Installment 010 [https://squirrel.dogphilosophy.net/Installment010.png]
You don't share food with victims. You share food with clanmates.
The very concept of being a gnoll without a clan had never previously even occurred to it. The notion was absurd, and the reality when it had actually happened had been horrible - like waking up to discover your head was missing, and you somehow continued to exist while a crucial, fundamental part of yourself was gone forever.
And now the prey-people were chastising and feeding it as though it was part of their clan.
----------------------------------------
"Oo! Me next! I want to give it a treat too!" said an eager Bob.
"Bob, it's not a puppy," Malagriel told him.
"It's kind of cute, though, right?"
"No."
"Aw, come on, it's like a bulldog, it's ugly but in a cute kind of way."
"No," repeated Malagriel.
"No," agreed Grakthor.
"...perhaps," Melissa finally added skeptically. "We should probably also give our experimental subject..."
"Prisoner," corrected Malagriel.
"...some water as well, Bob," Melissa finished, ignoring this. "You may need to put it in a bowl."
Bob eagerly retrieved a canteen of water and a wooden bowl from his pack. He held the bowl of water out in front of him as he cheerfully approached.
"Who's a cute bestial thing?" he crooned. "Who's a good gnoll?"
"Bob, I know you're doing that on purpose," Malagriel called out.
Bob chuckled. "It's the novelty. You have to admit this is an experience probably nobody else has ever had, right? You've got to have fun with it."
He gave the gnoll a broad smile and held the bowl out. "I brought you some water. Uh...here, let me pour some out for you." He tilted the bowl, splashing water across the gnoll's nose. It looked blankly back at him, licking the dripping water from its muzzle.
Bob laughed. "Well, that doesn't work, here maybe if I do it like this..." He knelt down and held the bowl forward at the gnoll's mouth level. Hesitantly, it leaned forward and lapped at the water for a while.
When it stopped, Bob put the bowl on the ground. "If you want more, just ask," he told the gnoll.
----------------------------------------
The prospect of the violence it had been expecting had never materialized, instead being replaced by the uncomfortably alien social situation. The gnoll tried to work out what was happening.
Clearly, the big one who had tied it up was the matriarch of this clan, because the biggest one was always the dominant female.
The one with the good armor and the sword that had given it food could be a less dominant female or dominant male. That one had an air of confidence to it and the matriarch hadn't shown any inclination to perform any dominance-reassertion towards them, so probably the dominant male of the group, it decided.
The one that had just given it water was a puzzle. It had bared its teeth in challenge and then mockingly poured the water on its face in dominance, but then immediately had submissively knelt and offered the water, though at no time did its confidence seem to waver. It seemed to be well-fed, so it had to be reasonably dominant but hadn't visibly done any of the little things to maintain dominance over the others. Now it sat there right in front of the gnoll, relaxed and fearless. The uncertainty of what was happening was making the gnoll uncomfortable.
And then there was the little, weak-looking one. The one with the unspoiled body-covering and the ostentatious face-trophy that no weak clan-member would be able to keep from the others. This one scared the gnoll - it was clearly this clan's shaman. A clan that had a shaman was to be feared and respected. A shaman's command of incomprehensible supernatural forces meant it could do unthinkable, terrible things. The gnoll remembered how it had been sapped of all vitality and consciousness with a casual wave of of the shaman's hand. And since it had awakened, unexpectedly - they could have easily killed and eaten me then! - the shaman had kept watching...
The gnoll flinched as the shaman gestured at it, and spoke.
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
----------------------------------------
"Yes, yes, wonderful! I believe I've seen enough - no, Grakthor, I am not suggesting that we kill it yet." She gestured towards the bound gnoll. "Bob, I think you can untie its hands now."
"DO NOT!" Malagriel shouted, stomping angrily towards Melissa, "This has gone far enough. Are you possessed? Do you understand what this thing is?!"
Melissa stood and looked defiantly up at the taller woman. "No, not fully! But clearly, neither do you! Haven't you been paying attention to what's been happening here? Don't you realize what we've discovered?"
"You said it yourself! 'A creature of inherent demonic violence'!"
"That's what the literature says, but the literature is clearly incomplete!"
"THIS CREATURE IS A MURDERER!"
"THIS CREATURE has not threatened us once since it woke up! A moment ago it had a perfect opportunity to bite Bob's hand off!"
"THAT'S BECAUSE IT KNOWS WE CAN KILL IT AT ANY..."
"Stop it, you're scaring it!"
Bob's shout interrupted their loud argument and they turned to see the gnoll watching them in wide-eyed terror. It flopped backward as best it could to get away from them with its arms and legs tied up. It uttered desperate high-pitched whines.
Grakthor stepped up behind it and its clumsy retreat was stopped as it bumped into Grakthor's legs. It looked up and yelped.
Malagriel was stunned to feel a pang of pity for the ... poor thing.
"Shutup." said Grakthor to the whining gnoll as he leaned down to casually punch it in the head.
It grunted once. Then to everyone's surprise, it seemed to relax. It sat up, no longer struggling, though it continued warily watching Melissa and Malagriel.
Grakthor frowned and looked at his fist. "I don't get it. Didn't hit it that hard."
"We weren't even yelling at it. I don't understand. What is going through that thing's mind?" Malagriel wondered aloud.
"You see? Now you're wondering too!" Melissa answered triumphantly.
----------------------------------------
Oh no oh no NO NO NO the armored one was starting a dominance dispute with the shaman you never got the shaman involved in a dominance dispute BAD BAD THINGS happened if the shaman got involved in a dominance dispute and not just to the ones involved must get away must get away...
Something stopped the gnoll's retreat. It looked up to see that it now had the full attention of this clan's matriarch. Could things possibly go any more wrong?
It yelped a hasty apology to the matriarch, who growled back and delivered chastisement.
Finally - a normal, understandable interaction was happening. It was somewhat reassuring. It hadn't understood the speech but the message of "be still" was clearly received. The gnoll grunted acceptance and sat up. The dominance dispute had been suddenly abandoned, which was very strange but welcome. The armored one must be quite sure of...his?... status, or was insane, or both. The dispute might restart, but it seemed the matriarch had things under control for now.
----------------------------------------
They all stood around the gnoll.
Malagriel took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then let it out in a long, slow sigh of resignation. She gave Bob a half-hearted glare. "This is your fault, you know." She looked back at the gnoll. "I can't kill it now."
"I can," said Grakthor.
"But you shouldn't," Malagriel said firmly. She turned to Melissa. "All right, what exactly did you want us to do with it."
Melissa inspected the gnoll. "I want to find out from it as much as I can about its kind. First, it..." she paused and looked down, adjusting her spectacles for a brief, clinical, visual examination. "...HE will need some sort of clothing. I saw some of its former clanmates wearing bits of things, I imagine we can at least piece together some sort of loincloth."
"Why?" asked Grakthor.
"Because we can't have him parading around in public naked, be reasonable." Melissa answered.
Bob grinned. "Are you thinking what I think you're thinking?"
"Possibly. After all, it's not exactly uncommon for a successful group of adventurers to befriend or tame some exotic creature and keep it around as a sort of pet or mascot."
"No," said Grakthor.
"Is that even possible with this... this...," Malagriel began. Thing or creature no longer seemed appropriate.
"No," repeated Grakthor.
"Oh! We'll need to give...him a name!" Bob said eagerly.
"No!"
"We have to, Grakthor, there's no way I can go around calling him uuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhWHEE!" Bob said, in a very bad imitation of the gnoll's earlier identity-call. The gnoll gave Bob a quizzical look, head cocked to the side like a confused dog, then grunted once.
"Gruntle!" Bob decided.
"Melissa, I hold you responsible for preventing...him...," Malagriel rolled her eyes at Bob, "Gruntle from doing harm to us or any innocents or their property. Are you confident you can handle this?"
"No," Grakthor answered.
"Yes," Melissa corrected, "I believe so. You've all seen how he's behaving. He's been interacting with us on a social level at this point. I will stake my scholarly reputation that he accepts our dominant position at this time. Look at him, he's practically asking to be our mascot!"
"NO MASCOT!" Grakthor shouted, backing away.
"I feel your reluctance, Grakthor, but you're outvoted. You can still kill him if he tries to harm anyone," Malagriel replied to him with sympathy.
"Bob, untie his hands and see what he does," Melissa said.
"DO! NOT! WANT!" shouted Grakthor...
----------------------------------------
...3 months later...
"Get the stick! Get the stick!"
Grakthor held a long tree branch over Gruntle's head - with some effort. Gruntle had grown quickly and was as tall as Grakthor now and would probably soon be taller. Grakthor flicked the branch to the left.
"Come on - get the stick!" he twitched the branch, teasing, then whipped it down to Gruntle's side.
"Get the stick!"
As he tried to move it again, Gruntle lunged forward, clamping his jaws on it.
"Gottastick," he growled around the mouthful of wood.
Grakthor laughed. "Might be a good move in a real fight, but we're supposed to be practicing with that." He pointed to the crude club Gruntle held in his right hand.
"Gottastick," repeated Gruntle. Jaw muscles clenched and the branch splintered and broke off on either side of his mouth. He spat out the rest.
Grakthor shook his head, amused. "Okay, we'll just spar. Pick up your shield..."