Night fell heavy over the tribe.
A thick darkness settled across the plains, darker than the nights before. Clouds swallowed the moon. No stars shone through. The wind blew in slow, uneasy breaths, carrying the cold scent of soil and distant blood.
The chief stood near the crude wall of sharpened logs, a burning torch in one hand. His eyes scanned the tall grass outside the ring of light.
He felt it before he heard anything.
Pressure.
A silent weight pressing against the edge of the tribe. A waiting. A watching. A slow tightening in the air as if the world itself held its breath.
Hunters stood at intervals along the wall, holding torches and sticks. Their faces were tight with fear. Children hid in the huts. Mothers held them close. The elders prayed softly to old spirits that had never answered before.
The rival stood to the chief's left. His brother to the right. Both tense. Both ready.
His sister brought another torch. Her voice trembled. "Are we safe here."
"No," the chief said. "But safer."
She swallowed and stepped back.
The older warrior appeared then, arms crossed, shadowed face twisted into a bitter smile. "Beast come tonight because chief call them with his fear."
No one answered.
No one believed him anymore.
But fear made his words sharp.
The chief ignored him.
The wind shifted suddenly.
The grass bent in one direction.
Then snapped back the other way.
His brother gripped his stick. "Something move."
The rival leaned forward. "Many somethings."
The chief stepped closer to the wall.
He listened.
Nothing.
Then a faint crack.
Then two.
Then silence again.
One of the hunters whispered, "I cannot see. Too dark."
"Good," the chief said. "Use ears. Use breath."
The hunter blinked, startled, then nodded.
The older warrior scoffed loudly. "Listen for death. Good idea."
But something in the tone of the night silenced him soon.
The chief crouched slowly, lowering the torch closer to the ground. The light touched the grass. A faint glint flickered ahead.
Eyes.
Small.
Glowing faintly yellow.
Then more eyes.
Then more.
Shapes moved in the dark.
Low.
Fast.
Silent.
The chief rose. "Ready."
His voice was calm.
The rival's breath steadied.
His brother shifted his feet, grounding himself.
The hunters tightened their grips.
The older warrior retreated a step.
A single growl entered the air.
Low.
Hungry.
Sharp.
Then the grass erupted.
Three beasts lunged from the darkness, leaping toward the wall. Not wolves. Not large. But fierce. Their bodies were long and lean, like wild hounds, but twisted in shape. Their jaws were too wide. Their legs too strong for their size. Their claws tore into the earth.
The first beast slammed into the wall of sharpened logs.
A cry rang through the night.
The beast shrieked, impaling itself on one of the points. Its blood spilled quickly, dark and thick, steaming in the cold air.
The hunters gasped.
The wall worked.
For a moment.
The second beast veered left, circling toward a weak point. The third charged directly at the rival, who thrust his stick forward in a quick jab.
The beast snapped at him, teeth clashing loudly.
The chief lunged first.
His body moved before his thoughts formed. His feet struck the earth. His breath surged. His arms swung with controlled force.
His stick cracked across the beast's skull. The sound echoed in the darkness.
The beast staggered but did not fall.
It snarled and lunged again.
The chief pivoted, feeling strength coil through his legs. He struck again, harder. The beast's jaw snapped sideways. It fell, limbs twitching.
The rival shouted, "More coming."
The grass rippled with motion.
Four shapes.
Then six.
Then more.
Small beasts.
Fast beasts.
Testing.
The older warrior whispered, "We die tonight."
But no one heard him. All eyes were on the dark.
The chief raised his torch high.
"Hold wall," he said.
His voice cut through fear like stone through soft soil.
The young hunters stiffened their backs.
The women gathered stones.
The blacksmith woman lit extra torches.
His sister guided children deeper into the huts.
The older warrior stayed close to the entrance of his hut, watching for a chance to flee.
The beasts charged.
The first wave hit the wall again. Three beasts impaled themselves on the sharpened points. Their bodies twitched violently. Blood sprayed across the logs.
Shouts rose from the tribe.
The second wave circled left.
The chief sprinted toward them.
His legs burned.
His breath roared in his chest.
But his movements felt sharp.
Controlled.
His stick slammed downward, striking a beast on the back. Bones cracked. The beast writhed. Another leapt at his brother, who met it with a wild shout and a heavy swing, knocking it into the wall.
The rival fought with his whole body, striking with elbows and knees, pushing one beast aside before stabbing another in the neck with his stick.
Torches lit the night with trembling flames.
Beasts screeched.
Humans shouted.
The world clashed.
The chief struck again. Something in him focused sharply. He saw the angle of the beast's spine. The placement of its feet. The way its weight shifted before leaping.
He adjusted his stance.
He struck the ground first.
Dust rose.
The beast stumbled.
He swung.
The beast collapsed.
He did not smile.
He did not breathe victory.
He only moved to the next one.
By the time the wave ended, nine beasts lay dead. Their bodies formed dark lumps in the grass. Blood soaked into the earth.
The tribe stood shaking.
Women cried. Children clung to each other. Hunters breathed heavily. The rival leaned on his stick, sweat dripping from his face.
His brother grinned wildly. "We win."
The chief shook his head. "No."
The rival looked at him. "Why not. We live."
The chief pointed into the dark.
A pair of pale eyes glowed beyond the tall grass.
Not small eyes.
Not weak eyes.
Eyes he remembered.
The wolf.
Watching them from the shadows.
His brother froze. "It here."
"Yes," the chief said.
"Why not attack," the rival whispered.
The chief's breath slowed. "It learn."
The wolf blinked once.
Slow.
Measuring.
Then it turned and vanished back into the forest.
The older warrior saw only the shape leaving. He screamed loudly, "See. Chief bring wolf. It come for us because of him. He call danger. He call death."
The tribe trembled.
The rival snarled, "Shut your mouth."
The older warrior pointed at the chief. "He face wolf and do nothing. He let beast grow strong. He weak."
The chief turned to him.
For a moment, the older warrior stepped back.
The chief's eyes held something new.
Not anger.
Not fear.
Something focused.
He said quietly, "If wolf wanted kill tribe, it would. It watch. It wait. It test. You cannot see. You only shout."
The older warrior's face twisted in rage.
"One day," he spat. "Tribe see you wrong."
The chief turned away.
The rival whispered, "He dangerous."
"Yes," the chief said.
His sister rushed to his side. "Are you hurt."
He shook his head. His body ached, but nothing serious.
"What now," she asked.
"We bury beasts," the chief said. "Burn bodies. Clean blood."
Hunters obeyed.
The older warrior disappeared into the darkness.
No one saw where he went.
Hours passed.
The bodies burned. Smoke rose into the sky. The night eased slightly, but not fully. The tribe remained awake. No one felt safe.
The chief stood alone at the wall, watching the forest.
Listening.
Thinking.
He tried to understand the shapes in the world. The paths beasts took. The way the wolf moved. The pressure in the air. The meaning behind the attack.
He felt close to seeing something.
Close to understanding.
But not yet.
He closed his eyes.
His breath calmed.
He felt the world's edges.
The cold wind.
The burned scent.
The trembling ground.
He felt the wolf far away.
Then he opened his eyes.
His brother walked up, breathing hard. "You see something."
"No," the chief said. "But soon."
His brother nodded, confused but trusting.
The rival approached. "You lead well tonight."
"No," the chief said. "We live. Not lead."
"Same thing to me," the rival said.
The chief looked at the forest one last time.
Tomorrow beasts would return.
Tomorrow the wolf would come closer.
Tomorrow the tribe would be tested again.
And tomorrow, he would push his body further.
Because the world demanded it.
Because the forest had begun its war.
And he would not let humanity fall.