It is not cowardice to learn more before striking at your prey. So long as you strike when the time comes. Nor is it bravery to attack too soon, that is foolishness. This control is required for both edges of this particular knife.

-From Aphorisms: 1:8-11

Another twig snapped. The neonate wondered if she should just attack, ambush her foe before they knew she was there. She had to decide now!

The branches across the camp started to move.

Hide!

Flexing the muscles in her skin, she silently lost herself in the needles of one of the pines, sheathing the knife and putting her ax in its loop. She reached behind herself, claws sinking into soft bark. She felt the bark, and growled in her mind.

Need to get higher, hide my scent and get out of any eyeline too.

Moss.

These pines don’t have any, the scent will stand out. She wished she had noticed it sooner. Maybe it was something about the sap?

As quick as she dared, feeling for every branch and loose piece of bark and avoiding them, she climbed upwards. She faced out, with her back to the trunk, keeping an eye on the moving branches below, still not getting a glimpse yet of her rival. She needed to do something about the smell.

Adapt! The answer was all around her.

As quietly as she could she crushed some of the deeper needles as she went, the scent of the pine growing stronger as she did. Hopefully overpowering the delicate masking smell of the moss.

And hopefully enough to trick this fool.

Through slitted eyes the little predator watched as the other Greenscale finally entered his outpost. He was tall, and his fat tail showed he was eating well. His arms, chest, and back were enormous, almost bloated with muscle.

Not in the way that One-eye had been, but she was glad she had decided to choose caution this time. She would have to be thoughtful in how she competed with all of them, take care not to get herself maimed. At least until she started to really catch up in skill.

If I ever do. She knew she would never be able to fight Biter or Slash, not and come out of it with all her limbs anyway.

He too had a rope belt, and on it was a container of some description. It was made from what looked like bark, folded over itself. The top was open, and it was filled with more straight sticks with feathers stuck to them with the boiled sap.

In one hand there was a dead mawfrog, its skull transfixed by one of the strange pointed devices.

The dead beast was such a surprise to her. Not that this male had killed one, but more because it was… small prey for him.

He can’t be feeding on just mawfrogs. I mean, I could, maybe. With enough of them. She looked at his muscled back again from the shadows. But he has to be eating more to sustain his frame.

The neonate looked at what he held in his other hand. It was a strangely shaped piece of wood. Carved, thick in the center, thin at the extremities, and curved. Held in that shape with a sinew string.

Bow and arrows! It was as if the pairing of the objects together had been the key for her Instinct to remember that information, and she suddenly understood how it was similar to the tube weapon.

She watched from the shadows as the Bowmaker tossed the corpse of the mawfrog by the fire. He unstrung his bow. Bracing it against his leg and pressing down on the wood, unhooking the sinew string from one of the notched ends.

Maintains weapon’s strength. Her Instinct whispered, just behind her eyes.

She watched with fascination.

He placed the unstrung bow against the tree she was hiding in and she held her breath to remain as still as possible. As Bowmaker hung the string on a broken off branch right next to it, the little predator closed her eyes, hiding their shine. Listening hard.

She was ready for him to look up and somehow recognize her shape in the shadows. Part of her almost wanted it to happen. To release the tension.

The neonate slowly drew her knife, glad that it was nothing more than a shadow itself in the darkness. She wouldn’t be easy meat to beat up. Not anymore.

Steps, moving away.

Wood tumbling to the ground. Crackling.

A loud pop as steam cooked out of slightly wet wood. Fortunately it wasn’t loud enough to startle her in her hiding place.

The neonate cracked open her eyes. He was feeding the fire, with clearly wet wood. It smoked and snapped loudly again as it burned.

Idiot. Her Instinct grumbled from her snout, and she agreed.

That draws attention. I’d never do that. Why invite the fight? But she knew, secretly, she thought she might feel the same way.

Knows he can win. Believes it. Her Instinct said, pulling her eyes to his wide back. The muscles rippling underneath his scales as he pulled the fire sharpened arrow out of his prey with a spurt of gross purple gore and a deep growl of effort.

Her heart sank a bit, intimidated by the physicality on display.

Bowmaker was definitely a predator. One that was dangerous both up close and at range. She didn’t know how far, but far enough seeing as she was about as dangerous as she could throw something. And he kills things at range. She did not like being this close, not anymore. She wanted to flee.

He could kill me without meaning to.

Her Instinct locked her limbs. He’ll shoot you if you run. It hissed.

She eyed the Bowmaker again. Then looked closer. She studied his face.

I recognize him!

He had been another one of the other smaller competitors. One of the ones who would rush in and then rush out with armfuls of meat.

He’s caught up! Found a way to thrive!

It was the same as what she was trying to do, just with different methods. And he had already succeeded.

Compete.

A strange sort of kinship blossomed in her chest. She remembered him as thin, long-limbed, lanky instead of muscular.

It’s possible! He had done so! Method didn’t matter, the result mattered.

Thrive.

Her thoughts shifted. She clenched her jaw to keep from hissing thoughtfully.

He would be a decisive victory if I bested him somehow. But how could she do that while staying safe and not killing him?

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Compete! The impulse from her Instinct was so strong that she almost left her hiding place.

Almost let her skin turn red and black.

Almost jumped onto the Bowmaker to sink her blade into his throat.

Feel that warm arterial spray spatter against my hands!

Yes! Kill! Cull!

Her Instinct latched onto this, fueling the need and desire to claim her superiority. It would be a way to earn her way to the next step in her life cycle! The need grew. A primal desire for physical action and flowing blood.

Her teeth bared. It would be so easy!

She shivered, forcing her eyes shut and mentally digging in. She wouldn’t! She couldn’t! She was still sure that they couldn’t kill each other unless in self defense.

Kill! Consume!

So much protein. It would last her for months. His tail, rich with fat.

No! He isn’t the right one to cull!

She hadn’t known that there was one, but the thought lit something inside her mind. She knew she had stumbled onto something true.

There was a right way to go about this. She thought of One-eye. Driven mad by infection and cursed for his taboo actions.

I am not letting that happen to me.

And what if her plan of attack failed? Bowmaker would break her like a twig, her injuries were still fresh enough that she wasn’t at her full strength.

No, there was no chance of her being able to or wanting to face off against him in any direct confrontation. Not unless he started it. Not unless any of them started it.

She needed to believe that for her own survival.

The little predator opened her eyes again, making sure they were only slits, as always maintaining the discipline of camouflage.

Lightning flashed in the sky.

He had a shard of stone in his hand, deftly using it to slice away the slimy skin of the mawfrog. He too knew knapping it seemed.

He held the skin in his other hand, pulling it free in long stretchy strips. He slit the belly next. She could smell the organs from her hiding place. The liver, meaty and full of minerals, the heart, rich with the blood.

Her eyes followed the wet mass the organs as he pulled them free. She fought not to drool, swallowing it instead.

Compete! Take the prey! Now! Her Instinct chanted.

Not now! She gripped her knife tighter. He had started doing something else and it interested her.

The Bowmaker then pulled out a sack from his prey. It was the same purple color as the viscera when he had removed his arrow from the beast. She had seen those, they were glands of some kind in the mawfrog. Bitter and slimy.

He placed it to one side, apart from the other organs, but he didn’t toss it in the pile of scraps.

He’s saving it…

Her Instinct hummed.

Bowmaker continued to slice, then paused, looking around. He repeated the action every so often, even getting up once when the thunder rumbled, checking outside of the pine trees.

She judged his ability with the camouflage as he shifted to match the pines.

Passable at best. The hue was off.

Pattern. Her Instinct added.

That was true as well. He had gotten the gestures of a pine needle pattern correct, but it wasn’t good enough to break up his silhouette. It was something that might only work at a distance.

But he doesn’t need to get close. Not with that bow. So that would be good enough.

He continued to butcher the amphibian. Smooth motions, practiced cuts.

He’s done this a lot.

In a short time, he had found five more purple pods, making it a total of six. Though he put the sixth one in the mouth of the beast. It leaked the purple gore as he did. After, he lopped off the hind legs from the front of the beast.

They were bony, covered in warty skin that had simply refused to come off of the flesh, and he placed them in the fire, burning the flesh off instead.

Why hunt such meager prey? He can get any game he wants with the bow. She wouldn’t be surprised if the weapon could kill small crocodiles or a young Tikabo…

Lightning forked brightly right above them, flickering for several seconds.

Learn. Needed knowledge.

Bowmaker skewered the still twitching muscle of the creature’s hind legs, sinking the back end of each of the sharpened sticks into the dirt by the fire to roast. He also skewered the heart and the liver. The roasting smell was agony to her.

I need to pay attention! I am learning so much! She needed her Instinct to be silent for now. She would eat soon.

The ducks went berserk again as thunder cracked loudly overhead.

Eggs. Her Instinct decreed from her tongue, making her have to swallow her own saliva again.

Her tongue flickered out, and white and muddy yellow filled her heart. She was starting to smell her own scent again.

The moss is wearing off.

She was going to overstay her welcome at this rate.

The tall male gathered the guts and the upper half of the carcass and walked out into the rain.

Wait, why?

Crocodiles, removing the scraps to keep them away.

She let out a sigh. She turned to see what he was doing from her treetop vantage, shifting into a more comfortable position. It didn’t help much, it was getting dark, and the rain was cold. Her hand bumped something hard. A large cluster of hardened tree sap.

She snatched it, stuffing it into the bag, which was still fed enough from the temple mushrooms to not be flickering. She looked back at Bowmaker, checking on him, thinking it was about time for her to run. She didn’t want to stay up in this tree in the rain all night.

Bowmaker walked over to the river, and with an impressive display of strength, threw the top half of the mawfrog well into the flow of the river. Far enough so that it was carried downstream and away from his outpost. She saw it again as lightning lashed off in the distance, and something big snapped toothy jaws, swallowing it.

Bowmaker waited for some time, then he then squatted and started to clean out the intestines.

That feeling of kinship returned. Nothing wasted.

This is my chance! Her Instinct snarled, grabbing her limbs and sending her down the tree.

Clambering down, the Greenscale snatched two more clusters of dried sap as she passed, the bow, and the string. Now that she had it in her hand, she could feel that the cordage was coated in something slimy.

Damn… A secret I missed…

Distraction! Compete! Her Instinct drug her eyes to the fire. It wanted to light the pines, to burn them down. The torch was in her hand before she stopped herself.

No.

I can’t pity! Cull! Kill!

The pines are a resource for this sap!

That gave it pause. It walked her over to one, taking a look at it. Fine. A she put the torch away, her tongue flickered out.

And now her scent was everywhere. “Shit.” She whispered.

She had to act fast. She let her tongue flicker near the bowstring, trying to see if she recognized it. It smelled horrible! She nearly gagged. Bitter. She knew exactly what it was coated in now. And it made perfect sense.

The purple sacks. She wasn’t sure why, she would have to try and figure it out.

But do I take all of them? They could be used to draw in other predators possibly. Or hide my scent!

Act now!

Jerking back into action she stuffed the bowstring into her bag and set about sabotaging everything. She yanked the stopper free of the waterskin, dumping it all over the fire. It hissed loudly, steam belching forth from the dying coals. She made sure to soak them completely, killing even the tiniest of the coals. .

A thrill filled her. Time was limited now. She scoured the site. She saw Bowmaker’s fire spindle and took it. She devoured the heart and lungs, even managing to strip one of the legs. She mashed the liver into the dirt, wishing she had the time to eat it.

She grabbed the still hot other leg, almost burning herself and hurled the it into the rain to be lost in the grass. The gathered wood joined it, rolling down the hill, scattered this way and that, and her ax made quick work of the lean-to. Echoing thrillingly as it did.

She hurled the purple sacks against the trees where they burst wetly. Her tongue flickered out to make sure Bowmaker wasn’t getting closer. She could only smell the awful reek though.

The neonate looked at the fifth and final purple gland in her palm. Her eyes narrowed. Was it safe to take along? She would take this chance. Instead of tossing it out with the others, that also went into her bag.

She heard the male’s snarl from the river.

Flee! Spotted the steam! Heard the ax! Her Instinct gibbered, giddy with excitement and mild terror.

And she ran. She made sure to scrub herself with ferns as she did, wanting to get rid of the smell of the sacks as quickly as possible. She had to make sure that she didn’t leave an easy trail to follow once her scent was dealt with, back where there was moss to use.

I competed! It was a start at least.

The neonate was already back on the main island and in the trees when she heard the bowmaker’s frustrated cry.

Found I took his bow! Smugly orange thoughts washed through her mind.

She kept sprinting. She didn’t expect to be able to use the bow, it was much too big for her. It would make a good template for her though, and she would make something more her size. Maybe, if she got strong enough, she could use Bowmakers.

She looked back at the camp, unable to keep herself from flashing orange with her pattern.

Bowmaker snarled, standing in the rain, their eyes meeting in a flash of lightning. He sprinted forward.

She rushed along the branch, leaping across to the next tree with wild abandon, having to grab a vine and swing to get across.

Got to run! Quick, moss!

She tore up a long strip of it as she went, springing to the side onto yet another branch as she scrubbed herself with the moss. She didn’t care if it was too strong now, it would fade enough soon.

And maybe he’ll be too angry to think of it?

She glanced back for just a moment, flashing sunshine pride at him with her face scales too now. He flickered into a red and black that was a bit too maroon, a bit too charcoal grey. He couldn’t keep up along the trees, too big to go as fast as she could, or as high.

He snapped off a branch and hurled it at her. She ducked under it and kept going as it whirred hatefully.

Just need to break line of sight.

The neonate got to the far side, and deeper into the thicker canopy, making a sharp turn to her left, heading south, towards the tail of the island. Breaking line of sight.

Now!

She leaped off a branch, feeling the rush of weightlessness before she caught a vine, winging in an arch around a tall cypress tree before landing against the far side of it.

Blending completely.

Closing her eyes almost shut.

She heard him roar.

Snapping branches and snarling.

Bowmaker’s footsteps came, rapid, heavy, powerful, and then they had passed her, right to left. Along the path he thought she had taken.

Feeling smug, the little predator headed west. She wanted to avoid Bowmaker’s wrath, so for now she would take the long way back to the temple. She would find her next target tomorrow. Maybe do some more scouting and assessment.

Thrive!