There’s Toko, Lilau thought with a roll of her eyes. At least one gangly limb always found its way outside of his hiding spot, and somehow, he never seemed to notice. This time was no exception, a knobby knee showing outside of the tanning rack he crouched behind. She supposed she could forgive him a little, being over two full cycles younger than her ten, but he never seemed to learn. Sure enough, Raka stalked a straight line towards him, her dark brown braid swaying behind her. Toko cried out as the whip-like branch Raka held in her hand lashed against the top of his head.
“You’re first dead again, Toko,” Raka said. “Are you even trying?”
“Ow! Do you have to hit so hard?”
Raka drew herself up. Being tall for her eleven cycles, she towered over the younger boy. He reflexively ducked away from her glare.
“Don’t want to get hit? Learn how to hide better.”
Giving her the strip of cloth tied around his corded belt, he walked off muttering.
One mark down, Raka dropped low, slinking off in search of her next prey. Neither one of them had so much as glanced in Lilau’s direction. Not that it surprised her at all. It wasn’t because she was hiding so well. In fact, she wasn’t hiding at all. She perched in plain view on top of Dakel’s working table.
He was called to the hunting parties today, which she supposed was fortunate for her. If he had been around, he would be furious at her, of course. He wouldn’t have yelled, though, he never did. Instead, he would talk to her in those disgustingly simple, clipped phrases like she was stupid. Then he would grumble to himself and bemoan her misfortune of having been forced to live as soon as he thought she was out of hearing range. She grimaced. It was the same way with all the adults, well, except for Raval and Mara. If Mara caught her up here, she would be lucky if all she did was yell. Lilau’s backside twitched at the thought of a green switch across it. Mara may be old, but she still had quite a swing. Thankfully, Mara rarely wandered around the center of the village.
A hint of motion caught her eye, bringing her focus back to the game the village whelps were playing. Hunt, it was called. Simple and to the point, much like its rules. All the players counted to forty as they hid, then tried to “kill” all the others first. They marked successful scores with strips of cloth tied to each player’s belt. Being the most skilled hunter was more prestigious than being the best hider, which meant that proven skilled players became lucrative late game targets, for any strip they collected would be gained by anyone able to take them down.
One such skilled player, a nine-cycle boy named Nonen, who already sported a few strips, crept through the open space between two nearby huts before disappearing from view again. He hadn’t looked her way either, despite how her white-gold hair caught the sun, giving off a distinct sheen as it reflected the rays. She wasn’t a part of the game, so she didn’t matter. Not that she mattered to them, anyway. They made that more than clear on every possible occasion.
She was just a runt, a mistake that shouldn’t have survived. Her never tanning skin the color of milk, her pale silver eyes and her stunted height all but screamed outsider. She could never hope to blend in with the tall, earth-toned children born in the village. She had given up on that a long time ago, about the same time the Elders let her out of the long hut on her own. About the same time the other whelps had started calling her names and hitting her. Today, she had a plan. They all judged her on her looks, never giving her a chance to prove herself by skill alone. They had been taught by their parents, but she was taught by the Elders themselves. Besides, both Mara and Raval both said she was an excellent student. All she had to do was show the whelps, and they would see that she was worthwhile.
A quick scan of her surroundings found she was alone. All the adults were busy elsewhere, all the whelps hidden away. Excellent. She dropped to the ground, her bare feet making no sound, and padded away to find her target.
*****
By the time she had homed in on her prey of choice, she had seen every other whelp still in the game. Although they would have most likely looked over her as usual had she walked by, she wasn’t interested in cheating. So she moved past them, silent and quick as a wolf on the prowl. Neither did she bother scoring on them. They were lesser prey. If she wanted to make a statement, she needed to go big or not at all, which had led her to the boy in front of her. His twelve-cycle frame was filling out, leaving its lanky childhood behind to begin its ascent toward muscular manhood. His eyes, skin, leather clothes and hair all held the same tone of wood-brown, making him blend near seamlessly into the cluster of crates he was hiding behind.
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The boy’s back was to her, his gaze fixated on an oblivious player. His prey, a ten-cycle boy named Talok, was debating about leaving his shelter against a hut wall. His prey hadn’t seen him, and her prey hadn’t seen her. She crouched lower, easing herself forward in slow, controlled movements that failed to stir the dirt beneath her. Lined up directly behind the crates and between two closely built huts, she was all but invisible as she moved close enough to count the strips of cloth on her prey’s belt. Nine, nearly every one.
With a final, calculated step, she reached out and up, tapping him on the head.
He jumped, swinging around so forcefully that he hit the crates, sending them crashing to the ground. On the other side of the path, Talok stood up with a start, eyes wide at the sudden turn of events. Zan, best Hunt player, Alpha of the whelps and her prey, looked with astonishment at the one who caught him. As his eyes settled on Lilau, that astonishment flashed to fiery anger.
“What do you think you’re doing, runt!” He screamed at her, fists and teeth clenched.
He straightened up to his full height of over fifteen hands, eyes shining. Lilau refused to flinch, despite the chill that darted up her spine. She stood up too, her twelve hands and stick thin limbs making her look like a fragile toy in front of his mass.
“I killed you, Zan! Fair too. Just ask. I know no one has seen me since I started playing!”
His brown skin took on a reddish tinge as he ground his teeth.
“Of course no one saw you, runt. Who’d want to look at you? You’re not even supposed to be playing!”
He lashed out like a viper, gripping her arm hard enough for her to feel the bones grind together.
This time, she flinched. She couldn’t help it. “But I won! I killed you! Those scores are mine!”
“Oh, little defect,” his voice slipped down into a cold rumble, “there will be dying today, but it won’t be me.”
With a jerk that almost knocked her off her feet, he began dragging her towards the open space between the nearby buildings. She pulled and twisted, bitter fear rising in the back of her throat as her mind gibbered like an animal caught in a predator’s teeth. She knew what was coming next. Zan’s hand held her like a snare, preventing her escape. The harder she struggled, the tighter it became.
Once in the center of the clearing, Zan tilted his head up and let out a long, undulating howl that carried across the village. Talok, who hadn’t moved until now, came up beside them. He gave Lilau a sidelong glance that silently screamed idiot. Far too quickly, eleven other whelps joined them, wasting no time in circling around her and Zan. Looking around at his pack, Zan stood up straight and squared his shoulders.
“I have called you all here because the abandoned bastard here decided to join our game and hunt me.”
Lilau, heart pounding against her chest, cast her eyes about, trying to find even a hint of friendliness among the gathered faces. All she found was irritation, disgust, hatred and no small amount of ‘I’m glad it’s not me’.
“As the Alpha, I said the defect can’t play, yet she did. What happens when someone disobeys the Alpha?” Zan demanded.
“They must be punished.” The pack replied.
“They must be punished!” Zan echoed.
Catching her other arm, he pulled her so close she could see the red veins in his eyes.
“You’re less than an Omega.” He hissed. “That pup Jaran had the other day? That’s an Omega. You don’t even deserve to be here, runt. You should have died a long time ago, but I suppose today will have to do.”
Her lungs collapsed with a whoosh of air as his knee drove into her diaphragm. Folded over and trying to draw in breath, she was an easy target for the fist that collided with her chin like a hammer, casting her backwards. She hit the ground hard as stars exploded across her vision and pain pulsed through her skull and abdomen.
With barely enough time to draw in a shuddering breath, the blows came again. Many this time, from all sides. The pack had turned on her yet again. She wondered why her plan had failed, but such thoughts vanished as the assault continued. All she could do was try to hold on to consciousness until they were mollified. Curling into a protective ball and clenching her eyes shut, she tried to absorb the blows that came faster, harder as the group grew bolder. She let the pain flow over her, a necessary and unavoidable sensation that she had become rather familiar with over the years.
Still, the blows came, and the pain grew more intense. She tasted blood. Odd, she thought in detached curiosity. They were usually done by now, weren’t they? The pain, which by this point had spread over every inch of her, dwindled from a blazing agony to a dull, fuzzy ache. The thuds and thunks of flesh striking flesh transformed into the high whining of many insects that buzzed through her muddled skull. Too hurt for reality yet too stubborn for oblivion, she drifted, stuck, within the gray in-between.