The Origami Dragon And Other Tales Page 15

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  The forest smelt wrong. Ashes from the fire-that-burns were always on the wind, and the two-legs had found their way into the forest’s hidden places. It had become more difficult for born-by-silverlight to find prey; he mostly had to hunt alone. He was always hungry.

  Most of his tribe was dead, and the survivors had fragmented across the forest. Born-by-silverlight still remembered the tribe’s short war on the two-legs. It had started well, with a number of easy raids. Then came the night when the one-who-leads had taken her tribe right into the jaws of an ambush. That was the night that the two-legs stopped being prey and became the hunters. The two-legs had claws of biting cold, new skins that would not tear, and they brought the light-that-burnt. The tribe had been unprepared for change. The two-legs were led by a tall monster with hard arms that ended in long talons which he swung wildly around his head. The one-who-leads had died on his talons, as had strong-arm and many other of the tribe’s best. The tribe had been broken that night. Born-by-silverlight had been badly wounded in the fighting, and had only survived because the leader-no-more had dragged him into the darkness. Born-by-silverlight had woken up alone the next night. He did not know if the leader-no-more had fled, or returned to fight.

  He hoped the leader-no-more had run, for those who fought died. Even those who fled weren’t safe, but were hunted under the harsh sun by the strange, four-pawed animals that served the two-legs. Born-by-silverlight had learnt that the sharp-nosed four-paws could smell members of the tribe easily, especially in groups. Because of this, born-by-silverlight began avoiding the survivors of the tribe-no-more. It was the only way to stay alive, but he missed the companionship of the tribe.

  Born-by-silverlight came of age without the guidance of his elders. He hunted alone, slept alone and waited alone. He would never gain position in his tribe, never take a mate or fight for rank. He had learnt to be his own first-see, his own leads-the-hunt. He filled these roles sufficiently well to stay alive, but he could not remember enough of his childhood to be a sings-the-memories. He missed the songs, hurt by the knowledge of his ignorance. He hated the two-legs.

  Sometimes he would hunt a solitary two-legs for days on end, only taking them down when he was sure that they were alone. Twice he had even ventured past the borders of the forest to steal the dumb white prey that the two-legs kept for meat, but on his second attempt the two-legs had been waiting for him. He escaped, but not unhurt. Afterwards he had moved deeper into the forest, searching for his own kind.

  He knew that other tribes had lived in the forest. As a child he had been taught to avoid the other tribes and their territory. As he grew older, he had learnt that the meetings between the tribe and tribe-of-others were not uncommon. Sometimes the leaders would fight, sometimes peace would be made, maybe mating would have been allowed. The meeting of such tribes was not so rare that it was without rules. Born-by-silverlight had never seen such a meeting, never learnt the rules. He had no tribe to guide him.

  He had been told that sometimes a lone hunter would join a tribe, or even challenge its one-who-leads for control. He did not wish to fight his own kind, but he did wish to be with them. He longed for his kin , sought them wherever he went.

  He found them everywhere. The two-legs hung them from trees or left them lying in the mud. Some were skinned, some butchered, some lying unmarked but lifeless. He sang what fragments of the death songs that he remembered, leaving their flesh for the birds. There were so many of them; he had not known that so many tribes had lived and died in the forest.

  He did not know what he would do if he met a tribe of strangers, but he began to think that it would no longer matter. He moved deeper into the forest, searching for a living tribe.