When Prebuha awoke, eyes closed, she knew the river had flooded severely.

Now, dear reader, you probably think her house was halfway underwater. That she wasn’t in bed anymore, but carried away by the waves to no man’s land. If anyone could sleep through that, it would be Prebuha.

But no, she knew it because the Indus flooded twice a year, always on the exact same day. Its water would strengthen the plants and deposit useful resources on the beach.

More importantly, it meant work to be done. So Prebuha stayed in bed, eyes closed, and—

“Get up, lazybones!” her mother yelled. “You must finish your tasks before Midsun.”

She groaned. “I’m sick.”

“You’re not. And your tasks are very important today! So hurry!”

Prebuha was a sloth with strong claws that now grabbed her sleeping branch tightly. Mother ripped her off of it, but the act didn’t disturb Prebuha’s faint smile.

“Important? Have I finally become the Regionleader? Can I give commands now? Mother, build three Great Baths in my name and—”

“Shut it!” She’d never seen mother this angry. And she was usually so sweet!

She was nearly thrown out of her room.

“Your task is to trade with Sumiser.”

“Ugh. That’s what you call important?”

She shouldn’t have said that.

Mother exploded. “If it goes wrong, we’ll be without clothes, food, building materials, everything!”

Head hanging low, Prebuha shuffled out of their home. Had mother eaten the wrong thing? Had somebody stepped on her tail?

Their home of clay stones was three stories tall and, specifically for sloths, built around a tree with strong branches. It attached to a thin winding road that connected all the homes in their Region. She and mother followed it to find the perfectly straight main road, where hundreds of creatures busily traded with merchants.

Everything was done through trade, dear reader. Money hadn’t been invented. If you wanted new clothes, you had to find something of equal value to give in return. But that kind of everyday trade was surely not the important task for which Prebuha was chosen.

A young wolf messenger bumped into her shoulder, then continued running in a panic. He was only stopped by an old Gosti male, an ape-like creature, who whispered something into his ear. She couldn’t make out the words of this suspicious conversation.

Mother led her through the inner city walls. Then the middle city walls. Each Region was surrounded by its own walls, and a large city like this would quickly grow into hundreds of Regions. Prebuha was sick of walking, walking, walking to find the gates in these stupid walls, so she started using vines to climb over them instead.

She landed in a puddle of water. But they were still deep inside the city. Pff. And they told her the city was built on a heightened plateau and would never flood! Liars.

Until they finally reached the outer city walls. Up ahead the Citadel called to them, a separate area—completed walled off, obviously—that contained shared supplies and important buildings.

With a deep sigh, Prebuha trekked through the water to reach the other side. Hundreds of creatures splashed around her. Most collected gemstones and clay, leaning forward so much that their noses touched the waves. Some appeared panicked, as if they lost something valuable to the waves.

But mother didn’t head to the storages. She stopped outside of the Clayskipper’s hut.

“What is this? A joke? Did you pull me from my warm bed just to—”

Mother slammed her paw against her daughter’s mouth. “Dear, did you not hear me? You will trade with Sumiser. They do not speak our language.”

“Pff. Lazybones,” she said grumpily. But her heart was on fire. How on earth would she make this work? Why did they pick her and not someone, you know, qualified and motivated?

She waded into the hut. The Clayskipper had smartly arranged all his creations on the higher shelves. Mother grabbed one clay chunk after another and threw them into a basket. Prebuha stepped closer and saw they were Bulla: hardened clay with simple symbols cut into them.

The Clayskipper, an echidna of middle age who was always calculating something, was busy drawing the next Bullae. While the clay was still soft, he pressed a symbol into it with thin twigs. Then he placed them on his roof to harden in the sun. They’d carry their symbol forever once the day was over; near Endsun.

Prebuha had seen it before. Only now she understood that the Clayskipper wasn’t just trying to be creative.

They explained all the symbols to her. A bird meant bird meat. A fish meant fish meat. A seed meant plant seeds. It was pretty self-explanatory, she thought as she yawned.

Midsun had almost arrived when she, carrying a heavy basket, stepped from the hut. Again she heard whispers around her. She strongly felt that the nervous creatures looked at her as they did it.

The last clay chunks had hardened. This was her last chance.

“Mom, what if it goes wrong? I’ve never done this. Why must I do this?”

Mother looked me over with a stern look. “You have no idea how much I traded to give you this opportunity! We … we’re not in a strong position. We have little to offer, but much to ask.”

“But why give me this—”

Mothers smile was short-lived. “Dear, none of us has your amazing … talent for stubbornly getting your way.”

“No. I say no. Too much work.”

Mother dropped four Bulla into the waves. Another woman had to jump in to save them before they were lost forever.

“Not an option! A thousand days of punishment if you don’t do as I say!” What happened this morning? Did an entire herd step on mother’s tail?

“You think you’re amazing?” Prebuha said. “Talk about civilization and everything? Well, well, how amazing can you be if little girls have no freedom to do what they want!?”

“Dear, civilization means giving up a bit of freedom on purpose, to be stronger together. No better way to learn that … than by meeting another civilization.”

They left for the harbor. Larsh, the son of their current Regionleader Larsham, was sent along to make sure Prebuha did her job and didn’t secretly return to her soft bed. The hyena was nervous. Red eyes and deep bags under his eyes betrayed how little he had slept. He also whispered suspiciously, but to himself.

There she saw the meager boat she’d been given, including four young wolves to carry and store her supplies. Mother pushed into her back until both her feet stood on deck. When she dropped the basket, two planks broke.

They left in a hurry, as Larsh absently waved goodbye

She was tempted to head to Omako first. Much closer. She could trade for camels, which she had always wanted—and would mean no more walking. It would—

“Ship ahoy!” a wolf yelled.

“Impossible,” she said. “Those lazy Sumisers never leave their own territory. We’re far too kind to always go to them.”

Yet she followed this extended paw. And well—there it was, a Sumiser ship.

She checked the symbol on the sails against a special blue Bulla. The signature matched exactly with that of the traders she was supposed to meet. What were they doing here?

Not much later, two Gosti stood on her deck. Their own ship looked as if a toddler had made it, so she understood.

The ape-likes with their huge eyes had bound a cloth around their head against the scorching sun. They pointed at the basket and said something to each other. Then they laughed at her.

Prebuha ignored it. Stay focused. Be smart. If they forced her to trade, well, then she’d perform the best trade ever!

She didn’t have her own Bulla signature, so she’d received the one from her Regionlader. An honor, they told her. Do not lose it.

When she showed that, the Gosti took her more seriously.

She picked the right beige clay from her basket. First she pointed at herself, then at the traders—the sign that this was her offer. A lot of clay, a lot of meat and plant-based food, and a mountain of blue and red gemstones. They found them worthless, but Sumiser apparently found them a sign of wealth and status.

The Gosti frowned. They grabbed their own stones—slightly bigger and tinted blue—and presented their own offer. A little cotton and food, great. A little bronze and another metal, which mother claimed let them build far stronger houses.

And that was all.

Outrageous!

She withdrew part of her offer: the food. Always the most important part. Then she showed the Bulla with a sword. She didn’t know what the object was, but had learned that the Gosti understood it as that “important metal”. She pointed at them, then to herself: this is what she wanted from them.

The Gosti shook their head.

Prebuha shrugged and turned around to fake walking away.

One of the traders screeched. When she turned around, their offer of metal had risen by five entire chunks.

She smiled. Now they were getting somewhere. She knew Sumiser contained many animal species who ate no meat, so she increased her offer of plant food, but only in exchange for more cotton.

The traders discussed for a while. With a sigh, her new offer was accepted.

How far could she go? What—she realized why the traders had come all this way. They were in an even bigger panic! They didn’t want to delay the trade any longer!

Could she abuse that?

She withdrew all the meat from her offer. Her civilization had to eat too, you know? Then she demanded something of which she knew the Sumiser had it: camels. Five of them. And more cotton for a second bed.

She grinned as she displayed her final offer.

Their mouths fell open wide. The Gosti played with the Bulla in their own little fingers. Their discussion grew louder and angrier.

Until they withdrew everything and walked away.

No, no. Don’t give in. They’re bluffing. They—no, they are really leaving.

“Wait!” Prebuha yelled.

They didn’t wait. The smallest of the two rummaged through their basket and found a much larger, flat clay tablet.

He threw it over his shoulder, nearly in her face. Then they climbed into the ropes of their ship, as elegantly as they climbed into trees, and sailed away.

The tablet contained no offer, no Bulla. It was a message written from right to left, composed using those few written symbols they had, then connected with some arrows and dots. Not a real language, but enough for basic accounting.

Which meant she had trouble deciphering the message, until she made her final guess.

Everyone must leave now! Terrible disasters are coming, I am sure. I’ve already fled to Sumiser. Make haste!

The bottom contained a signature. Three waves, the middle slightly longer and thicker, to signify their beloved Indus river.

The signature of her own Regionleader.

Prebuha delayed her return until after Endsun, when darkness had arrived. Her shoulders drooped low and she crept through the shadows on the clay walls. What was she doing? She had to return to her Region at some point and tell the creatures—her furious mother—how badly the trade went.

But when she looked up, half the city had seemingly gathered before her very eyes. They didn’t care that the water came to their knees.

She didn’t know what to say. She threw the mysterious message into their midst and ran back to her soft bed. Her mother stopped her. Her disappointed stare betrayed that they already understood.

So she climbed onto a low wall and yelled at the crowd. “They refused to trade with me! We get nothing. Not my fault! That’s it. Good night.”

Their leader’s message rippled through the crowd. Disasters? Flee? To Sumiser? Every single part was unbelievable.

Larsh, the leader’s son, now also received the message in his claws.

Prebuha had turned the corner, only a few tiring jumps away from home, when he called her name.

“I want Prebuha, Clayskipper, and Megitas to come with me. Now!”

Ugh. Now she had to do the walk of shame all over again. This time she did understand their whispers. How all would die of hunger and it was her fault. How all would sleep on the cold floor, with no roof over their head, and it was her fault.

You see, mom, she should’ve stayed in bed all day.

She followed Larsh into a tall home with at least twelve stories. The entire group walked to the highest floor, where Larsh immediately barricaded the doorframe with heavy wooden planks.

“What I will say now,” he said, “cannot leave this room.”

Megitas was a Gosti with a long white beard, and you never knew if he looked at you or looked past you. But he was the oldest person of their entire civilization, and, some said, the most wise. Whoever was their Regionleader at any moment, he always stood next to them to give valuable advice.

So he was first to speak. “Then watch your words, my boy. Is it not more wise to keep secrets a secret?”

He was only a child. Not older than Prebuha. Why wasn’t the leader himself dealing with—oh, right.

“My … dad,” he said with a fragile voice, “has not left the city in years. And he died several days ago.”

Prebuha placed her paw on her mouth. The Clayskipper merely nodded, as if he had calculated this would happen. All his quills where still covered in wet clay. And the wooden remains of whatever crazy objects his son invented this time.

Larsh threw the message on the table as if it were too hot to touch. “This message cannot be his.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” Prebuha asked.

“His death was suspicious. This message is suspicious. I am sure one of the creatures in our midst …”

“What,” Megitas said calmly, “makes his death suspicious? He was an old man, who died in his sleep. His wounds come from the fall.”

“My father doesn’t fall.”

Larsh’ eyes spit fire in Prebuha’s direction. “Additionally, we had to stay strong in our important trades. A divided Region without leader is not strong. But, well, then we sent this idiot.”

“Not fair!”

“The wolves told me everything. We clearly told you what you could and couldn’t ask. And then you started about five camels!? You’re a piece of garbage we should’ve kicked out of the region long ago. Like your father.”

Prebuha yelled something about keeping her father out of it and attacked him. Larsh was still a hyena who easily bested a slow sloth.

The Clayskipper had studied the signature all this time. He reached for Prebuha with his front paw. She used it to get up again—but that was not his intention. His paw remained outstretched until she returned the Bulla of their Regionleader that she still had in her possession.

He compared the two and nodded again. “This is his signature. Every detail. If it’s a fake, it’s from someone whose skill with the clay surpasses even mine. Though my calculations—”

“So … we listen to it?” Prebuha tried. “We flee for the disasters—and I saved us all?”

Larsh pushed her away again with his strong forehead. “If you think listening is such a good idea, then we should do the opposite. It’s a trick, surely. Sumiser wants us to walk away from our riches and take over our river. It’s obvious, right?”

“That is true,” the Clayskipper said. “All civilizations around the Twin Rivers are obsessed with power and conquering. We must consider ourselves blessed that nobody has tried conquering us the past thousands of years. But my calculations really do—”

Prebuha indeed hoped that their invention called war stayed where it was. She was not going to carry a heavy spear. Oh, and everyone dead also wasn’t great. On the other hand … if winning a war meant they would just get all their food and homes without having to work for it at all, that would be great!

“Yes, yes, obvious,” Megitas said. He stood up. His one hand leaned on his walking stick, while the other grabbed Larsh.

“That doesn’t change the fact that we have a gap in our leadership. I see you learned a lot from your father. I nominate you as the next Regionleader.”

This was supposed to be a decision that the entire Region took together. But what if he was right? What if someone wanted to destroy them from within? One or multiple creatures … had killed their leader. Was it smart to let them vote?

And so the choice was made in this tiny room. The Clayskipper agreed, though his mind seemed elsewhere.

“My first command: Prebuha is exiled from our Region for laziness, stubbornness, incompetence, and any other sins you can think of. I ask all other Regions to exile her all the same, for their own protection.”

“Excuse me?” she yelled.

“Maybe she invented this whole message! And falsified the signature! So she’d return from the trade with something.” His strong paws pushed her away one last time, flat against the doorframe. “Disappear!”

“No, no, please! Give me a second chance.” She was on her knees now, under the devastating glare of Larsh. Her heart pounded in her throat. Nightmarish images of a life in the Wilderness, without a soft bed, without water and food, sharpened her mind.

“I almost had them,” she exclaimed. “All their metal and food, in exchange for almost nothing! If they hadn’t been so picky about the camels …”

“Not an option—”

“She may have a point,” Megitas interrupted. “I believe her that she wanted to push the trade, but went too far. All is learned through trial and error, is it not? Give her that second chance.”

“I must vote against,” the friendly Clayskipper immediately said. “If you knew how little grain we have left according to my calculations—”

Larsh growled and glared at Prebuha. “Find the killer and make sure our next trade is legendary. If not, you’re worthless. And anyone who can’t provide, can’t enjoy the benefits of our civilization.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Larsh turned around and instantly forgot she existed.

A young echidna stormed into the room, straight through the planks blocking the door frame. His dripping quills splashed water on everyone as he passed.

“Sorry! But did a great invention! Father must know!”

He pushed a wooden apparatus inside. It barely fit through the opening, until his dad—the Clayskipper—suggested turning it around.

Prebuha found them both odd. Always creating and calculating. They even pretended to be able to predict the weather and the waves. But they were no gods, right, like Ardex, Feria, and all the halfgods?

Welpon had installed his apparatus with a loud bang. A long wooden beam was attached to a sort of bowl containing a large feline. She kept walking out of it, until Welpon sighed and replaced her with a large stone.

“Hmm. The cats aren’t working with me. I’m still calling it a catapult! Look, if I jump this way, then—”

“NO!”

His father acted too late. Welpon shot the stone far into the sky, faster than Prebuha could follow. It left through the window, hit a tower of the Great Bath House, and shattered part of a roof.

Using his teeth, his father pulled out just the right beam to make the entire apparatus collapse.

“Sweetling,” he said. He was nervous and sweating, more so than he was annoyed. “What was our agreement? What had the Region forbidden? Make no more … what did you call it?”

“Weapons! Like my name!”

“Make no more weapons! Bring them to the hut where we store them all.”

“But—”

“Your mess, son. Clean it up yourself.”

Reluctantly, Welpon carried away the debris of his catapult. Everyone in the room was relieved to have survived another encounter with him. That weapon storage with his creations became fuller every day. They had to regularly burn the content to make room, although nobody dared tell sweet Welpon.

Larsh stayed composed. “What are your findings this time, Clayskipper?”

“Hmm. The water flooded much further than previous years—again. But that’s not too bad. We catch more resources and can use a larger area to grow our grain. If this continues, our shortage might be solved in a few years.”

He took out a clay tablet containing endless rows of short lines, as if using it to take quick notes. “Thirty clay homes demolished. Fifteen dead. Though most seem to have happened due to a large tear in the ground, not the floods.”

Larsh closed his eyes and leaned against Megitas, who barely held the weight. “Yes, yes, yes. How do we solve the food shortage now?”

The Clayskipper stared at Prebuha.

In this time, dear reader, the world wasn’t connected yet. Agriculture was invented multiple times, in different places, at different times, without knowledge of each other. While the Twin Rivers already had entire civilizations who lived off grain, they hadn’t even invented it on Origina. As there were only two ways foreign information could reach you: trading … or being conquered by another folk.

“We must have a successful trade very, very soon,” he said solemnly. “If not, the message is right anyway: we have to leave.”

Prebuha trudged through the perfectly straight shopping lanes on her way to her first suspect. She wanted to run, for a change, but couldn’t due to the large crowds.

A new procession of migrants entered the city. They were led to an empty Region. The walls surrounding it all showed the same unique symbol. As soon as they lived there, they’d all receive a Bulla with the same symbol, to prove their identity. Then they were free to choose their own leader or run their Region however they wanted.

Look at that! The city even received its first migrant pandas, a nice couple of one white and one black.

You could live here without ever leaving your Region. In practice, though, everyone married everyone, and Regions traded freely every day on the main streets that cut the city into four sectors. One ran North to South, the other East to West, and all so annoyingly straight.

The architects of this city had foreseen all of this, thousands of years ago. Still some Regions were empty. Where they found the time and materials for such an enormous city … nobody knew. What they were going to do once it was full … nobody knew either.

She stopped in front of a food stall to practice. She didn’t say a word and just placed several Bulla on the counter: symbols that represented an offer of wood.

“Don’t speak our language, girl?” the female wolf asked, protective of her wares.

She almost shook her head. Stupid! If she didn’t understand the language, she wouldn’t understand this question! So she just looked vaguely innocent and glassy-eyed.

The merchant sighed. She rummaged through her own wares and revealed one Bulla showing grain.

One grain for all that wood? That felt unfair. She abused a helpless migrant girl!

She looked angry and pointed at more grain. The merchant shook her head. Prebuha offered more wood. No success. Not even one more piece of grain!

“I don’t need that much wood, girl,” the wolf said, while gesturing with a passion. “Unless you offer something else, please step aside for the next customer.”

Of course. You could offer something very valuable to you, but not for the other party. Satisfied with this lesson, she walked on with a smile and left behind a confused wolf.

Just before reaching her first suspect, she tried again. This time at a stall that sold feathers, owned by a large flock of doves. Those creatures were everywhere these days.

What did birds want? Nuts? She found a Bulla with a seed and placed it on the counter. The birds were interested and searched for a counteroffer. But once they took a better look at her, they dropped their Bullas.

“You’re no migrant. You’re Prebuha! The lazy, terrible trader!”

“Excuse—erm, I mean, I can’t understand you!”

“Spare yourself the effort, girl. Nobody will ever trade with you once they know who you are. And once they hear who your father was …”

How did they know? How did doves always know what was going on everywhere? Did they have gossip groups high in the clouds?

“And you … you are ugly! Ha!”

She stuck out her tongue and continued walking. Two short trades—and she was already tired. Working was too much work. Stupid.

Suddenly all the creatures looked past her. Someone yelled at her back. As she turned around, she was pushed aside by a fast hyena with a food basket firmly held in his teeth.

“Thief! Thief! Thief!”

She was right next to him. She could’ve stuck out a paw, grabbed him, attacked him, stopped him with one action. But that felt like work.

Instead she let him pass. Bystanders had to close the gap. They reached for the thief’s paws, formed a wall, threw objects they were holding, all an instinctual reaction. It often worked—not this time.

The hyena was too strong. He bit at a wolf, slipped through someone’s grip, and jumped over a water well to disappear in a dark alley. They had to give up the chase and the stolen food.

“Prepre! Out of the way!” a voice yelled from above. She hadn’t seen him! Welpon sat on the roof with his next weapon, as a cat ran from his lap.

She crouched. Welpon blew into a tube and shot a rain of stones, like stormy winds right above her head.

The hyena growled and fell down with a thud. The merchant angrily retrieved his stolen wares. Larsh ran to Welpon as he climbed down, smiling broadly, his quills shining in the sunlight.

“Too dangerous!” Larsh yelled. “You’re coming with me!”

What? He’d stopped the thief! He’d found a much more effective way to stop the bad people! But she couldn’t say anything to Larsh anymore, so she didn’t.

She walked onward at a brisk pace—especially for her—and reminded herself of all she had to miss if she was exiled.

Benches were placed to the side of the streets, perfectly in the shade. And on each side was a hole. Sometimes they placed a vase to act as a garbage bin, sometimes they placed a tree, or even a well. The city had almost a thousand wells—and they were all placed by the first architects, as if they knew the future.

Those first architects were obsessed with water anyway. All the homes had great plumbing to get rid of dirty water and goods. Those were all connected to a tunnel running underneath the city, reaching for the Indus. Somewhere the water grew filthier every day—but it was not inside their pretty city.

But the biggest achievement was of course The Great Bath.

A huge swimming pool that was constantly refreshed, warmed by the sun or cooled by smart usage of cold winds. Just like each home was designed and rotated to cool itself from the top. It was entirely water-proofed by smearing a substance called tar over the stones, and the stones themselves were all the same exact dimensions of 4 by 2 by 1. Though inventions from the Clayskipper and his son had later improved much of what the first architects created.

Everyone visited The Great Bath almost daily. If war came here, they’d at least find an enemy who smelled nice.

That’s where she found Megitas, combing his beard and wiping himself with a rough patch of cotton.

“Ah, I heard calls of a thief,” he said. “But I’m glad it wasn’t you.”

Prebuha nearly pulverized the Bulla in her claws with her death grip. “Why does everyone want to remind me that my dad stole something once?”

Megitas raised his front paws as an excuse, briefly standing on his hind paws. “Forgive me. I merely seek to protect you from … silly deeds. What did you want to ask, my child?”

“You knew our Regionleader had fallen. What else do you know about his death?”

“He inspected the Region from atop the wall. A large distance to fall, my child. He survived, but his wounds were deep.”

“Was he alone? Did someone push him?”

Megitas shook his head. “The winds were strong. He was a somewhat arrogant hyena. He fell, an accident.”

“And you told nobody? You didn’t find a healer?”

“Our Region has no healer.”

“The Crowstrays next to us do.”

“Yes, and the Bowbanners on the other side believe that all wounds will heal by sacrificing a goat.”

He grabbed his walking stick and circled the bath with her.

“The Indus civilization is large, my child. Much larger than you think. We hold more area than all civilizations around the Twin Rivers together. Our cities are much farther apart, yet identical in their layout and culture of peace.”

Prebuha crossed her arms. “So there surely needs to be one good healer among us!”

“No, such an area is too large to rule and protect. We should’ve had war a long time ago, or conquered by creatures who do make weapons. Why does it not happen?”

She shrugged. From the high vantage point of The Great Bath she could look over the rest of the Citadel. Many little boxes. Hundreds of smaller Regions that all governed themselves.

“The Regions?”

Megitas nodded. “Animals can’t think further than a small group of maybe twenty animals. We were made for that and able to keep the peace without laws or armies. Thus, the genius architects of our city build a system in which everyone lived in those small groups. We can trade with everyone, instead of fight.”

She thought back to the thief. To all the times it was considered the task of bystanders to stop a thief, a killer, or anyone who worked against their Region.

“How can you be sure? Are weapons that terrible? Welpon stopped one—”

“Yes,” Megitas said, eyes on the horizon. “It would be an unrecoverable disaster.”

That sounded needlessly dramatic. She had seen a crowd rip off a thief’s arm in an attempt to stop and punish him. Was that better than preventing thieves in the first place by intimidation?

“The soul of Asha,” the old Gosti said, “would not survive.”

“What is Asha?”

Megitas walked down the long staircase, back to the fields that were still flooded. “A tribe from long ago. The tribe had a bad split—their idea of peace and equality lives on. In us … and seemingly nowhere else in this world.”

He shivered. “Asha was favored by the gods. I see this civilization as their gift to us for being peaceful. Doing things right. But Asha angered a great deal of jaguars who I’m sure still want their revenge for some deed time has forgotten.”

His walking stick tapped a rhythm. “Though it is strange how quickly those Gosti would give up their entire trade with you …”

She saw it in his eyes. He believed in this civilization, the Regions, its soul. He had nothing to gain from killing a beloved Regionleader.

She had to interrogate the Clayskipper next. Welpon surely. And then—

A wolf messenger—apparently always panicked and hasty—ran up the stairs to meet them.

“Message from Larsh,” he yelled at her. “The Sumiser ships have been sighted again in the distance, coming our way. They have never sailed this far! They cannot enter our harbors.”

“Why are you telling me?” She was tired of all the hassle and could barely keep up.

“As agreed, he’s sending you ahead in a ship to trade. Please don’t make a mess of it this time.”

When the Gosti traders returned in Sumiser, with empty hands, there wasn’t a heartbeat of doubt. All gathered their family, collected their most valuable belongings, and ran for their lives.

Fortunately, they were well-prepared, for their own river—the Tigres—had flooded unexpectedly again. Most possessions had already washed away. The waves were also kind enough to take away the dead or dry harvest from before.

“Three years of drought,” Annatas complained, a female Gosti. “Then three severe floods right after one another! The Tigres seems a fickle baby!”

“It’s the gods, I swear,” claimed her husband Perites. “Why couldn’t we get Gulvi as our City God? Now we are stuck with Cosmo, who can only create winds or something.”

Even as he said it, he bowed before the gigantic statue of Cosmo and mumbled a prayer. A second statue accompanied it, displaying a proud bull: their commander.

The creature who walked towards them now.

Annatas shook her fur. Her claws held a few shriveled nuts. “Leave the gods out of it. It’s because of that Meluhanfolk. If they hadn’t insulted us with the trades, we could have defended ourselves.”

“Could have eaten something,” Perites confirmed, who took the nuts with him just in case.

A Gosti trader stepped up to them. “Happy now? We’ve said no for the first time as they went too far. Like you wanted. Aggressive and stern. And now? Now we’re without food and stone and weapons.”

Meluhan, dear reader, was their name for the civilization that lived around the Indus. Because, well, if you didn’t speak each other’s language, how did you tell each other your real name?

Drums sounded in the distance. A thousand hoofs making the ground shiver. The enemy was a hurricane of violence, a force of nature that brought earthquakes—and visible now, as black silhouettes, on the horizon. Ten great cities of Sumiser had already fallen to this army.

So the bull commander made himself big and spoke loudly.

“I hear your whispers. I hear them from your one thousand mouths. But we have weapons. And we are many.”

All citizens looked at each other. Was he really claiming they could defeat the powerful, evil Akradi coming for them?

“We cannot win from the Akradi, not in our current state. But we have good ties with the Meluhan, the civilization nobody has dared attack for a thousand years. The civilization almost nobody else can find. We go there, as quickly as possible.”

“But then we must travel straight through Lagaso!” Annatas yelled.

They’d never had “good ties” with that city. But if it was the last remaining city of your civilization left standing …

“And any who would delay us,” the bull claimed heroically, “will be blown away.”

“And who are you to claim leadership?” a shrill voice stated. “Recent events are clear,” a camel said, spitting at the bull. “You have lost the favor of the gods!”

The bull’s face darkened. “Who would challenge me? You?”

The camel was about to spit again, but thought better of it. He retreated and nobody else was eager to claim the role of commander now.

All were ready to depart. But they missed one member.

Their son, Mamotas, had heard everything but could not yell back. The waves had pulled him under the surface.

All floods! Water forced its way into his nostrils. Pushed him to the seabed, covered in dancing bubbles. His air ran out. He—

Multiple claws and paws grabbed his limbs and pulled him on dry land. Mamotas gasped for air.

“Always the same,” Peritas mumbled. “What was it this time? You saw an interesting stone at the bottom and you had to view it from close range?”

By the time they looked up, the rest of their group had already left. His parents cursed and pulled the distracted teenager along.

They couldn’t overcome the delay. The bull forced everyone to march, as if every farmer, shoemaker and priest were soldiers now.

“What do you think the Akradi look like?” Mamotas asked. “Like us? Like gods? They say they have red eyes and wings, but the strong body of a jaguar. That their weapons—”

“Shut up. Walk.”

Though they could not see them, they felt the Akradi army burn at their back. As if they could appear at any time and push a spear through their back.

“I want to see them,” Mamotas yelled. “Maybe we can talk to them. Maybe it’s more fun with them than—”

“It is not.” His mother pushed some nuts into his mouth to silence him.

“How do you know?” he still spoke with his mouth full. “You’ve never seen them.”

“They come from the city of Akrad, who had Ardex as their City God. You’ve been close to him a few times, haven’t you? What happened to you then?”

“Angry. Furious. Want to break things.”

Finally they came closer. Their vanguard had already crossed the river and now arrived at the closed city walls of Lagaso.

“Would you be happy if you felt that all day? The Akradi now believe that they will die if they don’t wage war and win violent battles for a day. All in the name of Ardex.”

“Then I’m happy we have friendly Cosmo. Maybe he gave us all the ability to fly?” Mamotas waved his arms, then his tail, and eventually his feet. Surprisingly, he did not lift from the ground.

“We have nothing,” mother said. “We pray to them. Now be silent and walk.”

He was silent for the remainder of their journey. Any time they seemed to reach their group, they would suddenly march again. As if Lagaso only admitted fifty creatures at a time and then took a break.

Until they saw that they were oh so wrong.

Their friends and family climbed the walls. The gates were ripped apart, destroyed beyond recognition. Their bull commander ran from left to right, followed by hundreds of Gosti using their weapons to mow down anything that moved. Screams echoed through the valley and all birds fled crowing.

Everyone joined the fight, even that farmer and that priest. The aggression surprised Lagaso, whose City God was the sweet Bella. By the time their army was ready to defend, only half of them were left.

Once Mamotas touched the city walls, the area was already desolate. Dead bodies lay everywhere, both of their own and of Lagaso’s army. Wasn’t that exactly what Akradi wanted? That the aggressive Sumiser wiped out each other?

Meh, who cared about the Akradi’s secret wishes. Lagaso asked for it when they took over his home city ten years ago. And twenty years ago. And probably before that. This was simple revenge, as is required of any good Gosti.

With a loud crash, a gate on the other side of the city opened. All survivors were eager to continue. They’d destroyed the city so much that it wouldn’t protect against the Akradi anyway. Nobody had any hopes of defeating those devils anymore, so they all just ran away.

“Grab all food and water you can find,” the bull told everyone. “The journey to Meluhan is long. But continue like this and we will make it!”

Everyone cheered and clapped as he passed. Mamotas’ parents joined too. Plans for a new, even bigger statue for their great commander were immediately drawn up. The path to the harbor was found and the first ships readied, as they had lost the entirety of their own fleet—which was quite impressive—in the recent floods.

Mamotas himself was distracted by texts scratched into the wall.

Thanks to a new invention called “school”, dear reader, all Sumiseri could read. The Indus could barely depict objects and ideas on their Bulla; the Sumiseri could already tell entire stories.

But where the Bulla had pretty or elegant symbols, the script of Sumiser looked more as if somebody wrote it using rusted nails. As if small, straight twigs had accidentally been left in the clay as it dried. Efficient, not pretty. The straight lines also turned out an amazing way to count any number of things.

He walked past the outer wall of the city and read the texts as he went.

If someone kills a man, that man himself should be killed.

The next piece was partially destroyed and thus unreadable. But the piece after that said: “_If a slave marries a non-slave, they have to give their firstborn son to the other.”

These were rules. Rules for the animals in the city? No wonder Lagaso fell this easily—who was ever going to follow rules they didn’t like?

He turned a corner and arrived in front of a burning building. Part of the roof collapsed, which caused a waterfall of clay tablets pouring out of it. A … storybuilding? Whatever it was, any information it contained was now likely damaged.

He could only save a handful of clay tablets.

And again, many claws and paws pulled him back from his distraction. “Mamotas! Please stay close to us for once! They’ve almost all left on their ships.”

They ran to the harbor.

They were too late.

Joined by several other creatures, they found an empty harbor and could only wave to their commander. The two Gosti traders had missed the boat just as well.

One of them held a most peculiar object to his eye. Mamotas had never seen it before, but it seemed to grant him better vision. As the Gosti looked through the glassy circles, the sight startled him.

He dropped the object in the sand.

The Akradi army wasn’t far anymore.

Prebuha sat in Larsh’ room, at the twelfth floor of the prettiest building in their Region. She was being prepared for her trade with the incoming Sumiseri fleet. After complaining for a while, her mother was allowed in the room too. Well, now she knew who gave her that ability to stubbornly get her way if she wanted.

“We have no idea why Sumiser suddenly charges at us with an entire fleet,” Larsh said. “I have no time to travel to all the other Regions and ask if they have a better plan. Maybe they’re doing the same thing right now. So, gods help us all, we send you to finish your trade with them.”

“A wise choice,” mother instantly stated. “She will not disappoint.”

Larsh sniffled. “And has your daughter already unmasked the murderer of my father?”

“He …” Prebuha swallowed and looked away. “He really seems to have fallen accidentally, Larsh.”

He stormed from the room. “Get ready, lazybones! You should’ve been on that ship already!”

She grabbed the final Bulla and ran after him—but mother blocked her path. She placed the actual final Bulla in her claws, one showing a ship and a clear cross through it. That’s what the trade would be about: what would it cost to have all Sumiser ships turn around and leave?

“Those ships cannot anchor, dear. Fight like a hyena.”

Prebuha was stiff from the tension. “Why are you doing this, mom? I’m a bad trader, everyone knows it. And I hate it.”

“Because you have to do something, dear. Something to be worth your food and shelter, because I won’t be around forever.”

“Who invented those rules!? I don’t want to do something!” She felt like throwing the Bulla across the room, while simultaneously lacking the energy to even take a step.

Mother sighted and mumbled. “It’s not about you. Or our Region. I had hoped you could save our family’s honor.”

That froze her, like every time somebody referred to her father—“the thief”. Which happened often, for everyone whispered when she walked past and probably assumed she’d be a thief too. Mother always told her that father walked away one day because of that. To escape the whispers.

Only now she saw the flimsiness of that excuse.

“Father didn’t walk away, did he?” she whispered.

Larsh’ voice commanded them to hurry again, now at a distance. Mother still blocked the doorway and put a large claw on her daughter’s shoulder.

“No.”

“Did they … lock him up somewhere? For stealing one little thing?”

“It wasn’t one little thing, dear. Your father refused to work. And the members of Asha refused to force him to work with violence. So he stole all our food … then fled to the next Region before he was caught. Regions sometimes barely talk to each other—but the legend of the stealing sloth was infamous! We used to live right in the center of our capital city Harap, but had to flee more and more to the edges.”

Mother hesitated, then hugged her. “Until he went too far. Stole a basket of nuts, but bystanders were aware of his tactics. As soon as a merchant yelled he was robbed, they formed a wall and attacked him all at once.”

Together they walked down the stairs, to the sunny plaza outside. Other inhabitants pointed the way to the ship, almost like a guard of honor, but kept their considerable distance.

Mother and daughter cried together. “Those bystanders killed your father where he stood.”

No wonder Prebuha hated the region since she was young. She’d pushed away the memory, but the feeling of injustice and hostility remained. She did not want to work for these creatures.

But now she stood next to a ship, all eyes on her, and mother had given her this opportunity with great, great effort.

“What did you have to give, mom?” she whispered. “What did you trade to give me this chance?”

Mother shook her head and gave her a last kiss. “No need to know. That’s my protection for you.”

The ship left.

A hotchpotch of supplies had been placed everywhere and nowhere. Another squad of wolves helped carry it all and steer the boat. Larsh ran over the beach to meet the leader of another Region for a panicked conversation. Megitas and the Clayskipper stood near the hut where they stored Welpon’s weapons. Did they consider using them? Finally a wise choice?

She didn’t know. All creatures quickly turned into black dots on the horizon. Until her city was gone from view entirely and she crested the waves alone.

Her head tumbled. Her own folk, the Region in which she lived her entire life, had killed her dad. Her mother gave away everything just to make the rest like their family again. And now she had to convince Sumiseri, with whom she couldn’t talk, to spare all of them?

She’d have found it funny if she still had the energy to laugh.

The imposing row of Sumiser ships loomed on the horizon. No, it wasn’t a neat row. They all sailed at different speeds and in different directions. One jabbed her bow into the beach and remained stuck. Pff. Worthless sailors they were.

She drew closer and read the symbols on their sails. She compared it with the signature on the blue Bulla again, and yes, these were the same traders. It calmed her somewhat, but not much.

Only once they were already close enough to yell at each other, did she notice something obvious. She hadn’t seen a single living creature.

All ships were empty. They sailed every which way because nobody was steering.

What was this?

The wolves looked at her, claws firmly on a horizontal steering wheel they could turn by walking.

“We sail on.”

They pierced through the front row. The speed of her ship, and the waves that erupted from it, neatly pushed all boats aside. They continued this way until they reached the heart of the fleet.

But wherever she looked, however loud she yelled, there was nobody.

Were they hidden below deck? Was it a trap? She didn’t understand.

But if nobody steered the ships, she wouldn’t be able to turn them all around.

She could not fail again! Think. Darkness already settled in. The first ships would soon come dangerously close to their peaceful harbor.

Destroy all the boats? No, no, because they had no weapons on this ship. Stupid Asha!

She had reached the backside of the fleet now.

“Turn around. Find any sign of life.”

“There is nobody, Prebuha.”

“Then what could it be!?”

The wolves scratched behind their tall ears. “Beats us too.”

There! On the shore, in the distance, a group of creatures stood. Prebuha immediately went to them.

It was a confusing mix of animals, as was usual for the Sumiser. Nearby, a shipwreck seemed to have collided with the beach with some force. Was it an accident? Had everyone left the ships for safety?

But why would they come with their entire fleet in the first place?

Prebuha docked and jumped off her ship. Her claws pushed deep into soft earth, while wolves already carried some goods to prove what they had.

Then she looked up and saw that all creatures wore masks.

A bull stepped forward. His mask was a deep black with bright red stripes. The tusks of a great beast completed the picture—and she barely dared look at it.

He spoke in a language she still didn’t understand.

She gestured her lack of knowledge and presented the Bulla. She’d start simple. Safe. Ask for some food, metal, and of course remove the ships please.

The mask of the bull masked his opinions of the act. Did he not understand?

She pointed at the boat with the cross and then back to the boats on the water. Even though they were barely visible at night.

The bull laughed. He spoke again, loudly. Prebuha gestured again that she didn’t understand—oh, it wasn’t meant for her.

All the creatures behind him—mostly jaguars—suddenly drew their weapons. Her heart stopped. The wolves stepped in front of her for protection.

They pointed their weapons up. Arrows and stone balls flew through the air, to blast through a ship on the river. Most were built so carelessly that they instantly sank.

Until the bull yelled again and it all stopped.

“Go on! Go on!”

He pointed along the Indus. Their first city was barely visible from here, as they stood on a hill and fires burned in their homes. Though it looked more like a small fishing village from here.

“Me … lu … han?” he asked.

Wasn’t that how the Sumiseri called them? She wasn’t sure how to react, so she just vaguely nodded.

His body posture switched to an aggressive one, and she imagined his face growing just as angry underneath the mask.

Then he grabbed a Bulla out of her basket. The one with the sword.

What was his question? Which answer meant he continued destroying the ships?

“No, I have no weapons.” She patted the symbol and shook her head. Her hairs stood up, her mind racing. If these masked beings were hostile, she’d be dead already.

“No … weapons?” the Bull said in imitation, as he held an arrow in his claws.

She nodded.

Of course the Indus had weapons, dear reader. Spears to catch fish. Knives to cut meat. They simply called it tools and didn’t use it for anything else. They had no large weapons of mass destruction. The Indus wanted peace—but they were not stupid.

The masked group laughed even harder, the jaguars flashing their teeth. They continued destroying the boats, with increased enthusiasm, until they had all sunk.

Then they stole Prebuha’s supplies and ran away.

“Hey! Come back! Come—”

“Look,” a wolf said, “something tells me this wasn’t Sumiser.”

“Shut up.”

Prebuha waggled back to her ship, already inventing ways to explain this all to Larsh.

Larsh did not take the news well. “You were supposed to turn them around, not destroy them! If Sumiser finds out we killed their fleet …”

He didn’t even let her back into the city. The wolves left the ship and carried whatever supplies remained back to the general storage. But she was pushed back by the crowds, back facing the river.

When they asked about the remaining supplies, they realized the truth quickly.

“You worthless piece of garbage! Disappear!” Larsh yelled. A heartbeat later everyone yelled it with him. The crowd closed in on her like an unclimbable wall, their angry faces and flashing teeth even scarier than the masks. They waved flaming torches her way. Somebody grabbed her arm and nearly tore it off.

“Go away!” she screeched. “Don’t touch me! I’m going!”

She fell backward. On all fours she crawled through the wet earth, as fast as she could. The claws did not let go. More and more parts of her body were grabbed.

Nobody came to help her.

The probably thought that sounded like work.

A burning fireball landed on the beach and parted the crowds. It gave her just enough time to flee.

She stumbled, tripped, shoved through the mud along the river until she could barely hear the angry voices anymore.

Carefully, she looked over her shoulder. Nobody was chasing. She was gone—this piece of garbage was gone from their pretty civilization. That was all that counted to them. Only a few creatures remained, studying the burning fireball and the river for signs of the ship that fired it.

She was alone, close to the city walls, but on the wrong side. She shivered—from fear, from the cold, from the hunger. The reality of what she had lost consumed her all at once, huddling in the darkness.

“What did you think?” a proud voice asked. Welpon. Of course that fireball was his. The echidna ran circles around her.

The Clayskipper stepped out of his hut to tell his son it was time for bed.

Clayskipper! His hut was outside the city! Warmth. Not alone. Food.

She hobbled after Welpon, but as she entered the hut she was pushed away.

“Larsh has commanded nobody admit or help you.”

“Larsh is not your boss. You live here, outside of al the Regions!”

He shook his quills. “Larsh is distracted. Everyone should listen to his father’s message—the message you took from that first trade. I don’t want to distract them even more. Maybe we’re already too late to safely flee the coming disasters! My calculations—”

Prebuha frowned. “You believe the message? You want us all to just leave our beautiful civilization behind?”

“Civilization is a noble idea, not a people nor a place.”

“Very noble,” she sneered. “Kicking a young sloth girl out to die.”

“My calculations have been wrong for years. The water grows more wild. The earth more askew. Cracks appear in odd places. Yes, I believe disasters are coming. If even a big leader like Larsham believed it … why is nobody listening?”

“They don’t want to leave!” she said, realizing deep down how true it was, and realizing something else. “They want to stay so badly … they’d kill Larsham in hopes of killing the message!”

The Clayskipper frowned. “You’re still doing your detective work? Even as they sent you away?”

“I must be good at something, right? If I fix this, I’ll have provided value for my Region, and then … and then they’ll let me back.”

“Doing something once is not enough. A civilization runs on doing something every day, until you die.”

“Is that so,” she growled with claws crossed. “Stealing something once is apparently remembered forever.”

He sighed. “Maybe the disasters won’t come for a while. Maybe they don’t come in the shape we expect. I only know we’ve been living the exact same way for a thousand years. Our cities were planned beforehand, built, then never changed! That’s not natural. We lag behind. The Sumiseri have apparently invented a script allowing them to write down anything with ease. And what can we do? Draw birds on clay?”

“You think they killed Larsham?”

He shook his head, then rapidly took some valuable Bulla out of his son’s paws. “I only know civilizations either change or they die.”

“Oh. Come on. You must know something to help me? Some calculation?”

The Clayskipper stepped inside, protectively taking his son with him. He led down a thick piece of cloth to cover the opening. ""

“I know all animals in your Region like the quills at my back. None of them did anything. Stop your pointless research.”

Torches burned once more out of the corner of her eyes. Larsh led a group specifically searching for her. They were still far out, but yelled she had to leave. Leave the entire Indus territory. Or punishments would follow.

“Go,” the Clayskipper said with sad eyes. “I’ll take care of your mother.”

Prebuha ran into the shadows. She ran and ran, tears in her eyes, until she was certain Larsh had lost her trail. But she couldn’t lose the city. Her back leaned against the cool city wall, as she heard laughter and singing on the other side.

Her stomach rumbled. She’d never gone this long without food or drink. Where was she supposed to get it now? All food in the area was owned by Indus, grown on their fields. All drinkable water came from their wells, not the river.

She looked around. Would she be able to find the way to Sumiser? Not in the dark, that was for sure. What was on the other side? She had heard about a small, hesitant civilization around the Gangris, but she didn’t even know their names.

She looked to the other side and saw a puddle of blood.

Dried up. Not too large. But it was clear: somebody had died here and—

Wasn’t this the wall from which Larsham fell?

She looked up. It wasn’t the sturdiest wall, or the one with the least cracks. But she could not see how a gust of wind could throw anyone off, let alone a heavy hyena.

Her claws felt something. Stone chunks. She followed the trail until she found a large stone that was roughly a ball.

Some steps later, the earth still held the imprint of a small, round crater.

A ball. A catapult ball?

Larsham didn’t fall and wasn’t pushed. He was shot from the wall.

She ran back to the Clayskipper’s hut to speak to Welpon.

But Larsh had not lost her trail at all. His torches suddenly burned at her back.

“Stay away from me! Don’t touch me! I go! I go!”

She ran to Sumiser, the only direction she knew. Creatures chased her, yelled she had to disappear, for longer than she could handle. Until she stood on the hill where she met the masked creatures, out of breath.

She studied the shipwreck. But no, that thing wouldn’t float in any way.

Pawprints were left in the dirt. Heavy paws. One pair had to be from that bull. The prints were conserved well, easy to find.

They didn’t want her? The Indus exiled her? Fine. She’d go the other way. To the masked army that was probably already preparing to attack her city, now that they knew where it was and that they lacked weapons.

On her last legs, she followed the pawprints. Images of soft beds, delicious breakfast and lounging in the shade of beautiful trees filled her head. Images of climbing over the lower walls and playing in The Great Bath merged with them.

They all had to leave her head, or she wouldn’t be able to take another step.

Either she’d die of hunger and thirst, or she’d take her revenge for how they had treated her and her family.

Annatas had los her bearings. They’d decided she had the best sense of direction in the entire group of Sumiseri. And with water nearby it was easy to find your path: just follow the current or the river. But in a sea with only sandhills, however, she also wasn’t sure where the Indus civilization resided.

“I’m sure we’ve been here before,” her husband Perites said.

“No,” a scared goat said. “Those pawprints are from Akradi! They are close!”

“They’ve been close for months!” Annatas snapped. It was unheard of for a woman to yell at a man like that. But all the old rules were quickly forgotten after running for your lives for days.

“Mamotas, stay close, trust nobody, don’t get distracted.” She felt next to her. Mamotas was already gone.

He heard the entire conversation, but didn’t feel like reacting. He’d found a new, different trail of pawprints. He was fascinated by categorizing and remembering things, which meant he knew the details of all pawprints. And these weren’t theirs or from the Akradi.

The trail slithered through the sandhills. Their own area was almost entirely flat, positioned between the Twin Rivers. They called it Eden: flat moorland. But down here? Here he could take a glide every few minutes. Clearly the better place.

You might think it strange that he thought in minutes, dear reader. But the humans got their system of time from the Sumiseri. The reason they picked such weird numbers, such as 24 hours a day or 12 months, is probably because they calculated everything in multiples of 6 or 12.

The trail ended at a small cave, hollowed out with force at the side of a hill. Inside, on the cold floor, was a dead body of a sloth.

A dead body that startled him when it suddenly did breathe.

Her bones were visible. Underneath her leaf thin skin he could clearly see her beating heart. Every tiring breath ended in coughing.

When Mamotas gently grabbed her claw, her eyes opened wide.

She said something, but it was inaudible and sounded like a different language. He smiled just to appear non-threatening.

He opened his mouth and gestured throwing something into it. Food. His parents would kill him—their own food had as good as run out—but he couldn’t leave this sloth behind, could he?

She eagerly accepted his offer, but trying to stand up she immediately fell over. Mamotas was barely strong enough to support her. So they shuffled and crawled back to his yelling parents.

With every delayed breath and slow heartbeat, he feared for her life still. He was used to fearing for his own life in Sumiser, which was obsessed with attacking each other’s cities. Sleep was rare for him. And yet this worry for her life was a new feeling, somehow even worse.

They turned the corner and fell into Annatas’ arms. “Mamotas! If you slip away one more time—”

The two Gosti traders yelled and forced their way through the group to reach the sloth. She was also wide awake now.

“She is from the Indus! She failed our last trade!”

Annatas studies the wounds on Prebuha’s skin and mumbled: “Looks like the Indus also wasn’t happy with that.”

The ground shook. Akradi. Did they never sleep!?

The group moved at once, away from the tremors. Mamotas looked behind. The first Akradi soldiers already stood on the horizon, like vengeful ghosts with their terrifying masks. But Mamotas was positive: those maskers did give you extra motivation and energy to flee!

It did not help the sloth. She had to be carried by the Gosti traders and his complaining father, as she fell unconscious again.

After running for an hour, they thought themselves safe. The last bits of food and drink were distributed among the panting animals.

A heavy-handed push placed Prebuha on the sand. She received a few nuts, but lacked even the energy to move her jaws. How long hadn’t she eaten? Mamotas had to help her to chew and swallow anyway.

“I’m Prebuha,” she said, pleading, eyes wet. “I do all you ask. I work for you. But please, please, make me part of the group.”

The others had to decipher the meaning of her words from her gestures. A trade reacted by grabbing a Bulla showing a house and a tower.

“Where is your city? Will they let us in and protect us?”

“Yes! My city!” Prebuha said, trying to see if her interpretation was right. “I know the way. I’ll lead you to Indus and know secret passages.”

She searched for a Bulla with a sword and pretended the sword attacked the buildings, until they disappeared.

That … they didn’t understand.

She turned around, coughing and shaking, to point at the water in the distance. Her claws drew several ships in the sand with the signature of the traders. Then she looked at them questioningly.

“Our fleet? You stumbled upon our fleet?” They added another drawing to hers: a huge wave underneath the boats. “All our ships washed away after a terrible flood of the Tigres. We didn’t send them. That’s … that’s why they’d be empty.”

Prebuha sunk deep into the sand when she understood. With her last powers, she drew herself, or something close to it. She aggressively wiped away the ships and drew an arrow away from herself.

“You destroyed our fleet of enemy ships? And that’s why you had to leave?” Mamotas asked, confused.

She ignored it and drew something else for the traders. A square to represent a clay tablet, with three waves below it—the middle one slightly longer and thicker. Her leader’s signature.

“Ah. You ask about the origin of the message.”

One trader showed an object from his pouch. When Prebuha looked through it, she saw things in the distance as if they were close. Like the magic of gods!

He had more objects like these. One was a piece of stone with water inside, to check if some building was perfectly level with the floor. Another was a small balancing scale with standardized clay weights.

“The one who gave us these things, also said—insistently—that we deliver the message at our next trade.”

Prebuha slammed the floor. She hastily drew lightning bolts and floods everywhere in the sand. Nobody understood, because nobody had been able to read the contents of that message. But she now realized who wrote it—and that it was probably all true.

“Now it’s time you prove your worth,” Annatas said impatiently. She pulled Prebuha from the floor and turned her around, in the direction she just revealed contained the Indus river. “Lead us to safety!”

She nodded and shuffled forward, almost hypnotized and unable to do anything else than follow commands.

Her eyes shut again. Mamotas had to support her and raise her claw when she attempted to point somewhere.

“Mamotas, get away from here,” his mother said sternly. “She might have a weapon!”

“No mom. What if I was in that cave? What if I had arrived at the Indus, starved and near death? Wouldn’t you have wanted them to help me?”

“Tell that to the Akradi when they grab us and slit our throats!”

For a while, they walked and followed Prebuha’s directions. Mamotas only spoke once they were at a safe distance from his parents.

“Don’t mind my parents. They see enemies everywhere. They probably didn’t even see we just walked past a very rare species of tree! Oh, I can’t wait to see the Indus. They say it’s the most beautiful place on earth. Right?”

He looked at her. She must’ve understood something, for her face turned sorrowful and she longingly studied the horizon.

Once Prebuha collapsed from exhaustion, they decided to camp for the night. The group gathered around a small fire, an invention from the Gosti that they had learned to control by now.

“What if they don’t let us in,” Annatas whispered.

“Then we conquer them,” an elephant said. “Lagaso fell easily once we all wanted to fight for it.”

“They haven’t been conquered by anybody in a thousand years! The Indus must have godly weapons.”

“Or not,” a Gosti trader said. “We can get everything we want by trading. By giving away a few things we don’t need ourselves. Why would we attack them? I spoke to many other traders, and it seems like the Indus trade is the only thing keeping all civilizations afloat!”

“Well, well,” Mamotas said, “we could trade until recently …”

“It doesn’t matter,” Annatas said. “We don’t attack. We have family there, the old Megitas and his children. The goats do too.”

“My sister married someone from Harap, their other big city,” a small cat said. “They now have nearly forty kittens. Any attack on Indus is an attack on my own family too.”

“But what if they don’t let us in?” Annatas repeated.

It fell silent. Prebuha coughed and turned to her other side. Her dreams were at least good enough to add a slight smile to her face.

A scream. Another scream. The sounds came from the water. Ships, many ships.

Everyone jumped to their feet and grabbed their weapon. Then they noticed the symbols on the sails: the other part of their group, led by their bull commander, refused to sail on and went ashore.

Prebuha thought she understood. The commander had found the debris from the fleet she destroyed earlier and didn’t dare sail on. They were now discussing if they had to visit the Indus as refugees … or as an army.

She had only one goal herself: stay alive, step by step, make yourself useful to the group. As they ran from the terrifying Akradi, she had lost any desire for war or violence. The idea that conquering another city to get all their food, instead of working for it yourself, seemed silly now.

Mamotas accompanied her, as always. He smuggled food for her, but that also stopped when all food had run out. The wheat and barley fields of Indus weren’t far now. She could—

No, she was not a thief. No jangling bones or rumbling bellies would change that.

The thumping and screaming of the Akradi kept chasing them, always one step closer. All in all their group was only a thousand tired creatures. Why were they important? Why waste time following them?

She tried signing this to Mamotas, by imitating their masks and thumping.

He smiled and joined in. He made scary faces and made himself large. “Yes, the Akradi are true monsters, they say. It’s a good thing I found you, not them.”

“But why?” They had decided on a sign for questions like “why” and “how” by now.

“Their City God is Ardex. The jaguars believe they always have to wage war, or the world ends. They won’t stop, not even if their only victory is against a single bunny.”

Jaguars. Of course. She realized now what Megitas meant in their conversation long ago. The Akradi fought everyone, yes. But they especially wanted revenge against Asha for something long ago, some injustice they were still mad about. Maybe all these conquered cities were just preparation for how they’d destroy Indus.

Mamotas did some more imitations, such as an Akradi throwing a spear and one angrily crushing a stone.

She didn’t laugh with him. She wasn’t just leading these Sumiseri to Indus—which was bad enough, given their commander. She was also leading the Akradi right there.

Her steps slowed, smaller and smaller each time. Mamotas yelled that they had to pause again, for her health. The bull rejected the very idea.

He took the lead and marched them all in the last direction Prebuha indicated.

She had to watch with dismay. What could she do? A few days of walking and they’d find the city themselves. They’d attack and win, for the Indus refused to have weapons, and the Akradi would then slaughter them all in their revenge.

What could she do? They all marched past her. She was left in the sandy dust, joined by a confused Mamotas.

Oh, how easily she jumped from group to group. The Indus exiled her? he’d look for Akradi. She couldn’t find them? She’d help the Sumiseri destroy her own civilization.

That’s not how it worked. Of course not! If she ever wanted to belong—if she ever wanted to be safe and protected—she had to be loyal to a group. If life was hard, she had to work harder for the group, not walk away. If a thief stole something, she’d have to stop the thief too. Only then other creatures would do the same for her.

And if she listened to her heart, there was only one group to which she belonged: the Indus.

She waved her long arms and yelled: “No! Sorry! I made a mistake! We’re going the wrong way!”

On all fours she ran forward. “The Indus have the strongest weapons ever! They’ll destroy us before we even get close, as they did to the fleet!”

She tried imitating swords and bows, with which she pretended to kill Mamotas. She yelled deafeningly loud and pointed in an entirely different direction. Her civilization had so much area, the only way to walk around them was to completely leave the Garda continent.

“Bull!” the bull said. “They’re a peaceful folk. And they live along the river, that we know for sure.”

The others watched her with narrowed eyes.

“I mean it!” She kept pointing the other way. “I … we … we can communicate with our thoughts, yes. And they just told me that you are not welcome!”

Well, she tried communicating that with gestures, and found no success.

The group bumped into each other, for half of them wanted to march onward, and the other half wanted to listen.

Mamotas looked sad. He didn’t understand what she said, but knew her intentions. In his eyes she saw the beautiful Indus walls and the Clayskipper inventions that Mamotas would have loved to see.

“Prebuha has explained it all to me,” he said softly. “She said she hadn’t expected you to actually follow. She was too weak and not in her right mind—but now she is sharp. The Indus is deadly dangerous. All will be dead once we see their walls. We walk away.”

The bull growled and dug a hole on the spot. “We can conquer anyone!”

“A civilization that’s a thousand times older than us and never conquered?”

More and more creatures turned to walk in the new direction, away from Indus, but also still away from Akradi. The bull kept growling, but a commander without army was worthless, so he ended up following too.

Prebuha smiled at him and gently squeezed his paw as thanks. Maybe not all Sumiseri were terrible violent beings.

They hung at the back of the group. Prebuha pretended her body was still too weak and walked with minuscule steps.

Until the group disappeared behind the next hill and only the two of them were left.

They looked at each other.

They smiled and ran in the right direction together.

“Oh, oh, is it really as pretty as I think?” Mamotas said while running.

Prebuha nodded enthusiastically, mostly because he was enthusiastic. She hoped that somebody had paid attention and seen how she had diverted the enemy. Or maybe Mamotas could deliver proof.

They ran for days. As if exhaustion was suddenly a myth. As if food wasn’t necessary. Until they ran into the harvest fields by night and reached the outer city walls.

Mamotas’ eyes permanently gazed upwards, at the tall buildings, flags, and fires within the city. In his pupils, they sparkled like stars.

“Those buildings! They make our attempts seem like prehistoric caves. Our homes wash away with each flood, but this …”

“Well, there is still the issue of … well … me being exiled.” She had also invented their symbol for danger or problem or watch out! with the Sumiseri.

“That,” a furious voice behind her roared, “is not your only problem. Filthy, filthy traitors.”

The commander stood before them, panting. The bull was decked out in full metal armor, with ten weapons and a helmet enhancing his terrifying horns.

“You really thought I wouldn’t notice?”

Prebuha looked at Mamotas. He translated in word and gesture. “He is very impressed by how fast we can run.”

“Send thousands of Sumiseri to their death, then walk back to safety yourself!?”

“He compliments your fur. It’s healing nicely from the wounds,” Mamotas said.

“But you made a mistake. You showed me the truth about your undefended city. We shall take the Indus and burn you all!”

The bull roared and suddenly leapt forward. Prebuha heard yelling from above. A few cats walked over the city walls.

“Is he alone?” Prebuha asked as she stumbled backward and started climbing the wall.

“Erm, yes, yes. What … what?”

The bull grabbed her hind leg. Mamotas, as Gosti, was a better climber and already ahead of her. He dropped himself onto the bull to force him to let go, but in doing so threw all three of them back to the floor.

They hit the ground hard and splashed like droplets in different directions.

“He’s the commander of Sumiser,” Prebuha yelled as she climbed back to her feet. “If he gets away, we’re finished!”

The bull realized now too. He didn’t have to win this fight. He could run away and get his army, to win the war.

The cats jumped from the walls, perfectly landing on their paws, and blocked his path. One swing with the horns, however, and all their feline faces found the dirt.

Prebuha remembered loose bricks in the wall. She blindly reached behind her, ripped one loose, and rushed towards the bull.

Maybe it was egoism. Maybe it was a true, deep hatred against Prebuha and what she’d done. Or maybe the Sumiseri were simply stupid.

But he stopped and turned around, ready to prick his horns through her exposed belly.

She hit him in the face with the clay brick.

His eyes shut; his limp body dropped before her.

“Oh. Oh gods. Oh—”

Her vision grew blurry. Her paws lifelessly fell to the floor. The clay brick landed on her own toes. What had she done? She was worse than a thief—she was a murderer.

She hobbled away, away from here, away from everything. But Mamotas and the cats caught up and sent her the other way, back to the Indus gates.

Where she was admitted and cheered on.

Prebuha was dazed and propped up by her mother. She was a murderer. She had betrayed the Sumiseri and sent them into the hands of the evil Akradi. How could they cheer her on? Why was she allowed back? Why was this good?

At the same time, their love and hugs traveled through her veins like the sweetest honey. She was home, she was safe, all was well.

Larsh walked up to her. “Many creatures saw what you did, Prebuha. You’ve sent the Sumiser army the wrong way and killed their threatening leader. Megitas is annoyed about the last part, but we view you as a heroine!”

“I’m not a heroine,” she mumbled. The very idea of violence now made her sick.

Larsh frowned. She walked past him. “I know who wrote that mysterious message. And I know we should’ve listened to it long ago.”

She led the group outside, to the fields that had finally dried up. To the lonely hut in which a scientist—before they called them such—always did his duty.

The Clayskipper stepped outside. A basket full of food and tools was attached to the quills on his back. His son Welpon walked beside him, mostly carrying his own small inventions.

“You?” Larsh said.

“He paid the Gosti traders with his own inventions, to deliver the message at the next trade,” Prebuha said. She pointed at Mamotas, who could confirm the story once they understood each other’s language more.

His quills bent. “It is true. My calculations—”

“Nobody cares about your calculations!” Larsh yelled. “Why did you falsify my father’s signature!? Why—”

“That’s the problem!” the Clayskipper yelled. “Nobody cares about my calculations. As I, year after year, with increasing certainty, can prove a huge disaster is coming! I thought … I thought if I added the leader’s name … but no …”

Prebuha placed her own claw over her mouth at the next realization. “But he obviously couldn’t find out. So before he could dispute, you had to … kill Larsham.”

Larsh ran for him. Megitas barely stopped him with his walking cane.

“Not true! Not true!” the Clayskipper said, stepping back in a panic. “I had discussed the plan with him. He knew. That’s why we were both on top of that wall that night.”

He protectively pushed his son behind him again. “We flee, for this city won’t survive much longer.”

The Clayskipper was everyone’s friend. His work carried the entire city. if he turned his back and left … shouldn’t everyone immediately follow?

Larsh blocked his exit. “So you were there when father … fell?”

“Yes. No. Maybe.” His quills bent even further, causing the basket to slide off his back. His voice was small. “I ask that you remember how much me and my son did for the Indus. I ask mercy.”

Larsh’ face turned red, his sharp hyena teeth bared. “What happened?”

Prebuha had figured it out; she already had the suspicion since finding the cannonball outside the wall. She also protectively shielded small Welpon. They had to flee the disasters. They had to be strong together. Not fight.

“It was an accident, wasn’t it?” she said softly. “Welpon’s new weapon accidentally fired. And then …”

The Clayskipper grabbed his son, almost covering him like a blanket. “Please … he couldn’t help it …”

Welpon shook all over his body. Larsh roared and spread his jaws, prowling as the Clayskipper begged for mercy.

All bystanders instinctively wanted to react and punish Welpon. But they stopped themselves in uncertainty.

Larsh circled on the spot, talking to himself. The Clayskipper was a good man. His father was dead. It was an accident. His father was killed.

Prebuha stopped him with a claw to his forehead.

“I know what it’s like to lose your dad,” she whispered. “I know what it’s like to live together with those guilty. I also know now how it feels to be left alone or live in another, violent, stupid civilization. You don’t want that, Larsh. You don’t.”

A tear rolled off his cheek. His feet pounded the earth, time and time again, until his anger subsided. Though Prebuha knew the anger, the idea that you should get revenge, was never really gone.

A deep sigh. “How sure are you, Clayskipper? The disasters?”

The ground already shook. Small, loose chunks tumbled from the weakest spots in the outer walls.

“Extremely certain.”

“Inform all Regions!” Larsh yelled. “Gather your loved ones and belongings. We leave together! And now!”

The shaking worsened. Larger and larger parts of buildings collapsed—but that wasn’t the biggest issue.

The tiny earthquakes were already enough to flood the river. Far earlier than it should have. Far worse than all thousands of years before now.

A layer of water quickly covered the fields and splashed against their ankles. At the next earthquake, the layer rose considerably, as if each shake wanted to drain the Indus.

The group ran every which way. They yelled warnings and instructions to the closest Regions.

Prebuha was left behind with Mamotas, mother, and the Clayskipper.

“I knew,” mother said with a smile, even though their world crumbled around them. “You saved our honor. Your deeds might not save our city, but they will save our civilization!”

“I’m not a heroine,” she mumbled again. “All I did was violent and selfish.”

The Clayskipper stared at her intensely. “No. What you did is most social of all. You’d do anything to protect your group, to help your social group. War and violence are the same. They’re just the most aggressive display of standing up for yourself and your loved ones.”

He winked, clearly relieved his son was still at his side. “Megitas can talk about peace and the soul of Asha. You don’t think we’re stupid enough to place absolutely no weapons around our territory?”

Waves lifted him and carried him to the Citadel. Prebuha and the others were also carried away by higher and higher waves, to the outer walls that partially crumbled. She peddled and pushed against debris to steer.

Whereto? The storage where they supposedly threw away all of Welpon’s inventions.

It was empty. There wasn’t even any proof that it ever contained anything.

She wanted to keep looking, smiling at the thought that Welpon’s silly weapons played a role in keeping them a little safer, but mother pulled her onward.

They yelled at all the other Regions. The Crowstrays at their left, the Bowbanners at their right. The water was still below the height of the city, but it wouldn’t stay that way.

Walls between Regions received deep cracks and would crumble soon. Even that wasn’t enough to convince some creatures.

They should have listened! They should have fled many moons ago, when it was easy and safe!

The tremors grew even more violent. Prebuha thought it sounded distressingly similar to—to—the thumping of the Akradi army.

“Keep helping,” she yelled, “I have to do something else.”

Reluctantly, Mamotas and mother continued without her. She rapidly scaled the walls, using the vines and a few powerful tall waves. Higher and higher, until she could look into the distance.

The Akradi army was coming. Below their feet, the earth cracked just the same and sent waves at the masked warriors—but they did not care at all.

She turned around. The Sumiseri must have noticed their commander leaving, for they marched straight at the city from the opposite side. With angry war songs and weapons raised.

If she didn’t know better, she’d have thought she was surrounded by two armies from the same civilization.

Her wall crumbled further.

She tumbled backward. Her arms waved and fluttered until she grabbed a vine. Her face almost crashed into the tiled floor, but the vine had run out of length and yanked her back up.

Working off instinct, she let go at the highest point and made a swan dive to the roof of Larsh’ building. She rolled through the wet clay and received piles of pebbles on her tongue—but she lived.

Beneath her, the beautiful, designed, godly city collapsed. The cracks from the earthquakes, however shallow, created hundreds of new rivers that pushed the water into homes and streets with ease.

Entire Regions tried to flee, holding only their children or a bundle of clothes and food, through the new holes in the outer walls. To her right, that white and black panda left the city. They seemed awfully calm.

“All curses and clocks,” the white panda said. “Our plan was so good this time. They hadn’t even filled the entire city yet!”

The black panda shrugged. “Mwah. Better luck with your next attempt at the perfect civilization.”

They helped some families escape, then suddenly vanished. She really hoped they hadn’t drowned.

But Mamotas had learned Prebuha to be positive. What was their advantage? The disasters also delayed the Akradi, hopefully just enough.

An arrow zoomed past her ear and quivered just below a window.

“Stop! Stop!” Her screams blew away in stormy winds.

The Sumiseri had spotted her and were furious. Still she jumped towards them.

She made the sign for peace and trade, as clearly as she could. They stayed furious, pointing their weapons.

Once on the ground, the Gosti traders had pushed their way to the front and returned the gesture.

Splashing water and croaking buildings sounded at her back. She had to partially swim to move forward. Each earthquake made her fear for breaking bones. The screams of her own civilization were a terrible sound, but she could not fight natural disasters or armies. All she could do …

She started the most important trade of her life.

Harry grabbed the phone in a panic, a clay brick in his other hand. He straightened his uniform, though his boss obviously couldn’t see him now.

“Sir Colford, we found something. During excavations for the new train rails in Schola we kept running into stones.”

“Stones? You call me for stones in the ground?”

“No, no, sir, not just stones. Clay stones that all have the exact same dimensions: four long, two high, one deep. I’m not an archeologist, sir, but shouldn’t we research what this means. This could be a civilization—”

“I mostly hear that I don’t have to send you a new shipment of stones for the train rails. Use them for your work. Thanks for the good news!”

The call ended.

The Casbrita soldiers shrugged and followed orders. Thousands of excavated stones were simply used to support the metal rails.

Until one day Jasmine entered the terrain, a famous archeologist. She’d made great discoveries about the origin of poison and a mysterious book that the world called “magical”.

She was the only one with the power to lock down the entire area and change their plans. The grumpy soldiers had to undo their last few months of work and reroute the train rails.

Then her team of specialists arrived to properly excavate and study all they could find.

Nobody knew a civilization had been here. That wasn’t too surprising, as the remains were very, very deep under the surface. Initial tests from Jasmine indicated the structures must’ve been built nearly ten thousand years ago. Even the pyramid builders from Floria would have called this super ancient if they’d found it.

The civilization seemed formed around the Indus river and a smaller but equally fruitful river close by, the Heavywater. The more they discovered, the more train rails had to be rerouted, to Casbrita’s annoyance. For the area owned by the Indus was huge.

“This … this has to be the oldest civilization,” Jasmine said with awe. “And the smartest, strongest, biggest, and so forth.”

Thomas looked skeptical. “I’m mostly surprised we haven’t found any weapons. Only some spearheads and sharp stones. And no messages or statues of a king, a leader, a commander, whatever.”

“Could it be?” Jasmine asked with a smile. “A civilization that was truly peaceful and truly equal, for thousands of years?”

Thomas shook his head. “Even if they were, then that was also the reason for their demise. Another army could walk in and conquer them at any time.”

Together they studied the map they had drawn, littered with arrows and symbols to signify events and possible movements of groups.

“Well,” Jasmine said. “If you never meet an attacker, you’re never on alert. You grow too comfortable, refuse to work for anything anymore. No protection without danger.”

“The only serious weapons of destruction we find,” Thomas said, “bear the signature of the Akradi. Everything indicates they stormed the city, hoping to plunder riches but mostly to get revenge. They only found empty homes and unusable earth next to a flooded river.”

Jasmine studied the row of symbols once more, which they’d found on many clay tablets. They called it Indus Script. She had no idea what it meant and certainly no dictionary to help translate.

Her fist slammed the table. “There is so much we don’t know! So much evidence already destroyed by those dimwitted soldiers.”

The desert was unbearably dry and hot. But these archeologists were used to that now. Climate change had transformed all fertile and wet places of ten thousand years ago into inhospitable deserts. The Indus was still around, but not as predictable as before. The other river, the Heavywater, was gone and just a legend at this point.

In the years that followed, their picture of this civilization improved. Most creatures simply moved to the Gangris, the new best river of Garda that already contained some small towns. Some went back to being hunter gatherers, or founded small villages of about twenty to thirty people.

Jasmine was mostly preoccupied with the mix of two different groups. Some DNA led back to Sumiser, the other to the Indus. After the demise they must’ve continued living together, eating the same food, bearing each other’s children, as if they had always been one.

She smiled again. History kept amazing her. “Animals have always been so curious and social, haven’t they? Surely the humans were. Real explorers. That’s probably why we explored the entire world early on.”

Thomas didn’t dare destroy her dreams again. His evidence suggests that exploration was no part of it. Most creatures had crossed oceans and climbed mountains just to flee from monsters like the Akradi. With the demise of Indus, any hope of a truly peaceful civilization seemed lost.

When he stayed silent, Jasmine walked to Biribas’ tent. The best linguist they had. He’d been working on deciphering that magical book for years and always came one step closer.

The Indus Script remained a mystery. But he had cracked the cuneiform script from Sumiser. In ruins of Harap they found a set of clay tablets with stories in that language, suggesting the two civilizations understood each other.

“Any progress?” she asked.

“Hmm. Yes. Hmm.” Biribas moved his glasses. “It’s a story, signed by some Mamotas. But I don’t know if this is really …”

“Tell me.”

“_Prebuha was a heroin, a sloth with three heads and seven arms, who could kill enemies with her glare! She traveled on unicorns and was the smartest animal who ever lived. She could do magic and fly—and was best friends with the gods. Thanks to her, much bloodshed was prevented and many civilizations could flee before the first empire ever: the Akradi Empire. Her life should be an example to all.”

He grabbed a second clay tablet, partially broken. “If that is too daunting, the life of Mamotas is also a fine example.”

Jasmine shrugged. “We found unicorns on their seals. So who says sloths didn’t have three heads and seven arms back then.”

Biribas smiled. “I don’t know if it’s true. I do know I want to read it all.”

And so it was that life continued …