On the Felixes of Lumaria

"He is learning!" Myrrha insisted as she strutted behind the matriarch on her tour around the tribe. It was rare for her to stay stationed here so long, but she had drawn the short stick, and her cadre was the one delegated to stay back and guard the tribe during this hunting cycle. This gave her ample time with the man, but it also raised the matriarch's expectations.

"You've had a fortnight now. I would have expected you to extract something of value from it, or at least have it do more than just bark."

"It's a he, and his name is Juan.” She corrected. “And he does have information, the problem is he does not speak like we do. That ‘barking’ is his language, we just have to decipher it!"

"It is not like we are in a rush, Myrrha, but he is another mouth to feed.”

"I understand my last bout was not as plentiful, but no one went without, and you know it won’t repeat itself."

The matriarch waved her off. "It is not about going without, Myrrha. The goddess has been more than bountiful with us; we have the extra hog, but that is not the issue. It is about our way: the useless have no place here, you know that. Besides.” The matriarch stopped, ensuring they were alone before whispering, “Nya is not alone in her discontent, Myrrha. There are other voices about.”

“The only voices I care for are the moon and stars, Matriarch,” Myrrha said flatly. If she was to gut the man, so be it, but this tug and pull with the tribe grew bothersome.

“Only a fool listens only to the heavens! There are concerns about what his presence would mean.

“So, will you have me believe our tribe bows down to fear?”

The Matriarch’s sickly tail curled in offense but relented as she saw the truth in Myrrha’s words. “Believe me, killing the ‘he’ is far from my intent, but many dress their fear in practicality. They see the stranger and invent all sorts of complaints. Him not pulling his fair share does not help.”

Myrrha nodded, her tail contorting rhythmically before halting. "I can put him to work."

"What, you expect me to believe he can keep up with the hunt?"

"Not the hunt, but he could help the kittens with other less demanding tasks."

The matriarch raised a brow.

"Many will dread the idea of an adult male near our young."

"He is not Felix," Myrrha purred in amusement. "He is more kittenish than anything. No threat at all, not without his sword, and even then..."

"Sword?"

"It’s what he calls the shiny stick: a sword. I was quick to establish that."

The matriarch's tail perked, or at least as much as the sickly thing could. "What else have you... established?"

"Not much... yet. Just some words and names. I point to things and label them for him. It helps and is... fascinating in a way. He is quick to learn, I admit."

"Did he speak of the ship?"

"No, full sentences are a little beyond him right now. When he tries, it sounds like the cries of a Wawayu to me."

"Don't mock the taken!"

“Forgive me,” Myrrha retracted. “Still, I believe there are more weapons on the ship that we did not find. Once he speaks, he can lead us back there, and we can have our pick.”

The matriarch opened her mouth, then closed it, clearly choosing her words before saying, "Myrrha… have you considered asking if we should?"

Myrrha felt her tail twitch at that. Not this again. There was constant doubt, and it irritated her. Sometimes it felt like she was the only one who saw the potential in their discovery. "Matriarch," she started, "they are there. We cannot escape this fact."

The matriarch's tail drooped, but she nonetheless assented. "The goddess meant for you to handle this, and so you shall. Go to the tribe-mother and see if she can conjure up a use for your pet, but the kittens are her domain. Respect her wishes."

Myrrha nodded, and the two parted ways. She sighed briefly, then moved to the center, where the tribe-mother kept the kittens rounded up in an organized chaos. Aside from one or two bad hunts, times had been good, so the floor was teeming with babes. She practically had to skip over some of them just to push through.

She found the tribe-mother at the edge of the clearing, talking with one of the older boys, whom she recognized as Kor, Zara’s son—one of Tara’s huntresses. He was tall but not yet mature, still lanky, and lacking the scars. Regardless, his growth spurt had begun, meaning he would be exiled before the turn of the season. It was harsh but necessary, a tradition from time immemorial to protect themselves, and most of all, their young.

Myrrha waited on the sidelines, not quite eavesdropping, but doing so nonetheless.

The tribe-mother reached out and pulled Kor to her, pressing her forehead against his while he, despite his larger form, clung to her. This affection was not unusual. Unlike the girls, the boy kittens did not learn to disdain the tribe-mother as the girls did. Moreover, blood-mothers were often harsh and unforgiving with their sons, all in the name of honing them for survival. In their final years within the tribe, the boys lived harsh, secluded lives and often could only turn to the tribe-mother for affection.

That did not mean blood-mothers didn’t care for their sons. Far from it. Myrrha had no blood sisters, but three of her littermates were boys. Her mother had loved them in her own way, even if she rarely showed it. Myrrha herself didn’t realize how much until she saw behind the curtain with Nya and Thrawn.

She missed them—her brothers. It was not a feeling commonly shared, but she did. She hoped they had made it, somewhere, somehow. She just hoped their reunion wouldn’t be in the field battle.

"I-I don’t know..." Kor quivered.

"You will do fine! Don’t listen to your mother: you are strong, I swear it by the moon and stars," the tribe-mother pleaded to him.

"Are they really so bad? I mean, Kuro was kind last season—"

"No! Don’t fall into that trap. You’ve never met the males before, not really. You think you know them because you saw them during mating season when they are on their best behavior, but out there, they won’t be. They are not like us—they're brutal, and so must you be."

Kor backpedaled, his tail curled, showing the hint of the youth he still was. “Mom-”

“Do not call me that! Better yet: forget this, forget me. Promise it, swear to me. Swear you will live.”

“I-”

“Do it!”

“I promise. I swear it.” He muttered.

“By the moon and stars?”

“By the moon and stars.”

And so, they embraced for the final time.

Until—"Tribe-mother?" Myrrha spoke out, her voice coming out more meekly than she intended. She was quick to clear her throat, trying to shrug it off as a fluke.

Her intrusion startled the tribe-mother, whose tail puffed in attention before she calmed herself. She quickly licked Kor goodbye before releasing him from her embrace. The boy departed, his tail drooping, but his gaze lingered on Myrrha as he went, a silent threat for her to behave with the tribe-mother in his eyes. Maybe she was wrong—maybe he really was all grown up.

The tribe-mother then turned to her with her usual caution. Gone was the fierce protector, and in came the meek nurturer. This shift surprised Myrrha. Before today, she could not have fathomed the tribe-mother standing up for much of anything, and yet, after seeing what she saw, she could not help but see a fire in her eyes.

Title aside, the tribe-mother was not much older than herself. Like every girl, she had dreamed of becoming a huntress and tried her luck with a cadre—Shiri’s, she believed. It didn’t work out, however.

The tribe-mother’s weakness was beside the point; she simply didn’t possess the fierceness required for the life of a huntress: the drive, the constant power jostling, the thirst for battle. After a series of failures and humiliations, she was demoted and cast out. Mara, her birth name, hadn’t wanted to be a tribe-mother—nobody did—but the useless have no place in the tribe. Her choices were to become the previous tribe-mother’s apprentice or face exile, and now, there she was, corraling kittens to this day. Not all had the strength to be huntresses, it was life.

Or so she thought. Because if the tribe-mother had half the fire she saw just now she could still be hunting.

“Can I help you?” the tribe-mother cut her off.

Myrrha shook her head, anchoring herself back in reality. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about the man.”

“What of it?”

“What of he,” Myrrha corrected. She could not risk him being thought of as prey. “The Matriarch has raised the valid point that he is uselessly tied in the hut all day. I was wondering if

you have any tasks he could aid the kittens in—”

“Absolutely not.”

Myrrha blinked, seeing that strength return to the tribe-mother’s eyes—though perhaps it had never left. “Why not?”

“I will not have a strange, dangerous creature amidst our young, especially not a male. Not today, not ever,” she said, her tail upright.

“Have you seen him? He is hardly dangerous.”

“Except he is. I remember the scare he gave us with that tiny shiny stick. He is clever—deceitful. Who knows what else he hides?”

Myrrha didn’t have time for this. She swallowed, stilling herself. “I am not asking,” she leaned in.

The tribe-mother didn’t rise to meet her—she couldn’t. Instead, she met Myrrha’s eyes and responded with a simmer rather than a blast. “You are welcome to explain to the rest of the huntresses why he is among their children.”

Myrrha stared her down, trying to call her bluff, but found nothing but resolve behind the tribe-mother's slit pupils. She wasn’t joking—she would do it, even if it meant incurring Myrrha’s wrath.

Myrrha flicked her tongue, deflating slighly. “Very well, but still, surely you can delegate some tasks?”

“Can he find roots?”

“No.”

“Can he craft spears, maybe string a bow?”

“I—believe not.”

“Can he weave?”

“No.”

“Then I believe I have no tasks to give,” the tribe-mother sighed, about to move away when Myrrha stopped her, planting a hand on her shoulder.

For a moment, time stood still, and even Myrrha wasn’t sure if blood would be drawn. But she took a deep breath and calmed herself, releasing the weaker female. “Tribe-mother, he can learn. If you could at least teach him-”

“Myrrha, I am the only tribe-mother now. We have dozens of kittens. I cannot spare the time, and I recall the matriarch putting this particular burden squarely on your shoulders, and you accepted without hesitation. You teach him if you wish.”

Myrrha scoffed. The thought of her—of all people—reducing herself to teaching weaving was laughable. It would be funny if it were a joke, but the seriousness in the tribe-mother’s eyes said otherwise. “Please… I haven’t weaved since I was a girl!” she growled.

The tribe-mother purred a chuckle. "Yes. In fact, I remember you being quite good at it. I hope you still know how to—" She was interrupted as a little girl tugged on her arm, probably eager to show her something. "For his sake," she finished before following the child.

Once she was gone, Myrrha was left on her own, surrounded by babes, her tail swishing agitatedly before she retreated with a growl, shutting down the intrusive thoughts that told her to kick the first kitten she saw.

Weave? Not in this lifetime. She was no tribe-mother—never would be. Nevertheless, she found herself stomping to the hut where Juan was held, waving aside the straw curtain that blanketed the door.