Things were not going well.

Her mother had just landed another blow—a kick to her chest—causing her to stumble back, nearly losing her footing. All around, the cadre flinched as if feeling her pain. Myrrha counted herself lucky it wasn’t a scratch; she didn’t think she could take another one of those, the hurt of her mother’s claws still fresh in her mind.

Still, she stood her ground, gasping for air and spitting a gulp of blood to the side before spreading her arms and claws. This could be it, but if it was, she would go down fighting, just like every huntress should. Quarter could be given in single combat, but it wasn’t expected, not even from her own mother, especially not in situations like these.

Myrrha had to admit she had dug her own grave. She had been a pain in her mother’s side for too long now: testing the waters, acting when she should have listened, the works. The last drop was when her mother had ordered the cadre to disengage from a hunt when they spotted a wawayu nearby, Myrrha openly questioned her on that, and now here they were.

Her mother had been right, of course; wawayus were the stuff of nightmares, heralds of decay. When she was young, her mother had even taught her to kill herself if she was ever cornered by one: “Don’t let them get you, or it will be you wailing with them. Forever.” The problem, however, was it didn’t matter who was right, because it was never about the hunt, not really. It just set the spark.

Daughter supplanting mother, the old making way for the new. This was their way, a part of growing up. The shadow of their inevitable clash had been looming for a while now. Today, it just happened that her bloodlust got the better of her.

Myrrha shook her head, dragging herself back to the present. She braced for her mother’s advance, only for it to never come. Instead, her mother hunched over in a stalking stance, encircling her as if they were at a standstill. Except they were not, and both knew it. Her mother should be pressing her advantage, not biding her time. What was she thinking? No matter, her loss.

Myrrha then joined her as both circled each other, each trying to find an opening in the other. Myrrha thought she saw one and attacked, except she fell right into her mother’s trap. The older huntress dodged and countered, grappling her daughter from behind and resting her claws on her stomach. “Do you yield?” she roared out at her ear.

The entire cadre stood at this point, thinking it was over.

Myrrha was snared at her mother’s mercy but was still alive. How could she toy with her like this? At this state, Myrrha would be demoted to last and become the cadre runt, or horror of horrors: being kicked out and forced to make herself useful as a tribe-mother. She couldn’t imagine greater shame. No, no! There would be no yielding today. Life is to be conquered, and so she shall.

And so, with a roar, she headbutted her mother, feeling the crunch of cartilage as her forehead contacted her nose and she was set free. Myrrha half expected to feel her guts spilling out by the time she hit the ground, but as she rolled away and sprang to her feet, she realized there was not even a scratch on her stomach, which puzzled her.

Her mother stumbled back, grasping her face only to find her nose dislodged. Once again, the cadre exclaimed, clapping for Myrrha. Her mother was a good leader, but good leaders make the right calls, not the popular ones, and her mother had aggravated them by fishing them out of nyawao when she called out the hunt.

Mother and daughter locked eyes again. At first, Myrrha felt pride for her escape, but it melted away when she saw the look in her mother’s eyes. There was no fear there, not even surprise, only the same question as before: “Do you yield?” It was not said, but it was there, a soft, almost desperate plea for her to stop.

This made Myrrha’s heart skip a beat. Did her mother think this low of her? She should be lashing out at her in furious anger. Yet, she hesitated. Again and again. What was this? This determination in her eyes. Her mother did not even seem angry at her anymore; why bother fighting? There had to be another way.

But then, she saw the expectant faces all around, their judgment echoing in her ears. No, there wasn’t. And so, she took a deep breath and lunged—

Only to be jolted awake, her heart pounding and breath heavy, ready for an attack that wasn’t there. Disoriented, she blinked against the dim light of her hut, the remnants of the dream lingering in her mind. The sensation of her mother's claws, the cadre's gaze, it all felt so real. In her panic, Myrrha almost struck out at the hand on her shoulder before realizing it was Dinka.

"Myrrha, wake up," Dinka urged, concern etched on her face. Myrrha grunted, masking her fright and laying back down. "What is it?" she asked, her voice rough as she rubbed her temples, trying to ground herself in the present.

"Word got out."

"Word? Of what?" She rose again, sitting on her hammock, still shaking off the confusion of that fateful night in her dream.

"About the monkey-man! Word got out. The whole tribe is heading to the healing hut now!"

Myrrha blinked, “How do they know?”

"It happened," Dinka replied, her tone resigned. The simplicity of her answer contrasted sharply with the consequences it implied. It was astounding how brave a huntress could be when facing danger compared to how cowardly they were when admitting blame.

Myrrha had tried her best to keep the creature hidden. The matriarch was still recovering from her visit to the heavens, so there was no one to issue commands on behalf of the goddess. This complicated things, since among the alphas, she was just one amongst equals, and she feared the backlash that bringing the creature here would cause.

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

She sighed, jumping on her feet. “Let’s go.”

Once they reached the healing hut, the scene was just as described. A crowd gathered around it. The kittens were at the forefront, all but climbing the walls for a better look while the adults surrounded the entrance. At the door stood Satha and Kiri, the two she ordered to stand guard and turn potential gawkers away. It was chaotic, but controlled, at least for now.

Then, she saw Tara marching straight to the door, her towering form easy to spot amidst the crowd. Now this was trouble.

Satha and Kiri, braced themselves, squaring their shoulders to block the entrance, their tails waving nervously behind them. “That’s far enough.” Satha raised a hand.

Tara did stop, albeit too close for comfort. “I want to see the creature.”

“Tough luck, sister. No one goes in.” Satha stepped forward, having to look up to meet the veteran huntress in the eyes.

“Says who?”

“Myrrha.” Satha said proudly. Meanwhile, Kiri slowly swished aside, creeping away from Tara’s focus, her arms hidden on her backside.

“Myrrha doesn't command me. Stand aside.”

“She’s following the goddess’ will. You stand aside.”

Tara purred a menacing laugh, “And who will make me?”

Satha’s eyes widened, and she hesitated, but as the tribe’s expectant faces settled on her, she swallowed her good sense down. “I will.”

The crowd hushed at that, and Tara’s pupils slit as she gazed down at the younger huntress, her tail flipping back and forth menacingly. “Oh, is that so, tribe-mother’s spawn? You are going to make me? How are you going to do that? Are you going to fight me?” Tara took a step forward, bumping her chest into hers. “Little Satha… little huntress. Always so loud, so annoying…”

Satha’s tail threatened to curl, but she straightened it out, slitting her pupils back at Tara and popping out her claws, which painted a vicious smile across the giantess's face. Both raised their arms.

Then, Tara froze, feeling a cold pair of claws caressing her neck from behind. “What. Are. You. Doing?”

“That is up to you,” Myrrha stood on her toes to get a better grip.

“You are out of place, your pest disrespected me. Are you willing to face the tribe’s wrath?”

“For my cadre? Always.”

Watching this, the tribe stood still, and even the rowdiest of kittens quieted. Out of the corner of her eye, Myrrha also saw Tara’s cadre approaching, but thankfully so did the rest of her own. Both parties approached, eyeing each other at a standstill.

Myrrha knew that if she felled Tara now in dishonorable combat, her huntresses would call for vengeance; it was suicide for her. But Myrrha was willing to bet Tara wanted to avoid bad blood between the cadres just as much as she did. They were both alphas. Both understood that there were always games being played beneath the guise of simple brute power-play.

Finally, with a growl, Tara sheathed her claws and stood down, pushing Myrrha aside as she cut through the crowd on her way out. Her cadre followed in her footsteps, casting wary glances at them as they left. The tension in the air slowly dissipated, although the crowd remained hushed, their eyes fixed on Myrrha.

Myrrha watched Tara go, waiting until she was out of sight before turning to Satha. Then, without warning, she struck her across the face, the slap echoing in the sudden silence. "What were you thinking?" she demanded.

Satha stumbled back, clutching her cheek. "I-I was following orders," she stammered.

"Then follow them wisely!" Myrrha snapped; her eyes blazing. "You were told to keep everyone out. How do you suppose to accomplish that if you had died at your post? Who would guard the door?"

"I live and die for my tribe—"

She slapped her again, harder this time. "Don't twist your actions. You risked your life for pride, not for the tribe's sake! Survival is victory, one we achieve in many forms every night. Would you deprive the tribe of your talents just because you wish to appear strong? No? Then be wise about your strength! Use every resource you have—your words, your threats, not just your claws."

Satha looked down, her tail drooping in submission. "Words are wind..." she muttered.

"True, most only rustle leaves, but some can blow off entire trees. Power doesn't care in which form it comes in as long as it is. Do you understand?" Myrrha demanded, her tone softening slightly but still firm.

Satha nodded, though she kept her gaze averted. "Hey, eyes on me. Look at me," Myrrha insisted, grasping her by the sides and forcing her to face her. "What will you do next time Tara or worse comes?" She needed to know the girl was not hopeless.

Satha sighed, her tail deflating before she blinked her reply, "Bide my time. Get help. Be smart." Myrrha nodded, satisfied, and released her.

Her gaze then shifted to Kiri, who had remained silent but not still throughout the confrontation. Kiri’s calm demeanor belied her readiness to act, and Myrrha noted the subtle positioning that indicated Kiri would have been ready to strike Tara if needed. Out of all in her cadre, Kiri frightened her the most. She could confidently handle the others—Satha with her youth and inexperience, Jura whose strength was waning with age, and Nya whose skills lay more in scent than combat. Kiri, however, was an enigma. Quiet, always observing, she seemed to view her companions the same way she did her prey.

Deciding not to dwell on these thoughts, Myrrha turned her attention to the gathered crowd. "As to the rest of you, surely there must be something you should be doing?" she called out, her voice carrying a commanding tone. The crowd hesitated for a moment before they began to disperse, though Myrrha knew the gaze of many would linger nearby.

Turning back to her cadre, Myrrha focused on the immediate issue. "Nya is still in there?" she asked to whomever could answer her.

"Yes, with Thrawn," Dinka confirmed.

"She says the creature can't be trusted. It took a lot to convince her to even let it heal in the same room as Thrawn, never mind leave him alone with it in there," Satha added, her voice subdued.

"I don't expect her to like the creature, only to let it live. Besides, the tribe-mother is also there, no? She can keep an eye on the creature for her. We might need every claw we can out here," Myrrha complained, but did nothing about it.

"I think it's a good thing she's in there. I wouldn't count on the tribe-mother for anything above separating kittens," Dinka remarked, rolling her eyes.

Satha's tail flickered. "Well, the creature is little, surely she can handle it," she ventured, trying to change the subject. The rest of the cadre looked back at her, ready to reign in even more on the poor tribe-mother.

Myrrha stepped in to diffuse the tension. "The creature? Nya suggests it's some sort of monkey, and I never doubt those nostrils."

"But it isn't one, is it? It wears clothing, and it made that huge canoe," Jura pointed out, leaning tiredly to the side.

"We don't really know if he is one of the creatures that built the canoe or just their livestock. I'm willing to bet the former. I mean, how could such a little thing build a monstrosity like that?" Dinka shrugged.

"You just say that because you want to eat it," Kiri dryly interjected from the back.

"I was curious about it at first, but not anymore. It's too small and frail; barely a meal,"

"The tribe-mother said that the creature survived weeks without food. You may tower over him, but I doubt any of you could last half as long. It has shown strength in its own way," Myrrha corrected.

Just then, Nya emerged from the hut, looking weary but determined. "He is awake," she announced before turning back in.

"Who?" Myrrha asked, though she already suspected the answer.

Nya's tail twitched, "Can't you tell by my perked-up tail?" She motioned to it, which drooped slightly behind her legs. "Of course it's the thing."