Bites-at-Air dug into the animal carcass before her with her stone-knife. A crude tool by any measure, but one she had little choice in using as the sparse environment of the underground left her little room in the matter of options.

The task that she was currently performing should have been left to the workers amongst the tribe and not to the gifted or the warrior cast, but the Matriarch had ordered that the rear-guard take over the duties of harvesting the animals that had been slain in the last battle to allow for the others of the tribe to rest, a decision that brought cheer to the workers amongst the people but had left the already weary members of the rear-guard in an even fouler mood. None gave voice to their dissatisfaction, however, knowing full well that it would only single them out to the Matriarch who had already seemed to be out to get them, so they bit their tongues as they went to work disassembling the various bodies that littered the tunnel floor, remnants of the battle that had occurred mere moments ago.

The young warriors who comprised the frontline were tasked with standing guard while the rest went about their business, but as she and the others in the rear-guard had already cleared out the area there was little point to their role. Which was probably the actual point of them being given the task in the first place.

But there was little point in dwelling on that, Bites-at-Air thought to herself.

One might as well have been obsessing over how dirt was always dirty!

She hissed to herself over the unfunny joke as she went about cutting into the body of one of the large-toothed dirt diggers.

The last assault by the denizens of the underground had been comprised of a variety of creatures that claimed the earthen hallways as their home, though thankfully, their strength had lain only in their collective numbers this time and not in their individual power, but even so, their power was such that even the frontline forces were compelled to fight. A rare day indeed, but she refocused herself on the task at hand before mind mired itself in unkind thoughts.

Such work was not beyond her and the others who found themselves in the rear-guard, warriors and gifted they may have been, but they were all still adults. Everyone amongst the people knew how to harvest the gifts of the world and, of course, how to put such things to good use, the long-held tradition in the tribe being that no member be recognised until they could perform such tasks to an acceptable degree. After all, how could anyone claim to be a real person if they could not take care of themselves?

Having made the necessary incisions with the sharp edge of the stone blade, then, having placed the tool beside her, she dug the tips of her claws into one such incision. After doing so, she then, with a firm grip, pulled a square section of skin away from the body.

The skin came away with sickeningly wet sound and a bit of resistance, but another tug soon loosed it. The beast’s hide was far too thin to be used for armour, even when heavily layered, and would primarily be used to make carrying-packs, clothing, and blankets, with the smaller scraps going towards the production of rope, belts, and slings. The smaller items being far more important to everyone in her eyes. The uses of rope were far too many to list and, though limited, the use of belts to carry items was far superior to a pack in her opinion, as having the necessary tools at hand rather than having to waste time searching for them literally meant the difference between life and death in these treacherous halls.

And as for the slings, they alongside the endless supply of pebbles to be found on the floor of the tunnels that they passed through, the sharpest of which somehow only ever appearing under her feet as she walked, she could not help but add, ensured that even the weakest amongst the tribe became a useful ally in fighting off of the enemies that assailed them daily.

Despite the size and number of the beasts, there was always too little supply for the needs of the tribe and always too much that needed to be replaced to consider other things, but later on, after they had secured enough resources they could consider using the skins for the construction of tents, but for now, they had to conserve what they could. That, and it was currently better to stay as mobile as possible. The frequent attacks by the beasts of the underground and the tribe’s current inability to construct large fortifications meant that staying in one place for too long was an invitation for disaster, no matter how much the constant travel wore them down.

The bones would mostly be used in the construction of small sleds to help with the transport of goods, as well as making armour and shields for the warriors, though they were often taken by the younger warriors up-front, much to her dismay.

The bones were far from an ideal resource to build such things, but the lack of proper plant-matter present meant that the tribe had to use what it could to get the job done.

The meat would, of course, be used for food, but the fat would be separated from it. Half would be kept for cooking, lard to keep the few, precious bits of metal from burning the meat, while the other half would, alongside the faeces, be used to produce fuel for burning. The lack of wood or any other suitable plant-matter in the cold and almost barren tunnels made providing warmth, especially to the young and the elderly, a challenge, and the last thing the already devastated tribe needed was an outbreak of a sickness.

It was just a shame that the small amount of fuel that they could produce, could not be wasted on bringing light to ward off the shadows. The effort and use of energy of having to breathe out the fires of creation to help the people find their way through the unlit catacombs that they travelled through kept them in a constant state of fatigue, a dangerous state to be in as all the gifted not in the Matriarch's favour, which, as far as Bites-at-Air knew, was everyone, had only their gift to protect them as they fought to keep the tribe safe from the never-ending number of foul creatures that haunted these wretched tunnels, without which, they were left as defenceless as a newborn child.

The old warriors of the tribe were no better off, but at least they had their physical prowess to support them.

Without the use of their gift, the gifted were…nothing.

That concept was far from new to her, it having been repeated to her time and time again from her various mentors since she was barely knee-high, but here and now, the full understanding of what it truly meant, not just for her, but for all those she would call friend, gripped her heart in a cold embrace that left her momentarily breathless.

Not for the first time, she found herself cursing the old matrons that she had apprenticed under, may they find their path to the beginning of all things, for not instructing the gifted in some of the ways of the body. But, as her mentor used to tell her, only a fool tried to walk left and right at the same time.

Bites-at-Air’s thoughts were momentarily disrupted as her small world was suddenly invaded by another body. Taking a seat on her right, Two–Tongues began helping with the disassembly of the corpse. She could feel the muscles in her face tense as he did so. She knew why the old warrior was here, for a conversation she did not want to have, nor was it one that she needed.

Any doubt that she may have had of his reason for being there vanished the instant another body took a seat beside her on her left.

Bathes-in-Mud.

The older female, once in possession of an unceasing grin, now looked as if she had never smiled a day in her life, the harsh days since the rain of earth and fire had sapped whatever joy was to be found in the old one. As it had with many of her people.

She made no move to join them in their work, the old one had an annoying obsession with avoiding any physical effort whatsoever, so much so, that even pretending to help Bites-at-Air was something that she appeared to have neither the intent nor tolerance for.

But that attitude was probably the only thing that had kept the old one alive this long and she and Two–Tongues needed all the allies they could get.

After a moment Two–Tongues spoke, "We need to talk."

His words were brief and to the point, but still, they felt like wasted air as she already knew what they wanted, that the conversation they were about to have was utterly pointless as everything had already been decided. It felt strange…and stupid, him trying to convince her to make a choice that they both knew had already been made. She and the others were going through the motions, not because they needed to, nor because what they had to say was important, but because something compelled them to.

She was reminded of when the old storytellers back in the village were called out by the children whenever they skipped or changed a part of whatever tale they had been spinning, little details that the children would not allow them to skip no matter how insignificant they may have been.

A small, warped part of her wondered if that was what was happening now, wondered if some unseen force looked on as their story unfolded. Did the universe watch on as they struggled, did it listen in as they plotted and schemed as they did now?

She snorted as she dismissed such foolishness.

"We have already talked," She replied. The bite in her tone was far from necessary, but she was just so tired. Not just from the long days of fighting, her short nights were still being disturbed by the terrifying visions of her people’s demise.

Nightmares, she reminded herself, they were nothing more than nightmares. Nothing more.

But still, the unseen abominations from her dreams followed her into her waking hours…no, not followed, they were in front of her, an ever-looming threat that lay ahead of her, with every step she took, a step closer to her final destination, and a step closer to her final confrontation. The end of everything

A shadow on her mind.

One that no light could vanquish. It was a constant source of stress that frustrated her to no end, and the reason that she had begun venting her feelings upon those around her.

“Still need to talk,” Two–Tongues threw out, unfazed by her gruffness.

The old warrior said nothing more. With words, that is. His body, however, was an endless tirade of unnecessary messages.

The old gifted on her left sniffed, an act that said more than could ever be described by the spoken tongue.

As the two old ones tried to convince her to make a decision, force her to decide on something that had already been decided upon, Bites-at-Air closed her eyes for a moment.

Utterly pointless, she thought.

It had not even been her decision to make in the end, but that of the Matriarch.

Little-Sun.

The harmless little girl with the spattering of golden scales had died, fallen to one of the beasts of the underground, one of the crawling ones that bore a disturbing similarity to that of the people. It was hard to tell the time in the underground, the never-ending darkness giving no sign as to the passing of time, so Bites-at-Air had to use the only constant present as a measurement, the incessant attacks.

The girl with the sparkling scales had fallen two ambushes ago, reducing the tribe by one more, and reducing the handful of gifted by far too many.

All had mourned, all but the very female that was supposed to be protecting them and those who served her.

That had been the moment that all decisions had been made.

The young had been doing nothing at the time, but that was the point, the Matriarch had just been waiting for everyone to finish so that they could get back to listening to her commands, she had not even had the decency to watch the small farewell ritual. A heartlessness that had severed any strands of hope or doubt within Bites-at-Air’s Mind

Bites-at-Air stopped, placing her knife down beside her and taking a breath to release the sudden growth of rage that had begun filling her mind.

She looked around for the Matriarch.

The moment Bites-at-Air locked eyes on the female in question, her irises shrank one and a half millimetres, a physical response to an organism seeing something that it does not wish to, an effort to see less of it.

The fool was flaunting herself at some meat-headed idiot from the frontline guard over some shiny gift that he had given her.

The tribe had run across the corpse of one of the scaleless giants of the cleared lands, upon which was discovered a small pouch of metal disks. While the people were in desperate need of metal, most of them had, unfortunately, consisted of the golden metal that the large creatures obsessed over for some unfathomable reason, the substance being far too soft to do much with, but the enterprising young warrior currently sniffing up the Matriarch backside, had taken the time and effort, something that she had begun to think was beyond the capabilities of the younger warriors in the frontline, to drill a hole through each of them and then connect them all with a length of knotted leather-string, forming a crude necklace which was soon gifted to the Matriarch, much to her pleasure.

Bites at eye squinted, hoping that the act of lowering her eyelids would somehow crush the two fools into a bloody pulp.

She sensed Bathed-in-Mud leaning into her side, soon after a soft whisper slithered through the air.

“She disrespects the elders,” the old woman spoke.

“I know,” Bites-at-Air replied.

“She does not protect the young,” the old woman continued.

“I know,” Bites-at-Air replied.

“She sacrifices the gifted”

“I know.”

“She needs to die,” Bathed-in-Mud declared.

With the fool Matriarch still in the sight of Bites-at-Air’s left eye, her irises shrank a further millimetre, “I know.”