![]() ![]() About her dad, and the mental image of her dad lying dead in the hallway. About her mom, and what her mom must be feeling. The feelings she wrestled with felt like a dozen half-formed feelings trying to find their way through her at once- about the nature of living beings like this, something she’d been late to reconcile, with Kennet Below. Lucy, wearing a warped fox skull over her head, couldn’t fight as much as she wanted.Ĭouldn’t do more than sit back and watch as her firstborn son died, rammed through with a spear that ended him in that same moment. They’d made destroying Lucy’s group a part of who they were, now. It felt less like there was a point now beside the hate, the vendetta. There was another raid before the evening, both groups larger. More food meant being able to draw in more allies, but as her group grew, so did the attacking group. Hunting was efficient, and because they’d lost enough food that hunger was a problem. Lucy’s group hunted again, Lucy with her bad leg being carried around, being lookout, directing others with hand signals. Food stolen- while the adults from the attacking group had been fighting, their children had been sneaking around. Two more dead on Lucy’s side, three of the outsiders dead. It was easier to hunt neighbors than to hunt primevals, even lesser primevals. We might have to build an Other-practitioner relationship all over again.” Even if he wasn’t real, and all of this was illusion, that had to matter. She had a sit by one of the dying, fiercely holding his hand. Being carried helped with the pressing aging situation. ![]() In this morning skirmish, Lucy had caught a spear in the shin, mostly deflected by bone, but it raked her from knee to almost the top of her foot, laying bone bare. Just a girl with resting bitch face that nobody liked, barring a handful. Hated not having a voice, not being seen, heard, or given a benefit of a doubt. They’d left, taking what they could, leaving the dead and dying behind them. Her voice was drowned out by other people, older, larger, louder. She’d shouted, trying to get attention, to establish presence. The fighting had been brutal, in a dark cave where it was hard to tell what was happening in the first place. She’d woken up and instincts had saved her life, moving her head out of the way of the spear aimed at the soft spot beneath her chin. Some were just angry, and when they’d come, they’d speared the woman on watch, and had speared the newcomers who hadn’t hunted. The people who’d angrily left last night had come back as a group, some of them wanting more of the food the no doubt felt they’d earned. ![]() They couldn’t talk either, but sentiment remained. Strip away the outer layer, though? Take away the clothes, take away personal grooming, take away the reputation she’d cultivated and earned, fighting her ass off, starting her over again? Take away words, in this setting, where she couldn’t string a few together? Born to mothers and fathers, human, sure, you have your histories, fine. Lucy had slept next to a young man for the warmth, and when she woke, her stomach swelled, then she had a child. That had been the first ‘night’ in this weird timeline. A good few of them were members of one tribe. Thirty sleek little reptile-mammal bodies for twenty people, now roasting at the ends of those spearpoints, bled out, skinned, vitals removed.Įxcept another fifteen people had come out of the shadows after. The ones who hadn’t suffocated trying and failing to blindly climb the wall had come stumbling out of the smoke, into waiting spearpoints. The little raptor-things, fast as hell, had been corralled by her group, steered toward a cliff, and, turning on people, ready to start fighting back, they’d been caught in the periodic venting of smoke. But the fire burned, the pack of darts, as she thought of them, had been stripped of outer layers, their flesh no longer rippling and shuffling, settling into a case of being just meat. Some had hid, some hadn’t been anywhere near this. ![]()
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