THIRST 4.1

With the mountains behind them, the savannah welcomed them with open arms. The cold rocks were replaced by soft earth and yellow grasslands that swayed with the last strength of autumn. Kkelea walked beside Zanarah, the daughter of Zeppel the Beast. They had grown closer after their experience. The rough warrior showed her constant appreciation and concern. Since her only brother had died long ago, Kkelea had never known what a brotherly relationship was, until now. Zanarah was second in the hierarchy of the Iron Claws, the group that gathered the fiercest and strongest hyaenids. The first, of course, was Zeppel. Kkelea was with them at Zanarah's invitation, but she didn't really have the minimum characteristics to feel part of them. She had only one death to his credit, and that was thanks to Fleas' distraction.

"Where are we going?" Kkelea asked, noticing that they were heading north and the wall was to the east.

"You need not know," a warrior carrying a large axe replied reluctantly.

"She is one of us," Zanarah bared her teeth. "She will know what we all know. We are on our way to the orc tribes that gather near the Eternal Spring. We must ratify our pact with them before we meet the rebel forces to the west."

The axe warrior looked angry, but kept her thoughts to herself. Another approached them, wearing laminated armor that covered her left flank, for she was missing that arm. She carried a halberd in her right arm.

"They say all this was planned by a powerful champion, but these are only rumors. If it were true, I would like to challenge him."

"If it were true, you wouldn't stand a chance, Handless," Zanarah scoffed.

Handless was not offended. She knew that Zanarah didn't mince her words, but that she was a good hyaenid at heart. Besides, no one in their right mind would stand up to her, even if she took offense. Zanarah was almost as strong as her mother, more impulsive, but also more energetic. She had the potential to surpass her.

Late in the afternoon, they halted their march. While the cubs foraged for food and some warriors scattered the bones around the tribe, the Iron Claws started training. Kkelea always saw them, but never dared to participate. She wasn't up to it, and she knew it. A circle was formed. Two female warriors took wooden sticks so as not to hurt themselves, even though their strength and skill could easily kill a human soldier, and began to beat each other. Meanwhile, the rest of the circle either cheered or booed. Handless was especially skilled, despite her disadvantage. She knew how to dodge, predict her opponent's movements, and use the environment to her advantage. Without knowing it, whoever fought her would sooner or later stumble, step on a cactus, or be blinded by the sun before the final strike.

Zanarah grabbed her shoulder.

"It is time for you to replace that toothpick for a weapon. Here."

She handed her a branch that ended in a knot. It looked like a club. Wooden, yes, but much heavier than her rapier. Zanarah pushed her into the middle.

Silence fell. Then the wispers, the evasive glances. No one knew how to react. On the other side, someone stepped into the circle. It was the son of Fizkwik the Scream. A warrior grabbed him by the throat and was about to drag him out when Zanarah interrupted.

"You've got a lot of guts butting in, pup. Kkelea, do you agree?"

She looked at the cub. He lifted his head and smiled. He exuded a fascinating confidence, unknown to males.

"I will show him my strength."

The warrior let him go as the others shouted praise a her and jeered at the male cub. Kkelea swung the staff in the air to familiarize herself with it. It was heavier than her sword, but it felt blunt. Rapiers were human weapons, hyaenids preferred strength to dexterity. The cub slowly wagged its tail like a snake hanging from a tree as it took cautious steps to her left. She pounced without hesitation, letting out a thunderous roar and dropping her guard. The cub responded by dodging the attack and launching one of its own. Kkelea managed to block it, though the compromised position she was left in forced her to retreat. Laughter was heard.

"You must look feral without being it," Zanarah said in her ear. "Never lose your temper, or you will lose your life."

Zanarah pushed her again. This time it was the male who struck first with a horizontal blow. She ducked, then raised her club and brought it down on his head. He backed up a few paces. Her heart was beating faster and faster. Her fur felt bristly. She remembered the orc on that distant night, remembered the fear, the sensation of the sword piercing his body, the smell of blood. She sunddenly heard a ticking. It was her teeth grinding together from nerves. Without giving him time to recover, she jumped forward as if chasing a rabbit. Surprised, the cub spread his legs for stability and prepared to block. He could deflect the firs blow, but it was followed by a second, and a third... The strikes followed one after the other as Kkelea growled and even attacked with her claws and teeth. The cub fell backward, dropping his staff. The fierce jaws went for his neck. He managed to close her muzzle and dodge the bite, but that didn't stop the claws from scratching his shoulder. Three warriors separated them. One chased the cub away, the other two could barely hold her back. Zanarah stood in front of her and struck her with an open palm. Kkelea looked at her as if she had just woken up.

"I told you to look feral without being it. You're not ready to carry a weapon. Not until you know how to control yourself."

She took the stick and the sword from her. Kkelea was embarrassed.

"Don't worry," Zanarah comforted her, noticing her troubled face. "When you tame the beast inside you, you will be a formidable warrior. Go eat something. You must be craving a taste of blood right now."

She turned away from the circle and walked the distance to where the leftovers were. There was plenty of food without Fátrwa the Silent Death and the Wind Paws around. Before she got there, she noticed that Fizkwik was scolding her son, even though she couldn't hear what the matriarch was saying. Kkelea took two succulent pieces of meat and waited patiently. When her mother lef him alone, she approached him.

"Take it," she handed him one of the pieces.

He looked at it in confusion.

"What is this?"

"An apology. Come."

They walked away, still holding the bleeding meat in their hands, and sat down in the shade of a bush.

"Why did you want to eat together?"

"I don't know. I did it once and I liked it. Does it hurt?"

He looked down at his shoulder wound.

"I've had worse. My mother warned me not to fight, that I'm a male and other is my role. I don't know if she really believes that..."

"It would be nice if everyone could choose what they want to do. And I don't think you fight badly. Although I don't know much about it."

He smiled wryly.

"You are a warrior and the daughter of Kkrya. You killed one orc and survived the attack of two others."

"I was not alone, I had help. In truth, I was very afraid.

"You didn't look afraid today. You came at me like a wild beast."

Fear takes many forms, and sometimes it disguises itself as bravery. In battle, she had completely erased all traces of her being. If that was being a warrior, she wasn't sure she wanted to be one. What choice did she have?

"What is your name?"

"Dizky."

"Dizky..." She remembered Fleas and the conversation with her mother. The traditions, too. "Finish the meat and go back to yours," she said coldly.

She was a warrior, maybe a future matriarch, she had to master her fears, emotions, instincts and desires. She got up and left him alone. It was the last time they ate together.