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

The neonate bit down on the stick wrapped in rous hide, hissing in pain around it as she pressed the blazing hot matte black blade against her ankle. It didn’t glow with the heat, something that confused her Instinct.

Should glow re-

Black dominates all! Her frustration sizzled inside like wet meat in hot fat. Splattering and burning everything.

She didn’t care that the blade wasn’t ‘glowing red’. The smoke that boiled out from where she pressed it against her torn scales, the smell of her own roasting meat, those things made it clear the blade was hot enough. That was what mattered to her.

Learn! Persev-

Shut up!

She didn’t need coaching from her Instinct, though it hurt to gnash at herself like that.

The neonate understood the concept, and she knew it would work. She was sure that it was the amount of pain that was putting her into a maroon mood. At least she was no longer bleeding so badly from that injury.

Blood dripped down off of her elbow, and the arrow through her arm made it hard to move.

No time. Need to deal with this arrow.

She poured water into the grinding stone, getting some from the rivulet that ran down the center of the shelter with a cupped hand, adding leaves as well. Use had worn a circular depression into the stone, forming a little bowl, letting her grind the leaves more efficiently.

The Greenscale continued to make more medicine, listening to the wind that whistled through the cords holding the skin walls of the shelter taut. The leaves, dried in the entrance of the temple, sucked up the moisture greedily, becoming a paste.

She poured some of the herb berries into the mortar as well, having to drop the grinding stone with only one good arm. Smashing them, dying the paste red, giving it a pungent odor. She suspected that they-

Just a lick!

That the berries – she snapped her jaws at her own impulses – were more concentrated than the leaves. Given her experience with them.

She deliberately picked up the stone again, not looking at the berries. The neonate was surprised that she hadn’t passed out from blood loss.

Just a pinch. Just a lick of the juice!

She hissed. Her addiction was probably never going to go away. Not completely.

Quiet!

She had learned to suppress the intruding thoughts. It was tiring to fight down the promises though. The promise of a surcease of her pain, her worry, of the nightmares that would come in the night

She could deal with pain. She had learned to. It was a necessity of life. It was making her stronger.

At least… it feels that way.

It was the quiet she desired. The ability to just be. Just exist.

The Greenscale snarled, this time in pain, smearing some poultice onto the burns. She looked down, inspecting how much of the medicine she had left.

Leaves! Not enough! Chew more!

She ground her teeth. There is plenty!

More!

The neonate’s patience ran out.

I am done arguing with myself! Her clawed fingers wrapped around the wooden arrow shaft sticking out of her. Gripping tight as she bit down on the stick in her jaws.

Wait! No! Caref-

Blood squirted, and she snarled as she tore the arrow free of her arm, hissing as the pain stampeded down her nerves, forcing the metacognitive discussion to end.

Blood leaked down her arm, dripping off of her elbow to hiss in her fire, flowing freely out of the now open wound. Pure agony. Her eyes shifted to the poultice, lingering on the dark red paste.

One last temptation, just to take the edge off, to ease the stress, the nightmares, her own Instinct. She fought it down as she pressed the poultice into the entry wound.

Just one!

Shut up! She pushed more of the paste into the exit wound now, stalking through her thoughts for a distraction.

Why did I drive myself to fight them?

The neonate hissed, there hadn’t been enough medicine.

Why even listen to myself if all it does is get me hurt?

She stood, limping horribly, using a piece of pillarwood and her tail to hobble down the path and get more of the healing herb.

Put me behind?

She snapped her jaws at the pain, stubbornly defying it.

Force me to lay about like some fat prey waiting to be slaughtered?!

Her Instinct remained silent.

I should have run immediately. She hobbled back, flopping down and snarling as it jostled her ankle painfully.

The little predator furiously filled the bowl with more water, leaves, and berries, grinding all three viciously into paste. Her mental tirade at herself continuing.

All I hear about is this damn desire for more leaves, waste away, and give in to the languor! It isn’t even a proper tradeoff. Her fears surged up, the nightmares, the cravings, her small stature. Am I broke-

Her Instinct filled her body. Silent. Crimson with rage, cutting her off.

The neonate couldn’t ask it, ask if she was broken. Question if there was something wrong inside her. It wasn’t what she really believed, or wanted to, anyway.

She had been right there, fighting in the melee with them, the Apex competitors of the Island. Not just dodging or leading them astray. Could she call herself broken when she had managed that?

She hissed softly.

It had been glorious. Terrifying, but glorious. Such a stupid thing to compete like that though, and the neonate knew she shouldn’t have done it. She knew why though.

Her Instinct didn’t respond, forcing her forebrain to acknowledge it. She rubbed a hand against her forehead.

She had needed to prove her worth. Not to the other competitors, the Provider, or the Gods. No. The neonate needed to prove it to the one person that it ultimately mattered most.

I needed to prove it to myself.

The truth of her maroon mood only made it more vibrant. She struggled to let it go but she couldn’t, so the neonate shifted focus.

Damn Trapmaker.

She hadn’t expected that seeing him there would have reignited her impulses. Stupefied by the herb. Reminding her of the peace it had given her, the very thing she was craving at that moment, especially in her current mood.

Quiet in her mind.

She saw saliva drip into the bowl as she ground the poultice fine. It would be so easy. But something about her Instinct saying that the rains would stop soon made her think that would signal the end of the trial.

Still ignoring the screams and ranting from her Instinct, she pressed more of the mush into the exit wound, using it all up. Pillarwood fibers followed, then the Greenscale wrapped both cloth from her bedding and cordage around it to keep everything in place, tied tight to keep pressure on it. Making her wince.

The good news was that was the last injury to deal with, but the bad news was she’d have quite some time to heal. Time she was worried she was running out of.

Every yolk has a white. There was a faint tint of maroon there.

She leaned back next to the roaring fire, tearing into some dried meat. The food, medicine, and heat were the tripod of her recovery.

Need to make it quick. She hoped that adding the berries to the wound would speed things along for her.

The Greenscale was making an educated guess about adding the berries to the poultice. They had the same effect when chewed, just far more potent. And the smoothskin poachers had a poultice of their own this color, which smelled strongly of the leaves.

She spent the night planning her next move, chewing on some dried gulper as she did.

She stayed in her territory for the first week. Only moving and hauling light stones for her activity outside of sleep, remembering that was what Biter did. Her shelter was incredibly warm now, which was very good for her recovery.

Two weeks in, she increased the amount of training, light jogs in the temple, more stones. Once it didn’t hurt too much to walk and climb, the neonate even ventured out of her territory.

Need to check the snares and traps.

Good! Her Instinct pulled her eyes to the single piece of hanging meat left.

Rous. Almost black with smoke. She felt her stomach rebel at the idea of eating one more piece of dried meat.

Need something fresh. Even grubs would be better in her opinion at this point.

With that in mind, the neonate walked out into the gentle drizzle, leaving everything but her knife behind. She needed to remain as hidden as possible, and she didn’t want to be weighed down with her wounds still recovering.

She was happy to find that her snares had been quite fruitful since she last checked them only a few days ago. It was a treasure trove of animals, mostly rous, but also some mawfrogs, a very young tikabo, and a snapping turtle.

When she was dragging the decapitated turtle home, there was a snarl. A low sort of coughing growl off in the distance. Maybe forty yards away.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

Her Instinct knew what it was instantly. Swamp-cat!

An uncommon predator, with rending claws and long rending fangs, deadly in its own right.

She didn’t just flee the finned feline though. She left a trail of turtle blood, to lead it into the nesting sight of another hatchling. She had spotted the site in a flash of lightning a few days back while climbing through the trees.

Taking that route again with the predator on her trail, she could see that the owner was not in their camp. Smoke from the fire within was still rising into the air.

She watched the glistening form slink through the mud, its short otter-like fur wet and glossy, its second set of eyelids closed so that it didn’t have to blink against the rain.

It pleased her to see the swamp-cat go inside and start tearing at whatever was stored away in there.

This would be something to use on Bowmaker. She was thinking about the ducks and the crocs near his outpost.

Yes… Her Instinct hissed. Compete. Dominate. Apex!

Bright sunrise yellow thoughts all three of them, full of pride.

During the third week of her recovery, the rain had slowed to nearly a drizzle. She was running through the temple, a pile of heavy stones in her bag as she ran. She wasn’t at her fastest yet, but she felt she would be before long. She set the stones next to the drying rack for the herbs and headed back out into the rain.

Soon. Her Instinct hissed again from her eyes, pulling them up. She blinked away a raindrop.

How soon? The full heat of the sun would be nice.

… Soon.

Ever helpful.

She stretched her injured arm and ankle, hissing. Both injuries twinged, but that was all, almost fully healed.

Adding those berries worked wonders!

Her Instinct grunted. Yes. Fast.

The little hunter looked at the pale miscolored scales that had already started to peel from her ankle, bright green ones underneath. She tried shifting them, and they turned red.

Good! She had worried a burn like that would hinder her camouflage, but looking at them with her practiced eye, it didn’t look like there would be any issue.

She had continued her raids and plans on the others, especially Bowmaker.

He is the biggest threat to me right now. I have to address it. It was his ability to project violence at range that made him a priority.

The little warrior had come to the decision as she was clearing out some of the old poultice from the arrow wound in her arm. She gnashed her teeth in agony as she had to scrape out the old medicine and apply the new.

If I am going to do any hunting or competing up there, he needs to be suppressed.

She knew that if he overcame that struggle, he would only be stronger for it. An idea that she found pleasing for reasons she couldn’t verbalize.

She waited until the cover of darkness. Creeping closer to one of the nests on the far edge of the flock, and launched herself at the prey.

It immediately let out a loud quack that woke the entirety of the flock into a tumultuous uproar before her jaws silenced it forever.

They took to the sky, their wings and calls echoing, the corpse of their broodmate still flapping and kicking.

Danger!

Twang!

She hit the dirt! The new bow was loud.

The arrow sailed into the darkness and she could hear the rustling of the grass as Bowmaker charged into the night.

She watched him blend in, scales shifting, judging his skill as better than most, but not as good as Design. Good enough to worry about though.

He took a few more shots, searching for her, and she made sure to circle around away from him, abandoning the kill and moving back into the woods. He found her trail, but by then she was up in the trees, scrubbed thoroughly with the moss. She heard him roar with rage.

He knows it was me.

It was the conclusion she would jump to.

Let him. Wastes resources.

Fear boiled inside as he took a couple of random pot-shots. He seemed to be guessing where she might be, some coming close to her position but none finding their mark. She moved around the trunk of the tree before they did.

She set about practicing on other prey in the island. Sneaking close, then striking before the prey could make a sound.

Mastering the ambush.

The little hunter got to the point where she could target both duck sires at the same time, kill them, and drag them away without alerting any of the others. So long as the conditions were right.

She ate what she could as close to the flock as she could manage, dumping the rest nearby to attract other predators closer to her rival’s outpost. Not every pair killed, some she did take back to her territory, but enough. Her favorite aspect of such hunts being the delectable yolky eggs, reminding her of the vague simpler times pre-hatch.

There were several nights when she had come back with the magic bag bulging with them, the corpses of the parents were slung over her back. Her reserves grew and she ate fresh food daily. She even found that you could cook eggs if you had a flat stone, greased with the off-white fat of their sires.

It was good, but she preferred them raw, and she preferred to eat the fat rather than cook with it.

Because she was constantly using her bag, for eggs, berries, and even once several little tikabo she had ambushed, the neonate always made sure to stuff the it full of mushrooms first before heading out so that it didn’t flicker and glow.

She slunk across the treeless marsh, slipping through the whispering blades of grass. Ever circumspect for the soft creak of the lanky male’s bowstring. It only took one night for the crocs to invade, forcing her to take an even longer way around through the canopy.

It was worth it though.

She heard the sound of stone smacking stone every night, and occasionally a soft tinkling noise of flakes. Growls and snarls. Every night.

Making a surplus.

He had seen the stashes Axmaker had too it seemed. There was no way he would carry so many arrows. She had found a few as well, breaking into them, taking the arrows, stashing them back in her territory. She also found axes as well, here and there, and added them to her hoard.

It was then that she decided she needed to start to work against the others as well.

Compete!

She didn’t target Fisher. Her secluded territory made it prohibitively difficult for the neonate to do anything, and she frankly didn’t think that there was much more to do where the other female was concerned.

And that river monster might return. She cracked her joints with a shake of her head. It had joined her nightmares with One-eye, both pre and post curse.

The neonate kept tabs on her though. Spotting Fisher often by the flooded section near the submerged entrance to the temple. Hunting aquatic prey with two new spears, one with four prongs. The other she saw in the day once, and it had a gleaming glassy stone point. Shaped and ground, deadly. Held in with tan sinew and black pine glue. A weapon.

Far too much reach to even try something. She’d have to think of ways to get around it if it came down to another fight. The neonate didn’t get close, not wanting to test her luck.

It was the one thing the larger female had been missing during their last encounter. She found herself pleased with the other female arming herself.

“Luck and innate skill only take us so far.” Tok’s voice resonated in her mind.

Sudden understanding bloomed like a lotus in the turbulent waters of her thoughts.

We all need to push each other to the breaking point. To be challenged. To grow or die come what may.

She thought of the berries. She looked at the spear. Such competition made them all stronger. And they had to be strong. To prove it! The others needed to, just as much as she did. For the good of the brood. To be ready for the Falsescaled.

She thought of the… thing that One-eye had become, and felt the need to crack her neck again.

A kindness. She remembered a nest full of freshly hatched chicks. Splattered in the blood of their sires. Or a mercy, if they die.

Her Instinct grunted softly from her hindbrain.

She ground her teeth, realizing that meant she had been doing Bowmaker a kindness dumping the bait near his outpost.

Faint orange amusement floated up from her Instinct.

Both Slash and Biter were still recovering. She saw that Slash had his arm in a splint, and Biter was still applying poultice to her leg. Neither injury seemed to slow the apex competitors in the slightest, but the neonate stored that information away for later anyway.

Strike the wound, slow the combatant.

It is not going to come to that. She hissed softly. She didn’t want to have another face-to-face confrontation ever again if she could help it, especially with either one of those two.

With both of them still recovering, it seemed to her that the pair of them hadn’t discovered the secret of adding the berries to the leaves.

Good. She didn’t need the others discovering that.

Both had made a facsimile of a hatchling out of reeds though, which was interesting to her. They moved around it slowly, methodically. She was watching Slash after seeing Biter do the same. She couldn’t deduce why. He moved his arm, elongated claws scraping against the bundle of grass that was the throat of the thing.

Practicing! They are practicing how to fight!

The little warrior built a dummy of her own, mimicking the two apexes in her territory amongst the thorns. Something about it helped cue her Instinct, and it let her move through the techniques she had observed from the others across the island.

She imagined the fights, searching for things she would do differently as she went, using her experience fending off the others to guess at what they might do in a fight.

Learn. Her Instinct snarled from her hands. Gripping the bloodoak ax and the matte black blade more tightly. Sunshine yellow pride shining once more.

Later, the neonate was within the temple, at its heart, sitting in the center of the pile of offerings. She had finished her daily ritual of painting more of the mushroom pigment onto their idols some time ago and was resting after another run.

I know of one of the pillars of Biters success.

Resource. Her instinct agreed.

I should take that from her.

But could she force Biter to protect Resource?

No, wouldn’t happen. She needed something else.

There wasn’t even that much to steal from Biter, she didn’t stockpile like the rest of the hatchlings.

Even Slash was better at that than-

----------------------------------------

It is my turn to give her an idea.

Ah crap.

I felt bad for the Kiddo cause I couldn’t stop him. I did sneak in a little something though, something simple enough that it wouldn’t be noticed.

Just some hickory in a place he wouldn’t be looking. Hope you make it Kiddo, cause I’m kinda up a creek otherwise.

----------------------------------------

Yellow eyes widened in the dimness of the temple, two wills shifting things across the island together.

One, a gleaming obsidian burst of inspiration, glossy as a freshly split shard and just as sharp.

The other, much more mundane.

She hissed in pleasure as she realized what she could do. An old plan, but it was the perfect one for that pair.

The neonate stood, careless of the piles that spilled beneath her three-toed feet. She gave the pantheon a quick bow of respect, spreading her arms to include them all as she did.

When she saw that Biter was currently harassing Resource for food it pleased the neonate, the dull thud of the apex’s kick and pained squeal of the other female as she tried to flee. The weaker female looked thin, wasting away.

She wouldn’t last much longer.

Good.

The neonate turned away from that and slipped into Biter’s shelter while the apex was distracted.

She had already coated herself with moss, so she didn’t worry about leaving a scent. Once inside, she snatched some of Biter’s bedding, which was mostly made from dried leaves. Her job done, she fled before Biter returned.

Careful!

She hissed softer than ever as the gentle patter of rain decreased even more. The neonate had made it over to Slash’s territory, taking the long way around far to the north, away from the pine barren. She slid in behind a huge orchid cluster, nearly five feet in diameter.

Her tongue flickered out. She couldn’t smell him, but that didn’t mean much. She decided to wait in her tree for a moment before heading down.

Still not spotting him, she moved into his shelter, and stole everything she could manage. Mostly food, though she did pile all of the wood onto Slash’s fire. Not to burn the shelter down, that would defeat the purpose. Just to waste it. She crushed the bedding fine in her hands, sprinkling the leaf fragments here and there.

A light touch. She wanted it to seem like accidental traces.

She hurried, her bag stuffed with meat and whiptail tubers, occasionally sprinkling the crushed leaves as she headed towards Biter’s camp.

She heard rustling in the ferns.

Quick as a flash she was up and into the canopy, silently and swiftly heading south towards the Harvester entrance.

Slash’s snarl and crashing through the underbrush proved she had done well.

It was nearing the end of the third week when she saw the Provider chewing on the corpse of Resource. She felt smug about taking that from Biter.

The neonate had been taking almost all of the food that Tok had been bringing in, doubling down on the pressure of those too weak to provide for themselves now.

It seemed he was nearing the end of providing anything outside of protection as well, the meals barely larger than what she could get in her snares.

It isn’t even worth taking any anymore.

When he had a single rous in his palm one day, she decided that it was time to really start sabotaging the other hatchlings. Even the other apexes.

She scoured the territory first, searching for stashes of axes, and finding two more. She took them. She also found another stash of arrows, which she snapped and left there for Bowmaker to find while coated in the moss. She hoped he would think it had been Axmaker.

When she reached the camp of the stocky apex, she let herself cut lose.

She smashed in the roof, snapping rafters with her own ax, she hurled useful tool-stone into the underbrush so it would be difficult to find.

She ate the supplies of food that were stored until she was full and then threw the rest into the fire along with the unused axhandles and wood.

She wanted the other female to hear. She wanted to exploit her anger.

There was a snarl. She ducked as an ax whirled over her head. The fire hardened tip of the handle sinking deep into a spongy stump behind her.

Go!

She ran.

Her leg didn’t pain her, and she used the trees to her advantage, weaving in and out of them, two more axes sailing past. The neonate shifted to match the environment to make herself into a harder target.

Trapmaker! She went in that direction, hearing Axmaker tear into another stash, looking back to see it was on the ground. She ran even faster.

The little saboteur heard a snarl as Axmaker fell into one of Trapmaker’s pits. Though by the sound of her scrabbling and gnashing teeth she had caught herself at the last moment.

It was all she needed to pull ahead.

Quickly she made it all the way into the heart of Trapmaker’s territory, finding him once again drugged with the herb.

Snarling, she leapt onto his chest, her toeclaws digging into it.

Whack-whack-wha-whack-whack!

She beat him with the handles of the stolen axes as he squealed in terror and surprise before running up and into the trees once more, not caring that he saw her do so.

She was heading back out of Trapmaker’s territory, the loot from Axmaker in her possession as she saw the irate female rush deeper in, deep in her own black and red. Too distracted by her rage to look up as she gnashed her teeth, wielding two axes.

Fool!

She heard the distant echoes of her taking out her rage on Trapmaker, his feeble attempts to fend her off. Pleas, whines, the sounds of terrible violence.

Orange smugness filled her thoughts. Her way light nicely from above. She looked up, satisfied as the moon shown down on her as she trekked back towards the Axmaker entrance to the temple. The quiet peaceful and welcome.

Wait… moon? Quiet?!

She looked again.

It had finally stopped raining!

Soon. Trial. Name.

Sunshine yellow thoughts flooded her mind from her Instinct. She would have to redouble her efforts then.