You're walking through the desert (Western/Futa Protag)

Author's Note: FallacyGuy here! This thread is a bit more gritty in comparison to what is already on this story and what I've written on this site so far. It's kinda violent at times, but I don't dwell into dark fetishes. This branch features a futanari protagonist and it will be futanari on girl action. So if you're not into that, well... now is your chance to bail. I've tried my best to recreate a Spaghetti Western tone (which is actually kind of hard due to the fantastical nature of monster girls). I hope I have succeeded at least somewhat.

The Infinite Barren. About 1,300 miles of condensed and unfiltered emptiness. Hard, crackling, earthy sand obscured by absolutely nothing. The only direction the vultures fly here is in circles. The heat is harsh and unrelenting. The oppressive sun feels ever-present. The mirages of the air make the horizon blurry and unintelligible.
Your feet march tiredly, left, right, left, right, in any and all direction. Condemned and disgraced you sloppily chug the sand behind you with your feet, as your soul melts into fatigue under the baking warmth.
You've been walking for what feels like hours. There is only one thing keeping you moving undeterred. The one big rock in the distance, or rather, the shadow it casts.
You've struggled in the desert before, but not to this extend. Not to this spirit-draining length.
It's your own fault in a way. Logically speaking, you should have just killed that ring-tail when you had the chance. You were weak, and that weakness cost you everything. Proud hunter of the tribe, now reduced to being alone in a dead heap of despair. All you've ever known has been cast aside, and replaced by pure survival instinct.

As the rock inches closer to you a figure emerges in the shade of the slab.
A hooded robe cast behind fuzzy ears, and a bushy thick black and white tail protruding from the back of her nomad-like clothing instantly gives away the identity of the silhouette.
As the raccoon girl sees you her eyes widen and she falls backwards in shock, stammering and sputtering.

"P-please don't hurt me." she pleads.

You've already stood in this predicament before. This time the decision is easier.

"Killing you would be pointless now." you say bitterly.

"I-it would?" the girl ask incredulously. She has every right to be suspicious.

"When I refused to kill you the first time, the tribe exiled me." you explain.

"Oh..." she trails off.

The conversation dies down awkwardly. You've never been a wordsmith. You try to approach the girl, but when you do she just recoils a bit. She is clearly torn between gunning it from what she sees as a potential threat and giving up the only shade in what appears to be miles.
Clearly, being all buddy buddy isn't going to work, but maybe if you appear fair and she will see reason.

"I was thinking," you restart the conversation: "do you have any water? If you give me some I can protect you in return."

You notice the girl instinctively clutching the right side of her person, undoubtedly where she bears her water canister. Her eyes darken, the rest of her pretty face still obscured by her scarf.

"I- I don't have any water." she lies.

You just nod in return. You don't want to call her out on her bluff. Not yet at least.

"Then do you know where I can get some?" you ask.

"There's a small outpost about ten miles east from here." she answers.

You're not entirely sure if you can take ten more miles. Of course, you have to. Dying by trying is still better than dying by not doing anything, but will you make it? You're not sure. You're tired and haven't had anything to drink in half a day. You sulk slightly.
You could of course just take her water by . You're almost twice the size of her, and a lot more muscular to boot. Doing so will, however, almost certainly leave her to her doom.
Sanctity of life has never been anything an orcess such as yourself has spent a lot of time mulling over. You have, after all, killed bandits and critters before without ever feeling any particular strong sense of remorse.
But that was then, and this is now. Things are different here. Critters are brainless and bandits bring it on themselves. But this poor pilgrim has never done anything wrong. She never wronged the tribe. She never wronged you.
She just happened to stand in front of your gates, and the tribe wanted you to slaughter her for it. And when you spoke up and refused, they dishonored you and left you for dead. They were willing to let one of their elite huntresses go for respecting the right to be alive.
As you gaze into her hazel eyes, probably coming off as a bit intimidating, you wonder how you can start anew. Softness has gotten you to the point of near . Can softness also save you or do you need to bring the toughness back?

To kill or not to kill?

You and the nomad don't get a lot of time to decide between standing and staring or fighting and fleeing, before the ground rumbles behind you.
The girl screams in shock and you turn around to face the commotion.

"Get behind me!" you yell to the girl as you see the source of the noise.

A Desert Killer has revealed itself from its sandy camouflage.

It's almost as long as you are tall, and with its eight legs, strong pincers and deadly stinger this sand-colored scorpion is no joke. You would usually deploy two or three hunters with spears or a single one with a gun to take it out, but right now there is only a petite raccoon woman and a malnourished orc who are both unarmed standing against it.
The scorpion lunges towards you, but you slightly sidestep it to the right. While standing on your right leg, you step as hard as you can on the incoming left pincer. The scorpion squeaks as it drives it's stinger towards your abdomen. Twisting your body, you redirect the stinger to the side of your stomach, missing vital organs. The stinger still goes clean through the side of your torso, and you can feel your vision fade slightly as it does. You know that the stinger of a Desert Killer fortunately isn't venomous. It doesn't need to be when it can rip apart a rib cage.
While facing it head-on isn't an ideal way to battle these fuckers, you don't have much of a choice given the lack of weapons. It might be true that the stinger has left a considerable mark in your gut, but in doing so it has also moved its stinger within reach. As it retracts the stinger readying it to plunge into you once more you grab the head of the stinger and wrestle it sideways.
The tail end of the scorpion is quite strong, but not strong enough for an orcess. Your left foot is still firmly pressing into the scorpion's left pincer, which does unfortunately leave its right pincer free. The Desert Killer grabs a hold of your left foot desperately trying to shake you off. You are, however, determined to see this through.
The raccoon girl is just standing there, looking horrified at the prospects of the battle.

You through and pull all of your remaining strength into twisting the stinger. A large audible cracking noise rings through the wasteland as the entire tail turns counter-clockwise and immediately goes limb.
Making a high-pitched noise the scorpion starts to wriggle around frantically, giving you a sudden opportunity to twist your own body, your left foot scraping against the inner side of the pincer, drawing some serious blood. With the new-found position you proceed to stomp the ever-loving shit out of the eyes of the scorpion. The scorpion throws an even bigger tantrum and it manages to knock you off your balance, but in the process also turns itself over to the side.
The scorpion is now lying on its side with you lying on your stomach on top of it. With the pincer still firmly holding your ankle, you don't have a lot of mobility. However, you do have a free leg and access to the scorpion's underbelly. You start to kick it several times, avoiding its other pincer, and breaking several of it legs, until you start to crack through the exoskeleton. You don't stop kicking until the scorpion slowly stops fighting back.
As the scorpion stops moving, the grip on your left leg starts to loosen.
You pull the pincer apart with your hands and drag your beaten and battered corpus back towards the rock. The scorpion lies still, unmoving and lifeless.
Both your foot and stomach are bleeding something fierce, and you can finally feel fatigue catching up to your adrenalin. You only manage a quick glimpse of the ring-tailed girl rushing over to the scene of battle before your consciousness slips away.