The tribe walked tooth to tail; no more than five to a row as they passed through the winding tunnels of the underground realm.

The stale air was heavy with the tribe’s scent as Bites-at-Air marched on from behind, a clawing damp that made her scales itch with every move she made, every breath she took pervaded the air, leaving her feeling as if she were sometimes on the verge of drowning.

She cursed it, despite it being a part of the nature that she and her people worshipped, she cursed it all, the air above, the earth below, and the damnable water that mingled between them, in the mud that threatened to send her flying with every step she took and in the vapour that threatened to fill her lungs with the sickness of the cold. She cursed it all.

In her mind, of course, she did not possess the fire to give voice to such words. But she was not the only one whose hate was ignited by the damp and the old warriors that ran beside her made no effort in stilling their tongues when it came to their grievances and the curses that they knew were a far sight more imaginative than anything she could have ever come up with. Every time they opened their mouths, she received a lesson in the myriad of ways her people’s language could be fouled and tainted.

She, alongside the elder warriors whose knowledge of swearing knew no bounds, were tasked with guarding the tribe against a rear assault from the freak-meat that hunted the people of the tribe instead of being hunted by them as was right and proper. A duty bestowed upon them by their ‘honourable’ Matriarch.

The task was more than dangerous as it had become the preferred means of attack for the wretched creatures of the stink-pit that the tribe had sought shelter in, the beasts often digging through the walls that surrounded her and her people on all sides, sometimes even coming up from below or even from above, but more and more the creatures began focusing on coming upon the tribe from behind, even though it was heavily guarded, even though the beasts would sacrifice many just to bring one of her people down. It was not as if the creatures were even interested in their flesh as not once had she seen them stop to feast upon the dead.

It was just utter madness.

All the while, she was haunted by the uneasy feeling that she and her tribe were being herded, led on by some unknown intelligence that manipulated them with the same ease as that of an adult toying with a child.

Her nights were often filled with the terrifying thought that the hidden purpose of the incessant and pointless attacks of the twisted creatures of this stink-pit was not to kill, but to drive them on, ever deeper, ever faster, towards a feeding ground. Each time she slept, she was disturbed by visions of her and her people surrounded by hideous abominations, large, sharp-toothed things intent on devouring all that lay before them and each time she would be awoken by the memories of her people dying, of her looking on as her people, her friends, her family, everything that meant anything to her were struck down one by one, until finally only she remained.

Not that she would ever talk of these things with anyone else, but if she did, she would have grudgingly admitted that the dreams of her dying the last were far from the worst ones to haunt her. No, the worst were the ones where she survived, the ones in which the terrors would spare her, not out of mercy, but to let her live on so that she would forever carry the guilt of knowing that she just stood by and watched, not because she could do nothing to help the people she cared for, but because she was too scared to do anything.

Each morning she would awaken covered in the stink of fear, and each time she would berate herself for her foolishness, for letting herself succumb to her insecurities. She may have had the gift, but she was no seeress, her visions were no more than nightmares, and to so easily hand herself over to such uncertainties was the height of stupidity.

Bites-at-Air was brought out of her thoughts as she nearly fell as someone bashed into her from the side before their body descended to the muddy floor.

Two-tongues.

She did not need to turn around to know it had been him. It had not been the first time it had happened and she doubted that it would be the last, and it was not just due to the accursed darkness that encompassed them either, the old warrior’s senses were failing him and he had suffered the same bumblings back on the surface in the full light of the sun, and down here in the dark, the old one had about as much coordination as a babe that had been dropped on its head too many times.

Not that she or the others were much better, the eyes of the people were good, even at night, but they needed at least some light to see by, something that was non-existent within this accursed underground.

She and the few other gifted had to keep breathing their gift into the air just so that the tribe could keep moving.

She reached out her claw to help the old, blue-scaled warrior that had been named after the split in the tip of his tongue, a common mutation that was deemed cute by most, though she personally found the sight of it to be a creepy thing that never failed to send a shiver running along the underside of her scales.

She was hesitant to look at him for fear of seeing those hideous split tips, but she did so nonetheless. Out of respect for his experience if nothing else.

In kinder times, the old one would have been honoured, given place by a fireside instead of being forced to run through the foul muck in these dank tunnels that they were currently in, but now he was viewed as nothing more than an eyesore by those up front, a burden that would have been best left on the surface.

Her thoughts were interrupted as a call came from up ahead for the tribe of what had once been many, but now numbered little more than fifty to halt.

One of the younger warriors from the front guard came to see what had happened, the look he gave them upon seeing her and two-tongues, was one of undisguised disgust, a look that angered her to no end.

The young warrior then turned and called to the front, yelling out for all to hear that one of the old ones had tripped. Aside from the stupidity of informing their enemies of the tribe’s location by yelling, the derogatory tone that he had used was filled with nothing but blatant disregard for Two-Tongue’s wellbeing and an utter annoyance of having to halt his perfect life for a moment to focus on someone else for a change.

The sheer arrogance of it made her so angry that Bites-at-Air was nearly overcome by the urge to grab a rock and brain the arrogant little toad, a rage that was stopped only by the clawed hand that suddenly grabbed her own.

“Before you go and do something stupid, help an old fool up, would you?” Two-Tongues asked.

Bites-at-Air looked at him, the turned away as she helped him up, the two tips of his split tongue darting in and out of his mouth sent a wave of unease crawling around the inside of her stomach. How could any find that cute she wondered, before turning away.

“Ain’t right!” she said, hoping that the old warrior beside her knew it was he that she was talking to as she did not dare turn around again for fear of seeing that horrid mutation again, even the thought of it was making her scales tingle.

“I know, I know,” Two-Tongues replied, “but I wasn’t much different when I was their age, so maybe I deserve a bit of it?”

“Still ain’t right,” Bites-at-Air repeated. She was never one for talking, preferring instead the use of body language and the use of hand signals and being of the opinion that if you were too stupid to figure out what she meant, then you were too stupid for her to be bothered to talk to.

Their conversation, as limited as it was, was cut short as another call came from the front, this time for everyone to rest.

About time, Bites-at-Air thought as she snorted, The Matriarch had been running the tribe ragged the past few days as she dragged them ever deeper into this wretched stink hole.

The sound of the tribe’s relief was audible as all those behind the front rows were given a moments relief from the exhaustion of their endless march.

Bites-at-Air saw the Matriarch give the crowd a look similar to what that toad had given her and Two-Tongues before, hypocritical as the Matriarch and her personal guard not only had the vigour of youth and the strength of their training to keep them going, but also the ‘Caress of the Wind’ one of the many gifts given to the people by the fires of creation, a gift that refreshed the physical energies of those it touched.

Bites-at-Air could use it herself, but she did not have the energies to spare on such a luxury while she and the others in the rear had to conserve their strength for the next attack, if she became drained before the next time that the beasts attacked, many of what few of her people remained would be slaughtered and she would not let that happen, ever.

Another shiver ran under her scales, but this time it had nothing to do with Two-Tongue’s tips, the memory of the terrors that kept her from sleeping briefly resurface before she pushed them back down.

Not for the first time, she felt her tail stiffen with rage at the sheer stupidity of it all, her powerlessness to do anything to change it.

“Obsessing over the stupid only punishes oneself,” Two-Tongues said as he placed his clawed hand on her shoulder, “Come, let us eat while we can.”

Bites-at-Air watched the old warrior walk over to a patch of rocks that looked to be dry-ish.

She took one last look at the front then, taking a moment to spit out some excess fluid, she turned and headed over to sit next to Two-Tongues and the two of them sat in silence as they waited for the people in charge of carrying and preparing the food to pass by, the both of them too tired to want to do anything more than sleep, though it was likely that Matriarch would have them all moving again soon.

The food that was eventually handed to them was meat taken from the bodies of the beasts that had been killed in the last attack.

Bites-at-Air looked over the portion that had been handed to her before taking a sizable bite out of it. For mutated freaks, their meat was good. For her at least. She knew that the other, mostly the warriors liked the fattier meals, liked it when the fat still clung to the flesh, dripping and oily and all-round disgusting, but she preferred her meat lean.

Unfortunately, that was likely to change soon as the meat of the mutated beasts was pretty much the only food to be found within the maze of tunnels, the exception being an oddly shaped mushroom whose shape amused the males and elder females of the tribe. She knew why, she was not an idiot, but Bites-at-Air could not find the will to join in at being amused at something so childish.

Her feeling on the matter would not have been so negative if that were her only problem with the fungus, but the immature jokes usually proved to be a precursor to ‘other things’.

Even now, she could hear the sounds of it starting, with little to no regard given to the fact that everyone could see them going at it. Or maybe because they could be seen was why they did it, she considered.

Bites-at-Air just sighed.

The land above destroyed by the burning rocks from the sky, danger all around from freak-beasts, possibly the end of the world or at the very least the end of the tribe, and all they could think of was rutting in the dirt.

She snorted before turning, hoping to ignore such things while she finished her meal. Unfortunately, not only did that do nothing to stop the sounds from putting her off her meal, it directed her line of sight directly towards the true source of all her frustrations.

The Matriarch.

The tail swinger was currently flaunting herself at the front, currently flirting with some fool with too much muscle and not enough brains. The fool girl was never meant to have been given leadership, but with the death of the former Matriarch in that tragedy above, the tribe had been forced to vote on the matter and with most of the surviving members of the tribe being the younger warriors or those too young to have a say in things, the prettiest female got selected. Most who disagreed with the decision were soon scared into submission by the younger warriors.

The few elders not intimidated by them at the time, now ran alongside her in the rear, along with anyone the tail swinger had been wary of, like Bathed-in-Mud who by all rights should have been the next matriarch, but who was cast aside for being too old, which, Bites-at-Air was hesitant to admit, she was, as well as Little-Sun who was guilty of nothing more than possessing a rare spattering of golden scales that glittered in the light that the Matriarch must have been jealous of.

The two were both gifted and should have been protected within the middle of the tribe, their much-needed skills far too valuable to risk losing to an attack.

Bites-at-Air took her frustration out by tearing into the meat in her hands with unnecessary fury, tooth-rot take that shiny-scaled bed-warmer…and the fools that followed her.

Even now she could see them, even from all the way in the back, a medley of idiots grouped up a half step behind her, hoping for a whiff of her scent and the fool Matriarch wallowing in all the attention.

What in the devastated world was that girl thinking?

It was as if the tail swinger wanted all them to die, as if the girl intended on getting everyone but her and her collection of meat-heads killed so that she could go on to form some inbred tribe of her own down here where the sun did not shine.

Maybe assuming that the girl had any plan at all, that there was anything in that skull of hers to plan with was expecting too much of the slimy thing, but a voice in the back of her mind whispering to her, kept insisting to her that the Matriarch did want them to die, but Bites-at-Air just dismissed it, why would one of the people want to actually kill others of their kind, she thought, the world was filled with enough enemies that turning on each other would have only gotten everyone killed.

Sure, there was the urge to kill. Everyone got the urge sometimes, tooth-rot, she had been having such thoughts several times a day these days, but it was not as if anyone would actually act on such a thing.

Yet, still, the voice kept whispering to her, filling her head with doubt and concern.

She did not know what to do.

And that was what truly made her angry, the uncertainty of it all.

She was uncertain of so many things in this strange underground realm of dirt and death…but one thing she was not uncertain of, however, was that the deeper into the underground that she and the tribe went, the more dangerous their enemies became.