Darkness, that was what a child of the caves was born into. Before they know the kiss of the sun, before they know the milk of their mother’s breast, they know darkness and the coldness of stone. Makine didn’t bother looking behind him to where the woman gave birth, she was screaming in her labor pains as she brought forth life, if she lived, she would be honored, if she died, she would be honored, if her child perished, it would be a blood curse. Makine did not look back, because nothing mattered until any of it actually happened.

Much like the pain in his shoulder where the bitch put a hole in it. He sucked in his breath as a woman brought him the blood of the stones and started to clean him. The crisp, clear water gathered from the cave walls, bled by the very rock, was best for injuries such as this.

“Gah, I swear to the gods, I’ll find where that monster shit her out and piss on the pile!” He snapped as he snatched up a stick and bit down on it to fight the pain as the woman cleaned his wound again. She didn’t say anything, she didn’t need to. She took the scrap of deer fur and soaked it in the water and began to rub more of the pus away from the wound. She then snatched a bit of moss from the wall and started to chew. The pain faded when the rubbing did, at least for the present, and he pulled the stick from between his teeth. “Vyka! Vyka, get over here and tell me what you found, I can listen while she works!” He called out, then put the stick back in his mouth and bit down again when he saw the young girl finish chewing the moss and take it out of her mouth.

A few feet away, they heard a baby start to cry in the darkness. “Born alive, that’s good at least.” He said thoughtfully, the woman was breathing hard enough that he could hear her, and someone with skill born of much practice, scooped the child up and put it to her arms where it began to nurse. Only when the silence of the cave was broken by the sound of a mother’s cooing and a child’s gentle suckling, did somebody light a torch and make everything easier again.

A moment later, a young man of slender build with nine fingers and a scar running through his lip sat down on the cave floor opposite his chief. He looked up at the imposing figure of Makine, seated on the knee high rock, and waited.

“Gah!” Makine growled as the young woman shoved the saliva coated, chewed up piece of moss, into his open wound, she forced it deep within using her thumb, packing it tight. She then took a pat of clay off of a small rock and covered the wounded spot over. With the task complete, she went deferentially to her knees.

“Chief Makine, the wound is tended, please do not strain your arm too much, or you will reopen the wound and my work will be for nothing.” She said in a small, passive voice, her eyes down at the stone floor of the cave, unwilling to meet his eyes now that her work was done.

The chief grunted an acknowledgement and returned to the matter at hand.

Vyka waited until Makine could speak again. “You have seen nothing to suggest the monster was looking for us, have you?” The chief asked, ignoring the girl now that she was finished. She got up to depart, leaving the two to speak.

Vyka shook his head, the torchlight cast dancing shadows on the cave walls, but he had eyes only for his chief. “No, none, we went all around the area, but...”

“But what?” Makine asked in his gruff, pained voice as a sense of dread slowly rose. His ears tingled as he got a distinct sense that Vyka was disturbed.

“As expected of the Red Ax, they honored our customs for the dead, but none of our slain were consumed by the monster, nor were theirs, and there were no prints in the ground to suggest it went back into the water, but there ‘were’ prints that showed it moving with a small group of humans... in the direction the Red Ax came from.” Vyka said, and shuddered, he swallowed hard and he clenched and unclenched his left hand over and over as he explained what he found.

As he rubbed the wound the bitch had given him, a thought occurred, “You saw the bitch who wounded me, was there a woman’s body among the dead, one with hair colored like the shining sun?”

“No, there were a few of their women, but none like that.” Vyka answered confidently, but somewhat disturbed by the question.

“So... she lives, or at least lived long enough to leave with the monster, but... how did they get a thing like that to go with them? Monsters are typically man eaters, was it full? Did the survivors lure it with food? Can it be tamed?”

Makine asked the questions without expecting answers, but Vyka was feeling ‘talkative’. “My chief, perhaps it isn’t a dull beast, perhaps it is intelligent, it had things with it when it rose from the lake that looked like they had been made...”

Makine shuddered to think of that as a possibility, he shook it off, his dark and dirty hair moved with his head, as if he was in denial all the way down. “No, it must have been some heroes’ pet or something. But... I suppose we can’t take chances. Go to Mira among the Spirit Horse tribe, offer three days access to our water and our fishing spot if they will send someone to trade with the Red Ax and find out for us what forces move among them.”

“It will be done.” Vyka replied and popped up to his feet. “Should I procure healing herb while there?”

“Yes, do so immediately, we did at least get one woman out of this, and I’d rather she not die of her injuries before I can give her to one of our boys. We lost many manies out there, and we need another to join the ranks of men if we are to fight again.” Makine explained, unable to keep the anger and frustration out of his voice. “Now go, I will go find out if I have a son or a daughter from that one.” He said and inclined his head to where a woman sat nursing the newborn.

“As you say.” Vyka replied, and ran alone from the cave. It would take five suns for any group or any other person, to reach the hunting grounds of the Spirit Horse tribe... but Vyka knew he could reach it in three or better, and so he did not bother to gather others for support. He had his club, and his hand ax, that was enough, and he knew it.

Archos woke up early, the sun in this new world had yet to rise, and when he awoke, he felt something entirely unexpected, a slight pressure against the scales, for a moment he was concerned, there were no furnishings here, but then he realized. ‘It’s so... soft. Warm. Feels rather good.’ He thought, and, moving very slowly, he shifted away from the slight pressure, until he could see what had caused it.

That was when Archos saw Ayente there on the ground curled up in a little ball. ‘Such a small thing to bear such a weight.’ He thought to himself, and as he stood, he reached down and touched her cheek with a talon, curious, he pressed it a little, it gave. ‘Squishy too.’ He thought. ‘Why would anything so soft and squishy go to war or... better question, do they even think of such little clashes as war? Or... even better question, how could something like this bring forth the heroes’ light from within herself? Creatures like this seem better fitted for running and hiding rather than fighting.’ he drew his talon away from her face and stretched himself out.

The sun had not yet risen, and from what he could hear, the entire tribe was asleep. So with nothing better to do, he went out for a walk. At a moment’s impulse, he went to the beginnings of a primitive garden to inspect it more closely. It wasn’t a large space, only the length and width of... perhaps two or three bodies of the humans. The soil wasn’t properly tilled, there were weeds everywhere, and as he picked up a small curved stick that had been artificially smoothed and bent into a hook while wet, then dried into position, the tools were wholly inadequate. He set what he guessed was a hoe, aside, and went to check the water supply. “Brackish.” He said to himself as he went to touch it, “Not good for the crops.”

As he continued his inspection, he felt a stare at his back. There was no killing intent behind it, if anything it felt inquisitive. “Aol.” [Come] He said, using the language of the tribe, as only one had bothered to learn anything of his tongue.

He found he had no need to concern himself with that, Ayente soon presented herself near at hand. “I awoke, you were gone. I was worried.” She said simply, ensuring she was understood by speaking slowly, it made her sound, to his ears, more worried than she probably really was.

“I see. I sleep little.” Archos explained. “I walked, and saw this, and looked closer.” He explained as he gestured to the beginnings of a garden.

Ayente beamed up at him. She tapped her own breast and held her hand there as she said, “I did this.”

“Oh, who taught you?” Archos asked curiously. “Your mother?”

Her lips pursed tight and her eyes squeezed shut enough that they wrinkled, she shook her head. When she opened her eyes and met his own again she said, “I made the idea, and made the idea so.”

“And this?” He asked as he picked up the long stick with the crude, sharp, wooden, hooklike curve.

“That also.” She said equally proud.

Her face went down in sudden, deep sadness, “Our chief... he let me try. I thought... we have had grains to sustain us on the great walks, but only when we find them, what if we try to make them to grow where we want them? So... I tried to make this, he lived to see me do it. The voice of the gods, our shaman, he predicts it will fail, he says the soil does not love a cursed one and will give me nothing.” Her fists balled up tight at her side and her eyes went tight shut again.

“I want to say that he lies, the soil will know that my hands have been in it, that I have given it my labor to lovingly care for what it births for all living things! I’ve worked so hard... I brought it water, I knelt before the soil and prayed to the gods to bless my work even if they will not bless me! It isn’t right! It isn’t right that it should not work because it is I who do it!” Ayente bit her tongue and forced herself to relax and knelt over a plant, she touched the little mound where she’d planted the seed, caressed it as if it were a child.

“So I work, and hope the gods see, and bless my work for their sake.” She waved a hand back to where her tribe was still slumbing. “I know how you see our ways, you think me worth something, perhaps that is what makes me... worthy of our... arrangement. Our... gods, our people, perhaps we are not all to your liking, yet I have grown up with all of them.” She looked over her shoulder up where Archos stood, listening attentively.

She spoke without bitterness, without anger or fury, she had a smile on her face in fact, a small one, resigned and a little sad, it came and went between every fragment of a sentence spoken. “I know all their names, I walked with them in hunts, I slept beside them, I see that even when they look at me, few of them hold me in their hearts as the gods command them to, Keera still looks at me, wishing to hold me again. Her child is beautiful, and she has often wished to let me hold her, I see it in her eyes, is it so hard to understand that... even as things are, I love them still? That this...” She cupped her hands over a little mound, “is for them, it is the only way I can love them anymore, I remember the ones who used to play with me when we were alone, and they are still... family. Even my mother.”

“Do you have families?” She asked him as she withdrew her hands and rose to her feet, putting the question to him in hopes not only of learning more of him, but also as she sought to distract herself.

“We do, though it is... different, for us it seems.” Archos explained, looking away as he struggled to come to words she might understand.

“Different how?” She asked with genuine interest in her voice.

“You may have noticed I am a fair bit larger than you.” He said sarcastically.

“Not at all.” She replied with equal sarcasm and a gleam in her eye that reminded him far too much of Tascaros when he was playing his pranks.

It made both of them laugh a bit, and he went on, “We require more space than you do, and except for our own benefit, we do not socialize in great numbers, we do have very large settlements that are permanent...”

“Like mine?” Ayente asked hastily, and then her mouth snapped shut when he laughed.

“No, if... how do I say this... ah, there is much grass out there, is there not? Many blades of it?” He said slowly, trying to guide her to understanding.

“Yes. Many manies of grass blades.” She affirmed as if it were obvious, which it was.

“Imagine as many beings like me, as there are blades of grass out there. That is how many dragons may occupy our great settlements, but not all of them are like me.” He said, taking her from an expression of awe, to confusion.

He scratched under his jaw as he fumbled for how to describe it, “You... humans, you look mostly the same over your lifetime, yes, you start small, then get taller, then die eventually, yes?” He asked.

She giggled a bit at that, “Something like that.” She confirmed, but covered her mouth to hide her laugh further.

“We do not, we hatch very small as crawling things, then we get bigger, we grow up with siblings, and walk on two legs as I do. That is when we begin to gain the ability to use magic. Then when we reach a certain age, we begin to grow wings and gain the ability to breathe fire, ice, or something else depending on our lineage as a weapon. Then after a very long time after that, our bodies begin to slope forward and we move to all fours. We then continue to grow larger and larger in size, until we are too large for a great settlement and must leave. Few live to be that age, because to live requires much more space, that means mountain tops or shores or isolated islands, and there are only so many of those, so those who reach that age and wish to continue to live, have only two choices, learn the magic to shift to a smaller size, or fight against one of the great elders, kill them, and take their space. Do you understand so far?” Archos asked, her eyes stuck out almost like those of a bug as he relayed this impossible information to her.

‘I wonder if she’s still stuck on the population size?’ He thought, she nodded dumbly, so he reluctantly continued. “Because we grow up with siblings, we bond strongly together, and because we are always threatened by either great monsters in the wilds, or by other nations like ourselves, we band together into great nations, like your tribe, but many times larger. We build bonds of family around not only blood lines, but nations, or tribes as you would call it, and around our work. But the strongest bonds of family are forged through fighting for survival, war binds us tightest of all. Do you understand now?” He asked hesitantly.

She pursed her lips into a very small smile, “I... actually do, the last at least. The reason so many listened to the chief when he supported me, after I proposed we take many to the good waters of the Cave Children, was because I had tried to redeem myself through fighting for our tribe. Since I did not want to bed and bear a child by the voice of the gods, I often asked to go to fight and hunt. But every time...” She turned away from him, and went silent.

“Yes?” Archos asked with a gleam of suspicion in his eyes.

“Every time, the voice of the gods would commune with them before the fire, and say the gods were not satisfied with my courage or skill. That I was not redeemed, and repeat that I must offer myself as a vessel to the voice of the gods if I wished to become one with the tribe. I did not wish to do this, so I just kept going out, the gods did not love me, but those with whom I fought, they did, eventually. When away from the shaman, they even treated me kindly, speak to me as a sister, some even made offerings to the gods through the shaman.” She said in an increasingly thick voice as emotions caught up with memories and raced ahead of her words.

“How does that work?” Archos asked, furrowing his brow with a gnawing suspicion that it would be very ‘convenient’ for the shaman.

“Oh, what is consumed by the Voice of the Gods, nourishes the gods, so if someone takes more meat on the hunt, it is common for them to make an offering of it for him to consume, and then he answers a question or intercedes for them with the gods, the warriors we lost, almost all of them had given him something and begged the gods to bless me, Malach always prophesied only doom in return if I did not obey. True, they could not among us all, speak to me as they did in the wilds, but still... our bonds from bloodshed were strong ones.” Ayente said wistfully as she looked over at the collection of huts.

“You say I had this, ‘heroes light’ that I was brave to confront you, but... was I?” She laughed a little bit as bitterness found its way out of her heart and into her voice again, “I am one of the unredeemed, the cursed ones, the shamed ones. Dying then would have ended all that. And they, at least when away from home, were loved companions, is it not right that I should offer myself? What was I next to that? They were all I had, and with most of them gone... well, now here you are, my folly can be made right, and I can then rest easy at last.” Ayente replied with a sadly tranquil voice as she laid her hand on his thick, hard scales.

Archos cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and looked away from her shining, devoted gaze, over to where the tribe was starting to awaken. “Come, we have much to do.”

“Of course, but... what?” She asked, snapped out of her awed reverie.

“We must get you all ready for war.” Archos said and bared his teeth with the anticipation that only a predator may feel.