I hunch low in the grass, watching the herd of long-horns grazing. I pull the Lion's skin up over my eyes, letting me see in the setting sun, but then pull it back down again, growling softly. The long-horns will move on soon, and my Pride needs to feed.

The other hunters prowl the area. I am the only male. The others are females who have no cubs yet. The other males are at the Den, guarding it from intruders.

One female circles around the herd. When she gives her signal, we well chase the long-horns to her and she will take one down. Just barely a tickle of longgrass betrays her positions and the long-horns do not noticed.

Then, just barely a whisper of movement. One of the females takes off, streaking into the brush. I am to follow, I am to make the herd move toward the lone female.

I do it like the Brother and Sister Lions do, I roar and give chase.

My name is Rook of the Rookhuohru. My name means Lion and I am of the Lion People. Lion is a good, strong name, and I work hard to earn it.

This is my first hunt and neither my brother nor mother could come. They are back at the den, tending her new cubs. I am nervous, but I hide it. Fear can be smelled and as a male, I must hide it. Males are useless if they show fear of death, females are useless if they will neither hunt nor bear children. It is the way of the Lions.

I follow the animals with my spear, biting at them and trying to hit one. Only one kill is needed today, but a few more will do no harm. I strike one long-horn with my spear and it falls, a male. It is good that it is a buck because females are needed to breed, otherwise there will be no food.

That is the Way. Take no more than is needed, and only then those that are not child-bearing. Hurt not that which has not hurt you. Know your friends well, know your rivals better. Live as if this was your last day, for tomorrow you may die. The worst will always happen.

These are the Ways to live. These are the Ways passed down from father to son, mother to daughter. These are the Ways the lions live, and so they are the Ways that the Lion People live.

The male falls, bleeding at his shoulder. I think I have broken the shoulder and hit no vital parts. I will remedy this, for it is a waste for him to suffer too long. I raise my spear above his eye and push down hard, for head injuries nearly always cause death.

The long-horns run around me, kicking up dust so thick that the grit gets into my eyes, nose, and mouth. I pull the Lion's head lower over my head to protect my face, listening to my aunts and sisters chase the animals into a panic.

I have made a kill. I have done my job. I am a man now and can go back to my den with my head held high.

I stand over my kill, giving thanks to the God for providing this kill for me to feed my Pride. I wait for several minutes for my sisters and aunts to return, the lone female holding her kill on her shoulders.

It is a female, a bad omen. I do not like this. Neither do many of the other female, hissing softly and giving bleak glances. My aunt drops her kill at my feet, shrugging.

"It was the only one within reach," she explains.

I growl darkly. I am a new hunter and I fell a male.

"And what would you do," I demand, "if only the females came in reach again, and none more could bear child?"

"We would starve, then," says my sister, anger in her pur.

I pick up my kill and balance it on my shoulders, almost falling over under the weight. A good kill, indeed! His hide will make many warm blankets and his horns will make good knives! His teeth for crushing herbs, his hooves, bones, and the inside of his horns for medicine!

My sister laughs, "Rook, you are as helpless as a cub!" and seizes the kill. I blush, having let a female prove her physical strength against me. She walks away, toward home, before I can protest, her tail swinging in the wind.

We are angry with our aunt. She should not have taken the female. Surely there were many males that ran past, one of them would have done. She need not have taken the female. And what if it was with child? No one can condone the killing of the unborn! With no young, there is no future. If there is no future for long-horns, there is no future for Rookhuoru.

I lift my head to the wind, smelling for the familiar scent of the Den. Mother and the aunts cooking dinner while the cubs gather herbs and berries. Brothers and uncles lazing under trees, some making knives with the cubs.

Another Pride runs past. It is one of the Lion's prides, and they pause to look at us. A young male, my own age, stops and looks at me. He seems to shake his head, a great sadness in his golden eyes. They run again, like flames chase their heels.

Did they know that my aunt killed the female? I banish the thought quickly. Unless they saw the kill on her shoulder, they could not have.

I do not smell the Den. I do not smell the Pride. I smell...smoke!

I roar at my sisters to drop their kills, there is smoke in the air from the Den!

We run as fast as the lions did, running home to protect our family. My feet barely touch the ground, the Lion's head lifts off my face as I run. I see the smoke, rising like a great, black cloud into the air.

Mother! Sisters! Aunts! Uncles! Brothers!

We come to the hill overlooking the Den, but I do not see the Den. I see smoke and golden tongues of flame. I smell blood and burnt flesh, like when my sister dropped long-horn meat into the cooking fire, but it is not cooking fire and it is not long-horn meat.

I see shapes, but they wear no Lion skin. They are not burned and they are not trying to save my Pride. They are burning it! They are setting flame to my Den! My sisters, my mother...

I terrible anger builds up inside me. I cling to my spear. I am the last one into the Den, chasing the intruders out with tooth, nail, and spear. I jab at them with my spear, hitting bone several times. Through the smoke, I cannot keep track of just one target.

The smoke stings my eyes and chokes my throat. I cannot breath in it and I need to stop for breath. But I cannot stop, for they will catch me.

I jab again with my spear and I jab again, hitting his ankle bone, felling him. Then I trip over something hard. A body in Lion skin. My mother, and she holds tight to her my cub sister, protecting her with her body. If I had not moved my mother, they would not have seen my sister, who still moves.

I touch my sister's tiny, soft head. The flames are beginning to choke her. She is my Pride's future and I must save her, so I take her from my mother's arms and run. This sister is named for the red star that rises over the horizon, the one that brings lights with it, that the older ones fear and the younger was are curious of.

I run with the cub squirming in my grasp. Be still, I plea. Just for a little longer.

She goes still and does not cry and I am glad and proud, but then I look down at her, and her eyes are tightly shut and her little mouth is tightly shut, and she...

The newborn cub of my Pride...

My sister...

My mother...

I do not hear the calls of my hunting party. Where have they gone? I cannot see them through the smoke anymore and the flames are getting too thick. Have they fled, too?

It is too much. I am on my knees, praying, grasping the ashy dirty in my hands, crying, roaring at the sun.

Why? What did we do? It was my aunt that took the female long-horn, the whole Pride should not be punished for this!

I cannot breathe, cannot think. The smoke is everywhere and I cannot see through it. I fall on my side, tears streaking my face under my Lion skin mask. I hear strange voices, speaking the heathen language that the elders said I should learn one day, but I do not understand it because I have not.

"This one's still alive."

"He's just a boy."

"None of them are children, they're all animals."

"He's young and looks strong. There aren't any more, let's see how well Lion People do in captivity."

"You aren't worried?"

"Lion People behave like lions and lions are no good without the pride. Hit him one good time over the head and make him unconscious, then poor wine down his throat to keep him asleep."

I do not like the tone they use. I cannot stay here. I will find my father's Pride, the one he was banished from when he came of age. They will feed me and keep me safe, for a time, and perhaps help me seek revenge on those who have slaughtered my Pride.

My claws feel the sand beneath me, pulling me forward. I have to keep moving, or they will catch me. The air is almost clean under the smoke, I can make it, I can make it, I can...