Monica remembered the first time she'd asked about what "feral" meant. It had been a word she'd heard spoken often, but had thought it was just another of the "bad" words, insults, things weak ones said about strong ones. But Rick had used the word when mentioning Monica and he'd smelt of fear.

So she asked its meaning.

Dia told her the word was "complicated".

Rick was smarter, and tried to explain it. He said that Monica had been "feral" before meeting him, and said that it was what happened to others like Monica when they didn't have a human. That ferals could not think, that they were not all awake, wild. But the more he talked, the surer Monica was that they themselves didn't understand what being feral meant.

If Monica had been feral before meeting Rick, then being feral meant being alone.

Thinking about her life before meeting Rick was about as hard as tracking scents while wearing the smelly clothes on her nose. Monica could only be sure of the stronger impressions, but there was much that was lost to her. And it was very easy to lose the trail and go to places where nothing made sense.

But some things were impossible to miss, impossible to forget.

Because she had the scars to prove them.

The cave. Monica had once been in that cave with someone else. Someone stronger than her. Someone Monica could not win against. Even then, Monica had been alone. The powerful one would not protect her, and Monica had to grow stronger to protect herself. But the stronger she became, the more dangerous things she would find. And one day, there were no more dangerous things in the forest.

The strong one aimed her claws at Monica.

Monica won.

Alone, it was her mountain, hers to hunt, hers to drive intruders away, hers to protect against greedy strong ones. Monica won, always. Alone, she won. She'd won in the cold, in the heat, in the rain. Monica won, alone. And when others tried to hunt Monica, tried to drive her from her mountain, tried to catch her, she would win again.

Always like that, always meeting those who would run, or those who would fight.

And then she found Rick on her mountain.

Weak, hungry, afraid, his pack was dying, all of them weaker still. But there had been so many strange things about him. The smells, the tastes, the chocolate and the frustrating thing protecting it! Monica had kept him close, expecting him to give her chocolate and be done with him once it was over. Yet seeing his gaze had drawn her in...

And now Monica knew that not being alone was very hard.

Harder than being alone.

Even worse.

It was "Complicated".

But Monica made it simple. She kept herself to the shadow, downwind from her prey, slowly approaching her prey. Her ears perked at the sound of conversation, but none of the voices or scents were the ones she sought. One of the green ones walked past her spot, blind, bad hunters, bad prey.

Monica waited, glancing at the shadow of the not-as-small not-as-strong one. Nothing. Her prey was further in. She pulled on the darkness until... there! In the shadow of the human! With no time to hesitate, she pounced. Dirt and grass exploded from under her, and the sound of alarms rung out from all the other ones. Monica ignored them, rushing straight towards the human.

The shadow under the chained man shifted. A figure tried to move away. Monica changed course and lunged, claw sinking into the shadow. Her strike found its mark. Blood spilled from the darkness, and the Sabertooth pulled out the blood-stinker, raising the Fledgling's corpse into the air.

She roared.

The green ones froze.

"Human safe, I kill blood-stinker," Monica declared, dropping the corpse. "You follow me." Her paw pointed forward. "We kill all blood-stinkers. Work together."

They had been the words Dia had taught her, and they worked when the green-ones that followed her rose from the bushes and dry grass. Many more in numbers than this small group. Monica walked away before they could ask dumb questions. The last time she'd stuck around and her answers had made things "complicated".

Not-so-strong ones did not like being told they were helping Monica only to save Rick. Even though it was true.

So Monica left Dia to do the lying and walked away. She felt angry. The cheering of the ones that followed her was making her more irritated. Because Rick was not there. How many more of these "bandit groups" were they meant to "take" before it was enough? Monica had told Dia to be patient, but not like this!

"Chief?"

The voice drew Monica's attention to one of the small green ones. The weaker one put her hand in front of her chest, something Dia had said meant "respect", but Monica could smell more fear and nervousness on the little one than anything else. Though there was excitement and fight-hunger, which were slightly confusing because it was clear she wanted to fight, but did not have any desire to fight Monica. Which was strange. The scent of weak ones who thought they were skilled hunters, yet not.

The little one squirmed under the scrutiny as Monica kept trying to figure out the scents. There was something there similar to what she'd smelt from packs of ferals. It was the "follows", but why follow Monica? Maybe it was the wrong name. So many names to so many things... Her lips pursed slightly, trying to push the thought away. "Speak."

“Chief, we’ve confirmed the ferals they were keeping contained broke out, and they've had to fight them throughout the day.” The small one straightened and closed her eyes, raising her head and exposing her throat.

Monica's ear twitched when she heard Dia approach. "The human is in good health, and this group agreed to join our cause." The not-strong pink-hair annoying-one spoke loudly, because it was important for her that everyone else hear. "We will get rid of the Ghoul and her minions. The tribe will be free of the blood-suckers."

Cheers. Monica snorted loudly, making the small one jump and run away, stopping for only long enough to make the gesture against her chest one last time. The Sabertooth caught the nervousness following Dia. They both knew what was going to be said, and Dia would not answer in the way Monica wanted. Things were complicated. Again.

“Save Rick now?” Monica asked.

“Tomorrow, when the sun rises and the Fledglings are at their weakest,” Dia said. “But before that, there’s another scouting group that we could-”

Monica’s tail lashed. She flashed her fangs in warning, tail lashing against the ground, shoulders tensing to make it clearer she was not in the mood. "No," she declared. Though the half-blind Dia could not see the signs, everything had to be explained to her. "Monica sneak, take Rick. Then fight."

Dia was annoying.

Rick would have noticed the signs. He would've known how to explain things to Dia. Or at least he would've made sure Monica didn't feel this annoyed. He'd know how to make the complicated things easier. She'd made extra sure to teach him how to read the signs, especially the tail lash. They were important things. Not everyone would be as patient as Monica. Reading the signs was crucial.

One day, he'd learn how to use scents.

“We have to be careful.” Dia snapped loudly, stinking of fear. “They’re not ready. We won’t be tonight either, but it’s as far as we can push.”

Dia pointed towards the many weaker-ones that were working with the stronger-ones near the trees of the too-small-forest. They would cut down the trees and then cut them smaller still. Many were working together, chopping the wood into different shapes, and then giving it to the strong ones that had not helped cut the trees. They would put their power into the wood, make it strong.

They would make those funny long pointed weapons and also use it to cover their bodies with the flatter ones. It annoyed Monica that she had to rely on these weaker ones to fight. They didn't even have claws! They couldn't fight on their own. They couldn't even hunt! They couldn't even make themselves tougher or stronger or sharper like Monica.

Looking at their work was boring and frustrating. It reminded Monica of those who'd tried to hunt her, and how easily she'd kill them.

But waiting around and napping as they cut down more trees and made more pointy sticks and more protection was still better than killing smelly-blood ones.

It had been so annoying.

Dia asking Monica to fight the strong ones, beat them, call herself “chief”, and then hunt the blood-stinky ones. They were all over, always hiding in the shadows and threatening the humans of the strong ones. Dia said it was how the bad-ones were “keeping control”. But hunting them was annoying.

But Dia insisted that if they got away, it would be dangerous for Rick.

“Tonight. Fight!”

Monica proclaimed, raising her claw over her head, roaring for everyone to hear.

They immediately stopped their work and raised their fists, cheering loudly, stomping loudly. It was a strange roar, a together roar, like the howl of the packs, but different. This was not a pack. It smelled a bit like a pack, but they were not a pack. They followed Monica, and because they followed Monica, they worked as a pack.

"Complicated", but not in a bad way. Not completely.

"What are you doing!?" Dia hissed, angry.

Good. She was too afraid too much time. She would be a bad hunter, miss the prey, afraid to get hurt.

"No more wait." That was all the explanation needed.

She could save Rick, she could protect him. Fighting the others was less important.

Something caught Monica's attention. One of the small green ones was walking with...

"Bowl?"

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“This is a helmet, Chief!” The small one said, turning it over and putting the curved wood on her head. “It protects.”

Monica considered the little not-bowl on the weak short-green-maiden, poking at it with her claw. It was sturdier than normal wood, hard to scratch. So it was one of the stronger woods? Useful for someone with a soft head and that couldn't make themselves harder.

Or someone who wasn't being attacked by Monica's sharp claws.

“It’s rushed, I know.” The weak-one winced, nervous. “It will stop being as hard in two days, but it’s only for tonight, so…” Removing the helmet, she offered it up to Monica. “Sorry if it’s not good enough. The Lord never let us make anything with wood...”

What was she supposed to do? Monica remembered when she’d shown off to Rick that she was the best hunter, when she brought him some birds that he made tasty with fire. What had he said? That had made her feel full of pride and accomplishment...?

“Good girl.” She patted the small one’s head.

She took the helmet and put it on her head. It was small, and it bothered her ears, but it was easy to adjust. The small one smiled wide, scent full of happiness, green-pointy-ears wobbling. The little one ran off quickly, going back to the not-bowls and working harder, pointing at Monica while muttering to the others.

Monica regarded the enthusiasm and nodded.

Being a chief wasn’t all bad.

But the moment was interrupted. Someone was rushing to Monica. A sound that would be followed by annoyance, no doubt. "Chief!" They spoke with fear. “Some maidens have run off!”

Monica sighed and nodded. Another annoying hunt. Dia was gone somewhere too, had left to do something with the tiniest, weakest ones. Which was even more annoying because when Monica came back from the hunt, she’d tell Monica to tell her next time she left on a hunt.

But she was not Rick, and Monica did not care if Dia was angry or worried.

So Monica left to not-hunt.

Finding the trail was easy. There was much fear in it, and weakness, and a human was with them, even more scared than the others. It was... boring. Monica's lips pursed at the thought of having to bother to track them down. There were other things she could be doing, like sleeping, or eating, or ignoring Dia.

They weren’t very far, not for Monica when she was in a hurry.

All weak ones, and they had taken one of the weak humans with them. They were crouched in the tall dry grass, trying to sneak, to avoid being spotted from far away. But they did not hide their scent, and they were too loud. At least they were using dark-sky to sneak better. But they were very bad at sneaking, anyway.

“We’re going to die.”

“And if we stay, we die too! If we tell the blood-suckers, at least we’ll be spared.”

Monica moved to flank them, ready for killing. Killing was always easier, less complicated, less annoying. But it was complicated now. Her head turned to where she knew Rick was. It wasn’t too far; the wind was blowing in that direction too. Were there any good hunters in that bad place? There might be. They would smell death.

No killing, then.

Like hunting a big strong one while ignoring the small weak ones because killing the weak ones would alert the big strong one. Monica was not happy, but Rick was more important. She made sure she was between the not-dead-yet weak ones and the bad place, down-wind from the prey, before revealing herself to them. With a little growl, she stopped sneaking, standing tall over the tall grass and looking down at them.

“Go back.”

Monica would have at least broken one of their arms, but then Dia would have been very annoying about it.

“Spare us!” they spoke weakly, like little cubs that got hurt with little things.

“Go back.” Monica hated repeating herself. Why did they not listen? They knew words. Why couldn't they just understand? She pointed to the others. “Or Monica angry.”

They ran. Scared and weak. Prey. Monica wanted to chase them, hunt them properly. Kill them if only to relieve some of her annoyance and make things easier. She stayed there, though. Her eyes staring toward the bad ones. Rick wasn't too far away. It wouldn't take her long at all to reach him. Days of scouting and understanding and asking and things being complicated.

The only reason Monica had put up with it was because she could feel him, feel his confidence. Not today.

Something was... wrong. Was it from Rick or herself? Monica crouched and carefully looked around. The smells and sounds had nothing wrong. Was there a strong one trying to hunt her?

The wind shifted, and she caught something in it.

Death. Not fresh death. Old death. The stench of corpses that had been buried long ago. Old corpses with dusty paper and soaps.

Monica's hackles rose. This was dangerous, too dangerous, even for Rick. She did not have time to wait. She ran. Monica didn't bother to hide or sneak or slow. Every ounce of power was pushed to reach the others as soon as possible, overtaking even the ones that had run away.

“Dia!” she roared, yanking the cloth not-cave out and tearing it away. “Attack. NOW!”

The weak-pink-haired-one startled. “Bu-!”

“Rick in danger!”

At least in this, Dia was not slow. The fear made her fast. “Mobilize everyone!” She shouted, stomping out of the cloth-house and glaring at all around. “We attack now! We have only one opportunity!”

Monica roared. She wanted to run, right now, to not delay a single second.

“Monica,” Dia said. “We need you to hunt the watchers, help the… others sneak close, as close as they can.” She grabbed Monica’s hands, leaning closer, meeting her eyes meaningfully. “And you must kill the dangerous ones before they hurt Rick. Do you remember what we talked about?”

“No trust Kiara.” Monica nodded. “No trust Eva.”

“Kiara will try to trick you.” Dia nodded. “You must get to Rick and bring him back… and don’t forget the wrist cloth!” She pointed at the piece of white thing on her wrist. “Friends have this.”

“Monica knows,” she said. There was a tightness in her chest that told her she had to hurry. That she could not wait any longer.

So she didn't. She ran.

The others would have to go at their own pace, because she would not slow down. Monica ran across the dry grass, barely bothering to stay low enough to not let others see her as easily. But she pulled at the shadows hard, hard enough to make herself hard to see to anyone who couldn't look into shadows like her.

The tightness inside her chest only got worse, and she pushed harder. There were some blood-stinkers, some green-skins big and small, and some others. The first she found, she grabbed by the head and smashed against the second. A third she clawed her throat out. The tall green ones were harder to kill, their skin was tougher than the blood-stinkers so she didn't even bother to attack them. There was no time. She knew it, she had to push.

Monica didn’t like it.

Where were the strong ones? Why were so few “looks outs” there?

The smell of death was getting stronger. Of hunger. Monica knew the smell, it was the same as the one from the annoying big-big-big village. The same smell of the blood-eater. The smell of the one Kiara had killed. Monica didn't like the stench. She liked it even less because it was mixed with Rick's scent. They were close; he was close to it, in danger.

And then she caught the one scent that made her blood run cold.

Rick's blood.

Monica's heart hammered against her chest. Fear gripped her. She stopped killing, stopped sneaking, stopped going slowly. The maiden ran fast and ran hard. Others saw her, others raised shouts and tried to stop her. The shadows swallowed her whole. As fast as she could, the Sabertooth jumped through the darkness. The shadows were without air. Her lungs burned. She pushed to make the jumps as long as she could, only coming out for precious seconds.

“Stop her!”

The blood-stinkers tried to intercept her in the shadows.

They did not survive the attempt.

Theirs was the blood that stained the ground as she pushed forward, pushed harder. She could feel him. He was hurting. He was dying!

He was too far away!

Something in the shadows shifted, and it felt dangerous for her to dive back in. Monica changed approaches, pushing through the trees, breaking them, ripping them. Splinters, screams, blood. They were trying to slow her down and she would not. Weaklings died and injuries came to her as she moved. Too light to be worth worrying over. There was just one thing Monica was focused on, and she was pushing everything she had.

“CHARGE!”

Dia screamed from way behind, too far behind, too far away to help. Only Monica could get to Rick fast enough. She gripped the warmth inside her chest and refused to let go. The tightness cut the air out of her, cut her breathing, pain that wasn't her own, weakness that wasn't hers, faltering breaths and dizzying thoughts.

A figure moved to stand in Monica’s way.

“You will not-”

The weak-one had thought she could stop Monica, slow her down.

Her throat was ripped out by Monica's claws. The Sabertooth gone before the body hit the ground.

Then, she heard it.

Rick roared.

The sound reached her, loud, powerful, beautiful. Monica would've stopped if not for the fear that clenched her heart. It was the worst-best sound. The strongest thing he had ever done, a roar stronger than any she'd heard save her own. A roar to be proud of.

But it was also a saddening roar. A roar of finality.

The last roar.

Monica grabbed everything she had, everything she could grasp, anything at all. She grabbed and grabbed and pulled and pulled. As she yanked at them, the shadows screamed and tore. The light flickered and died. Her body was burning from within. The blood-stinkers shrieked in agony and collapsed. And Monica let it all out in a roar of her own.

Everything around her shattered.

The annoying not-forest was gone. The weak ones were scattered or torn apart.

And there, just at the other side of the not-village, was Rick.

Others stood in her way.

Monica charged.

Shadows, light, sprint, leap, roll, shadows. Monica ran fast, the air screamed in her ears, her legs burned, her claws ached, her lungs would shatter. There were shouts and screams and blood. And the strong old death trying to get to her. She was slow, clunky, dull, and dumb. No one was as fast as Monica, no one would get in her way.

Rick saw her, his eyes dim, his breath slow. He let out a soft gasp and fell.

But she got to him first.

He was still alive. Bloodied, bleeding, dying.

Monica’s heart beat against her chest so hard she could barely even hear Rick’s own. His breathing was shallow and irregular, there was so much blood. And mixed with it, Eva. Eva had done this. Monica’s ears were ringing, anger, fear, anger, fear, anger. The weak one wasn’t too far away. She could smell it. The others were close. Monica would kill.

She would kill them all.

“Hey.”

Rick had whispered, but it had been louder than everything else. He was hurt. She couldn’t help him, but she had to keep him safe.

She had to take him to Dia.

“Rick safe.”

Monica gave him the not-bowl of head protection.

"What took you so long?" His voice was burbly. There was something wrong in his lungs.

"Monica chief now."

"What?"

"No talk." She silenced him. He needed to preserve his strength. He needed Dia to fix him.

But Monica couldn't ignore her surroundings anymore. There were strong ones, dangerous. At least enough for her to merit paying attention to them. Monica took their faces in, their scents, the sound of their breathing, of their heartbeats. She would not forget them. She would not forgive them.

The old-old-smelly-blood-death one took the glare as a challenge.

“It seems we have gue-”

Monica kicked the ground as hard as she could, sending rocks and dirt and dust at them all. She added a fake-charging-roar for good measure. The weaker ones shrieked and panicked, the strong ones thought Monica would fight and prepared themselves.

“Do you really think-?”

Monica ignored the old-smelly-blood one and ran. She needed the strange glowing powers of Dia to save Rick. But she couldn't push too hard, not with Rick in her arms. He could get hurt. All around Monica, many fights broke out. The weak ones that followed her were attacking the other ones.

Monica ignored them.

Deep inside Monica, the fear bit at her, stung like a fresh wound that only grew deeper with every breath.

The fear of being alone again.

So she ran as fast as she dared, looking for Dia, following the scents and sounds and voices. It would be near the entrance that she'd find the annoying pink-one. It would be there that she'd jump at Rick and put him to sleep.

And Monica stood guard over them.

But soon, she would hunt.