The golden liquid shimmered in the dim light of the cave, thick and viscous, a treasure coaxed from the Pain Trees with a small fire, a lot of smoke. But if anyone asked, I’d let them believe it was won through a dozen bee stings and a close call with death. The honey, rich and rare, was worth it.

I found my mother near the back of the cave, folding leather strips in preparation for the cold months ahead. I approached quietly. She glanced up, "mom fallow me to our home" I asked, she did, and as she entered she found me holding the pot of honey with both hands.

Her brow furrowing as she took in the honey, a rare sight in our meager supplies. “Where did you get all that, Anir?” she asked, her voice hushed, though the curiosity in her eyes was unmistakable.

“From the Pain Trees,” I replied, keeping my tone light. “It took some time, but I managed it.” I replied, keeping my tone casual, almost dismissive. She didn’t need to know the details, and I didn’t need her worrying about the risks. This wasn’t just about the honey. This was about control, trust, and the subtle planting of seeds that would grow into something the tribe couldn’t yet comprehend.

Her lips tightened into a thin line. “And the bees? I don’t want you risking yourself for something sweet.”

“I scared them off with smoke and fire, and this honey It’s more than just sweetness, Mother,” I said, my voice firm but gentle. I offered her the pot, watching her study the thick, golden liquid with a mixture of awe and caution. “This honey could mean more for us than just food.”

She raised an eyebrow, looking at me with a hint of amusement. “And how’s that?”

I drew closer, my voice dropping. “If winter’s hard this year and the tribe goes hungry, they may kick us out into the snow. Fewer mouths to feed.” The words were brutal, but I forced himself to say them. “If we want to make it through this winter, we can’t just rely on their goodwill.”

A shadow crossed her face, and she lowered her gaze, her hands idly tracing the edge of the pot. “I know it’s hard for us. But… we’re part of the tribe, Anir. They wouldn’t just turn us out.”

“Would they?” I pressed, My tone carrying a sharper edge. “Do you think they’d feed us if it came down to it? You and I are the lowest in the tribe’s order, and you know it. We’re expendable.”

She was silent, her expression troubled as she considered my words. I continued, a touch of urgency slipping into my voice.

“We need our own food reserves,” I said, holding her gaze. “I can hunt, but I need time, and we need allies. We need people who’ll look to us if it comes down to a choice between us and the Bronlos.”

Her eyes flicked up to meet mine, wary but attentive. “And you think honey will change that?”

“It could be a start,” my voice dropping to a low murmur. “Offer it to the other women, just a taste for each of them. Share it, but be careful. Make sure most of it goes to Tahya, wife of Vorg Bronlo. When they ask why there isn’t more, tell them that the Bronlo family kept most of it for themselves.

If the women are slow to understand you, mention—just in passing— how they like to make sure they get the best of everything.” I let the words sink in, watching as a flicker of understanding crossed her face.

Her brow furrowed, he blinked, and glimmer of understanding beginning to replace her anxiety. She nodded, fingers curling around the pot with a newfound intensity.

She didn’t resist my plan, and I saw a spark in her eyes I hadn’t seen in a long time. “And you think that will make the others… what, resent them?”

“Maybe,” I said, shrugging as if it were merely a passing thought. “Maybe they’ll start to wonder why the Bronlos need so much. Why the rest of us have to make do with less. When winter bites, envy is just another form of hunger.”

The Bronlos had ruled the tribe for too long, using their status as the “main family” to justify every excess, every indulgence. Now, it was time for that authority to be tested, weakened.

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She looked back down at the honey, her fingers tracing the edge of the pot thoughtfully. “I see. A taste of something sweet can make people realize what they’ve been missing.” She paused, her voice softening. “But I don’t know, Anir. I’ve lived in this tribe for years. People have their ways… they don’t change easily.”

“Mom, people change when they’re hungry,” I said, a hardness creeping into my voice. “And when they have a taste of something they might never have again, they start asking questions.”

I looked at her and I know she needed more convincing.

“Give them a reminder,” I murmured, nodding toward the pot. “Something they can hold onto. A reminder that there’s no reason the Bronlos should get the best of everything, especially when there’s more than enough to go around.”

My mother regarded me thoughtfully, the lines on her face softening with a newfound purpose. “And you think... this will make a difference?” she asked, her tone more a challenge than a question.

“It already has,” I said evenly, a calm conviction in my voice. “Just be careful how you say it—a suggestion here, a quiet comment there. Let the idea take root on its own.”

She hesitated, glancing outside toward the other women in the cave. “And what if it doesn’t work? What if this brings more trouble than help?”

I softened, placing a reassuring hand on her arm. “Then we’ll still have a small reserve of our own. A chance to protect ourselves when things get harder. But if we can make people question why they have less while the Bronlos get more… maybe we’ll have the chance to change our place in the tribe, or just let people look at the bronlo's instead of us.”

She nodded slowly, her expression pensive. “All right. I’ll do it. Carefully.”

I squeezed her arm gently, a rare moment of warmth between us. “Thank you, Mother. This is the first step, just a seed of doubt. We’ll let it grow on its own, and see where it leads.”

She managed a small smile, her fingers tightening around the pot. “And you’re sure about this?”

“As sure as I can be,” I replied, confidence threading through my words. “We can survive the winter. But we need more than just luck to do it.”

She stood straighter, cradling the pot with a determination I hadn’t seen in her before. “You’re smart, Anir,” she murmured, pride warming her words. “Your father would have been proud.”

The weight of her words hung heavy, pulling me momentarily from the strategy at hand. Father,,, the one that abandoned me or the one that died leaving the shadow of his absence to lingered over us both, but I forced the thought aside.

This wasn’t about sentiment, legacy or honor. This was survival. And it was time I showed the tribe what I was capable of.

Later that evening, when the cave was sealed, I lingered in the shadows near the edge of the firelight, watching as my mother moved gracefully through the huddled women. She cradled the honey pot like it held the last ember of a dying fire. With careful hands, she doled out the honey sparingly, each small portion met with wide eyes and murmurs of appreciation. Some of these women hadn’t tasted honey in years.

As each woman received her share, I noticed the glances they exchanged, eyes lighting with quiet envy and curiosity. They were tasting more than just honey. They were tasting possibility.

One woman, a tall, wiry figure, took a slow taste and looked around with suspicion. “From the Bronlos’ stores?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper but heavy with pointed doubt.

My mother smiled, dipping her finger into the honey and holding it out to the woman. “No, my son Anir collected it himself. This is all I have left, after sharing most of it with the main family.” Her words were soft, almost absent, but I saw how they landed, how the other women exchanged glances, their eyes narrowing with just the faintest edge of envy. Not even commenting on my bravery.

“You’d think they could spare a little more,” another woman murmured, her gaze drifting across the cave to where Vorg Bronlo sat with his family, oblivious to the subtle seeds of resentment taking root in the hearts of those around him.

Perfect. They didn’t know it yet, but the Bronlos’ control was slipping. The women were easy to buy there price was low, this was just test, I wanted to see how loyal they’d remain to the Bronlos when paid with something sweet, something they’d been denied for too long.

Now I see, A hint of sweetness could breed bitterness just as easily as envy.

It wouldn’t take much for that envy to turn into distrust. And from distrust? Disobedience. Just a taste, that’s all it took.

Now Bronlos, with just a hint of resentment, I'll see how well their title hold up against the quiet envy of the women. Women that can share that seed of envy with their men, son's and daughters.

I leaned back into the shadows, a slow, steady satisfaction unfurling within me. The Bronlos had ruled by force for years, believing that might was the only answer. But now, I’d found something far stronger: division.

Brutal authority could only be perfected in the minds of those it oppressed, but perfection crumbled under the faintest whisper of discontent.

I could already see it in their faces—the way the women glanced sideways, suspicion tainting their admiration. They didn’t know the game I was playing, not yet. But they would. Soon enough, the tribe would see what happened when the cracks in power were exposed, one small taste at a time. And all it took was a little honey.

As the murmurs spread and the pot emptied, I slipped further into the shadows, letting the satisfaction settle. There was more work to be done, of course. But for now, the seeds had been planted.

This was only the beginning.