It wasn’t fear I felt.

Not this time.

It was rage.
Cold.
Silent.
Clinging to my chest like a thorn.

I didn’t tremble.
Didn’t hesitate.
Didn’t think.

I just leapt.

The Okai didn’t even turn around.
He was urinating against a tree.
His fire claw rested on the ground, far away.
His body relaxed.
His voice had said something earlier, soft, but with the same word as always:

“Okay… okay…”

Always that word.

Since other tribes began speaking of them, they called them that.
Okais.
Because no one understood their languages…
but everyone heard that one.

I didn’t give him time to react.

I slid in like a shadow.
Like I had learned from the knife-goblins.

And with one quick, silent motion, I slid my knife across what I believed was his neck.

I felt it cut.
Slash.
Heat.
Life breaking.

The Okai tried to scream.
But it was already too late.

His legs gave out.
He collapsed.

The red flowed silently.

Bright red.
Red like fire beneath the skin.
Red that wouldn’t stop.

I didn’t want to look into his eyes.
I didn’t want a face.
I didn’t want a memory.

Only the result.

I crouched.
Checked his belt.

A pouch with shiny objects.
Small black stones.
A strange cord.
Dried food.
A soft, clean cloth.

And then I saw the two daggers.
Strapped to his sides.
Dull metal.
One marked.
The other newer.

I took them. Both.

Tested their weight.
They were light.
Fast.

They’d do.

One would be for me.
The other… for when one of the little ones was ready.

I took everything useful.
And vanished among the leaves.

I ran like a trained beast.
Through branches, roots, and mud.
Sometimes I crawled.
Sometimes I climbed.
Sometimes I just listened.

Because I knew:

The Okais never travel alone.

And I wasn’t wrong.

From a high branch, I saw… four more.

They approached the body.
One shouted in his incomprehensible tongue.
Another inspected the ground.
One picked up the fire claw.
The last stared into the forest.

And they all stayed.
Alert.
Still.
Searching.

I didn’t move.
Didn’t even breathe deep.

The slime on my chest was a stone.

I had to wait until the sun tilted.
Until the light faded and the sounds of insects returned.

And then… I left.

Not directly.
Not fast.

I took twisted paths.
Crossed rivers.
Doubled back.
Stepped where I hadn’t before.

I erased every footprint as if it were my name.

Moons passed.

I slept little.
Ate less.
Didn’t repeat hiding spots.
Tried not to leave a scent.

The Okais were smart.
Relentless.
Like fire.

If you don’t put it out… it consumes everything.

And that’s why, only when I was sure…
I returned.

The cave smelled of soft smoke.
Of fruit.
Of life.

The children ran to me. So did I.

We embraced.
They shouted. And the smallest cried.

I tried not to speak.
I just gave them some things.

A shining rope.
A new kind of food that tasted strange.
A useful cloth to cover the ground.

The children looked at everything with wide eyes.

And though they said nothing…
they knew.

They knew something had happened out there.
And that their guardian had returned… different.

That night…
we ate in silence.

And for the first time in many moons…
no one told stories.