I ran, hopping over loose timber and the occasional stones floating above the swamp. Unbelieving of my retarded brothers, I only knew how to run.
Qipsa'tee Scarl Ri'kit and I usually saw eye to eye, Xhul'imar Zlat'huasq Ri'kit not so much. But the latter was also from another mother, so by tribe standards it was already alright that he deigned to look at us two.
I didn't remember much of my mother. I was the last of seven eggs, the last to grow up, the last to speak, the last to learn the art of war, of glory and life.
Or rather of glory and death. I'd always been the last and was happy with that. This way, I didn't turn into a smelly corpse like the other 13 siblings.
Yet today it all seemed to change. There was glory to be had on the battlefield, others to impress... or recklessly escape from.
In blood-soaked plains or within the swamp, this was found everywhere. "Stop, you ill grunt!" Words of reproach drifted to my ears.
As a result, I thought a bit too much, my distractedness adversely influencing my escape. Therefore, I failed to jump high enough, leaving me with no other option than to crawl through the mud.
My brothers, of course, didn't make the same mistake. Just as expected, where I lost speed, they continued to pursue just the same.
The reason why I was content being denied the privilege to fight on the fronts. This illness... only the stupid ever think too much.
"Give up, slowpoke. Shit's always been a disgrace to our legendary father. So let me correct the mistake." "Xhul'imar Zlat'huasq Ri'kit, you gave me your word to not lay hand on my sister."
"Sister? That waste of meat is no proud daughter of the Dragon Believers. This is not your sister, this is your disgrace. But what can I say? It lies in your lesser lineage?"
"Xhul'imar Zlat'huasq Ri'kit!!!!" There he was again, badmouthing our mother. Dying while egg-laying... he was sadly right.
And I was no better. There wasn't even the egg-laying part. Not addressing each other by our full name was considered very offensive in our tribe, and by failing to retort I'd lost all honour.
But talking and dying happened to be worse. Death was always worse. I knew nobody in my tribe would've considered me right in the head by thinking such terribly distorted thoughts.
But I couldn't help it. I never could. Stood no chance. Deplorably, I'd always used my head first. That's why all the tests ended up substandard at best.
Then again, working in closed-off huts for the hatchlings was not exactly conducive to stamina. It was a miserable excuse and I knew it.
I felt myself becoming slower, my feet growing uncontrolled as my tail failed to counterbalance abrupt movements.
Spraining my ankle, I was forced to limp towards a bigger rock and remain there, mind racing. "See, she's just like your mother, little Qipsa'tee. Can't take a run."
The two came to a halt not far from the stone I was stranded on. I noted that anger filled his belly as his vertical eyes glowed with mana. This incredibly stupid brother of mine...
A glance at Xhul'imar Zlat'huasq Ri'kit and his much darker scales promising superior defence among other things made him stop the folly he was cooking up.
Attacking clansmen outside of the pit was punishable. Targeting a legend? Punishable by death. He had eggs and wives at home, so Qipsa'tee Scarl Ri'kit couldn't flare up as he'd have liked.
I couldn't forget that, even if I wanted to. "You're so stupid." Instead, my brother swallowed down his anger and tried to reason with the only remaining sister he had. Me.
"Father died because of an ambush." There were some guards, no more than three. "Hundreds of beastmen targeted him in enemy territory."
He was killing civilians. Butchering their families while the men were fighting at the front. I'd asked around, conversed even with the occasional prisoners before they became food.
And that was defective behaviour. No tribesmen ever did question anything. Everybody knew their history, their enemy.
They fought what had to be fought. With all their might. Two days of teaching the newly hatched made sure of that.
Two days at a time when most had yet to develop their ears completely. Father's a legend, yes. Father couldn't count to four as he was missing many digits.
That was probably why we only had three plus one mothers... Catching myself engaging in such pagan thoughts, my eyes widened in horror. These darn defects. Flaring up. This illness...
"Sa'nout Rak'taza Ri'kit!!! Why are you protecting our father's killers?" "Little Qipsa'tee, that defective product is different from the rest of our tribe.
And differences must be eliminated before they do harm." While saying his hurtful piece, the legendary warrior stared hard at me, ridicule abundant in his big, yellow eyes.
"Kill it. Kill our enemy, sister. The tribe will thank you. There might even be a spot reserved for you on the frontlines. Or go back to work with the hatchlings."
I knew her brother was lying. He probably did too. If I gave up, two would die. But if I struggled until the end, the outcome was the same. So why did he try so hard? The answer was simple.
Honour was the only difference my choice made. Honour only my brother would find useful. "It is only a hatchling." Yet my illness didn't allow for such an outcome.
Xhul'imar Zlat'huasq Ri'kit snorted before that slow brother could answer, interrupting my efforts at convincing my kin.
"You're not only slow but also stupid...," The legendary warrior continued to talk down on me like one would to a disabled. Which he probably thought I was. "...that's one more reason to get rid of it.
Once the beast grows, there will be one more enemy to kill. Another menace ready to slaughter my brave warriors." "Innocent. Barely hatched. Hasn't grown yet."
I couldn't help but retort, the flaws in his words so glaringly evident I'd trouble understanding why others didn't catch on to them.
His annoyance peaked as he had other things to do, skulls to crack and fights to win. Ambushes to plot.
Killing the cast out would bring him so little honour, it was first and foremost a chore. If our father hadn't been one and the same, he wouldn't have even come here.
"He's a beastman," the legend hissed, "and no beastman is free of sins—" "She. She's female." "None of my business." Could've said she'd give birth to more enemies...
I grimaced as my illness was flaring up again. "...she's cute and cannot fight at all." I muttered in defeat. Convincing them was impossible after all.
Xhul'imar Zlat'huasq Ri'kit looked at me incredulously, the comment totally lost on them. Or not quite.
After all, my brother grabbed the spear in his hand even tighter, veins protruding everywhere. "You're no tribeswoman, mutant. He's right. You... are a mistake."
They both assaulted me, their slender spears stabbing at me. As if in trance, I evaded the jab miraculously, making my half-brother's dark scales take on an even darker hue.
That was it. I glanced down at the hatchling in my arms, now shrieking miserably as stress and fear got ahold of her.
The unpleasant smell mixed with the poisonous swaths of the swamp made my brothers even more aggressive, the dirty water and grime splashing left and right unceasingly.
My injuries grew. There was no luck reserved for the likes of me. A flurry of stabs demanded bloody tributes, each non-lethal but as painful as it could get.
After all, my death should serve as an example. I threw myself over the hatchling, expectant of the outcome.
Then... the world shattered, two insects squeaked and something grabbed me. I'd never imagined that death would be this warm...