[ WP ] The family that preys together , stays together .

Three small scalebacks, moving across the plains. 
 
 Word came in on the backs of small animals, moving their tiny cargo along their tiny trade routes. We were the only hunters on the plains big enough to pursue the quarry. Even so, it was days and days of indecision before the choice was made. 
 
 No, the choice was made as soon as the news was heard. What remained was the *permission* of the elders. The oldest idiots who still felt like they could tell us young folk what to do. 
 
 In my father's yellow eyes crept disappointment. I did n't understand that my eagerness to hunt was disrespectful to our elders. I bounced around like a hot ember on ice, sizzling and popping and making a nuisance of myself. Every little while I would sidle up to somebody and ask, as though it were casual, when did they think the hunt would take place. 
 
 Berengi, tailor's-son, said that I would have to wait until next week, why not come play in the river in the meantime? Akoti, daughter-of-metalcrafters, asked why I was so concerned in the first place. Shrelvba, the inconspicuous, managed to insinuate that I should be pack leader, that I was somehow the most fit and most experienced. 
 
 You see how whispers can destroy a tribe. 
 
 So by the time the elders were ready to decide, it was too late, I had spread my word and we the young hunters were ready to ride. I had my spear and my compass, my map and my bravery. My companions had the fires that burned in their bellies when the elders spoke. 
 
 The scalebacks were nearly to Black River now, and if they crossed it our chance would be lost. We left the night before the conference, knowing that even if the elders decided in favor of the hunt it would be a week or more before the old ones were ready to go. They slept and dreamed of scaleback meat as we crept through the tall grass. 
 
 The moons were bright and I was young and full of bile. 
 
 We struck, in the moonlight. 
 
 The creatures' howls will never leave my mind. 
 
 The legends, they mention the terror that comes to those who fight scalebacks. But in my youth, filled with determination and vigor, I did not think to question why the legends would be that way. They must be cowards, I thought, our greatest heroes. I, who am no one, can out-do them. 
 
 The scalebacks screamed and so did I. I screamed until daylight and I screamed for a while longer until suddenly the suns were shining with midday light and my throat was hoarse beyond all noise. 
 
 The real hunters came a week later, prepared with masks and rattle sticks and songs. Even so, one died. 
 
 I returned much later than that, shamed and alone. 
 
 My father, whom I feared to face the most, the best hunter in the clan. When he saw me for the first time again, those yellow eyes, they turned to puddles, and those strong hands, they turned to strings. I fell to my knees and professed that I would never disobey the elders again. 
 
 My friends were buried, at least in spirit, on the plains, to keep watch over us all. 
 
 And when I tried to explain to father what I had done, the foolishness of my misplaced bravado, this is when those haunting yellow eyes softened. This is when the strongest man in the universe said to me, I make mistakes, too. Do you see those stones, laid to rest beside your friends? Do you see the ones beside them, and beside them, and beside them? 
 
 And I looked on the plains, covered in stones. 
 
 And I looked out at them beside my father, and finally, my eyes are yellow too.
