Jun'ai stepped into the glade. Trees with wide reaching branches cast the area in shade. A narrow trickle of water wandered through the rocks. The grass here was tall. Reeds hugged the water's edge. There was a butte of crumbling shale overlooking the creek. The shelf of rock hung over the water.
Jun'ai froze.
On the rock ledge was a hulking tiger. The cat languished. Paws draped over the edge. Its head pointed in her direction. Incisors as long as her forearms. Golden eyes starred at her from the twilight. Ears pricked forward. Alert. Attentive. But he didn't see her as a threat.
She sank to her knees. Eyes fixed on the massive predator. Her movements slow. Calibrated so as to not provoke him. She did the job she came here to do. She uncorked the water skins and filled them with fresh water from the creek.
When she filled the last one, she stood. The tiger raised his head.
Jun'ai tensed.
But the tiger only blinked and watched her as she backed slowly from the thicket of trees and out onto the savannah.
The red sun sat low in the sky, just above the distant hills.
She returned to camp.
There were four minotaurs gathered around the fire. Three were from the Kharolis mountains. One was their guide in these strange lands. She passed canteens to each in turn.
"You look troubled," Sudara said.
"I saw a tiger."
Their guide, a plains minotaur named Lakanta, looked up. "That is a powerful omen."
"What do you know of such things?" Sudara said.
Lakanta glared at the chieftain. "To see a sabretooth tiger is a sign of a coming battle. And to be left unharmed, that is a sign of a great warrior. We call such men, tiger warriors."
The group travelled south. Over the days, Sudara and Lakanta remained in tense silence. A mutual loathing. Then they began butting heads. The bickering was constant. The rivalry was tense. And the atmosphere had become toxic.
Jun'ai spent nights sharing a blanket with Sudara. During the days, she walked with Toran and Engir. They spoke of trivial matters to fill the silence and occupy their minds.
"What do you miss most from your homeland?" Toran asked her.
Without a moment's hesitation she said, "Meat."
Both minotaurs smiled. Then Engir said, "I can't imagine eating the flesh of an animal. It sounds disgusting."
"It's not your nature."
"But it is your nature," Toran said. "Killing for greed seems such a human thing to do."
She didn't rise to the taunt. Instead she shrugged. "Humans, Jackals, Lions. There are several ensouled species that eat meat."
"And our plains cousins eat meat," Engir said with a sideways glance at their guide.
"Yes. I noticed that too." Jun'ai nodded.
"What else do you think they are capable of?"
Jun'ai watched Lakanta as he strode through the tall grass. "I'm not sure. But I suggest we watch this one carefully."
"Wise words," Engir agreed.
A week out from Red Dawn they encountered another community. It was a tribe of men with the heads of gazelle. They had beautiful twisting antlers and long recurved legs. They walked with an odd grace that spoke of speed and agility. The village was a small migrant band. They lived in simple canvas yurts that they broke down and carried with them as they moved across the plains.
When they approached the perimeter, Lakanta took the lead. He spoke to them. Telling them of the need to pass through this land. They listened. Large eyes unblinking. Then wordlessly they gestured him away.
Sudara took a turn. He stepped forward and spoke of their need to catch a band of Drune. Again their unblinking eyes watched him carefully before dismissing him with a back handed wave.
Jun'ai could tell Sudara teetered on the edge. He was about to blow. The pressure that had been building ever since the attack on his village was about to erupt.
She stepped forward and put a hand on his arm. A show of support. Something to diffuse the situation.
He turned to look at her, and she knew in that moment that he was about to do something stupid that would get them all killed.
But then something unexpected happened.
One of the gazelles approached. He bent over, studied her face, sniffed her flesh. Then he turned to the others. "This one's a tiger warrior. She's been blessed."
And with that odd coincidence, they were welcomed into the village.
*
The village consisted of some two dozen round tents. Between them were ropes with colorful pennants that snapped in the wind. There were hand drawn carts laden with supplies. No beasts of burden, no livestock.
In the center clearing there was an intricately carved wooden pole. It had images carved in relief along the shaft. Scenes of battles, scenes of sex, scenes of gazelle headed men crossing mountains, and other gazelles sitting cross legged, hands raised in benediction.
Atop the pole was the carved head of a tiger. Gold foil and ebony for eyes. Ivory for teeth. The head lacquered orange and black.
That evening the travelers shared a meal with their hosts. They gathered around a fire outside the largest of the yurts and listened as an elder told a story.
"There once lived a giant who was the size of a tree and had the head of an elephant. His name was Angrath. He was a terrible monster. He would gore the men of the plains with his tusks. He did this for sport. After he killed someone he would collect a fingerbone from the body. He had all these bones strung on a necklace that he wore around his neck. It was a gruesome display. He did this to show his strength."
"Where did he come from?" One of the younger gazelles asked.
The gazelle waved his hand dismissively. "Who can answer such questions? No one lived long enough to speak to him."
The gazelle continued the story. "He had nine hundred and ninety nine bones on his necklace. And he was ready to add another. A very important one. This was number one thousand. This, he thought, would be his greatest victory. So he went searching far and wide for the perfect kill."
"He heard of a great monk, Zendru. This warrior monk was undefeated in battle. He could survive any attack without so much as a scratch. And he decided this mystic would be his ultimate prize. So Angrath travelled long and far in search of this great warrior."
"When he finally found the monk, Angrath was shocked. This is it? He thought to himself. This is the greatest warrior? You see, Zendru was a gazelle. He was nowhere near as strong as Angrath. Or a minotaur or anyone else, for that matter."
"Then how did he win?" That from another child.
The gazelle storyteller looked at her. "Angrath was about to find out. He lowered his head and charged the monk. He wanted to impale the monk on his tusk. But the monk moved so fast he was a blur of white and brown. Angrath charged right through the spot where he had been sitting a moment before."
"He went to the monk and swung his massive axe." The gazelle swung his hands in simulation of the epic battle. "And again the monk moved so fast it defied belief. One moment he was standing calm and poised, the next he was beyond the reach of the axe."
"Angrath charged the monk again. He swung his axe again and again. Each time he expected to feel the bones of the gazelle break before his blade and each time the blade cleaved nothing but air."
"This went on for days," the gazelle said. "A charge and a retreat. A swing and a miss. Eventually the great elephant warrior grew tired. He fell the ground. The whole earth trembled beneath him. He tried getting up, but he was too exhausted. He lowered his head to the ground. He was just going to rest a moment before resuming his attack on the monk. But in that moment the warrior monk used his speed to get close and make one clean slice across his attacker's throat."
