Taking the two carcasses back to the den was difficult, especially as we began and tried to drag the one with the neck and legs still attached. Before long, however, we simply decided to rip off the legs and neck, which made the going much smoother. We learned pretty quickly that turning the body so that the feathers would go smoothly over the ground helped the body to move almost as if it was on a sled, much easier than before. Still, we were hauling hundreds of pounds of terrorbird carcass through the thick jungle, and the journey was unpleasant and tough, to say the least.

The streaks of blood from our prey lined the path to the den, carpeting the path of the victors. The conquerors. And I would continue to leave a bloody path until I was killed. That was, after all, the way of the keelish, the way of the khatif, and the way of the Keel. The way that came ever more naturally to me… the path that I was forgetting why I hesitated to follow.

As we approached the den, I promised to myself that I would think about this once I returned to my quarters to rest. While we tried to get the massive bodies into the den, I came to the realization that there was absolutely no chance we would be able to take the terrorbirds’ corpses down whole. With a sigh, I began to ready myself to try to butcher the bodies with my claws into more manageable chunks. They were made for cutting and for violence, but for detached, calm dismemberment, my claws were simply too small.

I sighed and began to slowly cut through the joints of the meat, separating the breasts, thighs, and wings. It was annoying, with coagulating blood and warm flesh sticking to every part of me and dulling my every attempt at slicing through the bodies. Finally, after my frustrating work was done, we were able to begin hauling the terrorbird carcasses down to our den. With my abysmal attempt at butchery, the cuts dragged through the dirt until, at last, we arrived at our final destination.

As we brought more and more of the terrorbirds’ corpses into the den, the mound grew until there was a bloody mountain in the center of our space. Sybil stepped close to me as the train of keelish heaved the last of the meat into the pile–the separated neck. The terrorbird’s head flopped to the ground, its beak thunking with finality against the packed dirt.

Before me spread my pack, my followers. They looked up at me, obviously in awe of our feat. I let the glory of the moment settle over me and I embraced the feeling of superiority. In the hopes of getting the rest of the pack to Speak the Third of the Words of Power, I spoke up.

“We are not prey! We are not below those mere beasts! We are the blade that rips and the shadow that chills! We are keelish!”

My thundering voice, drawing subconsciously on my sonilphon, hadn’t yet begun to fade from the air when my pack began to shout in response.

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“VICTORY! VICTORY BY FANG AND BLOOD!”

I could tell that this time, only those on the hunt with me had been able to Speak the Words. Regardless, I could enjoy the fact that my actions had led the rest of the brood to even more look up to me, to revere me, to worship–the thought shook me from my self-aggrandizement. As the cheers and excitement died down, all my subordinates looked to me in askance. I bent down, lifted a thigh for myself, and beckoned for the rest to approach. Immediately, the mountain of meat was swarmed by hungry mouths, but I glanced back as I retreated to my quarters and noticed that no longer was my brood ravening beasts.

Still, the keelish had a hierarchy, with Took, Foire, Brutus, Vefir, and Sybil taking their first picks, but there was a respect, and understanding, a certain… humanity, in the brood’s approach. The superiors were allowed, without any interference, to retrieve their meals before the rest. Then, their immediate subordinates, with the least productive and weakest left to approach for their meals last. All were allowed to eat their fill, and none were kept from consuming a fair share. None took more than they needed or hoarded or prevented another from feeding. I couldn’t say if there were any other broods in the world that had become a people like this instead of the more bestial creatures we had been before, but I felt a sparking of pride at the realization.

Within my quarters, I settled myself to eat my fill and allowed my mind to clear. I had multiple things that fought to occupy my full attention, but I forced myself to think of nothing, instead thinking only of the pleasant feeling of a full stomach. Then, picking my teeth clean, the gobbets of flesh and gristle stubborn but being wrested free by my claws and constant picking. Then, bathing myself, the smooth sand scrubbing all the filth of battle and butchery from my arms, then head, neck, legs, body, and tail.

At last, I allowed myself to think. I had not allowed myself to slow down and think for my whole new life, and I needed to permit myself that much. My “human” side had been firmly, consistently, and quietly arguing against my new mentality, the feeling that I’d “lost” my personhood, that I was reverting to a beast. Before, I’d simply told myself that it was acceptable if I lost my humanity in my pursuit of greater power. If I needed to lose myself to overcome my weakness, then it would be so. But now, I was able to face myself, to force my “humanity” to truly look at me.

To be a keelish was not to lose Ashlani. To be a keelish was not to lose the ability to think, or reason, or feel. To be a keelish was to embrace the violence and struggle inherent in nature. The Viertaali tribe could afford to try to shove off their baser instincts, to pretend temperance and understanding. A keelish could not, and I suspected that a Keel would scoff at the attempt. What was a person if they didn’t feel rage at betrayal, glory at victory, thrill at the hunt? In trying to become more than animals and tamping down their instincts, humans lost their personhood. On the contrary, in indulging, understanding, tempering, and fueling passion, the keelish, me and my pack, were finding our own passion, our own personhood.

With my final internal declaration, my realization of what I considered to be a person, my internal cries to slow myself, to consider “what ifs”, to lament my state as a keelish… died out. Perhaps those thoughts had been born from my own doubts, but now–

I doubted no longer.