(Unfinished, unedited)

Zwip.

It was a perfect shot. The arrow glided through the air without a current or bent shaft to disrupt its path to the canister near the Sawtooth's stomach. The hunter stood up straighter in pride, a beautifully crafted bow made from bone in her hand at her side. Two red feathers tied on one side with a band of beads hung toward the ground with no breeze to brush them and no sunlight to reflect off their colorful vane. 

She was about to curve her lips into a slight smile when the machine roared and fell to the ground, a flurry of sparks erupting from the side opposite to her. She internally gasped and silently took on a crouching position, hidden by tall, red fronds. The hunter watched as a humanoid figure came into sight where the Sawtooth had stood, and began to rip it apart. She huffed and stood, little concern for other machines that could be around. She marched the hundred or so feet toward them, annoyed and stubborn.
"Hey!" she called out. The scavenger lifted their head slightly. "You can't do that; it's my kill."
The person stopped rummaging through the beast and rested their arm on their thigh, looking her right in the eye. They cocked an eyebrow and replied in a fairly deep but young voice. "Says who? I sure didn't see you around when I took it down."
The hunter stomped up to the scavenger, climbing on the Sawtooth and getting right up in their face. "I say. And I was there, but for your knowledge, I'm an archer, and we stay away from our targets." She held her bow up for them to see.
The scavenger looked her bow and the quiver on her back, then at the machine. "I don't see any arrows in this 'target' of yours." They remarked.
She glared at the pesk. "Who are you, anyway? And why are you getting involved with my hunting?"
"One question at a time, archer," they instructed, ripping out a wire and inspecting it.
"Fine," she said. "Who are you?"
"I'm not sure I should tell you," the scavenger grabbed the blaze canister and ranked it out with careful and deadly precision.
"Why not?" the hunter asked, irritated.
"Because it's kind of against tribal law to tell anything to outsiders," they began packing the machine components in a satchel at their side.
"But you just told me something," she pointed out.
"Well, I guess that one fact is an exception to the rule. You know, an explanation for our silence," they stood, with their hands on the strap of the satchel. Something in the distance behind the hunter seemed to catch their attention and and they squinted for a second, then took off. She looked behind her, beginning to notice the noise. There were roars and shouts and grinding and clinking of metal. Distant foliage rustled from the commotion. She took a few long paces to one side to see through the branches.
"Oh, no," she muttered, catching glimpses of her hunting party, whom she was supposed to be with, and the Thunderjaw they were fighting. A glance to her left and she saw the scavenger silently running toward the beastly machine. She took off after them, her lithe form catching up within a decent amount of time.
"At least tell me your name!" she gasped after the scavenger.
"Shadow," was their reply.
"That's not a name," she called as the scavenger picked up speed.
"Yes it is!" the one called Shadow confirmed, looking over his shoulder at her. He suddenly stopped and she nearly ran into him. He held a finger to her, indicating she must be quiet. He reached into his satchel and pulled out a heavy black chain, at the end of which had a deadly grappling hook. Shadow spun the chain around, and the hunter backed up so as to not be hurt by it. He let more of the metal into his swing and as it picked up speed he swung it out. She realized they were by the sight of the Thunderjaw as the chain swung around its feet a few times, the grappling hook digging into its mechanic flesh. The huge monster roared and teetered as Shadow pulled on the chain, falling opposite of the hunter and Shadow. Part of her hunting party scrambled to get out of the way, others rushing to deliver final blows. They watched the carnage.
"I believe you owe me a name?" Shadow said to her, his fingers gripping the chain firmly.
"Oh?" she said, startled. "Oh, uh, Ally."
"Hmm," he said, and backed up behind some trees branches, pressing his back against the rock wall behind them. He started to shake the chain loose from a distance as the Thunderjaw died. Ally looked back at the strange boy.
"Thanks for helping us," she said, forgetting the ordeal over the Sawtooth.
"Us?"
"My hunting party," she confirmed. He nodded, and she started to climb down the rocks to her group.
Two of her tribe ran up to her. One of them, a man named Ruse, grabbed her arm. "Ally, where have you been?"
"Ah, I, uh," she tried to reply. A sharp, startled cry interrupted her pathetic start. Something flew over her head and landed in the grass near the machine, grunting. Some of her party had grabbed the chain and yanked on it, forcing Shadow toward them. Everyone ran toward him, but kept their distance. Shadow groaned slightly as he picked up started to pick himself off the ground, stopping when he noticed the crowd. He had an expression of shock and fear, his large aquamarine eyes reflecting the moonlight from above.
Shadow closed his mouth and narrowed his eyebrows. "What do you want?" he asked menacingly but irritated at the same time. Ally's party erupted in sound, questions and accusations rising into the night air. Finally Ruse lifted his hand to stop the dissonance. He stepped up to the boy as he worked himself into a sitting position, still glaring.
"Who are you?" Ruse asked him firmly. "Where do you come from, and why are you here?
"Like I'd tell a filthy Brightsweep," he sneered, making it known he'd seen and recognized the symbol they all wore, a drawn bow with half of a black sun coming from the tip of the arrow. She had it painted on her bow, and shuffled to hide it, embarrassed by the term 'filthy.'
She knew he was just being tough. The Brightsweep were known for their elegant culture, hunting expertise, and the stunning way they built their homes where the sun could always see it but the machines could not reach it. If anyone was filthy, it was Shadow. He had black, baggy pants that had thick stitches and dirt smears on them. He wore a large, dark brown coat with light colored fur on the hems. She realized he didn't have a hood, and the fur was just fluffy enough to engulf his neck. He had three-quarter sleeves edged with the same fur, and wore long, thick, dark gloves. Scraps of metal covered his torso, working as armor. His satchel's strap was dotted with beads, and he had an armband on his right bicep with a design on it and a couple feathers attached to it. His boots were the same color as his jacket, with beads and teeth along their sides. His skin was pale, with an arrangement of three shapes by his left eye, the same black as his mussed hair. She realized he wore no tribal symbol.
One of her own made a wide circle around him, with Shadow's dark chain hanging loosely from their left hand. They stalked behind him and made a sudden move. They looped the chain over their wrist so they could use their hand to hold his head, and used the other to pull down the fur smothering his neck. Shadow's eyes widened and he tried to turn his head.
"I knew it!" Ally's tribe mate, Sarsa, called in triumph. They trust Shadow to the ground, still holding his collar to expose the snowflake on the nape of his neck. "Darkfroste scum."
Ally and several others gasped. Darkfroste was a very mysterious tribe, represented by a black snowflake, and most facts about them were actually rumors. Though she did know they lived fairly far away in cold, black mountains. What was such a young member doing out here?
The group watched Ruse, awaiting his command. He made a hand motion, and some of the party grabbed Shadow's chain to tie him up with it.