I remember the first time I saw them, and they were hideous to me. All that fur and exposed glands, their soft white exposed flesh, and their wrong eyes. Then they showed me what kept them alive, and it planted an idea in my mind. Migration.

-From Canticles: 3:1-4

The neonate heard some odd splashing sounds as she got closer to the river. She had moved through the trees to get there, to stay up and away from any others, and keep her nesting site a secret.

She shifted along the branch, high up in the canopy, looking out past the bank. Searching for the cause of the rhythmic splashing sounds she was hearing. Wondering if they were related to the not-lightning.

The little predator paused, listening. She almost hadn’t heard it over the rain, but there had been a sort of vocalization. Some new prey migrating in? She wouldn’t mind that. Her stomach gurgled as she looked both north and south along the river.

There!

A boat was being propelled upstream, looking just like the pair that the Provider had repurposed for preparing his own stockpile of meat. It was being paddled by two strangely hideous creatures.

Parasites! Her Instinct snarled. Mammals.

She supposed they were. She felt like they didn’t have enough fur though, they only had it around their heads.

One lifted its paddle and shifted it to the other side, maneuvering around a sunken log in the water. It shifted its grip. She saw its hand and her eyes widened.

Thumbs!

She looked at her own. Receivers of the gift of Baha’an.

That made them one of the genera. Sentient, if lesser. Smoothskins. She continued along to the next tree, tongue flickering. Smelling their smells, listening to their sounds. Trying to identify their species from the fragmentary knowledge she had of them.

“I don’t like this one bit, Tum.”

Words, words she struggled to understand. She thought they were the common speech of the smoothskins. But they were so fast, and there was something like a rhythm to them that confused her. It wasn’t a tempo though. But… she didn’t have a word for it.

They looked like they might have proportional legs, so they were not the third genera.

They do have fur on their faces and chins though… Beards was it?

Her Instinct grunted before joining her in her grumbling about the overly complex and frankly pointless differentiations the smoothskin genera had. They were all cursed, what did it matter?

The other spoke, “Hells Jeg, easy coin. Not just silver neither, if we get us a live one! And we got the warp scroll from that ruin! So if things look bad we can get outta here quickly. The Fae never ask for too much for safe passage.”

Silver, that was a name for earthbone she thought.

Searching for resources?

Her Instinct hissed softly, sliding behind her eyes, watching their progress. It was hard to keep up with their speech. She hadn’t expected the words to be so different from how the Provider used them. Why shouldn’t they be the same?

Do words find niches like individuals?

Pointless. Are they edible? Her Instinct grumbled. It made her grip the handle of her knife for a moment before she decided to continue her observations, blending in with the cypress bark. She tilted her head to get a better view of their movements. Judging fitness.

“But what if it is spreading, Tum?” She guessed that Jeg and Tum might be names. It was Jeg that said that.

No prefixes, like the Provider and Gix. Smoothskins were odd.

Jeg wiped its brow, his weird red-pink skin secreting a clear liquid before continuing, “The aether byproducts? Last thing the world needs is these scaled devils transforming into shamblers. Or getting any bigger if you were telling the truth about the biggun.”

“Doesn’t matter Jeg my lad, we ain’t here for that. Not really, now shut it! That biggun is off murderin summet, but he has ears like a bat and eyes like an eagle.” Tum said, running a hand over its beard.

She blinked, wondering if they were hunters. And why go after eagles? There were easier birds to stalk down and ambush.

“This is just the place to get the components for that alchemist fella. What’s’isname, the one in Salkov….”

“Gregor?” Jeg said.

Tum snapped their fingers “Gregor! Right. Gregor Wilson.”

“He’s doin a job for the Bookkeepers, right?” Jeg asked, paddling towards the island now.

“The very same!”

The neonate was completely lost. She knew the last word, Salkov. That was the Capital of the smoothskins, or the name of their apex of apexes or…

No, that’s named an emperor…

She couldn’t recall. It was something like that.

She slid down a vine as thick as the base of her tail before stepping on another branch, her pattern and hue shifting to match the yellow-green of the leaves.

“Slow up here, watch the rocks.” Tum continued.

The neonate stared, fascinated, as they disembarked from their watercraft and sloshed onto the bank. Close enough to make out more details. They were absolutely hideous! And the disgust she felt only increased as they got closer.

No tails.

Barely any muzzles.

When they talked she could see most of their teeth were as flat as old river rocks, not sharp at all. They had a pair of pitiful canines at least, but most of their teeth were clearly the teeth of prey.

They also didn’t have any other aspects of being predators. No claws, no scales, nothing. They looked as threatening as a pair of slugs. Maybe even less so, as some slugs were carnivorous.

How do they survive? They were large, but they couldn’t be that dangerous.

Tools. Her Instinct pulled her eyes to the strange things hanging from the loops of leather at their waists. Parts of them glinted in the sun.

Earthbone. She gripped her own knife. Theirs were longer than she was tall. Almost three and a half feet.

Even Slash and Biter would have a hard time with those. She supposed they could use two hands. That would solve that problem.

She had also seen the garments, but hadn’t realized that was what they were, taking them for patterns and colorations. But now that she could see what they were she was confused as to why they would wear them. They hung heavily, soaked through by the downpour of the monsoon.

Skin? Her Instinct guessed from her eyes. Protect?

Tok had said something about them being flammable in the sun, hadn’t he? But it is raining. So why? She shifted closer, hand snapping out like a kingbill to snatch a tree frog, stuffing it in her mouth and chewing it up while it squirmed.

Both were very red, but behind the clothing they were stark cowardly white.

Albinos? If she had that coloration she would try her best to hide it. Did that make them cowards, or were they just unfortunately pigmented over most of their bodies? And why were they here?

Perhaps a mating pair? Searching for seclusion? She didn’t like the idea of that, more mouths competing for food.

She wondered if they were Fiendkin, but neither had horns, or tails, so that meant that they were eighth genera. Humans.

That realization made her snarl, but she managed to restrain her sudden hate.

Traitors! They had been the ones to kill off the first genera! They had cursed all the genera of smoothskins to lose their Instinct!

They are to be pitied. Tok’s words came back to her.

Pity doesn’t mean mercy. She glared down at them. How could you trust them? With no Instinct to guide them?

Her Instinct grumbled.

She leaped to the next branch. She suspected Tum was the female. She only had fur on her upper lip. Jeg on the other hand looked like he was looking out of a screen of the stuff. His sky blue eyes looking out from the dark mahogany curls.

Even their pupils are round… Unnatural.

Tum sliced and slashed through the ferns with wild abandon, using her long earthbone knife. It was single edged, with a rounded tip. It seemed very sharp given how easily the smoothskin female sliced through the vegetation.

Both are male. Her Instinct hissed, annoyed. Are they edible?

The neonate looked again. She thought of the rous, remembering that the females always had strange protrusions along the belly. It was that anatomy that the young used to parasitize off of their sires. Neither had any such growths that she could tell.

Yes… Both male. But then why would Tum have the facial fur of a female?

Regardless, that meant that their purpose for being on the island was of a different nature.

Edible? It had become a snarl, her grip on the handle of her knife becoming almost painfully tight.

The neonate did wonder what their flesh would taste like. She guessed probably rous, given they all three were parasites. She licked her lips, imagining it.

“There it is! And there, and, gods, look at all that Tum!” Jeg bent over, and picked up fistfuls of the variegated leaves of the healing herb, the tip of his long beard dipping into the mud. Gross.

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“Told you Jeg, rich as kings, we’ll be. And sometimes these places have the aethercaps! Just think of it! Have to do a quick scout perhaps, check for caves or temples or some such, but then we’ll be livin’ large!” Tum slashed a whole bush from the ground, and tossed it to Jeg.

Both made strange sounds, baring their teeth at each other, shoulders shaking as if to limber up as they started stuffing them into sacks they had tucked into their belts.

Are they going to fight? The display distracted her from their words for a moment.

What had they said again? Something about… becoming high caste from gathering the herb? That didn’t feel right. What did possession of resources have to do with being high caste? And why the herb specifically.

It was true that it wasn’t the most plentiful plant, but surely they had it back up in their swamp. Right?

Tok said they destroy the land. She moved closer, not quite within striking distance yet. She couldn’t let that happen here. That was their herb, the broods. And if these humans weren’t only using what they needed to survive, then they were poaching. She hissed angrily.

“You hear that? There is a snake somewhere here Jeg.” Tum’s face changed shape, the neonate couldn’t discern what it meant. Her… No… His voice quavered though. The neonate recognized the word for snake after a brief moment. She looked around, ready to strike out at that instead, then realized they had heard her hiss.

Too loud. Stay quiet.

“I’d take a snake over these gods blighted mosquitos!’ Jeg grumbled, slapping himself before scratching the wiry fur on his face.

Disgusting.

She was struggling with what exactly to do to stop them. Cursed with weakness or not, they were quite a lot larger than she was and were also armed, and she knew what a difference that made.

“Shit, Jeg, look at this.” Tum said, kicking something out into the open. It was a snared rous.

Damn. Forgot to check that one…

Mine! Her Instinct butted in, slamming into her eyes pulling back her lips in a silent snarl.

That was her meat. She fought down a growl.

“I told you, they’re worldwide now!” Jeg nearly shouted, stuffing herbs into a cloth pouch. He cut them off at the ground and just crammed the whole bush in, berries, stems, and all.

She didn’t notice. What they said about the rous was more interesting to her. So they have rous up north too? I was right! They did wash downstream! She wished she knew more of the smoothskin language.

She had thought that Tok was a master at it, but it seemed wasn’t the case. She reeled at the idea that the Provider didn’t know everything.

Focus.

“Have to bring it.” Tum grumbled, picking up the carcass, which jerked to a stop as the tied snare held, “Oi, what’s this here?” His grimy fingers pinched the line between them.

Jeg moved closer to the other smoothskin. “It’s a snare Tum.”

“Morte’s tits, they are eatin these things.”

“Mebbee that biggun likes a little snack now and again.”

Tum jerked and started talking faster, “Shit, this’s too small for that biggun, Jeg, my boy.”

“What?”

“There’s more here! Comeon! We gotta Skedaddle!”

The neonate didn’t like the sound of this ‘skedaddle’ they had to do, and didn’t want to find out what it entailed. It was time to attack, but which one first? Jeg. He was the smaller of the two, then the neonate could focus on dealing with Tum.

Tok had said that they would be dangerous. She would try to ambush them, kill quickly and then strike at Tum before he could react. She drew the matte black blade, waiting for Jeg to pass right under her.

Kill!

She dove, snarling, her knife aimed right for the jugular!

Jeg spotted her and let out a high pitched battle cry and knocked her out of the air with the bulging sack of herbs. She crashed into a grove of ferns, unharmed, snarling and rolling back onto her feet.

“Shit! Tum! One of the devils! I am getting the scroll!” His teeth rattled loudly as he spoke, a threat display if she ever heard one!

She snapped at them both.

“Hells no! It looked like an iguana! We ain’t using somethin that valuable for an iguana.” He looked over and spotted the neonate, freezing there. “Sallinnia’s port, Jeg, we gotta run! It’s a damned hatchery!”

The neonate snarled, sprinting through the underbrush and up a log for a little extra height.

“I’m-” Jeg was reaching for the pack on his back. Reaching for a weapon!

Have to strike! She leaped at Jeg.

“Don’t you dare use that scroll! That’s worth the most out of the lot you idjit!” Tum screamed, running over. “You’ll bring that thing with us!”

The smoothskins were slow, or maybe they had a hard time spotting her? Regardless she was on Jeg’s back, gripping the pack with her toeclaws as she bit into his shoulder.

He squealed in pain, writhing. Useless clawless fingers brushing against her but not getting a firm enough grip to dislodge her. She bit again, chomping down harder. Jeg hit the ground with a splatter of mud.

His blood was hot and rich, but very different from the Rous. Still delicious.

Whack!

Tum kicked her, hard, and the neonate sailed off of Jeg’s back and crashed to the ground again.

Fortunately the neonate still had her blade, as Tum followed up with a slash of his own. The blade aimed at her neck this time. She lifted her knife.

They are weaker than us! Tok had said so. Tum’s blade connected with hers.

Sparks flew! But not as far as the neonate did. Spinning teeth over tail, she crashed against a cypress tree. Pain lanced through her with the force of it. Her knife sailed off into the underbrush.

Based on size. Idiot. Her Instinct groaned from her toes. She wiggled them, checking for spinal damage. She was fine.

Her eyes went wide and she rolled to the side. The chopping longknife slammed into the bark of the tree and stuck.

“Shoot her! Shoot her Tum!”

Jeg was still screaming and yelling something, the neonate didn’t pay attention. She hopped and grabbed Tum’s arm. He let go of the weapon, yelling and shaking her back and forth as she dug in her claws and bit down on his bicep.

His screaming got louder and he pounded her head with his other hand before pulling out a strangely shaped object.

It was wrapped in cloth that shed the water, and Tum let that wrapping fall away. A tube of earthbone mounted on a wooden handle.

Run! Her Instinct insisted.

No! Winning.

She bit harder, expecting him to beat her with it, shaking her head and making him scream.

“Little bastard! I’ll solve for you!”

He pulled a mechanism back. She recognized the shard of flint held in earthbone jaws.

It clicked, then clicked again.

It stank like bad eggs.

He pointed the opening at her, and down the tube she could see that there was a sphere of earthbone inside? Why?

Run! Live! Her Instinct ripped control of her limbs from her, forcing her to spring away.

Click! The flint sparked!

BANG!

Thunderous fire roared out of the tube! She squealed in fear. Smoke, acrid and sulfurous, choked her as a horrible angry something buzzed into the distance.

CRACK! It blasted straight through a low hanging branch and still going, sending splinters flying.

Magic! She hissed, the reek of the weapon even stronger. She fled into the underbrush. It had been terrible! It could happen again. She climbed back up into the canopy, grabbing a rock before she did. Not having time to find the knife for now. Better than nothing!

Thum-thum-thumthumthumthum!

The roar tore through the swamp. She could hear the sloshing steps of Tok, off in the distance, growing louder, picking up the pace. The humans jabbered louder in clear fear. The ground shuddering even this far away under his mighty steps.

Jeg was running for their boat, sack in his hands. She snarled. Tum joined his broodmate, hunched over the tube weapon, pouring black sand into it before shoving another dull gray sphere in as well, ramming it in with a short stick that mounted under the tube.

Dangerous again. Her Instinct hissed.

“Use the scroll!” Tum shouted.

“But you said-”

“Morte’s tits I know what I said! Use the scroll!”

Jeg pulled his pack off with a wince and rummaged in it, standing in the boat.

I can’t let them get away! But that weapon! She didn’t know how to fight fire of all things.

Her Instinct, ever helpful, hissed the answer to her. Rain!

Could that be? It made sense.

Besides, the neonate couldn’t let the Provider face a foe with that kind of power alone, nor could she let this opportunity go by. A chance to show him her strength. Even if it was risky. Tum was the threat now. And the opportunity.

Her greed swelled as she stared at the weapon, imagining herself with such a thing. She knew where black sand was on one of the banks.

She stood and sprinted along the branch, her black and red snapping into place, rock in both hands.

Tum saw her, and pointing the tube at her once more. His thumb clicked the flint mechanism back twice. Rain dumping down. She braced for it, hoping she was right about the rain and trusting her scales if she wasn’t.

Click! The flint sparked!

Nothing from the tube.

Her Instinct snarled in satisfaction as she leaped out of the branch. She could see Tok rushing forward through the swamp from the corner of her eye. She landed on Tum, one foot scratching deep gouges in his face before she got a grip on his shoulder.

He screamed in pain.

She felt yellow pride as she lifted the rock high and sent it slamming down onto the smoothskins wrist with a crunch. He dropped the weapon and it blorped into the muddy waters of the river.

She had dealt with the threat, now to kill the prey.

Take!

Later! Finish this!

Yes!

She roared, lifting the rock high again.

Tum held up his hand in a feeble attempt to block her deathblow. “N-no! Gods! Please!”

She could see the fear in his ugly round pupiled eyes.

Whack!

Jeg’s oar sent her sailing for the third time painfully.

She was going to crash into the middle of the river! Into the current! She would be washed away! Like Fisher!

I am not as strong a swimmer! And the current was faster!

Live!

She wouldn’t, she was going to be swept-

A tremendous roar made hope surge back to the fore of her mind, and she thumped into a big black scaled hand. Tok had caught her.

His fingers closed partially around her, protecting her without squeezing, as he leaned down and bellowed into the horrified faces of Jeg and Tum.

Their fur blew in the wind of his breath, and she could smell the mammals’ urine. The neonate’s pattern flooded with orange smugness.

She joined the Provider, standing in his palm, her own roar much higher pitched. She forced it lower, forced it louder, something about joining Tok being right.

“N-not caste request-plea st-strike, high…” Tum stammered, in the proper language, or at least, he tried to.

She winced as she climbed up the big male’s arm to his shoulder, her body sore. Looking at him to see if he had understood any of that.

Red eyes slid to meet hers, then examined up and down, taking in the state of her.

He grunted, and they slid back to the eighth generas.

Pride bloomed in every scale of her. He is impressed!

Her Instinct roared to the sky in triumph within her mind.

Tum was still jabbering out nonsense, using prefixes as interfixes, suffixes, and as stand alone words. It was a horrible tangle that was a waste of time.

Kill them! Her Instinct snarled, and she agreed. Dangerous idiots like this should have been culled long ago.

Jeg was still frantically rummaging in the bag. Eyes so wide the neonate was surprised they didn’t fall out. Tum wasn’t much better, but he was baring his teeth again.

A threat! But why?

“He challenges?”

“They’re plotting to eat us Tum!”

“Provider, he cannot possibly-”

“Shut you’re gob I’m tryin to listen!”

“Silence.” It was said to her, but Tum stopped his jabbering as well. Jeg had covered his eyes.

Coward. Her Instinct tried to pull her forward. Kill! Eat!

“Speak, human.” Tok snarled in their tongue. He slid his long bright blue tongue out. Smelling them. His eyes narrowed.

The neonate snarled, and snapped her jaw. The red eyes slid back to her, staring, opening ever so slightly wider.

Thunder rumbled as the rain pattered against Tok’s scales.

She desaturated her black and red in apology.

His gaze lingered long enough to make his point before he refocused on the smoothskin vermin. While he wasn’t looking she gnashed silently at them.

“We have gone through the proper channels uh… mighty Blackscale!” Tum said, still baring his teeth.

“You challenge him and can’t fight me?!” She roared, and threw the rock at him and he yelped as it hit him in the forehead, starting to bleed.

Tok growled and she cowered on his shoulder. “Enough!”

“He-”

“A smile. It shows they cannot bite worth a damn.”

She flashed her red brighter, not agreeing, but out of his peripheral vision. She didn’t want to get culled for being insubordinate.

CLAP!

His tail slapped the water, and she shied even further back. The human’s boat rocked, and they cowered too.

Idiot! Live! Don’t tempt.

She decided her Instinct was right and locked her neutral coloring in place.

“I… didn’t mean to scare your offspring… uh… Ma’am?”

“Male I am. This is the last hatched of my charges. Your presence on my island will be explained, or devoured you will be.”

The neonate enjoyed hearing that, and said the right way, not in this weird rhythmic way that the vermin used. Jumbled up.

Jeg shifted, pulling up his shirt and a small jar, scooping out a dark brown paste and pressing it into his bloody wound. The pair of her teeth marks deep in his shoulder.

Tok’s eyes shifted back to the neonate, but briefly. She flickered confirmation in her pattern and he grunted.

Sunshine yellow tinted her thoughts.

“We negotiated passage with Shashk-”

“This would not be included in such an agreement.” His blue tongue slid out, and his blood red eyes narrowed further. “You have been within our temples. I will devour you now.”

The neonate drooled, leaning forward, only understanding the second sentence. There might be scraps for her to pick through!

Jeg whimpered and stuck his hand back in his pack and tore out a strange square leaf like the ones in that book she had. He unfurled it.

The smell of ozone, intense and instantaneous, billowed from the thing. Shapes like her bag and the symbols on her knife blazed into light and she had to cover her eyes.

More magic!

The Provider hissed and she felt him lift his arm and bring it crashing down into the river.

When she stopped seeing spots, she saw that the pair were gone, boat and all.

Tok hissed, long bright blue tongue humming slightly as it waggled up and down in his frustration.

They returned to shore, and the neonate couldn’t find that strange earthbone tube weapon.

Patience kiddo. Need you on the high seas first. Ya-HAR and all that junk.

She did recover her knife though. Tok left to scout the area around the island for others, growling.

They had taken her rous as well. Fortunately she found a larger one in the next snare, she would need time to recover, battered as she was.

She suffered the thorns once more and planned to butcher her catch. Still thinking of that weapon and yearning for one of her own.

Damn Smoothskins.