Vyka ran like the wind, a steady wind that neither stopped nor slowed nor sped up. It simply ‘was’. He had a smile on his face as he did so, his long, loping stride ate up ground, his arms pumped steadily at his sides, his breath came in a steady and even rhythm. The sky above and the earth below framed an endless open plain that he loved as deeply as he loved his tribe, his parents, or even his own life. He ate on the run, and paused only to relieve himself over the next four hours as the sun shone above him. He didn’t stop until he’d come to a familiar place. A very small spring bubbled up between a collection of rocks surrounded by grass. If you didn’t know it was there, you’d miss it. If your tribe depended on it, then they’d die of thirst. But for one? The trickle of water that flowed out steadily was a life saver. He crouched down next to the rock, a tree beside it provided ample shade.

He reached out and touched the wood. The mark he’d made on it in childhood had been carried higher as it grew, the marks his father and grandfather had made in their own youth were even higher. This spot was ‘their’ little secret, shared with no others. He took up a leaf that had fallen, and pressed the edge to the stone, curling the other three sides up with his fingers so that the water was contained within. Then when it had filled up to the little brim, he brought it to his lips, tilted his head back, and drank the clear water with an audible sip. “Ahhhh...” He sighed happily, then repeated the process many times, gathering trickle after trickle until his thirst was entirely quenched.

He looked over at the tree and patted it affectionately, “In a handful more of years, I will bring my son to you, and he will make his mark as I before him, as my father before me, and his father before him. All of us carried to the endless blue above with every year that you grow. Live on, live strong, and carry us with you till the mountains become dust.”

He took a brief rest, then resumed running at the same even and steady pace, which he held until nightfall. Only then did he stop. He’d reached the safety of a clump of trees. He clapped his hands together and rubbed them with a smile of anticipation, of all the Cave Children, he was the happiest when out under the blue sky instead of under a sky of stone. Most could tolerate it, few liked it. They loved the secure confines of the walls, the wind that seemed to whisper with the voices of those who’d come before them, who had called the sacred mother mountain ‘home’. They rejected the dangers of the great expanse, venturing out only for food and materials, or to protect their territory from incursion by other tribes.

But for Vyka... things were different. He jumped up to the nearest branch, it held the way it always did, and he pulled himself up, flung a leg over, then climbed up to the next higher, his eyes skyward, his body a sheen of sweat from the day’s efforts, little twigs and stray leaves sometimes caught and stuck to his bare skin, held fast by the proof of his exertions. But two more branches, and he was as high as he could be, in a familiar spot where a cluster of branches would provide him safety for the night. Around him he could hear insects calling out, little ones glowed like the stars over head, sometimes they landed on him, took his sweat for themselves, and flew away. On quiet nights, he could hear the impossibly fast beating of their wings. “Ahhh.” He sighed as he stretched out and propped his body against a branch and relaxed at the sound of the familiar creaking noise.

“Now this... this is more like it.” The wind through the branches and leaves whispered softly, far more quietly and soothingly than the voices of mother mountain. The branches swayed under him gently, as if the trees themselves were rocking him to sleep. Through the faint branches he beheld the winking of the lights in the sky, the endless black replacing the blue. He folded his hands behind his head, let his legs drape where he’d stretched, “Tomorrow... see you tomorrow, Mira.” He whispered as he smacked his lips sleepily, and let himself drift off into the nothingness of the world of dreams, where not even mother mountain nor father sky could follow.

“War. You say this word before, it is like fighting, yes?” Ayente asked, stumbling through his words as she scratched her head.

Archos nodded, “Yes, it is, but more. But... first let me ask you about this.” Archos said curiously and picked up the improvised hoe that she’d made. “Tell me how you made it.”

She looked very proud of herself, her lips formed a large smile and her eyes sparkled in the low light as she clapped her hands together excitedly. “I took a long branch from a tree, one very young and still flexible, then I soaked it for days in a trench I dug by hand through the water, I blocked the trench with stones so that it would not float away, when it was soaked, I stripped its skin, and wrapped it around a rock and then tied the other end to the top after planting the stick in a hole, the rock pulled the top down so that it was bent, then I dried it out. I built a fire beneath, and let the hot smoke do much, and then when it was dried, I used a rock to pound the end flat as I could, and then an ax to sharpen it to better break the dirt.”

Archos stroked the tip of his jaw as he listened, “Very clever, though it would work better if you had affixed a stone edge to the end of the stick.”

She nodded, “That was to be my next attempt, but the best stones for that are found near where the Cave Children live, this place,” she gestured around here, “mostly dirt, grass, trees. Few rocks to work with, we raid Cave Children lands in part to get stones for our axes.” She gave him a mischievous smile and said, “They tried to stop us from even that much, but they never succeed. They may be born of the cave, but they cannot protect every rock. On our next raid, I had planned to take a few for my own use, to try to make new tools.”

“New tools?” Archos asked her, raising his scaled brow with interest.

“Yes, I want to try to cut bits into spears and put rocks at the end, then take the binding twine of bark and tie the stones into place, make them sharper than wood. Also, I wanted to try to make a short stick with a stone like that, and take big rocks, and bind long twine together maybe try to catch fish...” She looked down at the ground again, her expression of pride started to fade.

“But to do any of that, we had to go to the Cave Children places, and some rocks are better than others, closer to the good places of water and fish, the chief, that was part of why I wanted us to go together with many. It was how I did what the voice of the gods said I would do... and destroyed us all. He says all I touch must fail until I come to him in the night, so far... he has spoken true.” Ayente looked wistfully back over her shoulder at the little collection of huts.

‘I might have a genius in my palm...’ Archos thought to himself as she described her ideas. ‘She can’t possibly know the power of the tools she’s so casually describing... inventing nets for fishing, stone tipped spears, stone knives for easy skinning, weapons, and field craft, farming implements that will let her work more land, and that more easily... all in some desperate attempt to devote herself to a people she’s trapped outside of?’ He clicked his claws together as he thought it over, her mind wasn’t with him anymore.

‘She doesn’t even realize she accidentally invented war. Not just the skirmishes they usually have.’ He took a heavy breath, drawing her attention back on himself. ‘Better to take her mind off such thoughts.’ He laid one talon on her shoulder, avoiding using any but the slightest pressure to keep from hurting her.

“You asked about ‘war’. War is what we call a kind of fighting that is different than you’ve had here before. You seem to have created it by accident, it is a larger fight, to destroy your enemies entirely and take their land and resources for yourself, or to force them to accept your will and submit. Wars among my people involve thousands... ah, many manies, like me and larger, older. Using weapons like my sword, or magic, or their breath which they light with flame or chill to ice, or other means to end lives. War is something I was especially good at,” his heavy, deep voice took a slightly higher pitch as it struck a note of pride, “and with which we have much experience. I will teach your people how to fight it, and how to win it. I believe I can get you stone to work with, at least some, from there.”

Archos pointed to the brackish pond, “I can go down deeper than you, there may be stones that I can break apart, and then we can make some tools. I will show you what I know, then drill you on how to fight as one.”

“Drill? What is ‘drill’?” Ayente asked quizzically.

“It means we practice a lot.” Archos explained the term and barely suppressed a memory of when he had first started to learn, and his teachers whacking him about the head with a wooden sword. “It will hurt, a lot, but in the end it will make you all far more dangerous than your neighbors can imagine. Then you can defeat the Cave Children, and any others who might threaten you. Your people will be safe.”

She reached out and touched his talon with her other hand, she stroked the sharp tip that had obviously been filed down, and the scale beyond. ‘It’s so big... so smooth and yet so hard.’ She thought, “Then our bargain will be complete, which reminds me, when will you... need to eat? We should hunt soon.” She asked with some concern in her voice, and a slight widening of her eyes, she didn’t look up, but he caught it anyway.

‘Strange thing to remind her of that but... now that she brings it up...’ He shrugged aside the brief thought, “I will go hunting for bear later, there are woods nearby, aren’t there? Do you have bears here?” He asked hopefully. He could feel his mouth watering as he looked to her for an answer.

‘Gods preserve me, he's hungry, look at him, he’s salivating just looking at me.’ She thought with a shudder she only barely suppressed, to hide the terror in her eyes, she looked away in the direction of a forest. “I do not know what you call a ‘bear’ but there are these creatures that we call ‘onikoslof’”

“Is it big? Onikos, this means ‘mountain’ doesn’t it?” Archos asked as he searched his memory for hints in their exchange.

She nodded without looking back, “Yes, lof is... you saw the deer, how it has that, but lots of it, very thick, much fat under neath, claws on its paws, walks on four legs...” She got down on all fours and began to walk in a slow gait, rolling her shoulders and legs, she made a strange growling noise that was vaguely similar to that of a bear.

“That is a bear imitation if ever I saw one.” Archos said, and clutched his stomach as he started to laugh at her weird little shuffle, unable to hold back the absurdity of her attempt at demonstration.

She stood up, but she wasn’t laughing, “They are very dangerous, they are as tall or taller than you, and very strong. Also, at least over short distances, they can run very fast, and knock down small trees. We lose two or three to their hurts every year when trying to kill even one of them.” Ayente said and clenched her hands into angry fists.

“Seasons ago, when I came of age the voice of the gods said I would lose someone I loved because I humiliated him before the tribe when he told me he would redeem me. Naya died on the hunt for onikoslof. Malach said it was their punishment to me. I... don’t talk back to him anymore, not that way at least. One punishment was enough.” Ayente went over to her little garden and began to pat the soil where a seed lay, as if seeking distraction.

“How did you humiliate him?” Archos asked quietly.

He could feel the tension change in her, it became almost humorous, “He promised I would be happy, that my redemption would bring me joy. I find him revolting in every way, so... I said even if I were willing, I doubted very much I’d even notice while he did it. Some who heard, laughed. But his face turned purple, he got angry, and he struck me. That night he delivered the prophecy to my mother, who conveyed it to me. I went out on the hunt, my first one for onikoslof, and Naya did not come home. The prophecies of my... unfortunate existence, have come ever since, always he says I am a curse. But sometimes, it is not so.”

Pride came back as she caressed the little mound of dirt, her back straightened and her shoulders went back, it was hard to picture her slumped or broken in spirit when she stood so firmly, and he listened as she spoke. “My hunts were always successful, I brought food back more often than any, and my eyes are keen, despite their hateful look, I saw plants that others missed, and in our fights against other tribes, I always claimed one life at least, or took something of value for our people when we went home. Sometimes I even saved my comrades, I mix good poultices, and though sometimes hurt, the gods never let me be struck down, I did much for our chief, until... well, the day we met.”

She looked back over at him and her body went still as she poured out her memories, “Our chief saw merit in me, perhaps for that, perhaps because of how I was when I was small. So he and Malach often argued over it, those others with whom I hunted and fought, they saw merit in me, but others... they side with the voice of the gods. Now the chief is dead, those I went with, most of them are dead, and I am proven to be the curse he said. I wonder if the day I shamed him was the day I became a cursed one, more than my birth.”

Archos didn’t answer, he ran through the details and ferreted out the little nuggets of how Malach’s prophecies seemed to work, and his doubts about these gods grew exponentially. ‘Someone dies often when hunting the onikoslof, she’s closer to the ones she hunts with, than with any others. The fulfillment of this ‘prophecy’ had no time limit, it was just a matter of time until something happened that would see it come to pass.’

A low growl formed in his throat, ‘For this... for this? One capable of the heroes light, who may very well be brilliant as well, is an outcast, called a curse?’

“Is... is something wrong?” She asked gingerly as she saw he was no longer paying attention to her. She got up and put her hand on his body.

“Yes.” He replied bluntly. ‘No, she won’t believe me yet, she shouldn’t believe him at all, but I need to know more before I try to breach this wall in their thinking.’ He mentally grumbled in annoyance, but to her, he added, “For starters, your attempt at growing plants will fail.” He quickly covered his answer, shifting the subject to something closer to her heart.

“Not because you are a curse, but rather because of that.” He said, and pointed to the water. “The water is brackish, very salty, the salts are bad for the soil, the plants will grow very little, if at all, and probably not twice. For another, the other plants around your rows are going to choke the life out of the ones you do have, and finally, anything that does live, will draw insects that consume them. In the end, you will have almost nothing for your efforts.” He said it as gently as he could, but he held up his talons as he ticked off the points, and she looked briefly crestfallen.

“But...” he added encouragingly, “you have the beginnings of something here, you created rows, even if you lack good fertilizer for it, and you thought to protect it, however crudely, from other animals... and your tools are innovative and effective. You should be proud.” He said, and she perked up as he gently patted her shoulder.

She started to smile then, “So if we have good water, remove the problem plants, provide... whatever that thing you said, ‘fertilizer’, and protect it more, it will grow?” She asked hopefully and clapped her hands together in front of her chest as excitement started to grow.

“Yes, precisely. Fertilizer can be many things, but the easiest thing is body soil, from people or animals, alternatively, decomposing bodies will work just as well.” He explained it point by point, but took careful note of how she jumped straight to the solutions when the problems were pointed out. ‘After I leave, if I can make all this work... she’ll do great things here.’ He thought to himself, and a rush of sudden satisfaction, even happiness at it, left him surprised at himself. ‘It’s like... if Tascaros were made small, pink, and squishy.’ He couldn’t suppress the laugh that came with that thought, and waved away her inquiries when he finally managed to stop.