Exiled: Clan of the Claw, Book One by Michael Z. Williamson, John Ringo Jody Lynn Nye Harry Turtledove S.M. Stirling

world—the real world? no, one seemed as real as the other—at the same time.
    They’d sneaked around the left wing of the Liskash army. Sassin hadn’t set out so many flank guards this time—he realized he’d hurt the Mrem chariotry in the last fight. That a couple of warriors might come on foot? It was such a mad, smerp-brained scheme, it had never occurred to him.
    A good thing, too, Rantan Taggah thought. A squadron of archers around the Liskash noble would have pincushioned his comrade and him before they got close enough to do what needed doing. How they would get back again…Rantan Taggah would worry about that later, if there was a later in which to worry about it.
    “If Zhanns Bostofa doesn’t hold them out, I’ll do to him what I did to that bad-tasting Scaly One,” Ramm Passk’t said.
    “Someone else will have taken care of it,” Rantan Taggah said. “I made sure of that, believe me.”
    “Too bad,” the other warrior said. “I’ve always wanted his blood on my tongue.” His broad shoulders went up and down in a shrug. “Ah, well. It’s not like I’m the only one.”
    “Oh, indeed. Everybody loves Zhanns Bostofa,” Rantan Taggah said. Ramm Passk’t laughed. The talonmaster couldn’t remember the last time he’d said anything so funny.
    “Can you see him yet?” Enni Chennitats asked inside his mind. “You aren’t more than three or four bowshots away.”
    Rantan Taggah peered ahead. “There’s a little knot of Scaly Ones off in the distance,” he reported. Three or four bowshots might not seem like much to the priestess, but at the moment it did to him. “I suppose Sassin is one of them.” He almost asked Enni Chennitats to get a picture of what the Liskash noble looked like from Grumm, but he didn’t see the point. In any Mrem’s eyes, a Scaly One was only a Scaly One.
    “Yes. He has to be,” Enni Chennitats said. He’d better be, was what she had to mean.
    “All right. We’ll do what we can,” the talonmaster said. He pointed at the little group of Liskash. “He’s one of them,” he told Ramm Passk’t.
    “Which one?” But Ramm Passk’t shrugged again. “It doesn’t matter. If we kill them all, he won’t get away.”
    “There you go,” Rantan Taggah said. Sometimes Ramm Passk’t’s ruthlessness could be unnerving even to another warrior.
    They sneaked toward the Scaly Ones. Before long, they were down on their bellies. Rantan Taggah tried not to think about all the burrs and fleas and ticks his fur would pick up. He’d groom himself later. If he had to shave himself bare to get rid of everything, he would do that. Later hardly seemed real to him, anyhow. He would do his best to save the clan, and after that it would go on without him.
    A bare thread of whisper from Ramm Passk’t: “Breeze is blowing from them to us. They won’t smell us coming. Aedonniss gave us one break.”
    One of the Liskash stepped out ahead of the rest and pointed north with unmistakable anger—and with an unmistakable sense of command. Sassin had identified himself. Rantan Taggah wanted to thank him. Somehow, he doubted the Liskash noble would appreciate the courtesy.
    The talonmaster and Ramm Passk’t stalked Sassin like a pair of somo going after a bundor—or maybe even a frillhorn. Somo reminded Mrem uneasily of themselves, though they were easily twice the size of Mrem. They could rise up on their hind legs, but commonly went on all fours. Even the largest Liskash killers thought twice about challenging them.
    Closer. Closer still. The rank Liskash scent filled Rantan Taggah’s nostrils. It made him want to be stupid, to charge too soon so he could rend and tear and kill. By himself, he might have done just that. So might Ramm Passk’t, by himself. Stalking together forced hunt discipline on both of them.
    “You’re almost there. So close!” Enni Chennitats said. Rantan Taggah froze the beginnings of a start. He was briefly surprised the Liskash couldn’t hear her,