Kesho could kill his dad. And his sister. And anyone else who came too close when he was this angry.

“I’m coming,” he spoke decisively. He wanted to make himself big and raise his paws, but that was hard to do when you were born with only one arm. The Gosti—a ghostly creature that started to resemble an ape—didn’t have thumbs yet either, so grabbing a spear for intimidation did not happen easily.

Especially because spears, dear reader, were no more than a stick with some sharp edges during this time period. And the Gosti still walked on all fours most of the time.

“You’re not,” his father said. “You will help your sister collect berries and nuts.”

Kesho’s eyes spit fire at Misha, whose eyes returned the favor. Then she smiled and walked off with her wicker basket.

The rising sun revealed an overgrown forest, in which this family had hastily constructed cottages made from branches. The other members of the tribe had slept in the open air, while their grandparents slept in a nearby cave.

“I’m a man!” Kesho stomped his foot. “I must hunt! Stupid collecting is beneath me.”

“That stupid collecting is how we survived the past ten winters!” Misha yelled. She’d just found her first nuts in the mud and instantly threw them at her brother’s face.

“Save your energy for finding food,” father spoke sternly. “You know the rules, son. Those who are strong enough, may hunt food that moves. Everybody else hunts static food.”

Kesho finally managed to grab a spear and threw it deep into the bark of a tree. The throw almost impaled another member of the tribe. The bison looked up angrily; Kesho didn’t even notice.

“I am strong enough.”

Father sighed and walked away. “I’ll ask grandmother to play a hunting game with you.”

“I’ve been playing games for years! And I win them all,” Kesho spoke with a sense of pride, walking alongside his father.

“Fine! Stop whining. You will come with me, but only to observe, not to act. Understood?”

Kesho’s smile seemed too broad for his face. Several deer walked past, holding baskets in their mouth, and found it a scary sight.

The tribe held some thirty animals from five different species. Kesho though it was quite a large group. The only times they met other tribes, they turned out to be a handful of family members. They’d waved, traded some food, and then continued on their way.

As such, the departure of the deer left the entire area behind them empty.

Misha also rubbed up against father’s fur, keeping pace with him. “Can I come too?”

“No.”

“But—”

“No.”

His tone made Misha shrivel and shrink. While Kesho ran around with endless energy—his first true hunt!—Misha walked away cursing.

Father pushed away some low-hanging branches. They immediately arrived at a clearing, buzzing with insects now that sunlight reached it. They’d been here yesterday, and the day before, and concluded both times that there was truly no food to be found.

“We’ll see,” father mumbled, “how well your hunting games have prepared you.”

His movement usually resembled that of a speedy hyena, but now he walked slowly and nervously. It took an eternity before they’d crossed the clearing and the real hunt could begin.

“I won’t disappoint you, father Farshar!” Kesho said cheerfully.

Then he stumbled over a mammoth.

Lacking a second arm, Kesho helplessly tumbled to the ground and stayed there in a daze. Thank the gods—his father’s calm voice came to him a heartbeat later.

And yes, dear reader, these creatures did thank the actual gods, for they walked among them and visited them from time to time. Kesho remembered how Eeris had secretly grown more berry bushes for them the previous winters, when food was also nowhere to be found.

“The mammoth is dead,” father said. “Killed recently.”

Kesho pushed himself back on his feet using a tree trunk. “Natural death?”

His tribe had crossed vast sheets of ice long ago to reach this new land. Back then, mammoths were far larger and more abundant than now. Since then, the ice age ended and the climate rapidly heated up. Most mammoths died simply because it became too hot. Kesho imagined—however hard it was—that the giant dinosaurs from long ago died due to a similar reason.

It also meant that all ice had melted by now and they couldn’t walk back to their home land. A wild ocean flowed at their back. For the Asha tribe, the only way was forward, deeper into the area they called Schola.

Kesho could finally see clearly again.

“No, not a natural death,” he noticed instantly. Bites were taken out of its body. But the bites were small and haphazard, as if the attacker realized he didn’t actually like mammoth flesh.

Farshar circled the beast and reached the same conclusion. “None of us did this. Why would you attack and then not claim the flesh?”

Kesho salivated. This mammoth could feed their tribe for months. Or that would be the case, if meat didn’t spoil. Realistically, it would feed them well for a few days, then they’d be forced to throw out the rest.

But he had found it! He would tell everyone how he had defeated the beast and—

Father looked up and pointed at a neat collection of stones, burnt black at the top. They knew what fire was and recognized its consequences, even if they had no clue how to start or control one.

“He wasn’t hunted. He was purposely attacked.”

“Attack?”

“This mammoth quarreled with someone. The other defended themselves by killing the mammoth, and then fled. Yes. That’s it.”

At least he seemed certain of himself. Kesho was less certain. It was a powerful beast. Large, strong, armed with tusks.

“Such a beast would die for such silly reasons?”

“Territory, food, a wife, who knows? This mammoth obstructed another creature. He shouldn’t have done so. That’s just how nature works, son.”

Kesho swallowed. He looked at the stump that should’ve been his second arm. He studied father’s much larger, muscular appearance. “Is … is that so?”

As usual, father turned it into a lesson. “And that’s why some children should hunt static food. The Asha Tribe protects you, Kesho, and you can return the favor in your unique way. Do not turn your back on your duties.”

Kesho had a hundred opinions about his “duties”, but said none of them. He just shoved his spear into another tree.

Suddenly, Farshar noticed something and shot towards it.

Kesho imagined an attacker and readied himself, but all father had seen was … a bush picked empty? And a few broken branches?

He crept closer, unsure whether his father had gone insane. “Misha probably plucked those the past few days. We have to bring the mammoth—”

“And does Misha have a thousand hands?”

He looked past father’s outstretched arm. The next bush had been picked empty too, destroyed even. The one behind it as well.

As far as the eye could see, all shrubs and trees were entirely exhausted and destroyed.

“Maybe we should ask Misha to be a little more careful when—”

“We did not do this!” Father ran away, looking for a piece of nature that was untouched. “We don’t stay in the same spot long enough to do this! And we are too few.”

“Then somebody destroys our food.” He wanted to throw his spear, but it was still stuck in the previous tree, so he kicked a tree instead.

“That’s not …” Farshar stopped himself as he realized something. “So that’s why we couldn’t find any food the past ten winters. And we still can’t, despite Eeris’ aid. It’s … a bigger problem than I want to admit.”

They discovered the next body. A bison, with more bites taken out of her.

They reached the river Indus. The Gosti knew it to be a dangerous place, for all animals liked to live near the water. Both prey and predator. Most tribes still abided by Donte’s Rule: don’t approach a river until you’re certain no predator lies in wait.

On this small beach they discovered the body of fish after fish. Some were eaten to the bone, others were almost untouched. They even found the remnants of a hut, torn apart and partially covered by sand.

A fishing net hung from poles at both sides of the river. A school of fish writhed and struggled as they tried to escape it. The Asha Tribe also used this technique, but they had surely never reached this far into Schola.

Farshar didn’t trust it and returned to the cover of trees.

Whoever this attacker was, it could kill anybody with ease. Killing became a sport: they already had so much food that they didn’t even need the mammoth’s flesh. And still they murdered him. Unbelievable.

And now they were precisely following the attacker’s trail.

Father’s ears pricked up and his tail curled. Kesho’s senses sharpened: his sight clearer, his ears more precise, his nose filled with tiny smells he hadn’t picked up before. Smells he recognized from other tribe members, but also … new and unknown smells.

Rustling sounded from all directions, mixed with growls and hums. He couldn’t turn around fast enough to find the origin of each sound, but they grew louder and louder.

They were deep in the forest, squished between trees. No sunlight reached them here. Kesho had noticed—thanks to all the hunting games that had prepared him—but completely forgotten to act on it due to fear.

The shrub besides him wiggled of its own accord.

Farshar pushed Kesho to the floor and jumped in front of him. An insult, he thought, even though he was glad.

A silhouette rose from the shrub, like a plant growing to its full size within a heartbeat. But it was no plant—it was his sister.

Misha quickly grabbed her basket, which lay broken on the ground, and threw some nuts and leaves inside. The act wasn’t convincing in the slightest. She’d secretly followed them.

“Go back. Now!” Father wanted to yell, but had to restrain himself in case danger still lurked nearby.

“Look at Kesho,” Misha whined at full volume. “Laying in the mud, helpless, fear in his eyes. If anybody should be allowed to hunt with you, it should be—”

Her eyes followed a black spot zooming through the sky, accompanied by a buzzing sound as if a storm was coming. Before the could react, a sharp arrow pierced through Misha’s basket. Two more landed before Kesho’s feet.

He shook his head. They should’ve grabbed the mammoth and returned to camp! But no, curiosity killed the Gosti again.

Then he realized what the growls and hums meant. They were voices coming from afar.

Another tribe.

Something told him these were not a handful of friendly family members.

A tired Jambir fell to the weeds. The Gosti would have fallen asleep instantly, even though the floor was hard and covered with sharp stones, if it weren’t for a jaguar screaming in his ear.

“What do you think you’re doing? Sleeping? You’ve barely caught eighty fish today!”

“More than enough for the next—”

“A hundred fish each day. That’s your job.”

“But—”

“Or you will never be fed again!”

The jaguar left. He knew this threat was enough to make his little slaves do his bidding. All living things had to eat. And the only way for Jambir to eat, was by the grace of his jaguar masters who gave it to him. For if they saw you break the rules and secretly eat one of your hundred fish yourself, they’d turn you into their next dinner.

Jambir was exhausted. He’d worked for months, each day, sunrise until sunset. And for what? They already had more than enough food. This tribe was larger than most, yes, but not excessively so. And the fences they built needed wood and stone, not meat.

He walked past those fences on his way to the river. He hoped his fishing net had performed miracles in the meantime, for his limbs were too tired to catch any fish who fought against him in the slightest. Strangely enough, most fish struggled when caught. All of them, even.

If their life was threatened, well, a pike or perch could suddenly bite like a jaguar.

He’d never actually caught one alive and only impaled two with his makeshift stick weapon.

The umpteenth storage hut was being built. Small stone rooms that, according to Jambir, would blow to the next continent at the slightest gust of wind. But it didn’t matter. All their attention was on the most important element: the magic that ensured the meat didn’t spoil and could be stored forever.

The jaguars, of course, refused to reveal that secret.

Jambir shuffled towards the workers—other Gosti that were no more than slaves—and tried to see what they did. Catch a glimpse of the magic and how it was seemingly put into the walls. But even this half-finished storage was already used for piles of meat and guarded by angry jaguars.

Although …

They also made a floor for the hut. Why? It didn’t contain enough meat yet to cover it, which allowed Jambir’s eyes to find a small shimmering light inside the floor, like a gemstone that held a star.

He stepped closer. The jaguar pushed him back violently.

“The river is there, idiot.”

“Oh, yes, sure, well, yes, what a mistake!”

He apologized profusely and shuffled to the river with slumped shoulders. But that image of the gemstone never left his thoughts.

That magic had to die.

If they couldn’t store that food anymore, it was useless to force Gosti to catch a hundred fish each day. They’d almost destroyed the entire area anyway. They had to move or expand their territory, like, well, everyone else. Instead, Jambir had to travel further and further into the river to catch fish, to the point he almost drowned once.

Not this time. As soon as his tired legs felt the ice cold water, the sound of footsteps reached him. He looked up and noticed Gosti silhouettes in the distance.

He turned to the other Gosti fishing near him.

“Do you recognize that?”

“That is a tree, Jambir.”

“No, the silhouette next to it.”

No response. Too tired from work, he guessed, or too angry to care. Jambir was sure though: those silhouettes ran outside of their territory and didn’t look familiar.

Hope blossomed. That was another option! If another tribe would attack and kill the jaguars, they’d finally be free!

Unless … the others were even worse.

No, he couldn’t imagine it. He could only imagine how beautiful life would be once he had freedom and perhaps met a nice female Gosti with whom to spend that freedom.

With his final bout of energy, he ran along the river to meet the silhouettes. It probably scared them off, as they sought cover inside the forest. Jambir followed, though it was much harder to track somebody in an overgrown area. He knew his ancestors liked climbing trees and evading danger there, but he’d never done it himself and didn’t think he even could.

A jaguar ran past him.

No, the king of his tribe!

Shortly after, his two children—prince and princess—also passed Jambir on both sides. They both looked identical to their king, but had noticeable defects. The prince had much shorter legs and a flat, dented snout. The princess’ fur had black splotches that refused to grow hairs, and her left eye was much smaller than the other.

But if you said any of this out loud near the king … well, you guessed it: you were their next dinner.

Jambir tried to keep up with them. “What’s wrong? Where are you going?”

“Intruders!” the prince yelled enthusiastically, as if he’d waited his whole life for this moment. “Free food is gathering at our northern borders!”

The princess frowned. “We thought you came to help. Why are you running this way otherwise?”

“Yeah, sure, to help,” Jambir said, loud enough to cause an echo through the entire forest. “I am running to the NORTHEN BORDER to FIGHT the INTRUDERS!”

“Shut up, idiot!”

“Seems to me are about TWENTY TREE LENGTHS away from—”

The prince scratched his face. Jambir fell backwards due to the hit and the immense pain. The prince and princess ran off and left him behind to deal with the blood streaming across his face.

Once he finally reached the northern border, he found a Gosti armed with bow and arrow.

Their weapons and tools, dear reader, didn’t look like much yet. Their bows could not reach far and broke at the slightest usage. Their arrows weren’t sharp enough to do real damage. But it was always better than no weapon.

“Don’t shoot!” Jambir yelled.

They shot.

Perhaps it was his scream, perhaps they never intended to truly hit the intruders, but their arrows flew off course and became warning shots.

The other Gosti pushed their spears forward. Especially the largest, probably their father, was muscular enough to make the king think twice about attacking. Sure, his king saw Gosti as slaves, but the only Gosti in their camp were much smaller, weaker, and not even able to hold a spear.

These Gosti almost seemed a different species entirely!

“Who are you?” the king eventually asked.

“We are the Asha Tribe,” the largest said. “My name is Farshar. These are my son and daughter. We come in peace.”

“We are the Jagu Tribe, I am king Jagu … and you are intruders in our territory.”

“The land belongs to nobody,” Farshar said decisively.

“Put your spears away.”

“Put your bows away.”

Jagu looked at his children. The prince shook his head, but the princess vigorously nodded.

“Useless,” the king complained.

“They are Gosti,” Jambir said. “They are smart. We can learn from each other’s ways! Look how strong they—”

“Yes, yes, very believable from the mouth of a a Gosti,” the prince said. Without looking, he scratched Jambir’s face again.

The king had only furious eyes for his son. “Behave yourself!”

The red and yellow jaguar stepped forward. He made himself vulnerable: one good throw with their spears and they’d kill him.

All held their breath. Farshar and the king studied each other, from top, to bottom, and back again. They made a calculation in their head, a balancing of good and evil.

“We can exchange food,” Farshar said, “and knowledge, and techniques. We’ll continue traveling north in a few days anyway, so you won’t have to suffer us long.”

His son and daughter had recovered from the attack. They seemed … angry at their father?

His son impatiently tapped his foot, while his daughter squeezed her basket’s handle. Despite her wild and furious eyes, Jambir immediately felt a tug of desire, realizing he found her attractive.

Not a tug of love, dear reader, for that did not exist yet. Only the desire to have children with another animal, to make sure your family tree stood strong for a little longer.

“With how many are how you?” the jaguar asked.

Farshar paused. “It depends. Not few, not many.”

The king grumbled in response. It wasn’t wise to give away your precise numbers to a stranger, he understood that. He also studied Jambir. Who was still infatuated with Misha and about to launch another speech about how clever Gosti were.

Farshar lowered his spear.

“Put away the bows,” Jagu said over his shoulder. “The Jagu Tribe welcomes the Asha Tribe. Let’s spend a few days together and try to share as much as possible. So that both tribes may enter the future with more confidence!”

All released the breath they were holding and felt their heartbeat slow down.

“Misha.” Farshar’s voice was tired. “Go back and pick up the other members.”

“Oh? Hmm? Am I allowed to do that? The other members are moving creatures and—”

“Misha! Behave yourself. Kesho, with me.”

Jagu smiled. “Ah. Children. They’re the same for all species, aren’t they?”

Farshar smiled and patted both his children on the head.

Together they walked back to the heart of the territory. They started with unnecessarily loud statements such as “what a beautiful camp” and “let’s organize a feast” and “no that color red does look great with the shade of the trees”—but the conversation soon turned to whispers.

Once inside the camp, Jagu and Farshar immediately split off.

Jambir seized the moment to talk to Kesho.

“All well and good,” he whispered. “But with how many are you really?”

“About—no, wait, I’m not saying!”

Jambir rolled his eyes. “I have only one question: do you have enough to attack and defeat the jaguars?”

Kesho turned to stone. His response, however, was immediate and calculated, accompanied by a slight smile.

“I think so.”

Kesho hadn’t asked Jambir to give a tour of the camp, but he received one anyway. His frustration grew when he noticed he didn’t actually hate the Jagu Tribe. First he wanted to attack or flee, then he discussed potential plans with Jambir to attack the jaguars, and now he mostly complained about how … weird they were.

The Asha Tribe had a collection of different species. The Jagu Tribe only had jaguars, using Gosti as their servants.

The Asha Tribe roamed and searched places where food was available. They barely had possessions and rarely built structures. The Jagu Tribe, however, had been in this exact place for a long time now. They’d built structures everywhere and clogged the Indus river with fishing nets.

The other members of the Asha Tribe slowly arrived. It became increasingly clear that they had no choice. The Jagu Tribe had conquered so much territory, and then walled it off with fences, that they could not go around them.

They had arrived through the northern border. The western border stopped at the wide river, while the southern border had the highest fences of all. His father was now searching for a way through the thick forest near the eastern border, but really gave it no chance: it was too far away from fresh water.

Each Asha member eyed the jaguars with distrust upon entry. They looked back with equal distrust, no matter how much effort Jagu put into welcoming everybody with a smile and kind words.

Another oddity: they had a king. It took an entire day before Jagu understood that the Asha did not have a leader and hence Farshar wasn’t it. Even then, he found it confusing and kept calling Farshar “king of Asha”.

Many Asha members still wore loose animal skin as clothing, despite the end of the ice age. Additionally, all members carried a selection of feathers and animal teeth which they wore as necklaces, bracelets or headdresses. His tribe was a colorful appearance in which all looked unique and diverse—which contrasted in the ugliest of ways with the Jagu Tribe which had none of that.

The only “culture” he could discover was that the jaguars were chewing on something all day. As if they’d die if their jaws ever stopped moving.

When night fell, Jambir still wasn’t done with his tour and led him to the food storages.

“So this is where we store everything. The other fifteen are all filled to the brim, but this one …” Food was currently hauled into the opened store hut, which allowed Kesho to see how much it contained.

“That’s … that’s enough food for an entire lifetime!”

“Multiple lifetimes.”

“An entire tribe.”

Jambir nodded. “The only positive about this tribe. If I do my job, I’ll always have food, that much is certain.”

Kesho salivated again. No more hunting or collecting? No long winters with barely an edible scrap? He studied his missing arm and frail body again. If the Asha Tribe could store this much food, it wouldn’t matter how strong you were, or how big, or if you had the right number of limbs.

There was no reason to fight: if an animal wanted food, you just gave it.

Jambir pulled him away from the storages. “If you secretly eat any of it,” he whispered, “you’ll be their next dinner. Don’t even think about it!”

“But why doesn’t it spoil? We must eat meat immediately, otherwise it’s worthless.”

“Some magic or other. A gift from the gods, the jaguars keep saying.”

A gift from the gods. Just like Eeris had helped them the previous few winters? Kesho wanted to stay longer, but panicked screams from the camp drew his attention. Something was on fire, roughly at the center, and Gosti ran back and forth from the river trying to carry water in a leaking basket. A hopeless task, no matter how much the jaguars screamed at them to do it.

“A punishment from the gods!” Jambir exclaimed, stepping away from Kesho.

“No this is a gift. We think.”

“You think?”

“We pray to Ardex the Firegod each night. And usually, a fire starts burning not long after.”

Jambir needed time to process this. Kesho realized this was another difference: the Asha Tribe had the unique skill of summoning fire, known to nobody else.

Farshar ran around to clear up the confusion. It didn’t improve the relationship with the jaguars. The weaker Asha members, such as deer and ibex, stayed close to Farshar and the campfires.

No, the Asha only won unanimous trust when king Jagu smelled the delicious scent of roasted meat.

They raced to the fires to claim their part of dinner. They thanked the Asha tribe and asked how to do this themselves. Farshar’s explanation of their prayers and nightly ritual fell on deaf ears.

Jambir and Kesho had crept closer, attracted by the familiar warmth and joyful atmosphere. Just before reaching the light, Jambir froze.

“I must catch twenty more fish today,” he mumbled.

The prince overheard and addressed the entire tribe. “No! Nonsense! It was a joke! Come here, Jambir, most esteemed member of our tribe, yes. Like all members of our tribe are valued.”

“Truer words were never spoken,” king Jagu spoke with his mouth full.

Kesho had never seen such a fat animal, but now that he saw the king’s diet—and lack of exercise—the riddle had solved itself. That couldn’t be useful, right? All that extra weight to drag with you while hunting? Father probably held a strong opinion about it which he wisely didn’t share.

Oh, right, silly him. Jagu obviously never hunted himself. It wasn’t necessary when you had huts filled with perch meat that never spoiled.

“I think our cooperation has been most successful,” the prince said, licking his lips. He gurgled while eating, for his dented nose made it hard to breathe at the same time.

“So do we, dear jaguars,” Murfa said, another father from the Asha Tribe. He originally belonged to another tribe, but had fallen in love with Kesho’s aunt. After lingering around for a year, she bore his child and he had officially joined their ranks.

“So,” Murfa continued, “we ask your help with traveling further. Would you temporarily remove part of your fences to let us through?”

The smile fell from Jagu’s face. “We shall … consider.”

“If not, we see no other option than to return from whence we came. And those lands bear no food anymore, partly due to your—”

“Due to our what?”

“Due to your very efficient fishing methods”, Misha added hastily. “We hope to learn from it and then walk onward to better places.”

“Better places? Farshar, words please!”

Farshar and Jagu walked away from the fire, whispering. Jambir still wasn’t sure if it was indeed a joke that he still had to catch twenty fish before full moon. Him and Kesho still hadn’t joined the fires and could overhear the conversation.

“I must say,” Jagu said through gritted teeth, “that you do not control your tribe in the slightest! They are rude! And ungrateful! And so … different. Unpredictable!”

“Let me repeat: they are not my tribe,” Farshar said. “We’re all equal. My children may say whatever they want, speak whenever they want, as long as they do their part in supporting the tribe.”

Jagu turned around to study Farshar’s eyes. “You never considered it? Seizing power? You could stop hunting and still have enough food. No danger, only profit!”

“Why would I want that?”

This truly mystified Jagu. “Why … why not? Think of the freedom. Think of the free time you’ll have.”

Farshar smiled. He turned around and pointed at the fires.

The Asha Tribe had started singing, softly at first. The voices melted together into a heavenly choir that made the starry sky shine just a little brighter. Several members grabbed their necklaces made of feathers and teeth. By shaking and scratching it, they could create melodies and rhythms, used for dancing.

Misha had found several wooden blocks and perfectly aligned with the rhythm. Children who were too young to sing tried to help, creating unpredictable beats.

In one corner, where moonlight fell most graciously, a group of elderly members sat with stones in their laps. Using their own feather, they drew something in the stone, sometimes retracing a line twenty times before it was deep enough.

“We have nothing but free time,” Farshar said. “We are glad whenever we can alternate between this and hunting! And so, if you don’t mind, I have an entire evening to spend with my wife …”

He carried his wife away from the fire, into a dark corner where they did who knows what.

Jagu could not move from the shock. His eyes noticed Jambir.

“Back to work, lazy idiot,” he hissed. “Fifty fish! Punishment for laziness!”

Kesho felt guilty, but did not stand up to the large king.

Jambir waited until they were alone. Then he smiled. “Oh well, it’s fine. I’ll survive. I’ll manage—they feed me well. As long as we eventually destroy the jaguars. Will, erm, will your sister help?”

“Perhaps. I’m searching for a way to bring it up.”

Jambir sauntered away, unable to hide his disappointment.

Kesho stepped towards the fires, joining his family members, and also joining the songs. While the Gosti around him had secretly been put back to work, he experienced a relaxed evening with his tribe.

His tribe wasn’t so bad. Nor was the Jagu Tribe, who let them enter and stay here.

But singing does not feed the hungry, dear reader. In normal circumstances, they’d continue walking tomorrow, searching a new area for new meat. The Asha had no storage. Now that they remained in the same place, all their food was gone by night’s end. And Jambir could tell you what happened once you depended on somebody else for your food …

Jambir followed Kesho deeper into the forest, a growing fear in his heart. They hadn’t been able to talk these past few days, for Jambir had been sent on a thousand different missions. He repeatedly told himself that he’d manage, he just needed to be patient.

He focused on the positives: he had met Misha twice! She’d walk near the fences with her wicker basket, hoping to collect some food of her own. Each time Jambir noticed the basket was nearly empty, and yet Misha’s smile was no worse for it.

Now Jagu was finally deep in conversation with the Asha Tribe about “adult matters”, which allowed Jambir to escape duties.

“You really must sleep more,” Kesho said. “Bags underneath your eyes. You’re slow as a chicken. Or, well, chickens are quite fast actually …”

“As if I can help it!”

He’d instantly agreed to Kesho’s plan to teach him to hunt and fight. If he could survive in the wild, he could flee the Jagu Tribe anyway. But the further he strayed from the safety of the camp, the more his paws wanted to turn around.

Kesho’s presence was no help, for Jambir did not see him as a strong and impressive person anymore. In Kesho’s missing arm he saw the defects of the prince and princess, who could talk and talk, but never actually had to fight in their lives. Jambir would surprised if the prince even knew how to do so.

Yes, Kesho had a fighting spirit, but did he have the means to execute it?

“There,” Kesho whispered.

“Where? What?”

He turned Jambirs head toward a green and yellow tree behind them. “A bird. In the tree, left branch.”

“Oh! Yes! I see it.”

A paw shut Jambir’s mouth tight.

“Step one is to never betray your presence with loud yells.”

“Oh—hmm—so—hmm—rry.”

“Step two is to explore your surroundings. Find the bigger dangers. Other predators watching the bird, who wouldn’t mind adding you to their dinner as well.”

Jambir followed Kesho in a circle around the base of the tree. He felt gangly and silly. As if each footfall would notify the bird or cause him to stumble.

“Step three is to pick the best position for the attack. For when you attack, you only have a flash, a heartbeat, to kill the other creature with all your might. You’re too slow? You doubt? You’re wrong? That bird has flown.”

“Then why do we attack flying creatures?” Jambir complained. He remembered the Asha Tribe also containing some bird members and didn’t understand how they lived together.

“Not everybody is lucky enough to conquer a river and catch helpless fish from above. Who don’t fight back.”

Jambir looked sour. “Shouldn’t we give that bird a fair chance then? How would you like it if a huge bird came from above, out of nowhere, and suddenly ate you?”

“Yeah, really annoying. And that’s why you need to be the first and the fastest!”

Together they climbed to a low branch. Kesho as elegant as a monkey, Jambir with more luck than skill.

“Ready?”

Jambir nodded but said: “Of course not.”

“Now!”

They both jumped to the higher branch, followed by sounds of breaking branches and crackling dead leaves. Dust, mud, and ripped leaves stung in Jambir’s eyes. Was that the bird? Struggling and flapping their wings?

He closed his eyes and held on with all he had.

The branch disappeared from underneath him. He fell to the floor, though the impact was softened by a pile of leaves.

The bird pressed against his chest. But it still moved! Jambir panicked and threw the bird away, to which Kesho responded with a disappointed look.

Until he realized it was no bird at all.

It was a piece of wood with a drawing of a bird, realistic enough to fool Jambir. Blasted Asha Tribe with their creative inventions!

“Really?” Jambir said, irritated. “A fake bird? I’m too weak for a real animal?”

Kesho shrugged, a gesture that almost made him fall over. “It’s a game. That’s how you learn skills before you really need them. You wouldn’t throw somebody who has never touched water into a raging river, right?”

“I can think of many instances in which the jaguars did exactly that with a Gosti!”

“And how did that end?”

Jambir fell silent.

Kesho pushed the fake bird in his arms. “Congratulations, you caught your first bird. Next time, I place it on a higher branch.”

Next time. Slowly, both tribes realized they might be sharing this space for longer than they imagined. Some liked it, others still fought for a hole in the fence to walk through.

“Thank you,” Jambir said, looking away.

“Well, it’s not that hard to draw a bird and—”

“For being a good friend.” Jambir cried, fully turning away, as if afraid he’d be punished for showing emotion.

“For as long as I can remember, I do nothing but work all day. Collecting food for the thick fat king. Do what they ask, get punished, you have no choice. Only because they have food and you don’t.”

Kesho stepped closer, placing his only arm on Jambir’s shoulder. “And now I teach you to hunt and survive, so you can free yourself of those chains.”

“I’m hopeless! I’ll never have your dad’s muscles!” Kesho cringed. “Or, erm, yours. And how will I ever impress Misha?”

“Misha?”

“Maiden. I said maiden.”

“Practice is all. We’re only stronger because we move a lot and play a lot of games, as opposed to laying on the ground commanding others, like some fat king I once heard about …”

Jambir thought about this. “Not everything is practice.”

“Why?”

“You’re missing an arm. All practice in the world will not grow it back! And I … maybe we are a different species of Gosti. One that cannot become as strong. We have the same ancestor, but evolved in different ways.”

“So?”

“So maybe jaguar slave is the best I can achieve.”

Kesho’s face flashed red as he spoke with barely contained screams. “Nobody should be another creature’s slave, however … weak they may be. And that’s why, Jambir, we must execute our plan—and quickly.”

“You … truly consider attacking the Jagu Tribe?”

“I’ll mention it to father. I know how to convince my tribe. Stay alive a little longer. Will you manage?”

Jamber sighed and nodded.

They passed through the northern border. A jaguar and a deer from Asha spoke to each other and greeted them. Mixed groups sat scattered across camp, talking, trying to magically make fire appear, or sharing food. All children participated in the largest game of hide and seek ever played thus far. The prince and princess also wanted to join the games, but were yelled at by the other jaguars, who explained that they were a useless waste of their time.

Farshar pounded the earth as he fled Jagu’s hut, white-hot with rage.

He made a beeline for Kesho and pulled his son close.

“Where is Misha? We’re leaving. Now. We’ll break those fences ourselves.”

“Calm, calm,” Jagu said, struggling to keep up. “No rushed decisions. And must I remind you what we’ll do if you break our fences? Our property?”

“Misha? Misha?”

The entire Asha Tribe stirred. Murfa mentioned she left on her own to collect more food, like each day before, as their own food had run out. Even though it had been unsuccessful each time, for the entire area had been stripped bare.

Farshar’s wife—Helera—joined the family and screamed her daughter’s name in all directions.

“The hotheaded girl went hunting on her own, I’m sure,” father grumbled.

Helera comforted him. “No, no, she wouldn’t be that foolish.”

The Asha split into four groups, searching north, west, south, east. They cursed and yelled to start their search for Misha. Kesho wanted to join, but needed twenty attempts to grab his spear, delaying him too much.

Jambir’s heart nearly burst. He wanted to join too, but several jaguars already pushed him back in his place, which, this time, meant flying head first into the ice cold river.

Last he saw was Jagu who sneaked after Kesho and then blocked his path.

Kesho jumped at the jaguar paw resting on his shoulder.

“Awful, just awful,” the king said. “Let’s hope your sister is found soon.”

Oh, how he wanted to hit Jagu in the head with his spear. He restrained himself.

“Awful indeed,” he said with clenched jaw. “Will you join the search?”

“I do what I can.”

Kesho did not know what that meant. Jagu did not leave his side, no matter which direction Kesho chose.

“Tell me, Kislo—”

“Kesho.”

“What does your father think of us? Is he prepared to cooperate?”

Kesho frowned. Jagu steered their path more and more, aiming for the food storages.

“Aren’t we … already cooperating?”

Jagu shook his head. His voice was tinted with sadness. “I sense hostility. I sense your eagerness to leave. While we provide everything! It’s good here, don’t you think, Karsto?”

They paused next to the huts. Even more meat was thrown into them by a group of Gosti. While the Asha Tribe had raised the alarm due to Misha’s disappearance, the Jagu Tribe pretended nothing was wrong. Perhaps missing creatures was the default here.

Kesho salivated. So much food. Years of comfort and safety. No need to hunt. No need to be reminded how weak and useless he was without both arms.

And then there was Jambir’s talk of magic. Kesho searched for the sparkling gemstone, but if it was there, it was now covered by too much food.

“It’s … fine here.”

“Fine?”

“Fine and nice,” Kesho added. “I mean, have you ever been attacked? Has any wild animal ever breached your borders?”

Jagu smiled. “No. So many murderous tribes and animals, yet we are safe here like a mother’s womb.”

“And hunting? Have you ever needed to hunt?”

“Oh, once in a while. I try to stay in shape, you see.”

Kesho did not see it.

“My children, however, have never hunted. And the plan is to make sure none of our children ever have to do so again.”

He studied Jagu’s children. The prince couldn’t walk straight, or fast, with his short legs. The princess had terrible sight due to her tiny eye, judging by how often she bumped into Gosti or buildings. Or maybe that was also the default here.

If even they could have a comfortable life—the life of kings—why not Kesho?

Before he could stop himself, He spoke his thoughts out loud. “Your children are weak indeed, just like me. I recognize their struggles.”

Jagu’s head swiveled frighteningly fast. His dark eyes looked down on him.

Kesho stepped back, but one step from Jagu covered ten steps of his own.

“I, erm, obviously mean that it’s nice to hear you support your children!”

Jagu grumbled. His sharp nails scratched the walls of the storages.

“I have to,” he grunted. “They are supposed to bear children together to keep the tribe alive and well.”

With … with each other? Kesho thought about getting a child with his own sister Misha, for only a heartbeat, which sent shivers through his body.

It is true, dear reader. Because these jaguars stayed in the same place forever, they never met other jaguars. They only had each other, brothers and sisters bearing children to continue the family legacy. This meant that every mistake in their DNA was made worse with every child. Because both brother and sister had the same mistake in their blood—so now their child had it twice! And yes, sometimes mistakes in your DNA can be good, but they often lead to defects and illnesses.

Jagu softly patted Kesho on the back.

“Go on. Take from the storage. If your tribe cooperates, without hostility or distrust, we promise you will never be hungry again. Even you—one-armed Karno—could live like a king.”

Two thoughts fought each other. Everything about this tribe was weird. The idea of staying in the same place forever already made him restless.

Yet the food storages drew him in. The promises seemed honest. Jambir was already a good friend, and the Indus river was a great place to live.

“I will speak to father,” he said. Jagu kept him a while longer, explaining the history of the Jagu tribe and way too many anecdotes about his dear prince and princess.

Then Kesho ran into the forest, finding his tribe by the sound of their panicked voices.

Jambir had followed Kesho and Jagu all this time. In the shadows, hidden, ready to interfere if anything happened.

To his surprise, it was just a conversation and nothing else. Was Kesho betraying him? Were the Asha and Jagu already the best of friends?

Patience, he told himself. He could work a little longer, he could wait a little longer, if it meant a future in freedom with Misha at some point.

But he could not wait and sit around while Misha was still missing.

He ran away to the place they were expecting him. Today his tasks involved raising a fence on the other side and strengthening its base. Only the most trusted Gosti were trained—and allowed—to climb the trees so they could collect food on the other side or repair fences from above.

Jambir was, obviously, not a trusted Gosti. He could only carry piles of wood and stone. The hard work. The ungrateful job.

To him, the intent of the jaguars was clear as day. They were never going to let the Asha Tribe past. They made it even harder to get past their fences. But why? Why keep an entire tribe hostage? Now the storages would deplete more quickly, while any knowledge had already been shared, and—

The answer became obvious when he saw a familiar figure on the other side of the fence.

Misha. Lovely Misha.

She was chained and put to work amidst the other Gosti, as if she’d always belonged there. The jaguars yelled commands and she executed them. Her body was covered with wounds and blood, while her eyes spit fire.

Those “trusted Gosti” looked down on her, satisfied, licking their lips. Their faces resembled that of a hungry predator spotting some tasty meat.

Surely they didn’t intend to eat her. His tribe was a collection of evil and stupidity, but he had never seen proof they were cannibals.

No, it was clear now. The jaguars intended to use Misha to bear children with the other Gosti. To continue their families of slaves with new DNA that prevented those defects in the prince and princess.

They had captured the Asha Tribe so that their members, in time, would become the Jagu Tribe and provide fresh blood.

Misha looked up. She saw Jambir through the irregular, small holes in the unfinished fence. Her eyes begged for something. Her lips moved without making a sound.

Must work, they said, otherwise never food anymore.

Something inside Jambir broke. He grabbed a large stone and threw it at the face of the jaguar guard, killing him on impact.

All members of the Asha Tribe gathered deep in the forest. Anger sailed through their hearts, combined with fear for Misha’s life. Kesho had joined them, but knew nothing more. Another day of uncertainty, another day without Misha, and who knows what they would have done.

But when the sun set, Kesho noticed a silhouette among the trees. It swerved as if too tired to walk in a straight line or properly raise their paws.

The creature was far too large to be Misha.

It also shone in the darkness, which Kesho didn’t remember as being a special power of his sister.

A sabretooth tiger joined them. But none were afraid, for this beast was familiar. Ardex, god of Fire and Death, eldest of the demigods. As he stepped towards them, a fire started to combat the darkness of night, which somehow created two shadows for everyone.

Ardex looked … exhausted?

“I came as quickly as I could,” he said. “Which was unwise, given my lack of stamina.”

“You heard our prayers?” Helera asked, Kesho’s mother. “You can hear everything?”

“Surprisingly, I can hear your prayers, and yours only. But that’s not the reason of my visit. Eeris revealed that she has been helping tribes in this area for many winters. If I’d known, I would have called an end to it immediately!”

They all looked at each other. Farshar was the first to speak. “Thanks to Eeris’ help only three people died last winter. We could’ve all died from starvation. Why would you stop that, oh demigod?”

Ardex smiled. “And the Jagu Tribe? Whom she helped by giving them a magical stone that keeps their food from spoling? Are you happy about that too?”

“Please,” Helera begged, “tell us where Misha is. That’s all we ask.”

Another creature stepped to the side, previously behind Ardex’ back. Misha was severely wounded. She studied the ground, too ashamed to even look her tribe in the eye.

Her tribe, however, saw nothing be ashamed about. Kesho’s parents ran for her and held her tight.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” they repeated.

“Oh, well, I had nothing to do with this,” Ardex said. “And I won’t interfere, if I can help it. Some Gosti named Jambir went wild to save her. His fate is out of my hands.”

“Jambir,” Misha mumbled with tears in her eyes. “We must save him.”

As Kesho hugged his sister, something ached and bubbled in his belly. An anger, a fighting spirit, the desire to hit all jaguars in the face and personally destroy all their stupid fences. He’d give his one good arm to kill them all.

An anger more hot and painful than any he felt before. Except … except that one time, many years ago, when Ardex also came to visit.

“What happened, dear?” Helera asked. “Did Jagu hurt you?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. What happened?”

Misha cried until her parent’s fur was dripping wet. “They told me to obey their commands if I ever wanted to eat again. And I knew they were right, because we didn’t have any food. And I was so hungry. And then I wanted to find you, but you were gone, and they told me that you also obeyed their commands and agreed to this, and—”

“You believed that?” Farshar yelled. “We would never treat you like that. None of us. No soul of Asha will ever be a slave to those jaguars.”

“But what’s the alternative?” Murfa said. “We have no food. We can’t go anywhere. We already depend on their food storages.”

They all focused on Ardex. He instantly shattered their dreams. The exhaustion in his voice matched that in his body. “I’ve interfered with life too often and have ruined it each time. Leave me out of it.”

All tribe members shared the rage in Kesho’s belly. Murfa impatiently tapped a tree. His wife sharpened her spear. Helera’s eyes could have killed, her muscles tense.

Was that simply the result of Ardex’ presence? Was it their hunger due to food shortage? Or … was it the only possible reaction to this obvious betrayal?

“You’re right,” Misha said. She joined her father in the middle, next to the campfire. “This can’t continue. We must attack.”

“Attack?” His grandparents had finally opened their eyes and ears, and could not believe what they saw and heard. “Are you mad? That would be the end of Asha.”

“I agree,” Kesho quickly added, as he pulled down Misha’s raised first. “We must cooperate! If we stay friendly, Jagu promised, we’ll be fed forever.”

“We are slaves to nobody,” Farshar and Misha yelled. “We attack.”

“Stop! No! Listen to me,” Kesho tried.

“I repeat,” Murfa said with increased intensity. “What’s the alternative? We walk back, we reach an area without food and a sea we can’t cross. We stay in camp and become Jagu’s slaves.”

Farshar stood on his hind legs. His full size dwarfed the others, especially as he heroically raised his spear. “What does a creature do when you steal his food?”

“He … attacks?” several members spoke tentatively. The deer and the birds, usually the calmest of all, bounced and shuffled in place.

“What does a creature do when you steal his territory?”

“He attacks and takes it back.”

“What does a creature do when you attack him?”

“He fights back in self defense!”

“What does a creature do when you steal his wife?”

“He fights back and kills you!”

Farshar roared. “It doesn’t matter who they are, or what they are, or what they look like. The Jagu Tribe is a threat to our survival! And a threat must be attacked and chased away! For if we wait, they’ll attack first and the Asha Tribe will fall!”

Misha grabbed a spear and yelled with him. “For Jambir!”

“Follow me in a surprise attack tonight!” Farshar screamed. Kesho had never seen him this strong, this powerful, this heroic. As he grew up, he wanted to become like his father—right now he wanted to be as aggressive as him.

But his father made the wrong decision.

Kesho tried to interrupt and provide his own arguments, just like Murfa, but Farshar overruled them all with volume and threats.

“We destroy those jaguars and walk onwards toward freedom!”

Kesho and the rest of the tribe walked to Farshar and Misha.

But not to join their speech and prepare the fight.

They grabbed Farshar’s paws and bound them behind his back. Kesho struggled to comply. But those were the rules! So he helped chain his own father to a tree.

Misha tried to free her father, but was easily pushed aside by Murfa.

“What are you doing!?”

Murfa squatted before Farshar, whispering. “And what remains of the soul of Asha,” he said, “if we become a tribe of murderers? If we get a king who encourages us to execute surprise attacks?”

“We have no king and we want no war,” a deer said.

“War is for dinosaurs, and gods, and souls doomed to fight,” Kesho’s grandmother said. Ardex nodded in agreement, but, as promised, didn’t interfere. “Not for Asha. Our soul is peaceful and cooperative.”

“Our soul is still a living creature,” Farshar mumbled, “thrown into cruel nature.”

He wouldn’t convince anybody. Murfa did look guilty. “I’m sorry, Farshar, but this is the way.”

Kesho knew it was the way. Once anybody tried to become their boss or speak for the entire tribe, everybody else was supposed to stand up and put them in their place. Instantly, without doubt. But when it happened to your own father, it suddenly seemed a silly rule in Asha’s culture.

“Then tie me as well,” Misha said with confidence. “You are fools for not attacking.”

A jaguar appeared. On short paws, the Prince hobbled into the light of the fire. He eyed Ardex—hidden in a corner—and Farshar—bound to a tree—with surprise.

Kesho hoped he had heard nothing of this conversation. The prince had two shadows as well, though his second one seemed wrong and far darker than the other.

“King Jagu apologizes sincerely for what happened. A … miscommunication that led to the wrong Gosti being put to work. He hopes you can forgive this … slight misstep.”

Everyone glanced at Farshar. Their eyes seemed to speak: you see, it was a mistake and we should still try to cooperate with Jagu.

Kesho saw his chance to prove his worth, to his own tribe and Jagu. “As I said,” he loudly proclaimed, “it was all a misunderstanding and the Jagu are our friends.”

They took turns telling the jaguar that they forgave them.

The speed at which they forgave was another insult to Misha. She snuggled closer to her father, who still fought against his bonds.

“Is … is that the decision of the entire tribe?” the prince asked.

“The majority forgives you,” Murfa reluctantly said. “That’ll have to do.”

The prince sighed and snored through his dented nose.

“Then the king invites you to a feast. To overcome differences and talk about the future. He reminds you that there was talk of mammoth meat just outside camp. Perhaps bring that?”

“Great idea,” Kesho replied, though he wasn’t sure how much of it was still edible. “I say yes.”

That convinced the tribe. The prince, again, had to accept some nods and mumbles as Asha’s response. He still looked at Farshar as if he had the final say, but father kept his mouth shut and looked away.

“Then I’ll tell Jagu the great news! And I am sure Ardex wouldn’t mind creating some more fires for us, eh? May it become a beautiful night!”

Ardex rolled his eyes, but a heartbeat later they could already see dots of yellow light in the distance.

As the prince turned away, Kesho ran after him.

“Where is Jambir?”

“Where that piece of garbage belongs.”

Of course the Asha Tribe was on guard. They weren’t stupid; they had enough experience with animals playing dead just to attack you when you least expected it. But the smell of flesh enticed them from afar. As they carried the remains of the dead mammoth, the Jagu had apparently already grabbed some meat from their own storages.

They reached the northern border and noticed the camp was split into five separate campfires. Each of them roasted a piece of meat, while huts encircled the area almost like a walls to a room.

Though “hut”, dear reader, remained a strong word for some vertical branches with an animal hide haphazardly stretched over it.

Farshar was surrounded by his children and wife, but had to be supported, for two of his paws were still tied. The Asha Tribe split into five equal parts and mixed with the jaguars and Gosti surrounding the fires. Only the weaker Asha animals, such as deer, insisted on staying together and claiming one fire of their own.

Jagu smiled and accepted. Just as he let the Asha carry their weapons and keep them close.

Misha wanted to flee immediately, but her parents wouldn’t let her.

“You stay really close to use, dear.”

“You’re insane. You’re trusting them? And why would they let us keep our weapons? We must investigate the area. Perhaps the huts hide Gosti with bow and arrow, ready to—”

“We’ll secretly take a walk soon,” Farshar hissed, “when nobody watches and Jagu won’t see it as an insult. But you are not going anywhere without my protection.”

“Says the person who is tied and can’t walk!” Misha wanted to scream more angry insults, but Jagu was close.

Kesho looked around. Where was Jambir? Was he imprisoned? Was he given even more demanding tasks? Was he …

No, he didn’t dare think it. Jagu would be stupid to do something like that, just as Kesho was fighting to make things right between the tribes. He crept away from the fires to search for Jambir.

Jagu managed to raise his enormous body off the floor and walk amidst the mingling tribes. He was so large that he seemed to cast two shadows.

“I welcome all,” he said, “to this feast that will merge our tribes in harmony. Whatever happened before now, let us forgive and forget.”

He had learned. As soon as the majority of the Asha Tribe had mumbled “all is forgiven”, he continued.

“Tonight, no topic is off limits. Explain your desires, we’ll explain ours, and I’m sure we’ll find a solution.”

For some time, the only sounds in the dark night were crackling fires and impatient animals studying the food. Kesho’s stomach rumbled, but he forbade himself to eat before he’d found Jambir. The tribes were growing closer. When the moon came out, they’d sing songs together, and all would be well. Perhaps he’d safely live here the rest of his life.

Mrufa stood up. “Our first desire is that you let us through.”

“You desire that we destroy our own fences, built with years of effort and resources?”

“Not destroy. Temporarily open or lower them. Once we’re all through, do whatever you want.”

“You must understand,” Jagu said, “that we protect you. There are many murderous tribes out there. Why do you think we built the fence?”

Murfa turned red. “There are family members out there. Peaceful tribes such as ours.”

“You built the fence to protect your precious storages,” Farshar said. “And to lock up those poor Gosti—our own species!”

Jagu bared his teeth. “Those Gosti are rewarded handsomely! They are fed. If we don’t protect the storages, they’d be empty now.”

Many members, both from Asha and Jagu, focused on their food and shuffled further away. Some complained about tough meat that tasted weird, but without enough conviction to spread the message.

Murfa raised his front paws. “Let us stay calm. All of that is not important. All that matters is that we can go through.”

The king shook his head. “Impossible. You ask the impossible. We cannot temporarily remove our fences for you.”

By now, Kesho stood in total darkness. He’d walked all the way around the king’s hut without finding a trace of Jambir. The conversations were easy to follow from everywhere, partly because the night was otherwise silent, partly because they yelled at each other.

The storage rooms were within his grasp. All jaguars and Gosti were at the feast. This corner of camp was desolate. Kesho didn’t know if it was a good or a bad sign. A sign of trust to leave the camp unguarded? Or a sign of distrust that they wanted all guards at the feast?

The uncertainty slowly made him go insane—and his parents, worrying for their children’s safety, all the more.

He remembered Jambir’s words. That magical spark inside the huts—Eeris’ godly gift—that kept the meat from spoiling.

They didn’t have to stay here. If he could steal the stone, they could flee and start their own camp somewhere else. Of course, it would also help to steal a part of the meat with it.

As the discussion continued from afar, Kesho shuffled towards the final storage hut. The others were closed using a heavy stone, but this was actively used and only used an animal hide to cover the opening.

“One opening,” Murfa yelled, increasingly hopeless. “We ask for one opening. If you don’t want to hurt your fences, we, we will build a bridge over the fence!”

“That would render the entire fence useless! If you can move out, then those murderous tribes can move in—”

“There are no murderous tribes there. One opening, that’s all.”

Jagu groaned. His claws scratched stone with such ferocity that the piercing sound hurt Kesho’s ears.

Then he gave in. “Agreed. We break down the weakest part of our fence. Don’t come back to us with complaints when you are killed out there by—”

They clapped and cheered. The Asha Tribe thanked him and then attacked the meat with enthusiasm. Many needed all their strength to rip the meat apart—it was tough and it did have a shape he didn’t recognize. But it mostly caused more fun and games, while several Gosti were praying to Ardex, asking him to make the fires burn even brighter.

Kesho pushed aside the animal skin covering the storage. Inside were hundreds of fish, caught and killed long ago, but fresh as if they’d just jumped out of the river.

They wouldn’t miss one, right? The jaguars barely knew what numbers were. Surely they didn’t track any of this. And didn’t they just agree to cooperate and give everyone as much food as they wanted?

He knew what he was doing. He knew it was wrong. He knew there was food at the fires, to share with the others.

Still his mind wasn’t strong enough to fight his body and his nature, which always yearned for more food, as it was the most important thing in the world.

He grabbed a fish from inside—but froze before taking a bite. It had revealed that sparkle in the floor. He dove and hit it with his nose. It almost seemed … a Stone of Darus? One of the diamonds that the God of Stone and Earth had made.

This Darusstone, however, held a plant inside. It grew behind the glass, using a beam of sunlight that came from nowhere. Eeris had enchanted it. He didn’t understand why the Jagu received such a huge gift from the gods—and they merely received some berries and bushes.

Were they family of the gods? Had they bribed Eeris? Or was the Asha Tribe wrong in the eyes of the gods?

No, his tribe was much better than Jagu. They had the right to this magic. If he could only grab this one stone …

His one arm reached for it without success. The diamond nestled deep inside the stone. He scratched and stomped, but his nails were too weak to pry the stone loose.

Suddenly, Jagu’s voice sounded clearly, now that the initial praise had subsided. “As agreed, we shall have to live together for a short time. What do we get in return? You will eat our food for a while. You will enjoy the protection of our fences. We demand that every healthy member, young or old, works for us.”

Pardon? No no no. They’d never accept. The Asha were never slaves.

The only response, however, was silence. Even the buzzing of fireflies was deafeningly loud, though their light was near invisible in the bright moonlight.

Only his father would dare break the silence with an angry shout: “Disgusting! That is not an option.”

“Those are our desires,” Jagu said calmly. “Otherwise our cooperation is void.”

Kesho stopped scratching the floor. He ran outside to grab his spear, hoping its sharp edge would be able to loosen the stone.

He ran into a large, warm body.

The negotiations had begun. The more Misha listened, the more she realized Jagu had all the power here. She wanted to go away. Flee. Stop it. Kill them all. She wanted to see Jambir and know he was safe, then kick the king and tear down the fences.

And her own tribe had already seemingly forgotten what had happened to her? They should’ve immediately stopped eating and left when Jagu told them his desires. It was absurd—most tribe members slowly accepted they had to go and work for the king.

“We can offer our knowledge,” Murfa tried. “We can help remove the fence or create our own huts.”

“Not enough,” Jagu said. “Thirty more mouths to feed. You should be happy we can do that!”

“We can help hunt and collect,” Helera said. “We’re all good at that. We are restless if we can’t do anything all—”

“Then why are you working against me?” Jagu yelled, as he ripped apart a gigantic slab of meat with his front teeth. “Under my command you shall have useful tasks to do all day. Both the men … and the women.”

Misha tore apart all the plants in her vicinity, then jumped and stalked away. “That’s enough. Enough!”

Farshar wanted to follow her but couldn’t get up quickly enough with his hands tied. In the blink of an eye, Misha fade into darkness. Only now did her parents notice Kesho was also missing.

Their sight was obstructed further by Jagu’s immense body.

“I sense your hostility,” the king said. “That changes our desires again. All female Gosti must bear at least one child while here, which shall be property of the Jagu Tribe.”

Misha cried and ran away even faster. In her blind panic she stumbled and fell numerous times, until she’d reached the food storages.

“You’re a monster!” Farshar’s voice echoed in the distance.

Jagu had gone too far. The Asha Tribe stopped singing and laughing, put down their food, and left without a word.

The king stood proud and silent for several heartbeats. He thought it a game, a bluff.

But they were truly leaving.

He called for ten guards to obstruct the Asha. “My apologies,” he said, “I … misspoke.”

“Misspoke? You’re the devil! Worse than the God of Death! You are—”

Murfa was the first to realize this was just another part of negotiations. “Our apologies too, Jagu, we also … misspoke. Let’s be frank this time and say what we really mean.”

Children hid behind their parents. All jaguars surrounded the king using a formation that resembled a spear.

“That seems like … a good idea,” the king spoke softly.

Hesitantly, all returned to their fires and picked up their food again.

Murfa looked around. “I can’t speak for anyone else. We have no leader, as you know. But I am prepared to work for you if that means we are safe, fed, and able to travel onwards at the next full moon. That’s my last offer.”

The two tribes stood face to face, the fires at their back.

Murfa’s wife still refused. But other men spoke the same promise, as well as their sons and daughters. Soon enough, the majority of Asha agreed.

Misha couldn’t believe it. She leaned against the storage room, feeling sick. They’d given up everything! Everything Asha stood for! They’d destroyed its soul.

Jagu smiled, his teeth glimmering in the moonlight. “I see we finally … understand each other. Come! Come! The night is young and the food still fresh! Let’s not squabble any more.”

For the last time, everyone let out a sigh of relief. They enjoyed the final scraps of food, sharing it with each other, even the deer. The children who had just agreed to become a slave, in Misha’s eyes, ran circles and played hide and seek again.

Rain softly fell. The royal family took shelter from it. Lazily stretched out, a satisfied grin on their faces, they studied the feast from afar.

Misha could kill them all. She wanted to drive her spear right through the heart of that monstrous king. It made her sick.

It also made somebody else sick, standing beside her.

Kesho leaned on a sabretooth tiger—the god Ardex—as if he were no more than a pillar. He seemed gravely ill, white as the summer sun and shaking. The only living thing about him was the diamond clutched in his one arm.

And yet, Misha was the only creature with a second shadow due to Ardex’ faint glow. A fact she ignored out of concern for her brother.

“What happened?”

“I went … I went looking for Jambir …”

In the distance, claps and cheers sounded again. They sung and danced. Several jaguar children joined the games and the princess loudly told a funny story to some interested deer.

Misha wanted to rip off her ears so she didn’t have to hear it.

“And?”

Kesho gave the diamond to her. Ardex prevented it with his large tusks.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you keep that,” he said somberly. “I’m afraid I have to destroy all these food storages.”

Misha was certain now. Ardex fed her rage. Whenever he was near, you’d be mad at everything and you wanted to kill everything. But even once she realized this, she couldn’t shake the feeling.

“Dear brother, Kesho, look at me. What’s wrong? Where is Jambir?”

A streak of moonlight reached around the storage and illuminated a patch of flowers besides it. Flowers pressed down by a pile of bones.

Kesho’s shaking, tiny fingers pointed at the bones.

Misha froze in disbelief.

She wanted her eyes to fool her. She wanted to blame it on Ardex, or some horrible joke from her little brother. But Kesho didn’t do jokes like that. Ardex seemed about to cry.

Among the bones was a skull that clearly resembled Jambir’s head.

Her savior. Her sweet Gosti.

He was killed and stripped.

The meat … the meat they all ate as they sat by the fire … so tough and weird and—

Misha yelled until the ground shook and Ardex stepped back in fright. She reached for Kesho’s spear—he already gave her another one.

“Children! Do not—”

They ran straight at the royal family.

Her yell continued all the way, until Jagu’s ears pricked up and he looked over his shoulder to find the source of the noise.

Just in time to see a spear coming for him.

Too late to sidestep.

Misha’s throw was a direct hit to Jagu’s heart. The fat king fell and died before even leaving his hut.

Kesho’s throw hit the prince, who survived and scrambled away, but slipped on the growing puddle of blood.

“Father!” the princess screeched. “Betrayal! Murderers!”

The trees shook above their heads. They bent and creaked, despite the windless night. Branches and leaves fell down, mixed with the rainfall.

Ten Gosti appeared in the treetops with bows aimed at the Asha Tribe. The bright moon was darkened by a hail of arrows.

The Asha were not prepared.

Fighting one enemy was unpredictable, Kesho always thought. An animal fearing for its life could kick, bite, or hit in surprising ways. And if you only had eyes for your enemy, you might miss the hyena at your back.

The battlefield that exploded before him now was utter chaos, as it ensured multiple enemies at all times.

It moved too fast to understand. Animals screamed. Spears were grabbed. Arrows swirled around them like a thick mist that never cleared up.

Murfa yelled something unintelligible. The jaguar next to him, his cheering friend a moment ago, did not hesitate for a second and bit at him. Murfa stumbled backward and sought cover behind the fire.

Before Kesho could yell out, an arrow landed in Murfa’s back. The strong man fell forwards and did not get up.

Moonlight could not penetrate the battle field. It all happened in darkness, silhouettes outlined by fires, friend and foe melted into one blur. Grunts and footsteps reached Kesho from all sides and made him dizzy.

He sought support with his sister beside him.

But Misha ran away screaming, her face red hot and her fist raised. Along the way, she ripped her spear from the dead king and chased the princess who ran for her life.

Kesho shut his eyes. He didn’t want to see this.

Someone grabbed his arm.

His mother Helera. He couldn’t see her face, only recognize her scent.

“Go! Farshar still tied! Stop your sister!”

The words arrived in bits and pieces. A blinding light passed by—an animal on fire.

Most Asha members tried to flee. They sidestepped attacks, sought cover, but did not fight.

But where could they go?

The deer were pressed with their backs against the food storages, one step backward, and another, until no more backward steps could be taken. At that moment, the look in their eyes changed. They pranced and kicked several jaguars into the dirt with their front legs.

Farshar had rolled himself to a tree trunk and pressed against it to help himself sit up.

Kesho stumbled towards him. He wanted to help, but his one weak arm would be useless. Helera was needed to lift his father.

“Misha! Here!”

Misha heard nothing. She was a storm raging across the battle field, stopping the hearts of all that moved near her.

An arrow pierced her heel.

She sank through her knees and rolled through the dirt. She ripped the arrow out of her and stood up to continue, her pupils shining red like a sunset.

She faded into darkness once more.

“Leave me,” Farshar grunted. “Flee! I’ll save myself!”

“Never.” Helera’s voice shook. “Never, sweetheart.”

She broke Kesho’s spear into two. She used the sharp edge of one part to cut through the thick bonds keeping Farshar’s paws together. Kesho received the other part, which made him feel even more useless.

An arrow landed in the tree trunk just above their heads and vibrated for a long time. The earth trembled from all the falling bodies and furious jaguars. The fires reached towards the sky, as if asking for mercy from the gods, fed by weapons thrown into them.

And a god was present—but Ardex watched and did nothing.

Kesho threw his broken spear part to the ground. The splinters would hurt him more than his enemies. Even his light weapon seemed a heavy stone that kept him off balance.

Helera pushed him back with her one free hand.

“Get your sister.”

“I can’t—”

“You can.”

“I have only one arm!”

Helera suddenly looked over her shoulder. She rolled to the side, holding Farshar tight, even before Kesho had seen the incoming jaguar. Father was almost free. They could flee—they had to flee—otherwise everyone would …

He rolled the other way. His ears searched for his sister’s screams amidst the cacophony of battle.

It was easy. She screamed for help in a way that gave Kesho goosebumps.

He leapt over obstacles. Friend or foe. Unclear. He couldn’t handle it anymore. Couldn’t think. He felt the battle had only just begun, no more than a few heartbeats old, and already he was numb to the blood and the screaming.

The sound came from the river. He hurried up.

A buzz. He instinctively ducked. The arrow aimed at him found another Asha target a tree’s length away. Out there, at least half his tribe was busy breaking down the fence.

Away. Yes. Go away. Flee.

“Misha! Misha!”

The scream betrayed his presence. A jaguar nearby attacked him without looking. His sharp claws disoriented him, but narrowly missed his face.

Fear and shock had killed his thoughts. But his body remembered all the hunting games.

He dodged a fast bite and curled his tail around the enemy’s face. As a sharp claw pierced into his eyes, he rammed his broken spear upwards. The wood stuck between his attacker’s teeth.

But Kesho couldn’t win on power. He had to win on skill and technique. The only advantage of the Gosti over other creatures—scratch that, his only advantage over anyone.

He grabbed his spear with all three of his paws, as tightly as he could. That allowed him to drag it down with his full weight. The jaguar should have let go—but the monster didn’t think of that in time. He was pulled to the ground, first on two legs, then on zero legs.

The jaguar landed in the dirt with a soft thud. Kesho did not hesitate and pushed through with the spear, as he’d do when hunting for meat.

The jaguar stopped moving. Kesho ran onwards.

The battlefield cleared up. Most Gosti with bow and arrow had been pulled down. The situation at the river was calmer, especially with the moonlight bright enough to make it appear as if dawn approached.

All …

All jaguars were dead.

They had won.

They had won.

All food storages were theirs. Camp was theirs. One by one, the remaining Asha members realized the same.

There were no cheers. No joy. No screams of victory.

Of the six creatures left, most sank to the floor, while some resumed their efforts to destroy the fence.

The river bed held a Gosti. With each wave, her body was raised and deposited slightly further away.

Misha had died fighting a jaguar three times her size.

His parents ran past him and carried their daughter from the dirt, crying. Kesho was too numb, too frozen, to think or do anything.

In the end, only one thought could break through.

Did we really have to throw that spear into the king?

Dawn arrived. Sinthia—Murfa’s wife—came by to say everyone had left.

Kesho and his parents were the only people from Asha to stay behind.

“Why didn’t anybody tell us?” Farshar said, voice nearly gone. “Wait. We must … we must bury our daughter.”

Sinthia looked sympathetic, but her words were clear. “We are leaving and we do not want you to follow. The soul of Asha—a peaceful tribe that cooperates—does not live in you or your children. Child.”

Farshar came alive and grabbed Sinthia by her neck. Helera pushed them apart.

“As I said,” Sinthia said, after which she turned and left.

The family could only watch how the remainder of the tribe, a handful of different creatures, left through a tiny hole in the fence.

Kesho watched them for a while, sitting on top of the sturdiest hut he could find. He could oversee most of the forest, until he found what he was looking for.

Some members of the Jagu Tribe had fled in time. Not many, as far as he could tell.

Those murderous tribes Jagu talked about? They surely weren’t there.

They weren’t there when Jagu said it, dear reader, but now they were. News of this event spread. The Jagu Tribe promised revenge. They even merged their tribe with Asha to do so: alone they were too weak, but together they were strong. The other tribes were wanted and told to create weapons, just to be sure. Who knows, maybe the Farshar Tribe would swing by tomorrow to kill you all.

The entire territory was littered with dead bodies. The fires had transformed into large rings of ash and burned plant remains. Arrows erupted from tree trunks as if porcupines grew inside.

But they couldn’t leave anymore. Out there it would be much too dangerous for them now. So they tried to bury each fallen animal and repair the territory as well as they could.

Kesho hadn’t reacted or spoken in three days, so his father looked for him.

“You think it’s your fault, don’t you?” Farshar waited until his son looked at him.

“It is my fault.”

“You did the right thing,” he said calmly, as if he spoke of some minor decision like picking the best feathers for your necklace. “Killing a Gosti—your friend—and offering it to us as food … it’s monstrous. If we’d accepted that, they’d have done something even worse next time. You drew a line. We should’ve drawn it much sooner.”

“Drew a line?” Kesho looked away. “Thanks to me more than fifty animals died! And you … and you …”

“That’s nature, son. Whoever attacks first has the advantage. You could only kill Jagu because you had the element of surprise.”

“I didn’t want to. Misha probably didn’t want to.”

“Your instinct wanted it. You don’t know if the other would attack. You couldn’t figure out, after days and days, if the Jagu Tribe were good or bad. So you be sure and attack first.”

Kesho wasn’t convinced. He studied the food storages, also broken down. Not during the fight; Ardex had visited once more to steal all the magical diamonds.

“As soon as they attacked at full power …” Farshar looked away, eyes glassy, as if the entire night replayed in his head. “We had to defend ourselves. We had no choice.”

We had no choice. It sounded like an excuse, and yet it felt true. Kesho surely repeated it often enough to calm himself with the thought.

Once Ardex had collected all he wanted, he said goodbye to the family.

“Will you punish us?” Farshar said defiantly. “Or are we your heroes, oh great God of Death?”

“Neither,” Ardex said. “It has become apparent to me … that even if I do nothing, I still do something.”

They frowned at him.

“Even if I don’t interfere, my mere presence influences you. I come close and animals get the overwhelming desire to kill or destroy something. Some animals … who somehow have a stronger connection to me … are a little more perceptive than others.”

He shook his fur and stored the diamonds between his flaming teeth, as if that was clearly the best place to keep them.

“No existence without consequences, no peace without war.”

Ardex walked away. “I have to think about this. Perhaps you’ll see me again, perhaps not.”

With the food storages gone, they couldn’t stay here. They were still hunters and gatherers—and this area was plucked bare long ago. Leaving was especially hard when it felt like leaving his sister behind for good.

They quickly ate whatever they could and then continued on their path. A path into the heart of those murderous tribes who were now afraid of them and preparing weapons. The Asha were long gone and would never let them back.

They left the place with no more than a few tools and weapons, wrapped in animal hides strapped to their back.

As Kesho looked over his shoulder one last time, he saw a red panda. Somehow, its appearance made all the doubts and intruding thoughts come back. Almost as if this was another god, who had the opposite influence to Ardex.

He could have reacted differently—but he didn’t know how.

Did they really have no choice? Was all life doomed to fight and kill for their own survival? Where Gosti doomed to see everything as danger and competition? Must murder be answered with murder, betrayal answered by vengeance?

Or were they too dumb and too blind to see any other option?

And so it was, that life continued …