“Oy! Myrrha, lap my slit!” Satha yelled from the top of the rock face, thrusting her hips suggestively before jumping off the ledge and plunging down the waterfall into the natural pool that formed amidst the smooth stones of the valley with a thunderous splash.
“I ought to drown her in that waterfall,” Myrrha growled, shielding herself from the water. All she did was advise caution in her climb, which was apparently of great offense to the young huntress. That little stunt would have cost her an ear if it had happened during a hunt, but in times of peace, discipline was always the first thing to go.
“She is still a kitten at heart. You knew that when you took her in,” Junka said from her side, cleaning her claws.
Most had dismissed Satha for her weak lineage, but Myrrha saw a fire in her. She still did, though that fire burned too wildly, without direction. If Satha didn’t learn to control it, she’d soon scorch herself and everyone around her. She would know.
The cadre was back on the hunt, and luck was with them: they had found lizard-lion eggs after butchering the mothers. Eggs were easy to carry and didn’t spoil as fast as flesh, and as long as they kept them cool, they wouldn’t hatch. That meant they had game and days to spare before their return to the tribe was mandated. If it were up to Myrrha she would have pressed on to bring in an even bigger haul, if only to make an impression, but even she had to concede that a brief rest was in order.
She led them to a place well-known since before the time of her mother—Moon Valley. It was fabled for its waterfalls, smooth stone basins that served as natural pools of crystal-clear water, and intricate caves.
And for all that, this was her thanks: a curse from their youngest member. “I thought a year on the prowl would cure her of that mouth of hers.” Myrrha clicked her tongue.
To which Junka held down a purr “It sure as storm didn’t cure you.”
Myrrha had little defense against that. Ordinarily, a rebuke would be in order, but Junka was different. Despite ranking near the bottom after a series of lost duels, her influence ran deeper than titles. She’d seen most of them grow up, guided them through their rough edges, hunted with her mother, and that no rank could take away from the veteran huntress.
“I like to think I at least knew my manners,” Myrrha mumbled.
Junka’s purr swelled into a roar of laughter, “You absolutely did not! That stunt is something you’d pull in your best days! I recall the headaches you gave your mother.”
Myrrha huffed, a soft curl running up her tail until its tip bent in amusement. “All I recall are the beatings she gave me for it.” She relaxed, stretching her back against the smooth rock, soaking in the sun’s heat, eyes closed. “I have half a mind to call this off, drag us back onto the hunt—let Satha see where insolence gets her,” she jested.
Junka’s gaze hardened, her tone suddenly shifting. “You won’t do yourself any favors with that.”
Myrrha sat back up, her pupils sharpening into slits. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
"It means,” Junka began, measuring her words, “that things have been tense lately. You’ve been keeping your distance. Fraternizing with the monkey-man, and that does not sit well with some people.”
Myrrha’s gaze drifted toward Nya, who was making a point of not enjoying herself as she sat on the rocks at the opposite end of the pool. Nya was the only one to oppose their delay, arguing that this was time she could have spent with her wounded son. “I see Nya has gotten to you,” she said, a bitter edge slipping into her voice before she sighed, laying back down.
“She is not happy, Myrrha.”
“It will pass. Give it time.” She waved. “It always does, tell me you never fought with Moth- I mean- Nienna when you were her second.”
“This is different.”
Myrrha groaned, sitting back up.
“It is,” Junka insisted.
“No, it’s not! This will pass. It’s known that tribes don’t take to strangeness easily, but they eventually adjust. It was the same when we joined with the remnants of the Luaka tribe: first mistrust, then acceptance. When I get him to talk, Juan will prove an asset, and she’ll come around.”
“No. She won’t.”
Myrrha gritted her teeth, throwing up her hands in frustration. “Fine! Humor me: why not?”
Junka’s eyes locked with hers. “Because that strangeness hurt her son.”
That cut through Myrrha like a claw cleaved through straw—the one thing she could not rebuke because she did not understand it. She stood and began pacing on the rocks. “That makes no sense! It was not Juan who slashed Thrawn. If anything, she should take it up with Tara and her brat; I cannot fathom why she insists on blaming him!”
Junka massaged her temple. “Because it’s not about the ‘man,’ Myrrha. It’s about what he brings. You’ve always been like this: rushing ahead without stopping to think if you should! You-you are just like Satha!”
“I will hear no more of your cowardly ramblings!” Myrrha cut her off.
Junka breathed, her shoulders steady even as the word stung. Being called a coward was no easy thing to brush off, but age trumped temperament, and she held her pride at bay. “Fear kept me alive longer than courage ever did. You’d do well to heed it..”
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Myrrha’s patience broke. “Oh, that is great! What excellent advice! But it doesn't broach the base issue: which is that my second barely talks to me!”
“My meaning,” Junka pressed on, her voice steady, “is that you should at least try to understand her position - what she fears.”
“And I do, you think I don’t? She fears shiny sticks, monkey-men, grumpkins, squishers, and whatever else you find stashed in an oversized canoe. What happened to Thrawn is just an excuse!” Myrrha’s tail flicked sharply to the side. “I understand it, all right. It doesn’t mean I have to agree with her.”
“No. But it means you have to learn to live together.”
Myrrha’s jaw clenched, the words sticking in her throat. “Fine,” she huffed. “How then?”
Junka exhaled through her nose, slow and measured, her claws retreating into her palm. “Go talk to her. You owe her that much.”
“I already did!”
Junka straightened her back. “No,” she said slowly. “You commanded her.”
“As is my right!” Myrrha stepped forward. “She is my second.”
“Yes. But she is also your friend.”
Friend. The word stung. Her gaze flickered toward the others—Nya on the rocks, Satha and Kiri laughing in the water—the other huntresses goddess-knew-where. They had friends, easy as breath. But the longer she was first, the more she realized how utterly alone she was.
She told herself it was for the best. After all, authority was a fickle thing—slippery to grasp, even harder to maintain. She worked at it constantly, shaping every word, every interaction a chore. For the longest time, Nya had been her refuge—someone she could share a drink with under the stars, even after the bloodiest hunts, purring the night away. But ever since the monkey-man, even that comfort seemed to slip through her fingers. She even wondered if she still knew how to be herself.
But that was the life she chose. “A first stands alone,” she recited her mother’s mantra as if it answered everything.
Junka sighed at that. “Your mother used to say many things, not all of them correct. She made mistakes, had many regrets… what happened—”
“And what would my fifth know of this?” Myrrha shut her down, baring her fangs. Silence hung between them; until the only sounds were the rush of the waterfall and the all-encompassing creaking and shuffling of the jungle.
Finally, Junka took a deep breath and answered. “Nothing your mother didn’t tell me.”
Myrrha swallowed, her tail swishing like never before, and for a moment, she considered putting Junka down—but in this clash of words, a roar felt out of place. Instead, she retreated toward the pool, dipping her feet into the crystal-clear water, determined to hear no more of this.
But Junka was determined. “Talk to her. Before it’s too late.”
Myrrha turned back to meet her gaze, but Junka’s eyes had grown distant, staring past her as if looking at someone else—seeing ghosts that Myrrha couldn’t. There was no threat —only a deep, aching sadness.
But it was not enough to stop her. “You have the guard,” was all Myrrha had to say before turning her back and plunging into the pool, diving deep until the chill of the water wrapped around her like a second skin. Down there, in the quiet depths, she lingered for a while before propelling herself upward, swimming back to the surface.
As she broke through the water, she took a deep breath, letting the cold water chill her head, enjoying her peace until she noticed Nya glaring at her from the opposite bank. Their eyes met briefly before both averted their gazes, pretending not to look. However, a good huntress always knew when she was being watched, and a good huntress—if anything—was what they both were. Nya would know, and so would she.
Junka’s words echoed in her mind, but she felt her stomach tighten at just the thought of talking to Nya—of dredging up the awkward words and phrases that lay like stones between them. Not now, later, she reasoned. Not while the water was cool and her head still buzzed from the dive. Still, she could not linger, not with Nya’s smoldering gaze pressing down upon her from the shore. And so, she let herself drift to the center of the pool, searching for a distraction.
Luckily, one presented itself just in time when Satha, and soon after, Kiri, burst out of the water, gasping for air. Myrrha recoiled at first, confused, but sighed when she realized they were just duking it out over who could hold their breath the longest, with Kiri emerging as the victor. Oh, to be young.
Satha’s tail perked underwater when she saw her. “Well, look who decided to join us—our fearless first! Finally decided to dip your toes in the water, I see.”
“Careful, you two. Plenty of roots down there, and sinkholes that’ll swallow you whole,” Myrrha warned.
Satha purred a laugh, rolling her eyes “What are you now, my mother?”
“I am not your mother, daughter of Kara.” Myrrha surprised even herself with the sharpness of her tone. Satha and Kiri fell silent, glancing uncertainly at each other. But instead of pressing on, Myrrha relented, her frustration soon dissolving into the familiar, unwanted prick of regret. Once again, she had been too harsh over literal nothing—but backing down was not in her nature, never had been. So she simply shifted to a new subject. “Where are Mira, Dinka, and the others?”
Satha swallowed, regaining her composure. “Upstream if you want to hear them blabber on about their kittens,” she mocked.
No, she did not. And so, it would seem that if she sought a distraction, she was at the mercy of whatever childish game the two younger huntresses could conjure up. Or face Nya, which was not an option. She’d take Satha’s antics over her second’s pointed silence any day, but still hoped Kiri might tip the scales in favor of something more lucid. Yet, the sneaky huntress avoided confrontation as much as Satha chased after it. She had to take charge if she wanted to steer the situation into something bearable, but play was not her strong suit.
She looked around, searching for a solution, until her eyes settled on the closest waterfall, its raging current pounding the rocks beneath it into smooth submission. It blocked her view beyond, but she could almost sense something behind it. She tilted her head, squinting until she figured it out. “Is there a cave behind it?”
“Yes,” Kiri answered in her usual monotone. “It goes deep too, judging by the sound.”
Myrrha stared at it, then back at Nya. “Let’s take a look.” She swam towards it.
Satha and Kiri exchanged glances, but curiosity—and Myrrha’s authority—pulled them in after her.
Myrrha cut through the water as she approached the rocks, her feet finding sure purchase despite the slick stone. The waterfall thundered down just before her, a constant roar that swallowed all other sounds. As she crossed it, she let the water pound her shoulders, allowing it to drown out her thoughts.
She glanced back, torn between the darkness of the cave and the coldness of Nya’s gaze weighing on her mind. Finally, she exhaled deeply and pushed through the water curtain into the shadows beyond. Because Myrrha, daughter of Nienna, runs only from herself.