Think of the Trial that every hatchling of the four broods lives through. That moment when the secret skills and tools start to become common knowledge in the hatchery. How, soon after, the competition became ten times as fierce, forcing learning, cutting out more of the chaff. Imagine that, but on a global scale, across broods, across species, across cultures! Imagine how much stronger we would all become before the inevitable return.

-From Aphorisms: 16:7-11

The neonate, slathered in scentmoss, watched the rous from the dense fern she stood in, mostly sheltered from the rain. She was so close that she could reach out and grab the beast’s tail if she wanted. Snatch it as it chewed on the remains of a smaller rous that it had killed.

Two for one.

It surprised her that the parasites were cannibalistic. Most mammals weren’t. Her Instinct was still confused by the creatures, still not knowing what they were.

It was the next day, and she had been testing just how well the moss masked her scent, practicing with it, testing its limits.

The effects wearing off the previous day hadn’t been too much of an issue, but she wanted to better understand it so it never would. And now she was starting to figure out just how much to apply, when to apply it, and how to extend how long it worked in the monsoon.

And it was a marvelous improvement. Combined with keeping track of the direction of the wind, and her highly developed camouflage, the Greenscale could sneak up on almost anything now.

Kill!

She thrust the black blade into the back of the beast’s skull. It twitched once before dying without even a squeak. She quickly started to break down the carcass, trying to use some of the techniques she had seen Bowmaker and Ropemaker use.

Getting pretty good at this. She enjoyed the heat of the cooling corpse as she pealed the skin away, licking the sweet blood from her palm before continuing. The large rodents were becoming a staple of her diet.

She let her thoughts return to the moss.

I even startled the Provider this morning.

Her Instinct grunted from her bloody hands, sunrise yellow and smug orange flowing up her arms to wash over her.

The neonate had hopped onto his shoulder as he had brought in a fresh crocodile. He had actually stopped when she landed, turning his head and blinking once, clearly startled.

The tail of the beast was back in her territory under the tree, still smoking in the rafters of the shelter. She had extended it, using the path through the temple to easily bring in a lot of supplies, sticking to paths she knew.

Instead of building more mud walls, the Greenscale had stretched the crocodile hide between two of the poles with the bat wings. Both together had made a quick and dirty wind break.

I am getting pretty good at this! She felt proud as she made the last cut on the second rous, she buried the guts of both, using the skin as a little sack to carry the meat back. Going back through the Ropemaker entrance to the temple.

The neonate had thought of just setting up her base inside the old temple, but that felt disrespectful, like setting up a shelter inside Tok’s.

Wanting to stay on good terms with the Gods, she had cleaned more of it, using the mushrooms to highlight more of the carvings each time she passed by, filling in where pigment had once been, always finding more to pick every day for the task.

She would have thought that they would have died out in the light, but these continued to grow happily. If anything, they were growing even bigger than they had before ever since the runes lit up.

What are they feeding on then? She knew that mushrooms fed on wood and other such things. But the glowing ones grew out of the stone itself. She also couldn’t take the mushrooms out of the temple. She had tried.

The rain made their glow dissipate, flaring and sparking. And when she put any in her bag they were devoured by it.

She didn’t trust eating them, it drove her Instinct berserk, so, the Greenscale used them to paint the murals and the idols a little more on every pass through she made. The repetitive task of it giving her a chance to think and plan.

The bow she had claimed sat propped up against one of the mud walls, the wood it was made of still a mystery to her. Different from the others she had been using.

Just one more thing to search for.

She ate her fill from the oldest smoked meats, not wanting them to go bad, hanging the fresh rous in its place. She was almost bringing in as much as she ate. And while that was a good thing, she wasn’t going hungry, she knew that the possibility of lean times was ever present. And, she was growing, if not as fast as she would like, but that meant she would just generally need more food.

Tapping into my stores soon. And so would the rest of the brood.

Cull rivals.

She would have to, if she wanted to get enough food to keep surviving.

She took the southernmost entrance, the one directly across from the one inside the thorns. It too was flooded. She didn’t want to use the Harvester entrance, it was too close to Bowmaker, and so she avoided the eastern side of the island entirely.

If I was him, I would be waiting for the person that ruined my outpost to return. Making another bow. She had thought about tracking him again, following him to the right tree, but for all she knew he had completed another bow already and was waiting for her.

Deadly arrows with stone tips knocked and waiting. It was the obvious conclusion, the pine glue and sinew could attach stone tips, she was sure.

Her Instinct grunted. Compete. Explore. Learn.

The little predator had chosen to go down a new path, the one that headed due south. There was another fire she had spotted from her tree in that direction.

The pathway was much like the northern one, leading up into a set of stairs. It differed in that when she got to the top it wasn’t an open structure that she walked through, or a puzzle to solve.

Rather it was a sort of hatch that she pulled down into a ramp and walked up. As she stepped off the runes of the ramp stopped glowing, and the whole thing lifted back up into place with a soft boom.

Is it open for me then on this side? Or is there a trick to it.

Her Instinct hissed pensively.

She placed her foot on the ramp, and they blazed into light again starting to sink, lifting back and booming shut as she lifted her foot. She was glad she made sure. The area that she came out into was a cramped space. It was mostly hidden and blocked by foliage and a toppled obelisk on the outside.

It might open for anyone. Gotta be careful leaving.

Good. Learn. Thrive!

The neonate slipped out, camouflaged, and climbed a mangrove tree, reaching one of the widest branches and finding moss to coat herself in. It was from there that she could smell the fire she had been aiming for. She looked for the smoke, but didn’t see much of anything. But she could smell it through the rain, taste it on the breeze. It was close.

South.

She turned to face that direction, and hissed. Once again trees were sparse, and she wouldn’t have an easy escape through the highest branches.

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Overcome. Maruc demanded.

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A true test of my new skill with the moss then. It wasn’t a happy thought, but the little one knew couldn’t be idle.

Climbing down, she thought she knew where she was, and headed in the general direction that the fire should be based on her observations back from her own tree. It wasn’t too long before she found the camp, only a bit farther west than her guess. As she had expected, the fire was almost smokeless, the wood properly dried.

Smarter than Bowmaker. There was another lean-to there, the roof thatched with layered leaves and branches.

The fire also had a pile of stones on one side to better reflect the heat like her own, and from the single rafter there were several tendons hanging to dry. She also saw, hunched over and working on something, the owner of the camp.

She was not tall, only slightly taller than the neonate, maybe four feet and a few inches in total. This new rival made up for it though in how wide she was. Shoulders broad, neck thick, hips sturdy.

She sat next to the fire with a stone in each hand, striking the edge of one with the other with soft high pitched cracks.

The neonate moved as close as she dared.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Don’t fail me now, moss.

The other female had a rope belt with five axes through loops in it. They looked much nicer than the one she had gotten from the abandoned Ropemaker nest. The most noticeable thing was the heads were not jagged, but smooth. Ground and almost polished.

Axmaker. Her Instinct named the female.

How had she done that?

The sinew that bound them to the hafts was coated in the pine pitch she had yet to figure out how to make. The neonate could tell you added something to it from the smell of it on the arrows she had gotten the previous day, but what was still up in the air. There was something more worrying though.

Knowledge is spreading. That wasn’t good. It meant that many of her opponents would be better armed, on top of having the advantage of strength. She eyed the five axes at the big female’s belt, the smooth ground heads.

Less likely to chip. She needed that knowledge.

The little predator looked around, trying to see if there was a clue to how it was done, but all she could see was wood shavings, stone ships, and firewood.

Axmaker shifted, placing the hammerstone down and picked up a rous femur, doing more delicate work along the edge. The ones at her belt clattered softly, and the neonate spotted that the finished axes all had fire hardened points at the end of their hafts. Like the arrows Bowmaker had.

Why do that?

Second attack? Her Instinct mused.

That can’t be it, it wouldn’t have any reach. The point would be just past the palm. Maybe if the prey tackled her, but then she’d have other concerns.

I already have my knife.

She doesn’t.

Why not make a stone one? And even then, there was still the question of why Axmaker had five. It would weigh her down. And the construction was good enough that the neonate was sure that they didn’t break.

At least not often. She eyed Axmaker's wide shoulders.

Axmaker finished shaping the new ax head with a few more decisive strikes with the rous bone hammer. There was the soft tinkling chime of good stone flakes clattering into her lap, loudly punctuating the moment in the constant rain between lightning strikes. Axmaker plucked the nicest pieces out, brushing the others away and set them aside.

That same part of the neonate that had felt kinship with Bowmaker felt the same for Axmaker in that moment. Using as much as she could. Those flakes would be good blades, or arrowheads.

She still needed to figure out how to use the sap though.

Look then, idiot.

She shifted closer, sliding through the shadows and underbrush, ready to flee at any second. Managing to get a better vantage point.

Axmaker placed the ax head down and pulled what was clearly a haft out of the fire, grinding the smoldering end against a stone black with soot before placing it back into the fire to continue the process. She picked the ax head up again and leaned over to take a flat stone out of the rain.

The neonate watched as she set the blade of the ax against the flat wet stone and began to slide it back and forth. Grinding them together, the sound loud in the rain.

Ah… So those represent days of effort? She felt greed build inside. She wanted them.

The grinding sound helped cover her approach, giving the neonate a chance to circle further around the camp. Getting closer for an even better view. The neonate checked the direction of the wind, planning how best to proceed.

That way. Her Instinct hissed.

The little predator stalked through cover, keeping an eye on her target, making sure that there was no sign of her being detected. She got closer, trusting the moss.

Her Instinct hissed thoughtfully. Take.

She wasn’t sure how she could manage that. She did want the ax heads though, but it was not just that. Really, she wanted anything she could take away from the others. They tried to take everything from me after all.

The rhythmic sound of it made it easy for her to make her way all the way over to the other female. She settled into shadows of one of the bushes next to the lean-to, observing. She let her tongue flicker out, and her Instinct seized her eyes and yanked them about! Searching for the source of that smell.

Where! Need!

Quiet!

She saw it then. Axmaker had some healing herb poultice on a wound at her thigh. She almost snapped her jaw in frustration but managed to stop herself. The cravings never went away it seemed. But it was worse.

I can’t try my plan with the herb on her. She could tell that the other female wasn’t under the influence of the leaves. She was too methodical, too controlled.

Not weak.

Axmaker froze, looking up, tongue flickering out as her yellow eyes scanned around her.

Fuck!

The neonate held her breath, narrowing her eyes to slits just as the other female’s passed over her. Axmaker’s eyes stopped roving. The neonate could see the pupils contract then dilate, she was that close. Axmaker’s tongue flickered out again. She recognized the look in Axmaker’s expression.

Run! Her Instinct screamed from her legs, and it took all she had to stay still. Hunter staring at prey! Run!

Instead, the little warrior’s hand moved slowly to the handle of her knife. Gripping the handle of the matte black blade. Her other hand moved to her own ax.

Her heart pounded in her chest.

She should charge.

Attack.

Strike now!

Kill!

Get in her attack before the other stronger female could. But Axmaker wasn’t an opponent she wanted to face, not yet. Not directly. Not without some kind of advantage besides surprise. Her grip on the knife tightened.

She noted Axmaker’s gaze. Something was off.

Wait… She looked harder. I don’t think she’s looking at me.

It was close, but she thought that Axmaker might actually be looking behind her at something. Her rival drew an ax from her belt and lifted it high, and that conviction became very difficult to cling too.

She forced down the need to swallow, to flee, to breathe.

No movement.

Stillness only.

Axmaker had her weapon in a strange grip, thumb resting along the haft, pointing towards the head.

The neonate knew why there were so many axes now. Why they had pointed tips at the end of their handles.

She didn’t even change where she was looking, relying on her peripheral vision to keep track of what was going on.

Run!

Not yet! She hoped she was right.

Axmaker slowly stood.

Strike! Kill!

No, not yet! She had to be right!

Something needed to happen, her heart was going to burst from her chest otherwise.

The other female’s tongue was flickering rapidly now. Her whole body was slowly turning towards the neonate, ax lifting higher. Fear swelled inside the neonate, and she grit her teeth. Her hands clenched her weapons.

Fear will not control me now. She was certain that Axmaker wasn’t looking at her, but if she was, she would lash out. It would be a close thing though.

There was a flash of lightning and Axmaker flicked her weapon forward. The neonate flinched, watching as it sailed right at her.

Spinning fast enough to hum!

She couldn’t look away!

Thunk! Something behind her squealed once. It had passed about ten inches to the left of her head.

The neonate was so startled by how close she had come to death that she almost didn’t shift out of the way fast enough as Axmaker looked down, grabbing a flake and growling in pleasure.

She’ll barge right through! She quickly slipped to the right, moving to a neighboring bush, actively shifting her patterns and coloring as she did.

Axmaker didn’t even glance at her. As she walked back to her shelter, she had a squirrel in her hand, its skull smashed flat, already opening up its belly for the guts. The ax was already in its belt loop once more, sharpened tip bloody instead of the head.

Thunder snarled in the heavens.

Ah, so if it doesn’t hit square, there is another chance of it sticking.

Or blunt kill.

Another ranged weapon. She was still behind it seemed.

She eyed the squirrel, the second time the prey was too small for the predator.

Resources again? She wondered, calming down.

She wasn’t sure that she would want to rely solely on throwing a weapon though. If you missed, well… It seemed like an easy way to give it to your opponent. She also felt that the Bowmaker’s weapon was much more efficient for hunting.

That weapon is both though. Close and ranged.

The neonate noted the small stature of the other female, layered with thick muscle. Having extra reach would help.

Axmaker stripped the small beast of its skin, hanging it inside out to dry, then tore the guts free. Pinching one end of the intestines, she emptied the contents of them onto a flat stone, rinsing her hands in the rain after. Skewering the squirrel to roast over the flames when she was done and returned to grinding.

Dung? Why?

Axmaker reached over and plucked a single variegated leaf and slid it into her mouth as she worked, chewing slowly. The neonate felt her Instinct snarling in the back of her mind. Axmaker spat the juice out, some dribbling down her chin, and kept chewing. Just for the sake of it, it seemed.

How? No! No, she didn’t care. She could smell it though, and knew she was lying.

The neonate waited, trying to distract herself by watching stones get ground together.

Agony!

She ignored her Instinct.

The grinding stone was also rinsed with the rain repeatedly, dark flakes coming off that had to be washed away in the downpour occasionally while Axmaker abraded the ax head with the other stone.

Fortunately, it wasn’t long before Axmaker split the haft, set the head in, and wrapped it with some pre-pounded sinew fibers. Then it got to the part the neonate had been waiting for.

Taking the flat stone with the squirrel droppings on it, Axmaker added some unlit charcoal, and some pieces of pine resin on top, using a piece of firewood to crush everything into dust, heating the mix after. She did that by placing the stone close but not in the fire.

She stirred and stirred. It bubbled stickily. Using the stirring stick, Axmaker smeared the concoction over the sinew generously in an even layer.

Dung? And charcoal? Who had thought to try that first?

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... I like to tinker, okay?

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Irrelevant. Learn! Her Instinct snarled.

As the mix cooled, it took on that satin sheen. Axmaker, looking satisfied, made a fresh loop in her belt for the new tool and slid it in. She leaned over and picked up a fresh, unshaped stone, starting again. Clearly content to stay there all day.

Damn… fine. It wasn’t a totally fruitless mission, she had learned quite a lot.

The neonate slowly backed away, timing her steps to the strikes of the stone, moving behind the lean-to so she didn’t have to worry about her movement giving her away. Thunder rumbled in the distance, joined by several of its fellows.

I’ll sabotage on another day. She had too much information to process, and she needed to reapply the moss soon anyway. Axmaker kept knocking flakes off the next ax head, none the wiser. The neonate got to the trees and slipped up one, moving out of the range of Axmaker’s senses.

She had so many questions. Would any rodent droppings do? Could she gather up rous droppings for this? This would warrant some exploration, if she had the time to.

Once she was comfortably far away, the neonate set up snares in hidden places on that end of the island, still ruminating on her discoveries.

Like continuously decorating the temple, placing the snares and thinking was a practice she was starting to do on every exploration. She basically had all the materials she wanted in that regard. The hoard of cordage that was Ropemaker’s nest was seemingly endless.

And most of the others are more direct hunters than I am. Part of her wished that for herself, but the island was a bit too crowded for her to feel comfortable trying.

Coward. Fight!

She ignored her Instinct, though deep down she wanted to. I just have to fight differently.

On her way back she made sure to pluck every herb bush she saw bare of both leaves and berries, cutting them down after. Denying them from Axmaker and any others in the area. Force them into each other’s territory.

It was with shaking hands that she forced herself to put it all in her bag.

Leaves!

It had almost become background noise in her mind.

Just as she was entering the temple again, the bag began to flicker and flare with light. She sighed.

I wonder if the knife will start demanding things next.

She let the ramp swing upwards behind her.

The neonate stuffed the flickering complaining bag full of the glowing mushrooms as she traveled, staining her hands and claws. So many that her custom of painting more around the temple was carried out by the stain of her claws and fingers alone.

The bag stopped flickering by the third handful, and none of the herbs inside seemed effected in the slightest. Not a single drop of the luminous substance on them at all. She stared at them. Her mouth was dry as sun-baked sand.

When she got to the far end she hung the herbs in the rack she had made, taking the dry ones and grinding some more paste with the stones she now used. Her hands shook again at the sight of the paste. It was worse as she applied the poultice to her wounds, mostly healed but not completely gone just yet. She forced herself to wash her hands in the flowing rainwater before walking away.

She kept the seeds in her bag. She wanted them on her person if she spotted the perfect candidate for her plan.

She gorged herself on her meager supplies, gulping rainwater as well. Trying to shut up her nagging hindbrain so she could sleep.

Thunder rumbled as she did.