby, his voice small but firm. "Lose him? He's too hard-headed. Spikes won't stop him."
Vikrama stood, wiping his hands, his tone dry. "Hard-headed's why he's bleeding. Next time, hear us out."
Kshema smirked, faint but real, leaning back against the tree, his bow across his lap. "Next time, I'm skinning that rat. Bear or no bear."
Devavrata rose, the Ganga's pulse strong, a calm threading through the ache in his arm. Kshema's crack widened—a shift, subtle but real, pride giving way to something new. He glanced at the forest, Dronaresh's laugh echoing in his mind. "Next time, red one." He murmured, low to himself, "He's breaking. Us or himself."
The sun rose higher, the ashram still, the air thick with heat. Devavrata's bow rested warm in his hand, the fight unfinished, the cost climbing—a thread tying them tighter, fraying Dronaresh apart.