Since the sickness wiped out nearly all of our females, including Sorin’s momo, he has been surrounded by males. The care he received from Healer Sage during his sickness was the most gentleness and tenderness he has ever been given. Even before his momo was taken. Krijese know war. We know survival. We do not know gentle. We do not know tender. Neither are in our blood.

“Another human ship has arrived.” Ortak approaches from his tent.

“Yes.”

Sorin waits nearby. It is clear he is listening intently.

“How many more will they send?”

“I do not know.” As I am the only one of us who has spent any time in the Tavikhi village, I have learned a few things about the human’s old world. Perhaps they will not stop sending them until our planet is as overrun as theirs. “That is something we cannot worry about though. So long as they leave us in peace, they can do whatever they wish.”

“Do you not have concerns?”

“It is better not to invite worries if we do not have to. As I have said, we wish only for peace. If they allow that, then I have no concerns.” I nod and walk over to Sorin. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

We stride out of the village and into the surrounding trees along the path we have carved since arriving here all those moons ago. Our steps are not nearly as quiet as the Tavikhi’s, but we are slowly learning how to become hunters of more than two-legged creatures. The mellenje call to one another from high up in the branches. Their feathers are bright against the leaves and I spot several nests cradled within the treetops.

I sweep my gaze along the ground, keeping an eye out for any leburin burrows. While far too small to satisfy a grown Krijese, the meat of three or four of them is enough for a single meal for Sorin and Gannen. They are the only two kits left of our people. A fact I try not to dwell on. Once they are gone, the Krijese will cease to exist.

“Gogo, look.”

The quiet voice makes the uneasy thoughts disappear like smoke and I focus on where Sorin is pointing. In the distance, there is the flash of movement. The dhibani that live within the hills. They roam in herds and when agitated will charge. I have nearly been gored by a long twining horn on more than one occasion.

“Stay low, and keep your footsteps light.” I stretch my arm backward to keep Sorin somewhat behind me.

Together we carefully make our way toward where at least one beast is located. A small break in the trees gives view to a relatively small herd. Several younglings are blocked in by many adults for protection. As easy as it would be to target them, they will not provide the meat our people need to survive. It does not sit well with me to orphan young, but I must see to the survival of my people above all others.

We creep closer and closer still, watching where we place our feet so as to not disturb any twigs or branches, until we are nearly within striking range. I silently withdraw my war axe and Sorin follows my lead. When one dhibani jerks its head up and freezes as though scenting predators close, we pause all movement, including our breaths.

Several beats pass before the dhibani relaxes and returns to its grazing. I nod at Sorin who repeats the gesture, and together we rush forward and throw our blades at our prey. Both our axes bury into the sides of two different beasts who release pained screams and attempt to escape. Neither make it far before they collapse onto the bari-covered field. The rest have scattered in fear.

“Excellent shot,” I praise Sorin’s aim and yank my axe from my kill.

His mouth slit widens and he bares his teeth in pride. The humans would call his attempt a smile, but it is not something Krijese are truly capable of doing. Our mouths do not open in such a way as others do.

“Well done,” a gruff voice calls out from the other side of the field.

I ready myself for an attack and only when I recognize the three figures striding toward me do I relax. “Greetings, Benham.”

“To you as well.”

The Tavikhi warrior approaches as I sheath my weapon. At his side are two kits; a male Tavikhi and a human female, each carrying their own small spear. Both of them grin widely and observe the dhibani we brought down.

“You must teach us how to throw an axe like that.” Talek nearly bounces with excitement, while Cecily is calmer in her enthusiasm.

Sorin makes himself stand slightly taller. Although he is younger than both Talek and Cecily by two sun cycles, he is near to the male kit in height. “I will ask Gogo to bring me to your village soon and we will practice.”

“Would you like to join us?” Benham asks. “We will continue our hunting until the sun has nearly descended to the hilltop and then return to the village.”

“We accept.”

The Tavikhi nods, and the three of them wait while I collect Sorin’s and my kills. I hoist the beasts over my shoulder and join the others. The kits chitter to each other slightly behind us as we move through the forest, although they keep their voices soft and low as to not scare away any prey. I glance over at Benham. He is the largest of all the Tavikhi warriors within Zander’s tribe. We are of the same build and possess an almost equal number of scars on our bodies. They are signs of our strength.

Since I am certain he witnessed it as well—I am not sure Benham misses anything—I bring up the human ship that just arrived. “How many do you think will be on this one?”

He glances at me and does not ask of what I speak. “Mykeeshlasays they have sent anywhere from fifty to over a hundred with each ship that has landed here.”