Page 88 of Ruled By The Alpha

Hensta crouches and scours the ground, bending low to look through the grasses.

“Can you tell which way they went?” I ask him, bringing my flask to my lips and swallowing the last drops of my water.

It is the turning time of the year, when Mother Earth paints the leaves an array of colours before her breath turns cold. But for now, the air is still warm, and the sun still high in the sky.

Hensta’s brow creases. “I cannot tell for sure.” He peers south. “I think perhaps that way.”

“Should we follow them, or return to the others?”

Hensta shrugs. He is not one to voice his opinion. He is mostly silent, carrying out his duties and earning our elders’ praise.

I roll my eyes. Sometimes I wish I could be more like him, satisfied with my lot and happy to keep my mouth closed. But however hard I try, my words always come tumbling from my lips, and are often rewarded with a scolding.

“Let’s take the kill back,” I say, and he nods.

When he scoots down to lift the body, I don’t protest this time. He is stronger than me, after all, the muscles in his back rippling like the surface of water and his arms straining as he carries the heavy load.

Chapter 3

We walk across the plain, the sun soon reaching its peak. The heat is too much. It will putrefy the meat if we are not careful.

We find a tree and shelter in the shade of its branches. I sit against its trunk while Hensta lies out on his back, resting on his elbows and stretching his long legs out in front of him.

We cannot sleep, because the other creatures with which we share this land will smell our kill. We don’t want it stolen from beneath our noses. It’s why we don’t gut and bleed the carcass either. The smell of blood would alert every predator and scavenger to our presence.

“Do you think we are walking the right way?” I ask, twisting a blade of grass around my fingers.

He shifts to his side and drags the tip of his forefinger through the dusty earth. I lean a little forward, irritated he’s ignored my question.

“Hensta!” I snap and his eyes spring to mine.

He points to the squiggled lines he’s made in the dirt.

“This is the land,” he says, gesturing to the marks on the ground, “this is the river we passed and the forest to the north, the ruins of the ancients to the west. Here is the sloping ground, and the sheltered land where we left our people.”

How does he remember all of that? We are constantly moving with the herd, from one patch of land to the next, our scenery and our home always changing. I can keep glimpses of it tucked in my mind, and I can find my way following the path of the sun, but not like this.

“I think,” he says, his finger hovering over one side of his drawing, “we are here somewhere, but I cannot be sure. Wemoved so quickly while chasing the calf, I lost my sense of direction.” He squints up at me. “I called to you to stop.”

“What?’

“You were running too far from our party. I tried to stop you.”

“What are you saying? It’s my fault we’re lost?”

“I don’t think we’re lost,” he mumbles, “I think if we head east…” He points out into the sunlight. “…we’ll find the others.”

I scowl and snap the piece of grass in half. He is right; I was too caught up in the chase. I did not pay enough attention to the others around me, or where I was headed.

I lift my flask to my mouth but, despite shaking it violently, no drops of water tumble out.

“Here.” Hensta leaps to his feet and offers me his own flask. I stare at it, my mouth dry and my tongue tacky.

“Thanks,” I say, standing and taking it from him. The liquid is warm from the sun, but refreshing, and I close my eyes and swing back my head, letting it trickle down my parched throat. A little spills over my lips and onto my chin, and I capture it with my tongue, not wanting to lose a drop.

When I stop to look, Hensta stands before me, his eyes wide and locked on my mouth.

“What?” I ask, thrusting the flask back at him.

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