Feral gunders attacked the tribe. Scratches marked the tree trunks leading to the homes, snarls richoetted in the air and the screams of people emphasised the danger ahead. Yet, Ebskil kept running but couldn’t decipher his terrifying thoughts of what lay ahead. Then, he suddenly stopped before the tree clearing. His stomach churned at the sight of the animals.

The creatures weren’t normal gunders. Instead of shiny, oak coats, their fur looked black and wet. This covered a body with bulging muscles and protruding veins. Their enlarged pupils scanned the area, as their muscles tensed, deciding on the most vulnerable prey. Too bad they eyed humans instead of large birds they often fed on.

Already, they tore into flesh. Ebskil froze in place, unable to tear his eyes from the bodies on the ground. He knew them, despite all the blood and gashes on their skin. He knew them. The little girl on the far right, twisted on the ground, was Peitra, then the newborn baby was Nakil and the man laying with broken legs and a shattered skull was Ordil. He talked to them. He helped them. He knew them.

“Ebskil!” His father roared and instinctively, Ebskil ducked without registering his movements.

A gunder pounced over him, swiping its silver claws which lightly scraped Ebskil’s back. He felt the razor sharp edge track across his spine. When he looked up, he saw his father race towards him, swinging rocks in rope — a traditional tribal weapon for hunting birds — and flinging it at the beast. The gunder snarled as hand-sized rocks smashed into its face. Yet, Zerkil hadn’t finished; he trapped the beast in place using his phlame to mimic a fire. Then, while still running, he raised the club by his side and whacked the beast. It yelped, Ebskil felt a terrified noises escape his own lips and his father stood tall as the gunder dropped to the ground. Zerkil used the blood spatter on his face to paint symbols as he chanted their prayer for the sacrifice of life.

“What are ya doin?!” He exclaimed after, looking at Ebskil cowering. “Get up!”

“W-w-what happened?” Ebskil stammered, his voice shaking unlike his heroic father.

“No time for ya foolish questions. Guard the young! Go!” He shoved Ebskil away.

Only moving because of his father’s forceful push, Ebskil stumbled towards the large trees. The women and children climbed into the large, woven baskets, which strained under their weight, and grabbed onto the attached rope — made from vines — for dear life. Men, both young and old, heaved the other end of the plait as if fell from the other side of a thick branch. This pull-system raised the basket, very slowly, to safety in the trees with no low branches. Yet, Ebskil already saw one problem with the system; although the men were protecting their families, no one was protecting them.

A gunder broke free from the group of warriors attacking, ignoring the green phlames they used as distraction, and raced to the basket, seizing the opportunity to grab vulnerable prey. With one swipe of its paw, it sent the two men pulling the rope soaring, and the women and children fell to the ground. A sharp, piercing cry from the little boy filled the air and Ebskil saw he broke his leg.

Be a hero.

No one else was as close to them as Ebskil. If the warriors tried to help, it would be too late. What can I do? I have no phlame, Ebskil panicked. I am no match for a gunder, especially one so feral. I am no—

The little boy met his eyes. The hazel irises glistened and silently begged to be saved.

Be a hero.

As if controlled by the other voice in his head, he ran towards the gunder without a plan. He let out a scream, which sounded too feminine for a war cry, but it did what he intended; the beast looked at him and growled, the fallen family momentarily forgotten. What next? What next? What next? Ebskil chanted, almost in range of the beast’s attack. Unsure and irrational, he grabbed a broken spear from the ground. The top was angled from the break but not as sharp as a carved rock. It will have to work, he hoped.

“Run!” He shouted at the fallen family, internally wincing at the fact he was ordering a boy with a broken leg to move. “You must run!”

Suddenly, the gunder lunged at him. Eskil rolled to the side and narrowly dodged the attack. However, the gunder wanted to continue. It circled him, as if toying with its prey, and often tried to swipe him. Blood roared in Ebskil’s ears and he felt the adrenaline cool his blood, making it tingle as it spread through his veins. He tried to think of a plan but nothing came to him except to be a distraction. Hopefully someone else would come. There had to be a hero like his father who would act.

He didn’t expect it to be Momil.

In the corner of his eye, he saw a figure race towards the family, lift up the boy and guide them to safety. Or, at least, he hoped it happened. He didn’t risk breaking his concentration on the gunder who closed the distance between them. A second later, it attacked once more.

No quick dodges or rolls saved him this time. It came too quick. Ebskil, panicked and unsure, shoved the stick forward and kept his eyes open, too scared to die if he shut them. Was this the end? He wondered in terror. Was this Ora’s prophecy? Is this how I am a hero? By failing to rescue a family?

Everything happened too fast. Ebskil fell back onto the hard ground and the gunder followed his movement, baring its teeth in victory. By pure accident, Ebskil shoved the broken spear into it’s mouth then, through his hands fumbling, twisted it upwards instead of down its throat. The beast yelped which fuelled Ebskil to shove the spear harder, wherever it imbedded itself. The weight of the gunder broke the spear and Ebskil became lost under fat and fur.

It took a few moments to realise he wasn’t dead. A few more seconds later, he noticed the gunder lay deathly still on top of his lower half. The spear had lodged itself in its head and blood poured out from his mouth, mingling with Ebskil’s own from scrapes torn by the creature’s teeth. However, Ebskil didn’t register any unbearable pain. Instead, as if engrained into his soul, he instinctively completed the same traditional prayer his father had; he smeared blood into circles on his forehead and recalled their ancient language to explain the sacrifice of life.

“Ebskil?”

Ebskil blinked back his shock and stared up. “Momil?”

“Ya alive, ya bastard!” Momil shouted, his voice raspy.

Without a moment to waste, he tried to push the gunder but it only moved marginally. Still, Ebskil found this enough to pull his legs free. He sighed in relief, finding he could wiggle his toes and, from this, stand without pain. Then, he remembered those hopeful, hazel eyes.

“The boy. Is he safe?” Ebskil asked, searching for the family.

“Hid in shrubs near mushrooms.”

“That ain’t safe!”

“They have broken limbs and no energy. They can’t survive in the trees.”

Speaking of… Ebskil glared. “Why aren’t you in the basket?”

“I want to help—”

“You are not a man yet! Get in the basket now!” Ebskil yelled.

He looked around but saw no more baskets on the ground; they all were sailing into the treetops. This meant Momil would have to stay in the caves with the men; their father would be furious for his own family disobeying rules.

“But—”

Ebskil grabbed Momil’s shoulders. “Please. This is not time to argue with me. I beg of you. Go to the caves. Take the injured too. Please.”

Momil went quiet. At first, Ebskil thought he won but he should’ve known better. His brother was born stubborn. A plead would not change that.

“Momil?” He questioned, looking into the widening pupils of his brother.

“Use your phlame!” Momil screamed.

Behind them, a gunder had crept up and intended to maul them. Its jaws opened, flinging saliva everywhere, and its raised paw came crashing down.

“Ebskil! Now!”

“I can’t!” Ebskil blurted, filled with fear.

They couldn’t run. They had no weapons. Momil had to learn more to control his phlame. Ebskil didn’t have any phlame. They were going to die.

Be a hero.

Ebskil shoved his brother away. This time, he shut his eyes because he knew it was the end. The whispering voice silenced as the gunder shrieked in glory at its prey's demise.