I nodded slowly, letting the words settle like stones in my mind.
So that's the order. Hunters first. Guards second. Everyone else—an afterthought.
My thoughts raced ahead, weighing the implications. If I wanted to climb in this tribe, I'd have to become a hunter. Or at least convince them I was one.
But the idea rankled. A healer should outrank them all—what good were hunters if their wounds festered? If their bones are set wrong? Yet here, strength was measured in blood spilled, not lives saved.
Fine. If they wanted a hunter, I'd give them one. But when the time came, they'd learn the truth: the hand that heals holds more power than the spear that strikes.
Even if I am not a doctor, I can offer remedies from my Supermarket Store—medicine for fevers, painkillers for aches. To them, it may well be a miracle.
Noah grinned at me, his teeth flashing in the firelight. "You should become a hunter, Dexter. Then you'll never go hungry, and all the girls will like you."