THIRST 4.4

According to Zanarah, they would reach the Eternal Spring in one day. Kkelea was very nervous, remembering the encounter with the orc and the fear she had felt. Now she would be surrounded by them. In theory, the intention was to strengthen the pact and agree to march into human territory. If this was true, she had nothing to fear.

As part of the Iron Claws, her mission was to protect the reserves. The men carried three barrels of fresh water, the spears and arrows the Distant Teeth - those who attacked from afar and whose leader was Kkrya - could not carry, three rabbits, seven meerkats, and two freshly hunted gazelles. It would not be enough for the entire tribe. The cubs would hunt more.

"Here," Zanarah said, handing her a waterskin. You seem thirsty."

She had not noticed that her tongue was hanging out. She drank until it was empty.

"Soon we will be able to replenish our supplies at the Eternal Spring. You look nervous. We are guests; we are not going to war, but to dialog."

"I know. Nevertheless... I'm still haunted by the ghost of the orc I killed."

Zanarah smiled.

"I understand. The first one is hard. Then you get used to it. It's no different than killing a gazelle when you think about it. Even we are meat. However, if you're feeling nervous, something might help. Wait a moment."

Zanarah ran away and returned with something in her hands. An axe, heavy for Kkelea, but she carried it in one hand as if it were a simple twig. The blade was of steel and of human manufacture. It shone brightly. The handle, however, was a curved, gnarled twig and strips of leather that contrasted with the beauty of the metal.

"Here. This axe belonged to the first human I killed. The blade. I made the handle myself because I didn't like the one that came with it," Kkelea had to take it in both hands. She swung it a little in the air, feeling the muscles in her arms tense to support the weight. "How I remember that encounter, is etched in my memory. From time to time, a caravan of humans wanders into our territory, even though they know they are not welcome. When that happens, it's kill or be killed. It began with a trumpet in the distance. Then came the arrows. Finally, they charged at us on horseback. I was in the rear, guarding the elders. I had a few seasons less than you. The humans flanked the tribe and went straight for the weaker ones. Although we were supposed to protect them, the elders stepped forward and resisted the first wave, separating many of them from their horses. This human stood up as if it were nothing and hacked to pieces all who stood in his way, no matter how many young they were. Gallga, my soul friend, wanted to confront him, but she flinched when she saw the look in his eyes and ran away. The human swung the axe at her back. Her tear-filled eyes looked at me before she died. Then something inside me snapped. I let out a loud scream and pounced on him. He fell on his back. I bit his hand, through the leather gloves, until he dropped his axe. I grabbed it and drove it into his face. Remember, Kkelea, you must kill in order not to die."

Kkelea looked at the axe. It felt heavier, that would be because of the blood soaking it and the lives it had taken.

"Is it okay for me to have it? You said I shouldn't use weapons until I learn to control my instincts."

"I don't know, little one. Maybe you're ready, maybe not. But I don't want you to be defenseless when the time comes. Just... try not to attack our people when the beast inside you gets loose."

Suddenly Zanarah became silent and looked at the horizon. The wind carried an unmistakable crimson scent. Something rose from the hollow, it was a cub. And not just any cub, it was Dizky, Fizkwik's eldest son. He ran, clutching his shoulder. He shouted something: Orcs. Suddenly he stopped and fell. Four arrows poked out of his back. An abysmal scream was heard, one that froze Kkelea's heart. Dozens, if not hundreds, of orcs emerged from the hollow and charged at them. So united in their steps that they looked like a mass of flesh with many hands.

"These son of bitches have set a trap for us!" Zanarah shouted as she readied her weapon. "Kkelea, stay here. Don't move for nothing."

Zeppel, leader of the Iron Claws, stepped in front of the group, brandishing his two large maces and growling. Ready for battle, the others formed behind her. A hail of arrows rained down on their heads, but Zeppel's roar stopped them, as if the projectiles feared her wrath. Then the Distant Teeth, led by Kkrya, responded with their javelins. Kkelea clutched the axe. Suddenly, she was alone in front of the supplies while the rest of her fellow warriors rushed into battle. The two beastly forces clashed in the middle.

Zeppel swung the two huge axes back and forth as if they weighed nothing, sending orc limbs and whole orcs flying. But these were more, and being smaller, they could surround the warriors and pierce them with the poisoned spears they carried. Zanarah was comparable to her mother in battle. Just by looking at her, Kkelea understood the distance that separated them. Kkelea was nothing more than a cub who unjustly held the title of warrior.

The Distant Teeth stopped firing because they might hurt the Iron Claws, so they decided to surround the camp on both sides to cut off their escape. Meanwhile, the Voices of Rock, the group led by Fizkwik the Scream, made use of their abilities, for with their loud voices they could take away the pain of their allies, increase their courage, and strike fear into the hearts of the enemy. They protected themselves behind large shields because their function in battle was very important and they should not be hurt.

Handless ran back. Kkelea thought she had fled, until he stood beside her.

"Zanarah has commanded me to protect you. The orcs are scattering. We try to hold them back, but they want to get through our defenses like water through the cracks of hard rock."

A male approached from behind and asked Handless if the males should protect the elders. He looked at Kkelea and smiled slightly; she recognized him, it was her father, though it was wrong for her to know.

"No, these bastards are trying to divide us. We must not indulge them. Let the males form a circle around the elders and cubs. We've lost too many already."

The male nodded and ran on all fours, just like the little Fleas used to do. It must have been a male thing. Handless looked at her and said:

“You should go with them. You'll be safe there.”

“No, I'm not a cub anymore. I am a warrior.”

Because of the commotion and because she had distracted Handless with her whimsy, neither of them noticed the two orcs that rushed at the hyaenid. One pierced her thigh with his spear. She grunted from the pain, turned around and tried to cut off the bastard's head with her halberd, but the other one stopped her by grabbing the hilt. Then the first one kicked her and made her fall face down, while the second one looked at Kkelea with Handless' halberd and licked his porcine lips.

“Run away!” Handless ordered. The orc kicked her in the head with his bloody hooves.

Kkelea's breathing became ragged, her mouth open and full of saliva. She felt the fur on her neck bristle. If she tried to run, she would be run through. The orc lunged at her. Kkelea screamed her desperation, her fear, her rage. She ducked; the halberd flew over her head. With the force of the impact, she drove the blade into his paw, but it failed to cut through his bone. The orc screamed and fell to the ground. Without pausing for a moment, without controlling her inner beast, she threw herself upon the one standing over Handless, like a predator upon its prey. The orc aimed his spear at her. Handless reacted and moved aside, causing the orc to stagger. Kkelea's axe entered his skull, between his eyes. A stream of blood escaped and stained her face. He fell dead. Kkelea rested his paw on his head and pulled the axe out with a jerk. Her breathing was still ragged. She bared her teeth and turned to the wounded one. He looked at her with a terrible, absolute, pathetic fear. Kkelea gave him an axe to his chest. Then another, and another, as she screamed, tears soaking her blood-stained fur. Handless parried the next blow, threw the axe aside and lifted her from her forearm. Kkelea kicked and struggled. Handless hugged her tightly. Kkelea stopped struggling. She looked up to the sky, closed her eyes, and let out another scream, a terrible, breaking one, drenched in sadness, despair, and fear. One that would silence all other sounds in the world and make even the strongest warrior cry.

In the distance, from the hollow, the sound of drums could be heard. Countless orcs advanced in droves, lined up in formation for battle. They wore white cloth and were led by an orc riding a lebrillope, a large, white-furred horned rabbit with a cyan-colored back. For a moment, Kkelea was afraid, but she soon realized that these organized orcs were attacking the others and closing in on them. The battle ended as suddenly as it had begun. And Kkelea was so... So tired.