“To know yourself, first listen to those who walked before you.”

  SolDiri teaching

  When she returned, the fur around her eyes was wet.

  He opened his mouth to speak but the words caught in his throat. She just nodded; nothing needed to be said. Instead, he looked out towards the horizon too, as he’d often done not just here but out across the scrub from his porch back home.

  “Sunset’s a comin’,” he said then patted the ground between them, “Ain’t no better seats in the house.”

  They sat close, almost touching. Davy was deep in thought, trying to work out where the feeling of guilt, creeping around inside his head, was coming from.

  Rebecca was silent, her hands folded neatly in her lap. For the first time, she seemed small, fragile.

  The sun was almost gone, leaving a fiery red splash of colour across a belly of golden clouds just above the horizon.

  “You know they’ll be back?” she said, looking at Davy, then to his shadow that stretched across to the cave.

  “Yep. That’s the way o’ things,” he said with a grin.

  Rebecca looked straight ahead; her voice faltered. “They… they don’t come for food. They don’t take what they need. They just kill, always kill. And when they’re done, they burn. Kill and burn. Always kill and burn.” Her words were halting, the decoder struggling to keep up, but the fear was unmistakable.

  “The other night, there was browns with ‘em too.”

  “Yes, that’s strange. They have some sort of alliance going on.”

  “Strange? How?”

  “Well, like us they don’t really like the reds, never have. It’s like they’re with them but aren’t.”

  She turned back to Davy and saw his concern. But also saw something different or something she’d missed before flicker across his face.

  She flinched, instinctively recognising it; the savage grin of an apex predator.

  The next day, when Davy woke, Rebecca was standing over him.

  “Hell! You been standin’ there long?” he said with a start.

  She said nothing, just cocked her head slightly, as was her way.

  “Come,” she said and crossed to the cave’s entrance. She beckoned, “Come.” He followed.

  She led him down to the valley’s floor, along by the river then up, towards the spine of the cliff.

  It’s ridges like the back of an alligator.

  Some of the flyers swooped down, buzzing them playfully before disappearing into the trees. Davy lashed out at them, narrowly missing. All that seemed to do was egg them on as more tried to nip his head as they flew past.

  “Leave them be. They’re having fun and will do it all the more if you join in.”

  “Wasn’t playin’” responded Davy like a petulant child. “Damn things won’t leave me alone.”

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  The grey smiled and let out a series of clicks and hisses his decoder couldn’t handle which saw the flyers spiral off to cause mischief elsewhere.

  As they approached the cliff, he scanned its vertical surface, looking for a way up. “Hmm… no easy way.”

  Then as they cut parallel to its face, he sensed she was leading him along a track, its presence all but invisible were it not for the shale surface being off, slightly compressed.

  His awareness opened and instinctively switched into tracker mode.

  He slowed and started observing, not just looking.

  “Where we goin’?” he asked.

  “Why do you ask? Got somewhere to be?”

  Davy smiled but stopped, “Just curious is all.” As he spoke, a small pebble rolled across the floor near them.

  Davy froze, every instinct screaming danger. He pressed his body tightly into the wall, the knife steady in his hand, ready for what might come.

  Scuffling sounds echoed through the rocks above and around him.

  His eyes darted to every shadow, his pulse quickening.

  “What have you led me into?” he asked, keeping his voice low, trying to remain calm despite the growing sense of being surrounded.

  He didn’t like it.

  Too many places to hide.

  Too many angles to be attacked from.

  Rebecca called out, her voice loud and clear. “You should come out.”

  She made no move to reassure him. Instead, she just stood there, unbothered, waiting.

  The shadows moved again. A figure darted between the rocks above, and then another. His grip on the knife tightened.

  “Stay close to me,” he said sharply.

  Rebecca cocked her head, a series of guttural coughs escaping her throat. The sound startled Davy for a moment until the decoder registered it: laughter. It wasn’t human, but close enough to be unsettling.

  Suddenly, the scuffling turned to a tumble. A dozen small figures burst from the cliffs above and skittered down the rocks toward them.

  Davy shifted his stance, knife raised, ready to strike.

  Were they reds attacking?

  Scouts?

  Ambushers?

  The mob hit the ground in a chaotic pile, and for a moment, the noise was overwhelming.

  They scrambled to their feet, their movements quick and erratic. One pointed a long finger at the smallest of the group.

  “It was you!” the figure shouted; its voice high-pitched. “I told you not to go near the edge!”

  The smallest one’s head dropped. “Sorry…” it muttered guiltily.

  “Enough!”

  Rebecca clapped her hands, the sharp sound, cutting through their bickering, echoed off the rocks. They immediately fell silent, heads hanging low, as if awaiting punishment.

  Davy blinked, lowering his knife slightly, still trying to process what he was seeing. “What… are they?” His voice betrayed his confusion, adrenaline still coursing through him.

  “They are… kits,” Rebecca said, glancing at him. “Children.”

  Davy stared at the small greys, his breath still coming fast.

  Their wide, reflective eyes blinked up at him, innocent and curious. His grip on the knife loosened, and he sheathed it.

  “They’re yours, aren’t they?” he asked with a smile, relaxing.

  “Our mobs. Yes,” she said simply, with a shrug.

  One of them edged closer, offering a smooth black stone in its hand. It was shaped like his knife. The kit put it on the floor in front of Davy before darting back to the group.

  Davy chuckled despite himself, “Confident little devils, ain’t they?”

  He picked up the knife. The kits became animated as he spun the obsidian blade in his hand, flipping it, balancing it on a finger. They started to chatter.

  Rebecca turned to them, hands on hips, a curiously human gesture.

  “Go,” she said sternly. “Before I tell on you.”

  The kits shuffled their feet but didn’t move. More interested in Davy, hoping to see more tricks, but didn’t meet his eye as he stared back.

  “Now!”

  Rebecca’s voice cracked like a whip, and the kits scurried off, scrambling back into the rocks.

  As the last of them disappeared, Davy exhaled slowly, finally relaxing.

  “You’re at war with the reds,” he said, his voice sharp with frustration. “Even the young ‘uns oughta know better than to rustle around out in the open like that. Could’ve got them all killed. We should talk with the boss.”

  It was Rebecca’s turn to look downcast. She thought hard before answering, “You’re right. The ….” the decoder faltered, then offered, “The boss is aware.”

  She nodded slightly then repeated the word, questioning its use, “Boss?”

  He nodded, “Yeah, boss. The one callin’ the shots, keepin’ folks together when it counts.”

  She nodded back, “Yes, the boss.” Rebecca was quiet for a moment, her expression thoughtful.

  “We should keep going,” she said.

  “Wait,” Davy said, still mulling over her use of the word. “Your people have a boss?”

  “It is… strange to us,” she admitted, her voice soft. “We lead together, many opinions, no single voice. But you say ‘Boss.’ Maybe… it is easier to speak this way?”

  Davy nodded, a smile tugging at his lips.

  “Fair enough. Sometimes, one voice is enough, is best.”

  They walked further, slowly climbing out of the valley, and up to the standing stone. A lone sentinel watching over the valley and pass from its eyrie.

  He had seen standing stones before but never really looked at them. It was taller than a man and made of a red stone, the colour of terracotta tiles. Each face had a different mantle calved into it, an icon that carried a burden. He took his knife out and jabbed at the stone. Nothing happened, it remained unscratched, smooth and cool to the touch.

  “Well, I’ll be. Hard as hell, sure ain’t clay.”

  He readied to give it a firmer hit.

  Rebecca gently stopped his raised arm, “Please. Don’t disrespect the stones. They are central to our beliefs.”

  Her words were a quietly spoken rebuke.

  “Reckon I overstepped. Sorry ma’am”