The Day of The Hunt
The screams had not stopped. They echoed through the trees like wind through a broken flute—sharp and mournful. Smoke curled into the late evening sky. The Hunt had come to an end, and what remained were the moans of the dying, the whimpers of captured slaves, and the silence of those who watched in horror.
Kambi was exhausted. The horrors she had witnessed today were ingrained into her mind, and she feared the scars would last for a lifetime. Bodies lay scattered all over—men, women, and children. The ground was soaked in blood, and the low hum of death stilled the air.
Druala had been reduced to shambles. Everything had fallen—both man and beast.
Amusu had conquered! He had laid hundreds of innocent lives to waste and had no remorse.
They walked slowly to the encampment. Kambi fought with everything in her not to collapse to the ground. Tears clouded her vision. The child was in Cheta's arms. She had cried herself to sleep out of hunger and exhaustion. Kambi imagined how difficult it must be for her. Even with a Luna for a mother and an Alpha for a father, life was still so difficult. How then could this child survive without her parents?
Cheta, her ever-watchful guardian, walked beside her, his dagger hidden underneath his leather belt. His face was calm, but his eyes moved like fire. Every motion was deliberate. Every breath controlled. The Hunt was over, but danger still lingered in the air.
They moved through the remains of a destroyed village—men burned, women shackled, children tossed like broken toys. Kambi felt her stomach twist. They had walked over so many bodies, she had lost count. She was broken.
The rains suddenly began to pour—slowly at first, then within seconds, the sky opened, releasing a heavy rain that blanketed the land in dark mist. The thunder roared, but the sound was more of a cry of mourning. The heavens wept for the evils they had seen.
In Cheta's arms, the child lay, wrapped in a waterproof blanket to keep her warm and dry. They did not run when the rains started. They moved steadily—silent and heavy.
Cheta felt the child jerk. Her tiny fingers flexed once. Her eyes blinked open.
And for the briefest moment—
They glowed.
A bright golden shimmer, like fire trapped behind glass. Her pupils narrowed into sharp slits—not fully human, not fully wolf—but something in between. Cheta's breath caught.
"Kambi," he called out softly, his voice almost lost in the rainfall. "Kambi… come. Kambi, look… look!"
"Her wolf is awake," Cheta said softly, completely in awe.
The child truly was something spectacular. Her spirit was awake, strong, and unshaken from the chaos they had witnessed today. The little girl stared up at them, unafraid, as if she knew them.
For a moment, everything seemed to blur out and become silent.
For a moment, Kambi forgot all they had witnessed.
"We must find someone trustworthy to care for her." Kambi's voice was breathless. She was desperate. They were too young to take care of the child, and even if they were not, her father would kill the child without a moment's hesitation.
"There would be some people left from the raid. The Alpha always makes sure to bring some slaves back. I will search at midnight for someone who would be willing to take care of the child as well as a mother would."
"Please do."
With everything that was moral on earth, Kambi knew that it was wrong to ask for favors from people whose land was destroyed by her father. But she had no choice.
"One more thing... Make sure she is not branded. If the brands touch her, she could lose her wolf forever. No one can know about her. Do your best to keep her under the radar as much as you can."
"She must disappear."
"And she will. Find someone."
◆
Midnight came almost too quickly. Kambi had retired to her tent. Father said they would continue in the morning. Seeing as he had not asked about her whereabouts, she was sure he hoped for her to die.
She missed her mother.
The new slaves had been shackled and separated—mothers from children, brothers from sisters, mates from mates. Despair was the scent of the night. The air was damp with sorrow. Today, they had woken up with their families, but they would be falling asleep alone, only accompanied by nightmares of slaughter.
She felt their pain. Many were injured, bleeding, and probably would not make it to Black Silver alive.
"When there is life, there is hope." Her mother's words weighed heavily on her mind.
"What hope? There was none… all that was left was despair."
◆
Cheta moved silently through the camp, the baby wrapped in as many wrappers as he could find to keep her warm. He had managed to sneak some warm goat milk to feed her. She was calm—too calm. Sometimes, he had to stop to make sure that she was still alive because of how still she was against his chest.
The guards did not notice him. He walked like a shadow, gliding past groaning slaves and drunken warriors.
He stopped behind one of the new slave women. She had soft brown eyes, a bruised lip, and swollen eyes. She was badly beaten, bleeding from cuts and bruises all over her body.
Her name had been called earlier—Ola.
She was numb, staring into space as though something lay beyond—something no one could see. Tear lines and dirt marked her face. She was broken by misery. She had witnessed all her family die one after the other. Not all the blood on her body belonged to her. Her mother's screams still rang in her ears. She could still hear her brother's dying voice as he screamed for her to flee. She could hear the bones crunch under her feet and the blood splatter over her body as she ran.
She wanted to end it all.
The soldiers were not looking. She was going to end the misery. Once and for all.
The blade pressed against her skin. She was afraid. It was funny how dying seemed so easy until it got close to you. However, the fear she had for death was less than that which she had for living as a slave, haunted by memories of her family and friends who were murdered in cold blood, right in front of her.
The sky was pitch black. Only the diminishing flames lit by the warriors provided a red hue to the night, making the atmosphere more miserable. The wind howled like a mourning mother. The rains had stopped, but the air carried the scent of a coming storm.
'What a night to die.'
One slice.
One breath. No more pain. No more loneliness. No more trying to survive when her soul had already died.
"Please stop," a voice called behind her, steady and soft.
She did not turn.
"Please sir… if you are going to kill me, make it fast. If not, go away. Your lot have already taken everything away from me, what more can you take?"
"I cannot." He whispered.
She closed her eyes.
"Surely you do understand. I wish I was strong enough to have my revenge against you lot. I am weak… this is the best I can do to protect myself. My entire family is dead, how can I bear the guilt of survival? Surely you must understand."
"I do," Cheta said again as he drew closer. "I do more than you know. They took away my family too."
He stepped into view slowly—his face lined with fatigue and sorrow. And in his arms… wrapped in bundles of faded brown wrapper… was a child. A newborn. A girl. Tiny. Quiet. Sleeping. Her breath fogged the air in small, warm puffs.
Cheta knelt and unwrapped the child.
Ola's breath hitched. "O goddess..."
"What is that?"
"Hope," he said.
"She is what we found during the raids. My princess and I. A warrior was about to end her life, after ending that of her parents when we saved her. You must understand that just like you, we are weak. The Alpha shows mercy to none."
Silence.
"When I saw you, I hoped," he whispered. "I hoped—maybe… maybe the woman who was ready to die is the same woman who could give this child a reason to live."
She shook her head, backing up an inch. The shackles clattered. "I'm broken. I have nothing left to give—"
"You have everything," he said, stepping closer. "You have hands to hold her. You have arms to shelter her. You have warm hugs to give her, a voice to sing her to sleep. I cannot convince you that the blood spilled today would ever be cleansed from the face of the earth. But you survived. You. There must be a reason the goddess kept you alive. There must be a reason this child found her way to you."
Her knees buckled, and she sank to the ground, weeping into her palms.
He knelt beside her and gently placed the child in her lap.
The baby stirred and let out a soft cry—not of fear, but of need.
The woman stared at the tiny, helpless bundle. And slowly… trembling… she lifted her into her arms.
The baby settled instantly.
Something cracked open inside her. Something raw, painful and real. A breath she did not know she was holding escaped her lips.
"You are not alone," he whispered. "I will be by you every step of the way—my Princess and I."
She clutched the child to her chest as though anchoring herself to the earth.
"Why… why me? Why can you not raise her?"
"I stay in the palace with the Princess. I cannot raise a child unbranded by the Alpha in the palace. As extreme as it may sound, it would be safer for her to grow with you."
"She has a strong spirit. I can feel her aura. It is like nothing I have ever felt before." Ola was weak, but somehow, the child gave her strength.
"You see… I am a Seer…" Her voice dropped as the words escaped her mouth. "I used to be."
She kissed the child's forehead and began to weep—not from fear, but from hope to live again.
"Please care for her," Cheta said.
Ola nodded wordlessly.
"Make sure by all means that she is never branded. The Princess and I would help you with all in our power. No one must find out what kind of spirit she carries. Not even your closest breath. Not even your gods."
"I swear on my mother's blood," she whispered. "The child is not to be branded. Ever. If they brand her, her wolf dies."
Ola's hands tightened protectively around the baby. "I will die first."
Such strong words.
"What name did you give her?"
"Not me. My Princess named her—Airamara. But we would call her Aira for short."
"Airamara… Airamara." Ola smiled at the name.
The child stirred and cooed, as though she understood her name.
Cheta studied her face for a long moment.
"You may yet be the mother this child deserves."