Sparks of flame fly through the dark night's cold air as thick plumes of black smoke billow into the atmosphere above the roaring huts of the tribe. Unflinching bodies litter the ashen grass and there, seated amongst the pain and fire, a young infant cradles its mother in its arms; rocking unsteadily back and forth. He screams, but his screams fall upon nothing but the laughter of the flames.

This crackling of fire and the bitterness of grief cloak the sound of approaching footsteps. Behind the child now stands a single figure, shrouded in mystery and shadow; engulfed in the darkness and hidden from the glowing orange light. It's face cannot be seen, their expressions vacant from imagination.

"Last one" the shadow acknowledges with a nod "Infant".

"Deception." A voice replies devoid of emotion. The source of this voice cannot be seen. Perhaps it too is protected within the shroud of darkness. Only more so.

The figure steps forward, the darkness tears away from him and a branch snaps beneath a heavy foot, crisp leaves crunch under bare toes.

Immediately, perhaps through shear survival instinct alone, the young infant spins, its fangs sharp and nails pointed from the tips of its fingers. Its breath is rapid, body ready to pounce, mouth ready to bite.

But at the very moment that the enemy is seen, fear freezes the infant's hot breath. The infant shrinks cautiously, tightly pulling its mother's corpse closely to its chest. Whether hoping for the protection of his mother or to protect the corpse is unknown to the murderer.

"Aslo, cammena, tu..." whimpers the infant to the body on its lap, as it gently places its own head onto hers. Its hand shake. Drops of saliva drop into the pool of blood.

"Purification..." croaks the disembodied voice.

The figure regards the infant's nails that, instead of being used to attack, were now gripping into the skin of the female upon its lap. He notes the strings of saliva as the infant whimpers and sobs. He swallows hard for he knows that which will happen next. His heart pulses faintly, as with a reluctance to keep the body living.

Feebly, the infant raises one hand to its face and places the other hand on the chest of its mother. It scrambles for an innocent thought for the creature with skin of shadow. A plead, a slight utterance, a beg.

On the verge of one more loving thought to his mother, he ignores the rush by his face as something sweeps through the air before a small, almost insignificant pain begins to dwells deep within.

Instead, it waits restlessly for its death. Quick and painless.

But it would not be so.

The infant lowers his head, a sign of defeat and acceptance when suddenly, a small spray of blood shoots from his tongue and his teeth involuntarily clench together in sudden, unexpected pain as his organs begin to bulge intensely. His body pulsates and blood seeps from his ears and gargles in his throat. Several teeth pop from the gums and the nails rip from its fingers.

In a pathetic attempt to escape, the child desperately pulls itself onto its swelling legs and attempts to walk away.

However, only very few steps are taken before it's skin begins to boil and bubble as its head begins to painfully expand.

The body bulges into a large mass and, with the agonised scream of the figure, explodes noisily like a firework of blood and flesh, adorning the body of the mother. Wet scraps of meat decorate the floor like fallen confetti and ribbons.

The figure falls to his knees, clutching at the soil, clinging to the wet scraps of meat.

He examines the female on the floor quietly for a few moments before gasping and crawling across the floor through the ashes, blood and flesh.

Here, it's face is revealed. The most unique feature being a large scar from the forehead to the tip of the noise.

It strokes the female's face and holds the body in his hands, pulling it in tightly. He observes his surroundings and his head falls into the female's chest.

"Mother... What am I?"

All, but the spitting fire on burning wooden shelters, is completely silent.

In the sky above, silver jewels shine a tribute; a mournful dance for an irreversible loss. They do not give the crusader the reward of an answer.

****

Upon a great rock ledge, another female is seated; mouth agape in a frozen scream. The flames, though she can see them, can be seen by no other. With her true eyes, she could see the great grasses ahead of her under the rock shelf that she sat upon. Yet still, within her mind, these flames were endless.

Behind her, only a few yards away, a male watches with sympathy, caution and joy. The event in which was to transpire would mean a great change to the clan and his family. His sister's life would be better now, he was certain. Now that she would have someone to hold once again.

With a deep, relentless pounding within her ribs, she clawed for a reason for this sudden vision. The first of any so vivid.

She thought of the infant and its pain. She could almost feel it. A metallic taste on her tongue and an electric buzz around her head. It was then though that she remembered why she was here.

As the feeling of her body being pushed apart from inside endured, she squeezed and breathed heavily; trying to reassure herself that this pain was only necessary. Gently raising herself and digging her nails into her legs; grimacing at the pain as blood as brown as soil rose from the cuts and dribbled down into the small pit below. She snarled and her fangs bit into her lip. Her toes curled and her legs trembled as a terrible force pushed her bones apart from within.

She insistently cut into herself further now, pushing the object from her body as she snarled and bled, growled and shook, hoping that with one more great push, she would be free.

She pushed with all of the might that she could muster, her nails digging deeper now. Straining under the immense pressure, her energy waning.

Her screams were silent to the animals and predators, but her brother crumpled more with each one that she cried out. He could hear that which the animals could not.

She pleaded with the moon for his blessing. She offered her fluids, her blood, as a symbol of worship. She hoped that this offering would be enough to temp him to aid her.

The blood dripped onto the rock and from the rock into mud. The glorious light of the moon shone a brilliant grey as her body began to weaken before a sound of gentle impact below her as her egg hit the soft mud and a short gasp left her mouth as her vision faded on the sight of the brilliant Ukut and his shining warriors.

Without any hesitation, the male rushed out to the female and examined her wounds and, with buds and petals of flowers in his palm, pressed his hand over the legs and focused his thoughts. To his tribe he asked for the safety of his sister, he asked that if she were to die from that which had just taken place, that Yurih, her deceased partner, would make her journey to the peak of the mountain safe from peril and danger.

Suddenly, he heard gleeful shrieks of joy below the rock ledge as four reptiles, small and thin, stood on four stick-like legs with long necks and pointed beaks begin pecking carefully at the large egg. The Clesru pests had grown impatient recently and were clearly hungry. Too long had it been since they had feasted on a substantial meal.

The male hissed and jumped down to them and shook a tiny red sack within one of his hands, which in turn created the sound of rattling. He shook it toward the creatures threateningly, causing them to squeak back before running blindly into eachother and into the grassy plains to find food or a place sleep into the morning.

He stood triumphantly, looking out toward the plains and then to his sister, peacefully asleep; hoping it would remain that way.

But Tchumnetu was incorrect.

His sister's sleep was far from peaceful.

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