The smell of cooking meat led Arin through the village. She followed the scent between rows of huts until she reached the center, where fires burned bright against the darkening sky. A massive creature lay across several fire pits, its meat slowly turning golden brown.
"First time seeing a Direbear?" A young warrior tended the nearest pit, flipping meat with a long stick. A fresh scar ran down his jaw, still pink and healing.
Arin stopped, suddenly realizing she could understand him perfectly. The words should have been strange, but they made sense in her head like they were her own language. Strange, but useful.
Her stomach growled loud enough to make her wince. She hadn't eaten since morning, and the smell wasn't helping. Moving closer to the fires, she studied what was left of the Direbear. Its muscles were huge, with claws longer than her hand and teeth that looked sharp enough to cut stone.
They hunt these things regularly? She couldn't imagine facing something so dangerous.
"Another successful hunt!" The hunt leader's voice carried over the crackling fires. "The spirits blessed us with this mighty beast!"
More warriors appeared from between the huts. Some had bandages, others showed fresh bruises, but they all moved with confidence. They gathered in small groups around the fires, sharing stories of the hunt.
"The chief's not wrong about the spirits helping." The young warrior tested a piece of meat with his knife. "That bear almost got us. Would've too, if Karak hadn't stepped in."
The crowd split apart as someone approached their fire. The warrior beside her quickly moved back, lowering his head.
This must be Karak, Arin thought, watching the reaction spread through the gathered hunters.
A bulky warrior jumped up from his spot by the fire, waving a chunk of meat. "You should've seen it! Right when the bear charged, I got my spear in its side." He jabbed his free hand forward, acting out the moment. "Thing nearly took my head off, but I rolled away just in time."
These people are crazy, Arin thought, watching him demonstrate his moves. Fighting monsters like it's normal.
"Bah, lucky strike." A scarred warrior sitting across the fire pit snorted. He pushed up his sleeve, showing off a fresh wound that ran from wrist to elbow. "Try getting this close to those claws. Felt the wind from its swipe brush my face."
The firelight made the injury look worse than it probably was. Other warriors crowded around to get a better look, some whistling in appreciation.
"How'd you get away?" A younger hunter leaned forward, eyes wide.
"Pure instinct." The scarred warrior grinned. "Dropped flat on my back. Claws went right over me." He mimed falling backward, drawing laughs from the group.
Arin shifted closer, curious despite herself. Each warrior had marks from past hunts - some old and white, others still healing. They showed them off like prizes, each scar coming with its own story.
"That's nothing." Another hunter pulled down his collar, revealing three parallel lines across his chest. "Got these from last season's hunt. Direbear caught me sleeping during watch."
"Yeah, and you screamed like a child when it happened!" Someone called out, causing more laughter.
It's like they're collecting battle marks, Arin realized. In her world, people avoided scars. Here, they were proof you'd survived something dangerous.
A deep voice cut through the chatter. "Save your bragging for after the meat's distributed."
The warriors quickly settled down, their attention turning to the approaching hunt leader. But Arin noticed they didn't stop grinning, still riding high on their victory.
The hunt leader called out names, his voice carrying across the gathering. Warriors stepped forward one by one, receiving cuts of meat sized to match their role in the hunt. Arin watched from the edge, noting how the portions shrank with each group.
So that's how it works here. The best hunters eat the best meat.
Her own portion came last - a modest cut, but still enough to fill her empty stomach. She found a log near the edge of the firelight and sat down, letting the shadows hide her from curious eyes.
The meat was different from anything she'd tried before. Tough and wild-tasting, like the beast it came from. She chewed slowly, watching the hunters work. Their movements were sharp and practiced as they carved up what remained of the Direbear.
"Have you ever seen one up close?" A small voice piped up beside her.
Arin turned to find a young girl perched on the other end of the log, clutching a wooden toy. Her curly hair caught the firelight, making it look like fire itself.
"The Direbear? No, not until today."
The girl nodded seriously, then held up her toy - a crude carving of a warrior. "I'm going to hunt them when I grow up. Watch!" She made the figure leap and spin through the air. "Take that, mighty beast!"
"Mira, don't bother the stranger." A woman appeared behind them, but her stern tone didn't match her gentle smile.
"But Mama, I'm showing her my aura warrior!" The girl - Mira - bounced on the log. The woman's laugh was soft. "Just like you'll be someday, little one. The strongest warrior our tribe has ever seen."
Arin's chest tightened. The scene was too familiar - a mother's pride, a child's dreams. Her own mother used to look at her the same way, before...
She took another bite of meat, forcing the memories down. This wasn't the time to think about what she'd left behind.
A crash near the fire pit snapped Arin's attention away. Plates clattered to the ground as two men squared off, their shadows long against the flames.
"Back off, Tor!" A bearded warrior shoved forward, pointing at the meat clutched in Tor's grip. "You've taken more than your share!"
Tor's lips pulled back in a snarl. "I tracked the beast for three days! This portion insults my skill." He raised the meat higher, out of reach.
Great. Drama over dinner, Arin thought, shifting to get a better view.
The crowd pulled back, forming a circle around the two men. No one stepped in to stop them. Even the hunt leader watched silently, arms crossed.
"The hunt leader decides portions, not you!" The bearded man lunged forward.
The argument between the two men quickly escalated into a physical confrontation. Fists flew and the crowd around them instinctively backed away, forming a ring. Arin observed the spectators' reactions closely, noting the mix of excitement and resignation on their faces. No one moved to intervene.
She watched, she began to analyze the techniques used, noting how the crowd responded to different moves. Tor was clearly the more skilled fighter, his movements swift and precise. His opponent, while larger, was slower and more clumsy in his attacks.
Smart. Let the big guy tire himself out.
Tor ducked under a wild swing from the bearded man, using his opponent's momentum against him. With a deft twist of his body, he delivered a sharp elbow to the man's ribs, eliciting a grunt of pain.
The bearded warrior threw a wild punch. Tor ducked under it, driving his elbow up into the man's ribs. A sharp crack echoed across the clearing.
The fight continued, Arin noticed something peculiar. When Tor landed a particularly powerful blow, lines on Tor's arms - tattoos she hadn't noticed before - began to shine with a soft silver light.
What the... She leaned forward, squinting. That's not firelight.
The glow pulsed brighter with each strike Tor landed. His moves got faster, stronger. The big warrior couldn't keep up.
The glow intensified and the fight reached its climax, Tor's tattoos shining brightly and he delivered a final, devastating strike to his opponent's jaw. The larger man crumpled to the ground, unconscious, and the crowd erupted in cheers.
Tor stood victorious, blood trickling from a cut above his eye, but grinning fiercely he relished his win.
"The spirits favor Tor!"
"Did you see that light?"
"A true warrior!"
Arin couldn't take her eyes off those glowing marks. There's more to these people than just hunting skill. But what kind of power makes tattoos shine?
The crowd's chants echoed off the huts, turning the village center into a storm of noise. Tor stood in the middle of it all, chest heaving. The silver light from his tattoos faded pulse by pulse until only black lines remained on his skin.
She had never seen anything like it before. What could it mean? Were the tattoos imbued with some kind of power or energy?
Those marks aren't just for show, Arin thought, committing the detail to memory.
The hunt leader approached Tor, handing him an extra portion of meat with a nod of respect. The gesture seemed to restore order to the feast, the excitement gradually dying down people returned to their meals.
Note to self: don't get into fights with glowing tattoo warriors.
The feast began to wind down, Arin decided to explore the village a bit further before retiring herself. She walked slowly through the huts, taking in every detail of her surroundings. In the flickering firelight, she could see intricate carvings on many of the structures, depicting scenes of hunts and battles with strange creatures. Some of the carvings seemed to glow faintly, pulsing with an otherworldly energy that made her skin tingle.
She paused in front of one particularly detailed carving, tracing her fingers over the rough wood. It depicted a group of warriors facing off against a creature that looked like a cross between a bear and a wolf, but far larger than either. The Direbear, she realized with a start. The carving seemed to come alive under her touch, and for a moment, she could almost hear the roars of the beast and the shouts of the hunters.
"Impressive, isn't it?"
The voice made her jump. Arin turned to see an elderly man, his face lined with wrinkles and his hair white snow. He leaned on a gnarled wooden staff, his eyes bright and knowing.
"It's incredible. I feel like I can almost see it happening."
The old man chuckled, a warm, raspy sound. "The carvings have that effect. They keep our history alive, reminding us of the strength and courage of our ancestors."
He stepped forward to stand beside Arin, his hand reaching out to trace the lines of the carving. "Each mark tells a story. A story of bravery, of sacrifice, of the unbreakable bond between our people and the spirits that guide us."
Arin studied the carving more closely, taking in the unique features and expressions of each warrior. She could see the determination in their eyes, the coiled tension in their muscles they faced the terrifying beast.
What must it be like, she wondered, to live in a world where every day is a fight for survival? Where your worth is measured by your ability to hunt and protect your tribe?
She thought of the world she had left behind, with its technological comforts and relative safety. It seemed like a distant dream now, a hazy memory that belonged to someone else.
"Thank you for sharing this with me."
The elder returned her smile, his eyes crinkling with warmth.
Eventually, her wanderings brought her back to the orphan's shelter. She entered quietly, not wanting to disturb the children who were already asleep. She found a vacant sleeping mat in a corner and settled down, letting the soft murmur of breathing and the crackle of the dying fire lull her into a state of relaxation.
As she lay there, staring up at the thatched roof, Arin's mind was alive with thoughts and impressions from the day. The feast, the fight, the intricate carvings, the layout of the village - each detail was a piece of a puzzle, a glimpse into a world so different from her own.
The sounds of the night - the chirping of insects, the distant howls of wild animals, the soft snores of the sleeping children - washed over her like a soothing lullaby. She listened intently, finding them oddly comforting and familiar, as if some part of her had always known this world.
Slowly, her eyes grew heavy, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up with her