When the first light of morning touched the wide village square, a strange flock of birds began chirping in unison. With that signal, many Urtu emerged from the structures built atop and around the trees. The day had begun early for the people of Olangi. One by one, they stepped out of their homes, heading toward the water basins in the square to fill their buckets.

  But one house showed no sign of movement. No one stepped outside, and no sound came from within. That silence was broken when a little girl strained to push against the door. When she failed to open it, she began pounding on it urgently, as if she were in a hurry. Before long, the door swung open sharply, revealing an old man with an angry expression.

  “Which damned do”

  The old man stopped abruptly, blinking in surprise.

  But he quickly composed himself and asked, “Lara, why are you knocking on my door like this at this hour of the morning?”

  “Uncle Loren!” Lara cried out joyfully and threw herself into his arms before he could finish his sentence.

  The old man’s anger vanished instantly. He caught her just in time as the little girl wrapped her arms tightly around his neck.

  “Did you miss me that much?” Loren asked, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

  “Yes!” Lara declared proudly, nodding with exaggerated seriousness.

  Before Loren could respond, she began firing off questions in excitement.

  “Where did you go this time? Did you see any monsters? Mom said there are Urtu who can fly, is that really true? How long will you stay? Will you tell me stories? Did you bring me something?”

  Loren blinked, momentarily taken aback by her enthusiasm. A softness, rarely seen, appeared on his face.

  He lifted her a little higher and kissed her on the forehead.

  “Yes, I’ve seen many things,” he said gently. “And I’ll tell you all about them. Flying Urtu? I haven’t met one yet.”

  Lara let out a dramatic sigh, her shoulders drooping. “But Mom said they’re real…”

  Loren smiled faintly, narrowing his eyes as if searching through a distant memory. “Although… I do seem to remember Urtu riding great flying birds.”

  Lara’s eyes widened instantly. “Really? Were they big? Did they fly very high? Can I ride one too?”

  Loren let out a low chuckle. “Maybe one day,” he said with a mysterious look. “But first you must learn to keep your feet firmly on the ground.”

  “I can already run fast!” Lara protested seriously.

  “I’m sure you can,” Loren replied, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. “I’ll be staying a little longer this time.”

  He set her down and took her hands, starting a playful mock struggle, pretending to lose so that Lara burst into laughter.

  As Lara’s laughter continued, Alara appeared in the doorway, her arms crossed and a faint smile on her face as she watched them.

  “You two can’t stay still even at this hour,” she said.

  Loren straightened, though the softness in his expression remained. “I was attacked before I was even fully awake.”

  “I won!” Lara declared proudly.

  “I can see that,” Alara replied.

  Loren’s expression softened as he looked at both of them. “You both look well. The village is already stirring.”

  “It always is,” Alara said. “The day waits for no one.”

  “What about your husband? I haven’t had the chance to see him yet.”

  “Same as always… he woke up at dawn and went to the gardens.”

  Loren smiled faintly, then turned back to Lara. “And how old are you now?”

  Lara raised two fingers into the air. “Two!”

  “Two?” Loren widened his eyes in mock surprise. “Then you’re almost an adult.”

  “I already am!” Lara insisted seriously.

  Loren laughed and gently patted her head.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  After that, Alara and Loren spoke briefly, and Loren told Lara a few exciting stories. But eventually, there was little left to say.

  After a short silence, Loren rolled his shoulders. “Since I’m already awake this early, I might as well go see a few old friends.”

  Alara teased lightly, “We wake up like this every morning. Don’t act like a guest.”

  “It will take me some time to adjust,” Loren said.

  “For your own good, you’d better adjust quickly,” Alara replied.

  With one last squeeze of Lara’s shoulder, Loren stepped outside. The square was already beginning to fill with people.

  Loren walked toward the square as the morning light spread fully across it. The square was alive now, the scrape of buckets against stone, the murmur of low conversations, and the steady rhythm of daily work blending together. A few villagers noticed him and greeted him.

  “Back again, Loren?” one of the traders called out.

  “For a while,” Loren replied with a nod.

  He passed by the wooden stalls lining the edge of the square. The scent of fresh herbs, damp earth, and drying fruit filled the air. An elderly woman arranging bundles of roots met his gaze.

  “You’ve been gone long,” she said.

  “Long enough,” Loren answered with a faint smile before continuing on.

  Near the edge of the market, beneath the shade of a broad-limbed tree, he spotted Arta sitting on a low bench, slowly and methodically sharpening a blade.

  “Still pretending that blade needs work?” Loren called out.

  Arta squinted up at him, then grinned. “And you’re still pretending you don’t enjoy disappearing.”

  Loren sat beside him. “Old habits.”

  They spoke of the harvest, the traders passing through, and the small changes in the village. The conversation flowed easily, until Loren shifted it elsewhere.

  “I heard about the child,” he said quietly.

  Arta’s smile faded. He lowered the blade. “Unfortunate thing. The poor boy barely kept his leg. Must have been a wild animal that got too close to the gathering grounds.”

  Loren’s gaze hardened. “It wasn’t an animal.”

  Arta frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “It was a Nuxali,” Loren said calmly, but with certainty.

  Arta’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know?”

  Loren lowered his voice. “The chieftain told me. It hasn’t spread among the villagers. And it shouldn’t.” He held Arta’s gaze. “Don’t tell anyone.”

  Arta studied him for a moment, then slowly nodded. “I won’t.”

  A heavy silence settled between them.

  “The young ones don’t know,” Arta muttered after a while. “They haven’t seen what we’ve seen.” His jaw tightened. “They don’t remember that it was the Nuxali who killed your wife, Vilda. Or my two friends. They tore them apart and ate them. And still… we share the forest with them.”

  Loren’s expression did not change, but something flickered behind his eyes.

  “Sometimes I wonder how long this peace will last,” Arta said.

  Loren remained silent for a moment. He looked toward the bustle of the marketplace, buckets scraping stone, voices rising and falling, life continuing in its ordinary rhythm.

  Finally, he turned back to Arta.

  “Some things are better left buried,” he said calmly, but with quiet certainty. “Digging them up does no one any good.”

  Arta frowned, but Loren’s stare was firm. The subject was closed.

  Arta seemed ready to continue, but Loren shifted the conversation instead. He asked about trade, about work, about the last caravan that had arrived. Gradually, the tension faded. They spoke of ordinary matters, approaching rains, missing supplies, small but necessary concerns.

  By midday, Loren had walked through most of the village. He checked on the caravan team’s preparations, inspected the traded goods, and spoke briefly with the guards stationed at the outer watch posts. He listened more than he spoke.

  As the sun slowly descended and the light turned amber, Loren found himself at the edge of the settlement. The sounds of the village breathed faintly behind him.

  He glanced back for a brief moment.

  Then he stepped beyond the last structure and into the forest as it began to darken.

  -------

  The sun hung high above the savanna, yet cold winds swept through the air, making the heat bearable. The pack had moved away from their usual grazing grounds, heading toward the bend of a narrow river that cut through cracked earth.

  They hadn’t caught a proper hunt in days.

  Prey animals had altered their routes; even the smaller creatures vanished before the pack could get close. Hunger had sharpened tempers and slowed movements.

  Alexander walked along the edge of the group, his eyes fixed on the river.

  By midday, they reached a shallow stretch. The water flowed thinly over smooth stones, revealing faint movements beneath the surface.

  Fish.

  The idea formed instantly in his mind.

  While the others waited restlessly, Alexander stepped into the water. The cool current curled around his legs. He stilled himself. Watched. Calculated.

  A flash of silver.

  He lunged.

  Missed.

  A surge of irritation rose within him, but he tried again. And again. Hours slipped by beneath the relentless sun.

  Finally, he noticed a movement near the base of the rocks. This time he did not rush. He waited. Then suddenly drove his forelimbs into the water.

  It splashed. When the ripples settled, a small fish thrashed between his claws.

  Alexander exhaled sharply. “Finally.”

  He stepped back onto the bank, droplets sliding from his body. The fish twitched weakly.

  It wasn’t large, but it would sustain him for a short while.

  As he looked across the river, his thoughts drifted beyond it.

  I wonder if this planet has oceans.

  He didn’t yet know the answer, but he hoped it did. Just thinking about the abundance of biomass in an ocean made his stomach tighten with hunger.

  The thought excited him.

  Until pressure formed in his mind.

  Of course. The Queen.

  Through the mental link between them, she had felt the vibration of a successful hunt.

  Her presence flooded his thoughts.

  “You hunt from water…” Her surprise was unmistakable. He had never hunted from water before. The emotion was forced into his mind.

  Alexander tried to gather himself to respond, but another wave of pressure struck. His muscles tensed involuntarily. The fish slipped from his grasp and landed at the feet of the Queen, who had approached silently through the tall grass.

  She did not even look at him. She picked up the fish and swallowed it in a single motion, then sent a sharp, painful pulse through his mind.

  It was a reminder.

  No one could be full while the Queen was hungry.

  The pressure slowly receded, but the humiliation remained.

  Alexander clenched his jaw. He did not retaliate. He did not challenge her. Instead, he lowered his head and began tearing at the tough savanna grass.

  He chewed the bitter blades in silence. The anger spread quietly through his body, but for now, endurance was his only option.

  ------------------------

  If you liked it and would like to read more, you can follow my book.