If You Go Down To The Woods Today...
It had taken months before the Nightsisters of Dathomir had believed Tristan Alastor worthy of sitting astride a rancor and joining their hunt. He would have laughed at that once. How could a bunch of savages ever know what the Hapan Prince was worthy of? Now mounted atop the great beast Tristan had to admit that there was a certain thrill to the experience, something regal in it that almost did make him feel like a prince again.
It had been many moons since he had ridden one of the drexl on Onderon and though the rancor was no less dangerous than the winged lizards had been he had seen the Nightsisters feeding male-slaves to their rancors, back at the village the rancor was easier to ride.
A slim-bodied ssurrian scurried across the beasts path and it lunged forward suddenly. Tristan clung to the pommel of his saddle as the rancor slammed one huge, clawed hand onto the ssurrian. With a spear in one hand, the knuckles of the hand he used to steady himself were pure white. The rancor tore a limb free with a wet crunch and began to gnaw flesh from bone. On its back, Tristan struggled to maintain his balance, jamming his heels against the beasts flanks. Not for the first time, the creature ignored him.
Get... move! he hissed, his eyes darting up to the shape of another rancor as it moved steadily ahead of him, its rider having far less difficulty managing her mount.