Teng had left the village a boy and would return a man.

He held the black wolf's hacked-off head with his left hand, pinched between his thumb and the remaining two fingers. It's one amber eye, black circled in gold, glared straight ahead, frozen in time, and the second one was a ruptured mess. The head dripped blood as Teng stepped into the village proper, leaving a gory trail behind. The giant heart of the black wolf, dark red and veined black, he clenched in his undamaged hand.

Wood smoke and the familiar smell of home wrapped around him like a cloak as he walked through the village. People gasped and covered their mouths as they saw him, others stared blankly, shaking their heads. Teng suspected he must look like the dark one himself, naked, painted red from bodily fluids, both his own and that of beasts. Everything burned and ached as if bitten by a swarm of wasps. He wished he could see his reflection in a pond or even bathe before fulfilling his journey to manhood, but Teng doubted he could get up from the soothing water once he had stepped within.

Soon, a crowd formed in the middle of the village. Teng felt eyes upon him and heard yells but was too tired to talk or call out. Grandpa Dang, like a pillar before the ancient bone monument they revered as the symbol of the spirits – the sleeping guardian – stood waiting for him. Teng thought he saw a slight tremor in the staff as the man's gaze fell upon him and what he had brought, though that might have been his imagination playing tricks on him.

"The spirits ordain, man, follow." the old man proclaimed, silencing the crowd. "Tell the spirits, boy, what do you bring before them? What is your offering?

Teng looked at the wolf's head and then at the elder. He had never spoken directly to Grandpa Dang, the unanimous leader of the village. I should be nervous, but I'm not? Is this what it means to become a man?

"I offer a wolf." the boy said loudly, looking around at the crowd before staring at the sleeping guardian beyond the elder and raising his hands. "This is the heart and head of the leader of its pack. A black wolf, far bigger and stronger than its brethren. It took two of my fingers and more."

“A black wolf, you say? Alone?” Grandpa Deng frowned at the boy.

“It hunted me," Teng explained, feeling irritation and an anger he often never felt. “It became the hunted. As did the pack. Their bodies lie scattered in the valley. Them too, I offer to the spirits. I swear this upon the spirits."

Teng bowed his head and waited for Grandpa Dang to speak again. The old man was silent for a long moment. Then, the boy heard the thud of a staff hitting the earth.

"Teng, son of Hunter Tang and Auntie Siora, the spirits recognize your worth. Bow nine times to the spirits."

The young man, once a boy but no more, bowed nine times as instructed.

“Now, eat the heart. Do not spill or drop anything; eat the whole heart."

Teng, now a young man, hesitated for a moment, looking at the size of the heart. It was twice the size of a human fist. Nevertheless, he began to eat it, feeling essence surge and enter his body. He relaxed as it entered, trying to guide it into his belly, where he knew essence was stored. He wouldn't have been able to do this before. Once done, he bowed another nine times, though some of him wanted to puke as he did from feeling so full.

"From here on forth," the elder said, his staff thudding nine times in succession. "You will be recognized as a man and be treated as such."

As the journey of manhood was completed, the crowd cheered and embraced him, though quickly broke away once his state was made apparent. All the blood covering him had hidden the many injuries. Teng heard his father and another uncle shout and stopped everyone. They made a path and carried him, for he had no strength left to move to the creek not far from the village. Everything was a haze, hands moving over his body, cool water splashing over hot skin, mirages of pain amidst colors and sounds he could not place, like a fever dream where nothing and yet everything made sense.

Sometime later, he awoke, within furs, in a hut empty of people. His body was wrapped in big green leaves tied in place by soft strips of tendons. He tried to move but could only wriggle his toes as if he was bound in place, which he likely was. It was dark outside, though he could see little beyond the flap of skin covering the entrance to the hut.

Someone was sitting beside him, a slight figure that seemed smaller than what it was. Its green eyes glinted like budding flowers after the cold season. The figure put a hand over his brow, whispered something he could not make out, and then sat back.

Teng drifted. He saw lights and stars, snarling wolves in the faces of men, rivers of blood falling from the sky, and a blue bird chirping as it flew together with many more of its kind. Then, the scene dissolved, and he was back in the hut.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“You are awake.” The same woman sat beside him. There was concern in her eyes, but more than that. Yes, something else, but he was too tired to figure it out.

"Mother?" he croaked, blanketed in warm furs.

She shushed him softly. Placing a hand upon his brow, she nodded and smiled. "Don't speak, my dear boy. Don't speak. Rest. Just rest.”

He drifted again and saw the birds – like water droplets in the sky. The flock stirred, then flew onward. A single bird remained, wings flapping so fast they seemed to not move at all. A man came into view, powerfully built and scarred, with hair like the golden of honey. The man seemed to float in the sky, carrying a straight, white weapon of bone etched in straight-lined symbols.

The bird chirped, but it was more than a chirp. It was a whistle so loud it made the man cover his eyes and snarl. The man flew forward without wings, his sword aiming for the bird. But the bird was so fast it blurred and seemed more than one. The man snarled again. Something hit him, a thin line of blood appearing across his chest. The man and the bird blurred as they danced among the clouds. Then, suddenly, the bird fell slightly, a stain of red wetting its tiny body. The man smiled, then groaned. Teng didn't see what happened, but the man was suddenly flung to the ground so fast, and with such force, he made a hole in the earth below. The bird faltered again, then flew away, becoming a flash in the sky.

Teng woke again. His mother was gone. Instead, his father was there.

“How do you feel?” Hunter Tang asked.

The young man winced, blinked, then coughed. "I'm alive."

His father, Hunter Tang, snorted lightly and then sighed. "You killed a wolf. Good, good."

There came another bout of silence. Hunter Tang coughed and looked away. "It is hard for me, you know. I don't know how—" the man stopped, shifted, and then continued. "When a boy journeys to become a man, the offering decides his path. Why do you think we never allow the young to eat hearts?"

Teng shrugged. He had never thought about this. It was the way of things.

"The heart is where the soul of the beast is contained." Hunter Tang shifted again and cracked his fingers. "The first heart you eat changes you; it merges man and beast in a way only the spirits know. When I was a boy and did my journey. I stumbled upon a large cobra and was able to kill it. I didn't know then that cobras do not care for their young. They hatch their eggs and then leave. Do you know why I'm telling you this?"

Again, Teng shrugged.

"I'm not a good father." Hunter Tang didn't look at him when he spoke, his jaw clenched. "I know this. Every time I think of wanting to be that, to be the father you deserve, instincts tell me to do otherwise. I haven't been able to tell you until now because it's forbidden to speak of these things before a boy has become a man, but I'm happy you killed a wolf, for you will never suffer the same fate as me."

His father rose, but Teng grabbed his hand. For so long, he had wanted to understand why his father treated him like he didn't care, why he hated his son. Still, it didn’t change anything.

"I understand, but I can't forgive you."

"I know."

His father went to exit the hut, but before he did, he turned and spoke. “You killed a predator and ate its heart. Only those who kill a predator, be it small or big, fierce or timid, have the right and duty to train and become hunters. I’m… proud of you.”

Then the man left, and Teng relaxed back into the furs. So much made sense to him now. A tugging feeling in his mind told him he was a liar then. The first heart he ate was not that of the wolf or the first wolf he had killed but that of the blue bird. Was the blue bird a predator? Teng doubted this and could not stop feeling like an impostor.

The flap to the hut opened again. A giant figure stepped through; Teng tried to sit up but couldn't.

“Hello, Teng.” Jirki lumbered over and sat down beside him. “How are you feeling?”

Teng smiled sadly. "I can't move, but I’m alive. When did you come back?”

"Today," Jirki said. "Most of the others, too."

“Most?”

Jirki nodded, taking some wood from the pile near Teng and placing it in the fireplace, where dying embers struggled to glow. It crackled and sputtered.

The big boy– no, young man– sighed and looked away. "The pack of wolves you killed– something I still can't understand– attacked some of us. I climbed a tree when I heard the howl, but some didn't make it that far."

"Who didn't make it?” Teng asked, feeling fear overcome him.

Jirki remained silent, and Teng tried to rise but failed, his voice louder. "Who didn't make it, Jirki?"

“His… His body was found in the morning. What was left of it.”

“No…” Teng rasped. The world seemed colder even as the fire grew ever warmer.

"Another boy sat in a tree not far from where he was attacked. He told of how he fought fearlessly but was eventually brought down. It ended quickly, though, if that's a mercy."

“Nooo…” The young man wrapped in fur felt a hollowness in his stomach, but he had no tears to cry; his tears were spent, his body too fatigued. "I should have been there… I could have done something…"

“And shame him? Shame yourself?” Jirki's clenched fists brought Teng's gaze up to his eyes. There was anger, regret, and sadness there. "He would have hated you forever, and you would both have been cast out. Kai would not have wanted that. The boy said Kai had his chance to escape into the trees but chose to fight. Arrogance killed him, not the wolves."

“What did you offer? To the spirits?” Teng asked.

He didn't want to speak about Kai anymore; he couldn't. Teng had never gotten the chance to reconcile with him and would never be able to spar or laugh with the confident, funny boy, who, beneath it all, never forgot to think about those around him. Kai took risks to get them into training with Bai even when he didn't have to, even when it increased the chances of being discovered by the grandpas and aunties.

“A jaguar. It got me here.” Jirki pointed at his shoulder, wrapped in green leaves and sinew. "We will be hunters, you and I. Rest up.”

As Jirki left, Teng exhaled and stared blankly at the fire, wanting to disappear beneath the blankets of furs and never wake up again. Was it his fault? Had the wolves gone out to hunt the other boys after he'd hidden in the trees? Were Kai's actions a result of his brothers' injury? If Teng had never wounded Bai, would Kai have seen sense and instead retreated? If Teng had stood his ground against the wolves, would his friend still be alive?

Teng did not have any dreams that night; everything was dark and cold.