An army of a hundred left the hill to war.
Each and every one of them a kobel warrior that had fought to earn and keep that place.
A force of a thousand suppletives joined them, piecemeal as they progressed. Tribe after tribe was sending their best for this expedition, groups larger than the kobels by themselves, adding up more and more until the warriors lost count.
They were so many that just the scouts looked like a horde.
This was the largest force the tribes had ever witnessed. It was also slow and messy. Troops spread among the trees, clogged on passages and soon stretched far and wide, often not knowing the direction they were headed.
Still, it was unstoppable.
Above them flew the winged kobel, the wyvern Uokror that would land from time to time, helping fighters find their path and conveying what he saw from above.
With such a force, none could possibly stand in their way.
Come dawn, they approached their first prey, a village of brers made of mounds with ample gardens. That tribe had poles on which the carcasses of captured tribesmen served as scarecrows.
Brers looked docile, brown rabbits a bit frail if swift, but they had absolutely no pity. As the threat approached, their tribe had prepared, carved long pikes and forged copper shields in such numbers that not a door lacked them.
They heard the wyvern first, which sent them hiding in their houses.
Uokror flew over, circles above their hamlet for a few minutes to guide the rest toward it.
When the first horns blared he plunged again to let a stream of flames flow down like a storm. It scorched the hamlet's edge, a whole side of it that turned into a furnace. Again the damp forest gave those flames a hard time but for now they towered over the tribe.
Blocking all retreat.
In that moment, with the tribe hiding in their dens they were defenseless.
But the horns played again and the first screams forced them out of hiding. The army had reached the edge as well, their scouts falling on the first defenders to crush that paltry resistance.
Suddenly it was a rush from the brers to get out, pick their pikes and assemble.
As resistance stiffened, the scouts fell back to the first groups of warriors that were reaching the hamlet in turn, piecemeal, by groups of dozens that emerged and looked for bearings.
The brers were trying desperately to form some sort of line, only to see a new group threaten them to their side, forcing them further back. The flames, however, had them desperate to hold; so they would not rout.
Time after time those small groups of attackers were pushed back, retreating as more arrived to replace them.
By the time Tunu arrived, that battle was already won.
While brers still fought, they had been pushed back all the way, broken in groups while their dens lay wide open. The battle now mostly raged near that blazing wall of flames where those rabbits had dropped the pikes to fight with knives and axes.
He had to hurry if he wanted any piece of it.
He left the chief's side to run toward the fighting, sword in hand. Savae had done the same, but chose to stop at a mound, near an entrance, and go in. So he kept running alone, his breath steady, his heart alit, to reach the last remains of a battle.
Uokror was watching him fight.
Perched on that tree, the winged kobel obeyed Tunu's will and observed. Other kobels would get to claim flesh, the champion foremost. He could feel the beast's eyes on him as he slashed.
His heart hated it. But his heart reveled in the thrill of blood.
Soon the last of the resistance faded. All the kobels were left with were fleeing brers they were corning to finish off, and the dens that remained to visit. It was a rush to plunder as much as it was to find the ones they had missed.
Kobels were fighting to claim bodies for themselves.
With the fighting gone, kobels had started to feed.
They could feel the warmth of fire burning not far, threatening at any time to turn on them. Ash and smoke flew all around but they didn't care. There was nothing but their disputes and the sound of the feast.
Tunu finished his own prey, got up and wiped his jaws, his chin, even his neck.
The last of his scales had grown back. His horns had reformed. While not at his peak, far from it, the champion felt... normal again.
He turned to see Uokror's reaction.
But the winged kobel was paying him no mind. The beast's eyes, instead, were turned on a corner of the woods, far on the side of the hamlet.
By now the suppletives were enveloping the whole place. If any brer had fled they would be caught. So Tunu could not tell what could have possibly caught his peer's gaze.
Something in the foliage. Something small, barely perceptible in a bush.
"Tunu!"
Uokror left his tree to land at the kobel's side.
"Why stop? Your hunger."
"I'll get to it! Is something out there?"
And he pointed approximately in the direction where, suddenly, all trees looked the same. Whatever he thought he had seen had vanished from sight.
"No. You win." And then. "Your scales."
"Yes. They are back. But it's not enough. It's never enough! Just how much did it take for you?"
Once more, Uokror looked puzzled.
"I mean, how much did you feed," Tunu insisted, "for you to become a wyvern? To remain a wyvern?"
"Why feed? You have blood."
"No, but... how long did it take you? How much time did it take for you to achieve this growth?"
This question the winged kobel understood.
Uokror looked away, suddenly somber. There was a sudden weight on his eyes, almost a sadness so antithetical to his wild pupils, yet very present.
"All life."
And it hit Tunu. Even after all their conversations he had assumed so much that to him, the whole time, his peer could only be young. He had a young bestial voice, the size of a young wyvern, he spoke with such simple words so of course, they had to share the same age as well.
It never occurred to him just how much older Uokror might have been.
Everything suddenly made so much sense to him. Why his growth could be so inequal. Why, when he pushed too far, his body collapsed.
He was just. Too young.
"How many years is that." Tunu asked, but fearing the answer.
"Your hunger. You grow strong, Tunu. You feed and grow strong. For pride of tribe, not stop."
This mess of words lifted his worries if a little.
"Ah ah, you're right. You're a good friend, Uokror. I'm glad you chose to join us."
But in his heart, those words rang hollow. His heart, after the rush of battle, was back to loathing that beastly presence.
It was unrelenting. A seeping feeling of hate that toyed with his very mind. And he had thought it was jealousy but more and more Tunu felt like something deeper was driving his foreign heart. More than rivalry.
Hunger, perhaps.