It smelt of sulfur. The Great Maw’Goro loomed ahead, bellowing dark smoke. The journeyers marched across the lava rock barefoot, so that they felt the spirit’s fiery power beneath them as they walked.

Maw’Goro’s yard was like a frozen ocean, with crests and troughs and coiling waves, made from hardened magma.

Faydayo led the group through the canal cutting deeper into the lava yard. He was the tallest and strongest amongst the group, which no doubt played a part in his advancement to chieftain’s heir, but he was also the most ambitious. He kept his hair short and his eyes were always narrowed in suspicion. This would be his first excursion as the mo’huran leader, and he walked with determination.

Behind him came Krissa, the shaman-to-be, and the second highest status in the party. The shaman was traditionally outranked in status only by the chieftain, but Faydayo would have kept Krissa next to him regardless of tradition. Her eyes were wide and bright brown. She wore her hair in a tangle of braids.

And after Krissa came Minty, the healer’s apprentice. Her hair was kept in tight buns, like the nubby horns of a baby goat. She had only been placed in third as a matter of custom since healers were also of top ranking status, but she and Faydayo interacted very little. Faydayo’s domineering personality kept Minty’s mousy self shied away.

Next in the march came Zana, tattooed with leopard spots on her arms. She had taken the place as the lead hunter’s pupil after Faydayo became chieftain’s heir. And after her came Pykor, also a hunter, and an exceptional piper. They had both trained for years alongside Faydayo as fellow hunters, and were fiercely loyal to their buddy.

Then came Kardan, Lion’s formal apprentice. He was more lean than the other boys, but no less toned. And he had tawny brown hair that almost looked golden when it was caught in the light. Kardan and Faydayo had disliked each other since they were boys, which had only hardened as they turned to young men. More than once a competitive hoopball game became a childish brawl. If Faydayo could have put Kardan further back he would have; except the rear and the lowest status was reserved for Yuliko.

She regretted all the circumstances that had led her to the lowest rank, but for the moment she was glad to be as far back from Faydayo as possible, for the shaman’s act of handprinting Yuliko with red ocher instead of the black charcoal had visibly irked him. For some unknown reason, Eshika had chosen to mark Yuliko with the same color as the leader. They were supposed to walk in silence as they departed from the nomination ceremony, but even Yuliko in the back heard Faydayo asking Krissa what that had been about.

But Krissa only shrugged. “I see nothing special about her,” she had replied.

There were obsidian cores all over the lava yard, but they were venturing close to the heart of the volcano, where the black glass was most imbued with Maw’Goro’s power. They needed strong cores to fashion their ritual blades. The knives made from these cores would be used as a part of the Pledge Rite, where they make their promise to Maw’Goro to return with a bountiful tribute or not return at all.

As they hiked through the rocky trench, an ibex leaped down into the canal in front of them. A big shaggy beast, white like seafoam. As tall as a person from hoof to back. And curved horns as long as a person’s arm. The ibex kicked away some stones to reveal a patch of hidden pale blue grass, which it proceeded to munch on.

Krissa declared it a good omen, then danced and chanted to embrace the spiritual energy. Her long braids were woven with beads of obsidian and amber, which rattled together as she swayed around.

The blue grass was called Goro’s ghostgrass, and it had many healing properties. Normally, such a find would be collected, however the ibex was sacred to the clan and they would not interrupt its grazing. So they crawled out of the canal and moved around the animal, then dropped back in afterwards.

Yuliko pondered over how the goat knew exactly where to find the grass, and how the beasts so effortlessly traverse the rocky crags of the lava yard, perfectly suited for the land. They were truly Maw’Goro’s creatures. And they were perfectly suited to protect the land from intruders with their monstrous horns. Ibexes are very territorial, even amongst themselves. Catching the sight of two bucks locking horns in battle was considered a sign of coming change to the Black Glass People.

All the lands beneath the shadow of the volcano belonged to Maw’Goro’s creatures, and Yuliko knew them well. The lava yards extended out from the volcano, with cavernous tunnels along the slope of the western side. And dense rainforest encircled the yard, covering long stretches of hills, deep valleys, and multiple branches of the fearsome Hungry River. Yuliko and the others had grown up beneath the rainforest’s canopy, moving their camp each season to a new glade or a fresh dale, so they would not over-consume the bounties of the land. The Black Glass People lived in perfect balance with their land and with their spirit.

With a nervousness that she dared not show, Yuliko wondered how they were going to fare outside of their home. She thought over all the tales of all the creatures and peoples to be found in the far lands. There were swamps with web-spinning alligators, and caves with bears twice the height of a man kin. There were tales of unicorns with golden woolly coats, numbering in the hundreds, roaming a magnificent open plain. And there were stories of tribes towards the Storming Mountains that had tamed the giant fluttering scalewings and could ride them through the air.

The mo’huran did not know which direction they would be heading until after the Pledge Rite, where the Eshika will announce their course. Tales from all the corners of the world flashed through her mind. To the west towards Windy Desert there lies a tribe of cannibals that sharpen their teeth into points. And to the south in the direction of the Salty Sea there are water witches who can transform into sea creatures, by changing skins the same way a hermit crab changes shells. And to the north towards the White Wasteland there was said to be a tribe who builds tall towers so they can try to capture the stars.

Yuliko most especially recalled the tales of the hobs that had terrified her as a child. They were grotesque buggy creatures somewhere between a beast and a thinking species. They had a similar body shape to the other thinking species, standing upright with two arms and two legs, but their proportions contorted so they looked hunched over and scrunched up. They were small creatures, at least the grunt hobs were, smaller than even the squirrel people. They wore animal skins and they made crude tools and clubs, and some even say they have their own language, but the hobs will never talk or trade with another thinking species. They will only try to crack open their skulls. Hobs lurk in the dark, able to stalk with keen night eyes, and would ambush any prey with a brain bigger than a walnut. Hobs love brains. They prowl the far lands, searching for meaty heads to crack. They were said to sever the heads of large kills to be brought back for their hive queen.

Of the thinking species, there were, of course, many more man kin tribes in the far lands, but there were others too. There were the flatheads, who stood half a head shorter than the man kin on average, and they had broad flat faces. If what was said of them were true, then the flatheads weren’t so different from man kin, except they weren’t as smart, for no species was as smart as man kin. They only spoke in grunts and they didn’t keep any animals. And there were also the squirrel people. They looked mostly like a man kin, but half the size and with pointy-ears. They supposedly dwelt up in the trees and lived off of nuts.

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Groups of traveling flatheads or squirrel people are known to cross through Glass People territory on the rare occasion. Though, they almost never cause trouble, and they sometimes even trade with the clans. Once when Yuliko was a young girl she had seen a band of flatheads pass through. She remembered a flathead woman wearing a seashell necklace and carrying a toddler with a head shaped like a melon. She had thought it was such an ugly baby, but cute too. The toddler played with its mother’s shell necklace, then it noticed Yuliko and waved its chubby arms at her. The exhausted looking mother adjusted the toddler around to not look at the man kin, but the child crawled over its mother’s shoulders to keep staring.

Yuliko had been astonished by how similar the flatheads had been to her people. She could even read the emotions on their faces. The toddler had been curious, like her. She had wanted to follow the flatheads as they made their way through, but her father had forbidden that before she could even ask.

The flatheads and the squirrel people were the only two thinking species to visit Glass People territory, but there were tales of others. Some were said to still be around in far land places, like the man-apes, who towered over man kin and could rip a person apart. And the squishers, who had webbed hands and feet and could breathe underwater. Her mother and chieftain father had famously ventured up the Hungry River on their Great Journey, where they earned a giant pearl as their tribute by helping a squisher village slay a river monster.

But there were also the long lost thinking species that were said to have all died out. Like the scaled folk, who had scaly lizard skin, sharp teeth, and cold blood. They would spend hours lounging in the sunlight, absorbing the heat. At night if they could not get enough heat they would drink from the veins of warm blooded creatures. And there were also stories of the thunder people, the feathered flying folk that would sweep down from the sky, shrieking thundering war cries.

And then, as Yuliko well remembered, there were the green men. The people with antlers like deer, with dappled short fur and hooved feet. When Yuliko had first seen her green man approaching from out of the trees, her first thought after realizing what it was had been that he was so human, more hominoid that bestial. Not as monstrous as some of the tales would have had her believe. As she stood there in the open, frozen solid, her next thought had been that she could read its face, just like with the flatheads. If she had any wits about her she would have gotten up immediately and ran. But the face didn’t look hostile, rather the green man appeared sad, with woeful black eyes. But an instant later the green man had impaled her.

Yuliko lifted her wrap and looked at the red handprint covering the scar on her waist. She had no idea why Eshika had given her the red mark, or why she had nominated her in the first place, but she was extremely thankful. Now she had a chance to show her worth to the clan and restore her status. It wouldn’t be easy, especially not with Faydayo as the mo’huran leader, but she had a chance.

A part of her was deeply afraid they might encounter the green man again. It had watched her bleeding out on the rocks after it stabbed her, one antler prong tipped in red. Its brow was furrowed over his doey black eyes, watching the hot red blood flow out of her. Why hadn’t it finished her then? Instead it stole the totem from her arms, and reached down to touch her wound. It said something, and then disappeared. Another part of Yuliko hoped she would have a chance to face the green man again, and find out what happened to the Ibex totem, but she knew that was a futile wish.

When they reached a shaded area beneath a large boulder, Faydayo stopped the party for a rest, about halfway to the base of the volcano. Yuliko leaned against the rock and flipped open her folding fan to wave at her face. It was definitely warmer this close to Maw’Goro, she could feel it in the ground in the soles of her feet.

Kardan leaned against the rock beside her, smiling. Kardan wore his hair in a tight bun, which accentuated his sharp features. “I was worried for a moment back there,” he told her.

“Me too,” Yuliko said. “I’m not quite sure what really happened.” She looked down to her red handprint.

Kardan placed his hand on her shoulder. “You’re here, is what happened,” he said. “And I am glad for it.” His hand lingered on her shoulder briefly, which he then let graze across her back when he let go.

She felt the warmth of a blush rise in her cheeks as she fanned herself.

“Yes, Yuliko, we are all so glad you’re here,” Faydayo said, sardonically. “We have our hunters and healer, but our mo’huran desperately needed a—wait, what is it that you do again?” He mocked her for not having a master.

Yuliko was not looking for a fight with her leader before they had even started their Great Journey. She lowered her head to Faydayo. “I will do as the group requires and our leader commands.”

He studied her for a moment. Yuliko lowered herself even further. She wanted him to understand his authority was not threatened by her.

“Good,” Faydayo said, and he nodded at her to rise. But when Yuliko did so, Faydayo’s gaze hooked onto her red handprint. “But let's all agree now that when we do find our tribute for the Great Maw’Goro we won’t let Yuliko hold on to it. She’s likely to lose it to another deer.”

Faydayo chuckled heartily at his own joke. Krissa, Zana, and Pykor all laughed too. Kardan looked like he didn’t find it funny at all.

“As you say,” Yuliko told the leader.

Clearly enjoying himself, Faydayo added, “And, Krissa, don’t let her join for any blessing rituals. Yuliko will probably hurt herself in the process.” Faydayo and his chums laughed another round at her expense. “Say Yuliko, why don’t you tell us your story again. About your mysterious green man,” he said.

More laughs. The others goaded her to retell the worst experience of her life.

“You all know my story,” Yuliko said.

“Well, I’d like to hear it again, I like dreamy tales,” Faydayo said.

Dreamy tales were the fanciful stories everyone knew to be false. Like the singing squash patch, or the Basket Women who snatch up children in their wicker traps.

Kardan took a step towards the leader. “She doesn’t want to tell the story,” he said.

“That may be. But I told her to tell it,” Faydayo said, also taking a step forward.

“Why? Just to be a dungball?” Kardan asked.

“The only dungball here is you, speaking to your chief like that,” Faydayo replied.

The two young men bucked up at each other, shuffling closer and closer, until they were nearly within range of each other’s fist.

Yuliko tugged at Kardan’s arm. “It's fine. I’ll tell it again,” she said.

Kardan gave one last glare to Faydayo, then back to Yuliko, then he backed off.

The jovial mood had evaporated out of Faydayo’s chums. No one was laughing. They all stared at her.

“Go on,” Faydayo said.

Yuliko closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Then she started, “As you all know, it was time for the migration—”

Suddenly, a groaning rumble sound rang over the lava yard, then the ground was shaking. Rocks jostled in place at their feet. All of them wobbled in a struggle to keep their balance. Yuliko tumbled forward towards Faydayo and he caught her.

For a brief moment it seemed as if the boulder next to them were about to shift. They heard the rock crumbling around. But then, just as quickly as the tremor had started, it faded to a halt.

Faydayo and Yuliko had held onto each other through the quaking. When the tremor had stopped, the two journeyers with the red handprints looked into each other’s eyes briefly. Yuliko thought she saw gentleness in Faydayo’s eye for just a second, then he shoved her away from him.

Then suddenly, in a panic, Yuliko looked around for the green man. But the mo’huran stood alone adrift the hard magma sea. She saw that both Kardan and Krissa had observed that moment with Faydayo.

“Is everyone alright?” Kardan asked the group, and they replied in the affirmative.

“We should move,” Faydayo said.

“That was a bad omen,” Krissa said, touching the palm of her hand down to the warm lava rock.