The Way He Thuds His Fists Here! I Need More Angry Noa 😍

The way he thuds his fists here! I need more angry Noa 😍

Please! 🥺🤭

"Creation" Chapter 4.2. Forest filled with fragrance

A/N: The battle with the time deficit was obviously unequal. In addition to the main ideas, side ideas appear, brazenly storming the imagination. And to manage everything at once is quite a challenge. Of course, I can do several tasks at once — but right now I feel a little burnout

Word count: 4,3K

Warnings: several mentions of death and murder, mentions of children dying, a continuation of the theme of female oppression and slavery as well as a continuation of the theme of parenthood, a wounded animal, fear of men in general, musings on sexual forcing and prejudice (and yes, this is the last chapter, focused on thoughts — for next I will focus on the event, that will tie the rope, that was twisting, into a knot)

🎧 Power-Haus, Christian Reindl, Lucie Paradis — Hel

Yellow sunset. Poison soaked forest. Squealing exhausted rabbit. Returning to alarmed branches birds. Hanging in the air words.

You are overcome by a belated, desperate desire to bite your tongue again. To chew and swallow.

To lose the ability to speak forever for sure.

It borders on bad habits, disappointing diagnoses, insanity. You want to fold your palms in prayer. You wrap your palms around rabbit feet.

***

It's too late to retreat and repent. You broke the oath you gave yourself... The fact of what happened falls on you like a crushing weight. Your shoulders sag guiltly, and at the bottom of your soul toils guilt and ineradicable fear. The desire to kill yourself on this very spot, piercing your neck with a sharp wooden peg, grows with each passing second. This seems to be the only right decision if you are unfaithful to yourself.

Having broken an oath, even though there were no witnesses, you have become disgusting to yourself in an instant. You seem to yourself a frivolous traitor. You seem to yourself unworthy of the things, that you went for — the things, that preserve your faith and principles. You seem to yourself unworthy of anything but self-abasement.

An unbroken oath would've been worth nothing, if you had kept silent, allowing Noa to deal with a defenseless animal. If God remembers your oath, he will also see the reason, why you resisted yourself. And, perhaps, God will even grant you forgiveness... Rabbit's paws shake, the squeak turns into a snort. The spear that you clutched in your hand rolls into the dusty hollow. There, too, where Noa's spear fell when you screamed for the whole area.

***

“Or maybe someone is hunting a deceitful ape?” you suggest, unable to contain the regret in your trembling voice. You look at Noa with reproach. And immediately look away.

Biting tongue would've definitely been better than saying that.

The words that escaped seem to you unforgivable. And you expect the worst.

"The apes come... here... by a different path. But the echo... didn't know about it" Noa chooses words with such difficulty, that you can hardly read, if he is lying now. He looks at you, as if apologizing. You don't believe anymore.

"It turns out, I didn't know about too many... Such as, that you finish off animals that are caught in a vice" Nuisance mixed with anger don't allow you to remain silent. It's as if a dam has burst inside you. Noa approaches you one step closer, which seems like an intrusion. "Don't come closer!.. I have one more spear. Unlike you, I will admit to duplicity right away"

To prove your point, you pull out from the tight knot of sky-blue fabric on your hip unsharpened spearhead. Still holding the rabbit, which is poking its nose into your recently healed shoulder.

"...Does I... done you any... harm?" In Noa's green eyes betrays confusion.

Looking into his face, you find the same bitter niusance that sounds in you. You turn away. You feel disgusting. You point the tip at him, unable to take back what was said with any words.

You make it worse, by releasing a sudden, gnawing from within resentment.

If you had your hands free — you would cover your mouth so, that the extra exhale wouldn’t seep.

But your hands are busy with a tossing, blood-smeared little animal.

"You said that hunting only helps in harsh winters. You said that you can't hurt anything living unless it's necessary... Why did you point a spear at the rabbit?" You break another vow you made to yourself when you feel tears streaming down your cheeks. You sob in a fit of helplessness. "He was already bleeding. He would've died a natural death in this trap..."

"When I saw you... You were bleeding too. You would've died a natural death too... trapped. Even... before you were... ruffled... by the scavengers" As your sobs turn to sobs, Noa makes another attempt to come closer. "But I didn't want your... fate... to be like this"

The reminder about that you tried so hard to forget these months hits your knees with frenzy. Over the golden, warm evening layers dank, freezing night.

Thoughtless rapid steps, Noa comes to you contiguously.

In your ears, instead of the birds chirping that begin again, whistles a cold wind.

The distance between you is so insignificantly, that you feel, Noa's ragged breathing making your hair slightly sway — and then you jump back stunned. Having planted the spear between Noa's ribs and accidentally drawing a cut on his collarbone with a trembling hand, you unclench your clenched fingers. You screaming, shaking your head. The spear falls.

Gasping and coughing, you falling onto the dusty, yellowing grass.

Like an paltry speck of dust.

"I swear. I... wouldn't kill" Noa puts his hands together, in a gesture that means an appeal to the heavens. How ironic, that this gesture is the same in all faiths.

"You killed two" You state, struggling with the impenetrable emptiness before your eyes. The streams of tears from your eyes don't stop and don't dry.

"I killed to... save. To... pull you out of... filthy jaws. And I... regret. But if here again one of... them... Second time i would've cost... without regret"

Something in Noa's words brings calm back to the disturbed forest.

Something, that makes you stop crying. You gulp in warm — not the deathly-cold, as of that terrible night, — air. You look at the thick, orange feather beds of clouds. You soothingly stroke the rabbit's tummy. You soothing the worried scars. You pray incoherently. You swallow the lump cutting your throat. You straighten your shirt, which has slipped and come apart at the seams finally. You rush between hysteria and devastation. You remember about your backpack. Your gaze catches on a scrap of gray fabric, visible in the grass.

You rejoice mentally. But not for long.

The backpack should've been on the other side of the bridge. Not here, not in the clearing. Many meters further. For the animals thing wouldn't was handy, so there's only one conclusion - Noa is right again.

And the footprints are such, that you, even if you wanted to, would not confuse them with any other footprints.

***

They were here.

They lured you out.

And it would be better if you fell into the trap set. Certainly better, than a new portion of Noa's suspicions of uncharacteristic motives and an irreversibly worsened relationship with him. If, of course, many days of boycotting can be considered any kind of relationship...

Shame bites into harder than fear. What was bound to happen, has happened. You don't trust anyone anymore. You've out of practice to be human. You've out of practice to be yourself, living among people who turned out to be demons, who don't wearing horns. This is an irreversible process. These are conclusions that are not supported by anything other, than the pain from your past. When Noa is honest, you feel like he's manipulating. When Noa is sincere, you feel like he's still manipulating. Just more skillfully. And that's problem — only yours. After all, it's unlikely that Noa fully understands, what exactly you're accusing him of.

This problem — your personal, rooted in the subcortex of brain. Your mistrust has nothing to do with Noa. Almost. The only argument, that you use to justify your uncontrollable panic — he is a man. Not a human man, but in your clogged consciousness that doesn't matter. It makes no difference what race Noa belongs to. You see him wrong, the fractured perception can't be changed. You can't erase the horror, hammered into you by the nails of past misfortunes. The bullying, in which the boors from the settlement are not lacking in cunning, knocks in your memory like jackhammers. Dozens of looks strike lustfulness, thousands of words spitting out misogyny, cuffs, slaps, smacks, twisting of hands, tearing off clothes, stealing honor, appropriating a body, depriving of any glimmer of hope for salvation... You know men are like this.

In your thinking there no room for other options. Noa saved you. Noa keeps saving you, but you expect him to screw you over — and when you don't, the momentary surges of anxiety give way to speculations.

Occupying all night long, multi-component, and even more anxious.

Clan in fact — is also settlement?..

In none of the rites, that the apes told you about, you didn't see even the slightest resemblance to the distorted rites — supposedly the fulfillment of God's will — that were performed annually there, in the blasphemous cramped grave.

In none of the apes families you didn't see wives unrecognizably changhing from signs of violence.

None apes child don't look appears to be soulfully crippled and prematurely grown-up.

But you still suspected, that the calm and certainty that reigned in the clan had a dark, unsightly side.

The weapon, that Noa aim, confirmed your suspicions. The round dance of thoughts was stamping, cackling in hundreds of mouths. "Which was to be proved", "Everything was clear from the beginning", "There was no need to even try to trust him" — the spurring echoes in your head changed, one after another. Yes, everything at that moment was reduced to the other side. To a double bottom.

Until you saw the marks of rough soles.

And until you remember, so by the way, one interesting observation.

There, in the rotting dungeon, the brave soldiers most often sent youngsters to spy. Who knew absolutely nothing about defense. Unable to defend themselves even from angry bees. Unarmed and unprepared for the harsh reality. Most of them didn't return back, down. Then you thought, they simply ran away, having received the opportunity... Now you understand, how ented lives of boys taken from their mothers. Now you clearly see — they received wounds incompatible with life. From spears, from hands, from teeth. And from accidents.

No wonder, that youngsters were killed. The desire to defend territory can dictate monstrous decisions.

Sometimes these decisions end up hurting those, who pose no danger.

But Noa didn't know, who he was dealing with. He was ready to defend you a second time, protecting you from armed soldiers. He was even ready to accept death at your hand, if you decided to strike a blow in his heart...

The curved line of blood you traced, running down Noa's collarbones, seems to be a dividing line. Only, perhaps, neither God's eye nor Mother Nature's design don't knows for certain, what that line divides.

A mixture of gratitude and numbness is pricksing.

You don't know, which of the two feelings outweighs the cup.

"Even if you didn't want to stab the rabbit..." wrapping the squirming little animal in the hanging sleeve of your shirt, you whisper, carefully hiding all emotions. "You wanted to stab the child."

"A child?.." bending down to lift you to your feet, Noa freezes. On his face froze the question, that he doesn't express. And worry, that is also the same in all faiths.

"Yes, imagine that. Where I grew up, they kicked in the ass very young boys out on reconnaissance missions. If a scout comes back, it’s not that dangerous. If he doesn’t come back... It’s one less mouth to feed" The story comes out of your mouth, as if you hadn’t realized this truth a few breaths of wind ago, but had always known it. "They can easily be expended. After all, they have slightly fewer functions than wom..." You stopped, flashing at Noah still distrustful look.

Not about that. No, no, no.

Every, glowing with the coming summer, tree heard — you spoke to the one, with whom you swore never to speak. And the sky didn't open up, punishing you with lightnings.

From now on you don't have to be burdened by an oath, that borders on paranoia. Your mind will be healed from it, just as your body was healed from the ointment.

But none of Noa's acts, none of his causing respect traits, don't means you'll ever tell him about your deepest traumas. Nothing, no matter what he does, won't make you dare to that storytelling.

It happened inside you, it lives inside you.

And it will die inside you.

No one needs to know about it — and you won't let your memories, good or bad, be known to anyone.

Looking down at you, Noa holds out his hand to help you up. You look through his outstretched hand, through the grass and bushes. You look through the sky, melted from gold to platinum — and you pull back, sighing, but don't move. You sit on the rotten ground, clutching the wheezing bunny as tightly as you can.

Taking another step, sound quieter than the previous ones, Noa sits up, so that he can see your eyes. Noa says nothing, he just looks at you. In the sunlit green of his gaze is no self-interest. He doesn't pursue any personal gain. He doesn't devour your body with his eyes. He doesn't search your body for a target to release his anger. All the looks at you, even before you came of age, were either lecherous or derogatory. Noa's look is different from the looks, that you scraped off yourself. Tears fall as hail. The tiny animal nuzzles your weak palms. Your arms hug the rabbit in a kind of rabbit hole. You smile through your distressing thoughts.

An animal, unpredictable and dangerous. That's what Noa seemed to you before.

A predator, that softly lays.

And anticipate, when he will break the back of a herbivore, like you — it's impossible.

Before Noa seemed to you part of a cycle, consisting of a stalking hunter and the stalked, doomed to be eaten prey. Tearing flesh fangs, death grip on the neck... When suddenly the wheel of the Universe staggered, stopped turning.

The cycle has resumed. But too unusual.

It was like that, and when Noa's gaze met your gaze in the eagle pen. You didn't want to admit it then, but you can't deny it now...

Noa's look is unlike anything, that you fear.

"Hope you... will always talk... like that" saying this simple phrase, Noa placing his palm on the place, where restlessly beating your heart. You want to fall through. You are sure, that Noa hear this beat.

"Hope, I never say that much again... To anyone" You don't even know, how explain to Noah the reason for your suddenly broken vow. "Sorry, and... Thanks"

After everything that has already been said, only these two words seem to you appropriate.

Silence tangles in the strands of your hair as you close your lips. Gratitude is finally expressed. Relief washes you over. Looking at you, Noa doesn’t change the position of his broad, callused palm. His fingers remain resting on your heaving chest. “Pawing” — is what you would call his gesture, if you continued feeding your fears. It is what would feed the worst, that you could possibly think. The worst, you have seen. The worst that was waiting for you between iron walls. But Noa’s fingers don’t grab your boobs, mocking — though should, given his background… Noa’s fingers touch your heartbeat.

The rhythm of thoughts is knocks so loud, that your ears are clogged. You want Noa to stop, to take his hand and his compassion away, but something you can’t find a name, holds you back from this instinctive demand. Without moving, and without resisting, you wait for the ending of this moment.

The sky changes color once again, spreading like honey.

The arch of the bridge, leading straight to the human crypt, remains behind the ape shoulders... The symbolism seems far-fetched.

Noa's touch feels awkward. Not nearly as offensive, not nearly as ignoring moral, as the touches you wish you could cut off along with your skin. Noa's touch feels interrogative.

Cutting off any extraneous thoughts — enough for today, — you turn away from Noa. You look first at the bunny curled up in a ball, then at the backpack lying near the bridge. And at the large palm, resting on your heart. You remember how, through the dizzy, you listened to Noa's heartbeat that morning, when he rode you into an uncertain future. You were cutted and exhausted, unable to stay in the saddle, and you held on to him. Like a straw... Noa jerks his hand away, as if waking from forgetting.

"You came for... bag? Why are you... all alone? Echo... it's dangerous... to be alone in the forest" Noa asks. And abruptly, but in a familiar careful way, he lifts you by the elbows.

“Why are you so suave?” you burst into a new flurry of bewilderment. “How do you know why I came? You were watching me, right? So that I wouldn’t get lost or hurt myself?.. Why?”

Ability to small talk has never been your strong point. Inability to keep your mouth shut time and again has cost you dearly. You said so many unflattering things, before you apologized and thanked Noa. And you didn't skimp after... Everything in you was preparing to consider him a traitor — obviously, you hit him. But he doesn't show it. There, where you ran away from, for the words were sometimes beaten three times harder, than for the actions. Women defended themselves from harassment and humiliation in the only way they knew — with a sharp word. Women and girls of all ages spat out blood clots the size of small fish heads, after enraged men took their revenge on them in full... Nothing guaranteed safety — the fragility of children's joints, bruises that had not yet faded, pregnancy, postpartum weakness...

What are the punishments for men, who want to wean their women off the blade-cutting words, in other scattered settlements?..

And what kind of self-control must Noa have, if all your defense mechanisms, borrowed from the dungeon, didn't make a gap in his armor?..

“So that no one gets hurt you” Noa’s answer is so succinct and clear, that you can barely keep yourself from going on the defensive.

You have nothing to answer him.

But you want to argue with him. You are capable of protecting yourself, you are disgusted by surveillance. You don’t want to call it protection, much less care. Because it can’t be that. Because never, after the death of your parents, blood and foster, have you felt any care. The fact that Noa cares about you, is something that comes with great difficulty.

The care is not greedy — like protecting things, from breakage and theft, — it is friendly.

It's something from children's fairy tales about mutual assistance, about support. And about everything else, that you never had.

You never had friends.

When did Noa become your friend?..

When did Noa become anything other, than your savior? And can that change anything?

***

Blue of the sky encircles shine of the clouds. Evening changes into day for a minute.

You, unable to utter a single sound, and clutching rabbit feet tighter, set off for the backpack. Knead the dust and dirt with your bare feet. Almost reach out for the frayed strap. You freeze halfway — Noa blocks your path, picking up the backpack warily. While he stands with his back to you, turned away, you concentrated invoke and listen to your inner voice. How does Noa know, that you will not use the perfect opportunity to hit his skull with a rock that comes to hand, to jump on him from behind and strangle him, to press his eyes deep into their orbital basins?..

You wouldn't for nothing do that. After all you owe Noa.

And you have no reason to deal with Noa like that. Even if that owe didn't exist — Noa isn't someone, who you could kill without a guilty conscience.

But why is Noa so improvident? Does he really trust you that much, after only half a spring and a handful of summer swelter?

***

Setting sun and impatience dry your tears. Noa hands you the backpack, still looking into your eyes. Quickly counting the contents, you put it on and... freeze. In the distance, on a withered branch hangs cross. Looks like the rosary beads, that bastards carry with them. They recite prayers, drunkenly shuffling the words around. They shuffle, when they are nervous about the approach of retribution, which they themselves have molded from double standards and cardboard idolatry. They give them to youngsters. For luck, damn them... What is this, if not a sign from God? You need this cross, to heed the aspirations of your soul. And you take this cross off the extended as a serve branch.

“What is this?.. An echo ward?” Noah suggests with such precision, that pull you out of your silent veil.

"Yes, a ward. In my religion, that wear to protect against misfortune and temptation" You nod, not trying to hide your joy at the find. And, putting the cross in your pocket, you complete the answer so frankly, that immediately reproach yourself.

What is the probability, that Noa understands the meaning of the word "temptation"?

If so, isn't the meaning, implied by humans, different from the meaning of this word among apes? Why did you even mention that?.. It was easier to remain silent, if only because silence saves from different interpretations of the same thing out loud.

"If... this is bait?" Noa questions, as you zip up your pocket.

The fresh blood on his collarbones turns crimson.

If the wound had been even a millimeter deeper, you would have needed both threads and bandages. You would've had to stitch Noa up, as if he had just returned from a grueling battle... What a nonsense!.. It would've been the healing females, not you, who would've had to stitch Noa up. They, might, have allowed you to join their cause, but they would never have allowed you to take control of Master of Bird's health. They would've hovered around Noa in a line. They would've fussed about him in a crowd. And, unlike you, they would've considered this an honor.

"If so, we'll be gone faster, than they can catch us on the hook" you say without hesitation. Your arms are tired from holding the rescued animal and the backpack filled with priceless things, but it's a pleasant weight. "So which path do the apes take? I want to get home, before it gets dark."

It would be weird to apologize a second time. That's why you chose different words to apologize.

After all, until now you've called the clan your new home only mentally. Putting that thought into spoken form feels like something meaningful.

And the word "home" is pleasant to pronounce.

Fluttered from your lips question and wish made Noa smile faintly. He point to a winding path, hidden in the thickets of a plant, that familiar to you from the impeccably preserved 21st century botanical reference book, filled with handwritten notes by your foster mother. Against the spreading leaves of the plant timidly press wild strawberry. Almost the same, as that one you learning how to pick in a basket by your blood mother. Well... Many miles from the places, where you were born and grew up, a message from your most reverently treasured memories unexpectedly winked at you.

Forest filled with fragrance, that flowing into you.

Journey takes only a few minutes. The landmark is a full-flowing river, along which Noa walks, taking your hand - telling, that you not to fall behind. You don't resist another his touch. You don't argue, because you are exhausted, and don't want trouble.

Count in your mind the things, you've reunited with — to distract yourself. And not to think about Noa's fingers, tightly intertwined with your fingers. Blancet of a clouds, meanwhile, covers the forest from bad dreams.

***

Night blows through your hair, as you follow the noise, coming from behind the logs. Right from behind that place, where Noa taught you how to make fancy pegs.

Looking around, you find Noa from carving on some sturdy rods, tied together similarity to cage. In the dim flickering light of the torch, Noa's sitting back to you again — but as you mince closer, trying to remain unnoticed, his shoulder blades strain under dark fur. Now you know. His animal nature is one way or another always aware your precence. You wrap yourself in the rags of your shirt, when he turns.

"A rabbit can't... hop around in your... house" The lighting is so meager, that you almost trip over the wooden debris. But you notice, that Noa is definitely smiling again. "Need... a rabbit house."

"Rabbit houses are in holes... It's good, that your tribesmen didn't offer to send this poor back" In not imaginary, but real darkness, you allow yourself to smile, sitting down opposite Noa and studying the construction.

"Not tribesmen, but... the arsonists... suggested that I... expel you. Don't give their barking... weight. Apart from them, everyone... is glad, that you appeared here" Noa's voice is hoarse, affirmative and almost tangible in the crackling of the hanging fire.

"...Can I take this house home, right after you finish?" your voice, on the contrary, dissolves in the measured crackle, the thick night and the glow of the constellations.

Wait, until the painstakingly constructed cage is ready, need not long.

It means sitting next to Noa. In directly closeness, what would have seemed unacceptable to you just this morning. But the day has been edifying, expounding you — not everything is that, as it seems.

In the middle of the leafy plain, your thoughts were tossed between the possibility of Noa's kill at your hands and the possibility of giving him first aid with your hands... Both originated thoughts seems equally absurd. But if fate played a joke on you, and you had to choose — you would readily choose not a stone, but bandages and threads.

A lot you have to rethink.

After just one fragmentary conversation it's hard to be sure of anything. But you're sure — insde of you has begun a slow thaw, gradually catching up spreading through the forest vessels warmth.

"Creation" Chapter 3. Fantasy Vision

A/N: I hope the surprise was a success. This chapter is a bit short, but the next one, I promise, will contain more paragraphs and events

Word count: 3,4K

Warnings: not much detailed descriptions of nudity, voyeurism, brief mentions of murder, death and violence, swear words, a pinch of adult thoughts (a veeeery small pinch, bunnies...)

🎧 Sleeping At Last — As If in a Dream

The splash of troubled waters. The glare of a yawning crescent moon. The chirping of forest dwellers. Everything fades and becomes silent in one second.

Only the curves of your body remain.

A graceful neck – and marks of strangulation. A sloping shoulders – and cuts. A thin waist – and a healed wound. A narrow back – and traces of a whip. A rounded hips – and a fresh scar of a knife wound. Hair falling in waves. Shiny drops running down the skin. Plump lips closed in fear...

Noa can not take his eyes off you. No matter how hard he tries.

Your body is exhausted, but despite all the pain, all the suffering and torment you have endured, your body radiates femininity. A completely different femininity than that of the females in the clan. You are a ringing echo, a blossoming human girl. And of course, you are different from the female chimps. From the top of your head to the tips of your toes.

Noa intrigued by you.

***

It had already happened when Noa first met people on the way he was taking. It had interested him then, as everything unknown interests him. Then another human girl had disappeared from sight as suddenly as she had appeared, taking a different way. It was regularity. People need other people, they seek out colonies of sane survivors – and they live completely different lives. It had been an accident then, for rethink the present.

And then Noa could not imagine that his path would once again intertwine with the path of the echo. With the path of the human girl who does not disappear, but remains.

Because this human girl cannot go back to people — after all, only a painful, perverted death awaits her there.

It was a measure of coexistence then. To have a shared experience, to say goodbye, to exchange the last important words – and never meet again because of different aspirations. Different truths. Then the echo went to other echoes. Noa hopes she found what she was searching.

But you will not living to next to apes, among echoes like you. You are going to live with apes. That complicates everything.

What are you aspirating for? What is your truth?

Certainly, that you were not aspirating for a life among all that was alien. And Noa has already learned part of your truth from your eloquent, caustic gestures. Noa does not condemn you at all, and even more so, does not feel offended — how else can you defend yourself?

Back then, Noa was solve people out without understanding them – and that interested him as a conundrum. As a task that requires a strategic solution. Now, that interests him in a different way.

All, that Noa knows about you — is your name. Trying to solve you out yields nothing but vague guesses. Maybe it will be like this in days, weeks, months. No answers to questions. No one tactics help get closer to you. Honesty breeds more doubts in you. Acts of kindness make you distance yourself. Care makes you choke on sobs. What did they do to you in the place you managed to escape from? What did those from whom Noa saved you do to you? What did your past do to you?..

Understand you — is to choose the path that leads into the unknown.

Noa tries to understand you, and when he succeeds, even just a little — it is attracting.

It is tempting. And it is impossible to resist.

Your fragility enchants Noa. And it is unlike anything he is ever experienced before.

Noa justifies himself by that he is obliged to protect you, so fragile — and only for this reason is he glued to you, as if sticky resin.

Knowing that you were defenseless against all the dangers lurking in the light and in the shadows, that could break you again, Noa followed you. The whole way you traveled, he protected you. Even if without your knowledge. Otherwise, you would not have allowed it. If you knew that Noa was coming for you, you would again break your voice in begging to leave you, not to touch you, not to look... Not to care...

But who knows, maybe there are other ruthless men hunting for you?

Having learned how vast and multifaceted the world outside his home was, Noa now explored the forests and plains to find lost, dusty knowledge. These were the remains of human science, human creativity, and human culture. A legacy, not worthy of oblivion.

Staying late one evening, Noa saw you. Wounded. Consisting of a scarlet mess and hopeless rags.

You shook and cried, scraping your skin against the thorns of the bush. And the scavengers stalked your trail. Noa had heard everything, all their foul intentions. Noa had heard that they had decided to use you, torture you to death — but before, fulfilling every lustful desire. Not the desires that were part of courtship and mating rituals. Not the desires that offered fidelity and asked for reciprocity, no. Obsessive, base desires. The human curses they spat out, and the way they guffaw as they discussed their cruel pleasures was incomprehensibly vile.

Noa did not believe that someone's mind could be so corrupted. But they reveled in the upcoming reprisal on you — and Noa could not remain idly.

Noa learned how senselessly cruel the world can be, when two monsters threw you into a ravine.

Prepared to attack and heard you fall, Noa scolded himself for hesitating. That, you did not die there from your broken bones right away — miracle.

Attacking them, who mocked you, taking away your almost cut-off life, Noa seemed himself like a monster.

Noa hated himself for the way you saw him that night. Killing two and looking like an sinister angered shadow.

Their dead bodies were a nightmare. Even as they took turns trying to deal Noa the killing blow — he did not want to kill them. He wanted to send them back to where they came from. To keep their smell from being in a place where the soles of their boots should not be. When Noa's palms turned crimson, he regretted.

But if Noa had not done this, he himself now would be dead.

And you would be dead. But first — vulgarized.

Why did they want to abuse you, huddled against the ground and cobblestones with hopelessness frozen in your pupils, so filthily? Noa thinks that killing two scavengers — is not the same as ruining two souls. But the justification still seems insufficient, guilt scratches at him from within.

Guilt that also for that now he is no better than them in your eyes.

That is why, as soon as you regain consciousness, you always recoil from Noa, like from fire. You are afraid of what you saw that night. You are afraid of what you ran away from - and you are afraid of where you ended up. Fear takes root in you.

Something tells Noa — someone from the past you left behind can still cause you irreparable harm.

And you will not be able to save yourself alone, running away and trying to be brave. Your trembling, the tears shining in the corners of your eyes and your racing heartbeat are noticeable even in the short moments when you forget about everything that scares you. But then you go to the lake alone, and the evening falls on the forest like a darkening blanket. What would you do if the events of that ill-fated night were repeat? What would you do if Noa had not followed you like a silent shadow again? You are so improvident, that Noa would like to say everything he thinks to your face.

The determination to do so would have prevailed - if at that second when Noa thought of everything that could happen, you had not hastily started to take off your clothes.

If Noa came to you now, you would dismiss his behavior as instincts.

Taking a deep breath, Noa straightens his back. Every his muscle, every vain tightens.

As you untie the scraps of your shirt, Noa nods to himself, remembering your recent words in the bird pen. This is why you came here. As you pull down the shreds of your pants, leaving the robe he gave you on the sand, Noa approaches on two legs, bristling his fur. To protect you if necessary.

Lying to himself — is shameful and pointless. The excuse Noa gives for every thought that comes to mind, sounds out of place in his own head.

***

Even if there was no need to protect you, even if you were not hurt and could handle it yourself, Noa could have not leave. The grass around Noah’s feet is tangled in the coastal grass — and as much as he wants to turn around, walk down the beaten path, and go back to his usual business, leaving you alone in the darkness, — he cannot leave.

Noa admires you as a graceful, flawless work of art. But the admiration is mixed with something else, unknown and inexpressible, beyond any definition Noa knows, no matter what he tries to find.

When you take off your shirt, soaked in blood and healing ointment — Noa gets on all fours, furrowed his brows and swallows.

So as not to lose balance.

If you turned even an inch, Noa would see your firm breasts.

When you enter the water, Noa cannot control his breathing. The world freezes, everything seems like an unimportant backdrop. You turn around, covering with your hands, looking up at the trees that are growing in a solid wall. Flowing strands of hair fall on your collarbones. The smoothness of your hands and wrists framing your breasts takes the ground under his feet. Standing right beyond the treetops, Noa gasps for air, unable to stop the mad knock that pierces his ribs.

You appear to him absolutely naked.

This should not have happened. Fate is playing tricks on him, like a fool.

Although, why would fate fool Noa, if he had already fooled himself?

Allowing himself to stare too long, Noa chides himself. But it is no use. He cannot move, mesmerized by you. The way the water embraces you — so pure, so vulnerable, — takes Noa back to the moment when he once saw human art celebrating beauty.

Drawned in pencil wonderful woman with a fish tail, holding a baby in her arms. Also with a fish tail, but small. She seems to be looking out of a drawing, overflowing with the joy of motherhood. Peace, care and awe emanate from the graphite strokes. The immaculate beauty of the moment envelops the paper, barely touched by time. The woman holds the child in such a way that the loving, tender touch seems not depicted, but the most that is real...

Must be, people call these amazing entities mermaids.

This is a myth. People have invented many myths. Good and evil. Instruct and absurd. Seductive.

Noa thought, he knew what that word meant. Delightful lie, that could never come true.

But seeing you now, Noa realizes that he was wrong — what else were you now, if not a myth in reality?

As you dive under a boulder, Noa imagines the how the azure scales on your feet and ankles shimmering. How the fins wriggling along the lines of your body. You are surrounded by an aura of magic and innocence. Noa feels like if he takes one more breath — you will immediately dissipate into a mist. That kind that spreads along the surface of the water in the morning.

In the spring, the evenings here are especially long. They come in all shades of pink, red, and gold — before the darkness takes the place of light. Noa sees you shining, wrapped in the rising stars. As bright, as if the brightest hour of day still lasts.

Can Noa look at you like this? Can Noa gaze at you, in the spilled moonlight, like this?

Can Noa admire you?

Swearing under his teeth, Noa curses himself for what he feels.

You circling like an underwater nymph. Hiding, you disappear like a fairytale vision. Noa exhales awe that permeates him to the bones, to the heart and to the pain.

Above the water only your eyes peering into the april twilight.

Noa looks at you from a distance of two outstretched, clasped hands.

You heard a presence. And you were scared.

Looking for a place further away, a place to hide, you swam up to Noa. And you did not realize it yourself. Cause you do not feel his smell.

Breathing in and breathing out, Noah smells you too clearly - you smell like lake coolness, fragrant flowers, and something else... Something that seeps from his nostrils straight into his consciousness. Something that confuses.

Your concern? That, should be, what it is.

You are truly worried that someone will attack you again. Hearing every sound, feeling every touch, you are afraid of new blows and encroachments. But Noa voluntarily laid responsibility for you on his shoulders, how can he not keep you?

No way. From now on, Noa will do anything, to make sure no one dares to even think about breaking you. In any way. No matter what it takes.

You — mermaid, almost caught in a net. You — flower, almost crushed to crumbly. But Noa would not let anyone catch you and crush you. Not for anything.

Noa assures himself, that he does this out of an unspoken duty. Out of principles. Out of justice, after all.

But Noa's thoughts are in mess.

Noa's thoughts are feverish. Like he is gravely ill, like he is dying. Like Noa knows he is going to have a disappointing outcome. And it does. Noa places his hand where his heart beats — where the memory of your weakening touch is still fresh.

To think that, Noa touched you. His hands touched almost every curve of your body — almost everything he is so absorbed in right now. It seems unreal now, when you are seems like a maddening miraculous illusion.

You are beautiful. More beautiful than anyone or anything, that Noa has ever seen.

You are so beautiful, that Noa feels, like in you merged all the things that can inspire veneration.

And if all the thoughts that flashed through Noa's head were obvious, not requiring comprehension and acceptance — with this thought, filling his mind quickly and irrevocably, Noa cannot come to terms. You charmed Noa at your first meeting, despite the circumstances. Covered in blood and dirt, tearful and scared, but trying to fight... Holding you in his arms, Noa saw the fading glow. You no longer hoped for anything, and the glow faded into a lonely ember.

That morning, Noa hoped that the glow emanating from you would not fade, but flare up brighter — but Noa was not prepared for the fact that now, washed from all troubles, healing, you shine even more unbearably beautifully.

Noa close his eyes so you don't blind him, like a fallen, blessed star.

Must not, Noa must not look at you. For now it is only the absorption of your image — but later, Noa is sure, he will think of you something, that he will desire and be ashamed of. Something, that is an inherent part of nature intent.

Noa does not know how to deal with the thoughts of you, that are rushing through him turbulent current.

All that Noa knows — he has to stop right now. Has to turn away, forget about this. Wait until you're dressed — and then follow you, still silently, ensuring safety.

And Noa certainly should not become like a scavenger. After what happened to you, you are free to not let any man touch you. The lingering thoughts about you — that what will only make Noah feel worse right now. He is not even a human man. He is a beast that you will continue to hide from, no matter what your life in your new home is like.

Noa rely — if he does not indulge his own fantasies, everything will remain the same.

World sounds and moves again, but the rhythm is completely different. The dark silence is filled with repercussions and undertones. Noa watches as you peer fearfully into the leaves rustling from his strained breathing.

World will never be the same for Noa again.

Noah curses himself for his uneven thoughts, as your wet hair shines, clinging to your tempting silhouette.

But he is obliged to hide all thoughts more reliably than you hide, again clutching on boulder.

In order not to disturb you, not to make a single unnecessary sound, Noa clenches his jaw. His larynx is constricted with frustration. What is he hoping for? He is an ape. You can hardly trust him. You have absorbed the fear of apes, probably, from the moment of birth. People teach their children to be quiet and afraid, so that they survive this invisible, multi-year struggle. People teach their children both to avoid battles and to fight apes.

Noa feels captivated by your beauty. Losed in this battle. And the strength he used in the fight will not help him free himself from this captivity.

Beauty shimmers in every your fleeting movement, in every flutter of your eyelashes. Beauty is at your fingertips. Beauty is in your voice, when you threaten the thick evening, assuring that you are armed.

If it were anyone else here right now — these would be the last words left on your lips.

From your body and your soul would have be nothing but scraps. You have just literally pointed the hunter to you, the victim.

Listening to the melody of your voice, Noa almost falls to his knees — as if you finished him off, relieving him of torment. Listening to your voice, when it is full of confidence and shoreless, just as the lake enveloping your body is shoreless now, is a blessing for Noa. Unexpecting. In response to any action of Noa you hide, scream and cry — in the short time spent with you, he got used to this and decided that for his ears you will not sound any different.

But you talk to the forest in a way that makes Noa petrified. He would give anything, for you to talk to him like that.

It seems like a dumb wish — Noa would do anything, to you say something to him. At least even just one word, eye to eye.

But what needs to happen, for you do this?

Perhaps, even if snow covers the slopes in the middle of summer — inside you nothing will grow instead of fear. Noa laughs in vexation — no matter what he does, you will always feel like you are a little cornered animal and someone's gaping maw is about to eat you up.

Standing unacceptably close, Noa growls gutturally. Unrecognizable — so that you decide that the forest beast has taken you for prey. So that you think about how to protect yourself on your next willfully foray. Because, obviously, you will go off alone to who knows where more than once.

***

Noa leaves the worst, most menacing thing in him in a growl that resound for miles. He barely recognizes himself, but he continues even more louder — so that you do not guess anything.

You will never know he saw you like this. So enchanting, so pristine.

Because you are destined not for his gaze.

You turn your head back and forth, making splashes. Water hits Noa's bristling fur, sobering him up. Silently retreating step by step, Noa thinks, this is conveniently. Otherwise, he was not have been able to cope with the unknown feeling you have kindled in him. He walks away to the glade, where the flower petals shared with you their scent.

The leaves, surrounding the lake, no longer rustle.

***

From the thundering growl you afraid to drop your heart to the bottom of the lake. You count the seconds, until the inhuman noise stops. You wait - and dive into the depths to reach the shore unnoticed.

At first, heard breathing among the trees, you thought — they has come to kill you.

Damn bastards of the settlement. When you were a child newly trapped in their rusty dungeon, they punish with death a woman who had climbed to the surface. Said she was infected, cursed by demons swarming the surface, that she would bring death to all unless she was gotten rid of. Shot her. Carried on, as nothing had happened, their fanatical blathering, as if it were the for edification.

That terrible event deprived you of any desire to escape. But you kept inside you your only truth.

They lied and jeered. Hell was there. Find a way out was impossible.

You would have accepted your fate sooner or later, like everyone else living here. If they hadn't done the same thing, that you hated them for, once again. When you were so small you could barely pronounce your own name — you could't help your blood mother and father. And even as an adult, you couldn't have time to save your foster mother and father — there no way you could have overtake two fired from a pistol bullets.

But you were able to find weapons there, where you weren't allowed to enter without order.

You were able to kill one of them.

You were able to escape so far.

If it were them — you would have to pray to God, that death would take you before they could carry out the punishment, that awaits you for every broken rule.

But when the growl rang out, you felt that anxiety dripping from you along with the water.

Anything more stupid, than rejoicing at the growl of a hungry beast, you can't even imagine.

But they are cowards. You've heard a lot of their dead drunk talk while exploring the dungeon corridors. They know where the prey is found, and where the predators is found. And they've never hunted where they could be attacked by those who rightfully own the land above. It means, they sure don't turn up over here.

So, whoever made that deafening roar — you thanked fate.

Approach the shore, you reach out to the light-blue fabric to quickly put it on and tie it around yourself. All that remains is to wash the dirty rags, which you do in a hurry.

Still, Noa asked you to come back before dark.

Darkness descended the forest without warning. Your tank top and shorts are drying right on you. From barely squizzed shirt, that you've wore over the thin fabric, dripping drops. The wind is pulling your hair in all directions, heralding a cold night to come.

Along the way, you look back to wish the flowers survive the badweather.

The path leads you to the apes's huts. To your hut, where you have to settle in and tidy up. The dwellings are visible, hanging lights show the way. All the work for today is done, everyone is probably heading to the nests. You yawn.

You look ahead. The routine arranged by the apes is boiling, just as it was when you came here as a stranger. Surely, you didn't hallucinated, due to wounds, exhaustion and cold exposure, and life here flows peacefully?..

You turn carefully to tap your look at the doe with her little deer. They seem as like hugging.

They not afraid of you, not at all.

They see you, and they don't hide in the forest, as you take a few short steps toward them. You stretch out an open hand, and with your fingertips you stroke the doe's honey-brown fur. You know from books, that deer are not easy to see. They wary and unnoticeable. Why then does this forest mother like speak to you about something? Her dark eyes look at you and the top of the fawn's head. She allows you to caress her baby, and it cuddles into your palm.

You smile, transforming all yourself into a carefulness, so as not to disturb them. You would stay in this moment forever, standing next to the doe and fawn.

It's similar to what were taken away from you twice family warmth.

The glade illuminating, as if it were a sunny morning. Embracing you in-deer maneer, the mother and child leave. You know for some reason, that you will see them again — after all forward there are many sunsets and sunrises.

Seeing your hut, you walk faster.

Questions that were scurrying through your head this morning are still scurrying. The clan's abutments still seem strange to you, because you yet know almost nothing. You are healthy, but still weak. But now you feel a warming hope.

And in any case, you cross the threshold of a new home, thinking not about yesterday, but about tomorrow.

"Creation" Chapter 5. If time had been kind

A/N: I realy really really apologize for making you wait for two days... Publication of the chapter was complicated by a boil in my eye. Right now, there is still no use in treating it. Yeah, I'm becoming a regular patient at the local hospital, what a hell... But I couldn't keep putting it off. I hope I was able to live up to expectations and pleasantly surprise

Word count: 5,4K

Warnings: indirect insults, blood, brief references to murder, oppression of women and children, themes of slavery and parenthood, post-traumatic memories, perverted religious motives, killing of an animal, fear of men, beating, attempted rape, veiled intimate prejudices, implied xenophilia (forcing the events seemed to me simply a necessary tool after so much forced narration — the rope is tied in an unexpected knot! And then — more. But gradually ...)

🎧 Joel Sunny — Luminary

Bustle and hubbub fill the Eagle Clan so suddenly, that you don't even have time to blink. For the last week, certainly, you've noticed preparations for some unknown holiday — but now that summer has come into its own, everything and everyone has become a jumbled mess.

Everyone seemed to become a single, coherent mechanism.

And you seemed to became like an unnecessary, defective detail.

Because, no matter how much Suna, or Kantis and her husband Ogun in two voices, or omnipresent Anaya, tried to explain you what the essence of the holiday was — to you didn't become clearer. It seemed that the very concept of the celebration needed to be explained to you anew. With patience and deliberation. After all, those celebrations that were imprinted in your memory — obscurantist and didn't bring any joy to anyone, except those, who reveled in the annual harvest of cruelty.

***

The vines, woven into intricate garlands, exude an unfamiliar sweetish aroma. Children rush about, hanging them everywhere. Lum, Lup and Elan, with six small nimble hands, help you decorate your home with vines, which is gradually acquiring a lived-in appearance.

Every now and then the kids ask you, vying with each other, about the things in backpack. About things from your blurry past, next to things from your equally blurry present. When you're done with the decorations, you tell them about the purpose of each thing. About the almost unfaded photographs and the events captured on them. About the spools of thread and rusty needles. About the calligraphic inscriptions on the worn-out pages of a prayer book. About the tiny mirror, that only fate hasn't broken. About the broken comb. About the slightly chipped camera, waiting for new pictures. About the grumpy patches on the clothes and the backpack itself.

About everything, that consisted of, and still consist to that day, your best memories.

It's unusual to be in the narrator's place.

Kids listen to you, cuddling the rabbit that has recently stopped being afraid of hands. Now not the rabbit without a name — but the rabbit, that you named Daisy.

For some reason the name seemed to suit brown fur.

You're sitting on the floor, right in front of the spacious cage Noa has built, your hand through the bars. You're stroking the rabbit's sides, still skinny — and at the same time, you're ruffling the kids' hair... When suddenly someone places on you a fragrant, elegant wreath.

“Now you look like... a princess!” remaining standing behind you, Kaidy claps her hands.

"Natural princess!.. It's good that here are no evil dragons!" Paco laughs, flying like a whirlwind into the hut with a lot of tangled vines and curved branches, tied with intricate, hand-woven ribbons.

"Indeed, exactly the same as" You pick up the childish delightful exclamations, adjusting the thin droping branches. "And a young knight would definitely protect me from the dragons, right?"

And, taking the decor, you wink at Paco. He immediately nods, proudly — and Kaidy, not missing the opportunity, playfully pokes him in the nose. Boy gives in to her, allowing girlish mischief to prevail. Now they are already running from corner to corner, running outside. Somersaulting in the june grass. Threaten each other with tickling. Sincere, sparkling laughter fills your house and the emerald-lit lawn nearby, making you forget about the sad memories that had already flooded in. Having called the breathless mischiefs over and seated them, you ask about the ribbons. They are directly connected with the approaching holiday.

It's your turn to hear stories about the purpose of things. And you can't hold back curiosity.

With children this is not necessary at all. And it encourages you.

The explanation, that children use — understandable intuitively, although it's blocked by an insurmountable cultural barrier.

Looking back at the recent past, you had already forgotten, that gratitude could be dedicated to an entire day in the season and on the calendar.

"This is a holiday of gratitude... for everything... Whatever you decide to thank";

"Elders thank nature... for the sent gifts... For a good catch of fish or for the quick sprouting of shoots";

"For a winter without winds... and for a summer without drought";

"We thank our mothers and fathers... Brothers and sisters... Grandmothers and grandfathers... Whole family... For that we have them. For that we are... together";

"For that we able to quickly learn something... or grow up";

"Also, those... who are older, thank... their wives and husbands...";

Answers came out, as in cornucopia. Everyone, who could be considered an adult, gave much more succinct answers — like, you yourself should understand what to what.

But how should you understand without explanations, if this holiday, with its laudatory ceremonies, is too different from the holidays, that celebrated in the settlement?

There, the derogatory, disregardful traditions became an integral part of a colorless life long before you — and more others, like you — were born. There the scum, calling themselves men, amused themselves with bloodshed and misogyny.

Do apes, living on land unspoiled by other faiths, know what meaning "misogyny"?..

If you yourself know this term only from books about the vague science, that studies the human brain.

You can't just go and spill out, like from a leaky sack, those customs, that there called "ceremonial".

No, of course, there was no female circumcision or anything worse. The physical harm was constant, and don't need to be set aside for a separate day. Instead, at the beginning of the festival, women, girls and young women, who were already someone's property, were given shameful collars. And, driven like cattle into rooms, they were locked with all the locks until the end of the festival. On the second day, all the girls, who these boors call ownerless, were brought out to the main platform. And they moved on to the sacrifice. One of the horses — one of those, that remained tied up at the top, — was tied up, eyes were gouged out, ears were cut off, hung up, and then ripped open so, that the blood oozed out and collected in a huge jug. Or did you, looking around furtively like a mouse studying the corridors and tunnels, assume, that there horses were, because the neighing, snorting and clattering of hooves often came from above. But if the horses for this numbing ritual were obtained from other, neighboring settlements...

You felt sick every damn year, because couldn't not show up to this flayer spectacle. Just as couldn't turn away.

Those who turned away were ripped open in the same way, as sacrificial horses.

When the jug was full — contents were given to those girls, who's came of adult in that year. Those girls, who were obliged to go into use of men and begin to fulfill a debt that no one needed. Slave labor and carrying future slaves in the womb.

On the third day, the girls were prepared for the first night. They were fed the meat of a killed horse, soaked in something unbearably stinking. On the fourth day, the girls were taken behind iron doors, which from behind could be heard maddening screams, blows and crying. On the fifth day, the girls came back out, already women and already broken. Beaten until their internal organs bleeding and having lost the will to live. Sixth and seventh days passed like a bad dream, with a din of blasphemous prayers and dancing of cackling scums with limp rag dolls. That's all... Apart from this holiday, which lasted a week, all the others were celebrated casually.

No Birthdays, no Christmas, all other holidays were forbidden.

Except for this devilry. By misunderstanding called God's Feast.

You won't be able to talk about feasts and games, which they have entertain with there, under the meters of earth and rust. If you dare to talk about it, you will be considered as perverted, as those who came up with it. Otherwise, why would you talk about something vile, unnatural?..

It's like a dome of soul-sucking memories hangs over your head. You're transported back there, to the main platform, a year ago. You're seventeen and you're frantically looking for something to look at — to not look at the endless streams of blood from horse's belly.

Then they threatened to rip out your guts and feed them to those, who wouldn't turn away. Now you're eighteen, and you're not going through the circles of Hell.

And you don't know, who to thank for this.

Five little chatterboxes shake you by the shoulders, finally bringing back to reality.

"So what would you thank for?.. And what?.. Or who?"

They are curious without any underlying reason. Like all children their age. But you don't answer them right away, pretending to be much carefree — so as not to frighten them with your dejected look. If answer with all honesty, then you're grateful to God for sending Noa on the path, that you were walking without hope of salvation. You're grateful to Dar and Elders. You're grateful to every mother in the clan, because they all trusted you with their children. You're grateful to every child in the clan, because not one of them was afraid of you, an stranger.

But above all, you are grateful to Noa. Even though you don’t know how to express this gratitude. Even though the circumstances are favorable now, for Noa you're none of the things the children have listed. So if you say, what you said in the middle of the frozen plain a few weeks ago again, in front of so many eyes and ears, it will be taken the wrong way. Or not seriously. One is no better than the other, however. Touch the cross hanging around your neck, you ask yourself a very strange question.

How can it be that you grateful to God and Noa almost equally?..

"I would like to start by thanking you. For being my assistants in everything" After a short pause, you saying, smiling broadly for the first time in the past few months.

"Because with you... it's always interesting!" the cubs smile back. "Even doing boring things!.. And else?"

"There are still many things and many people. I would like to thank my family. But, unfortunately, I can only thank the memory of my family..."

Why? With your family happen something... bad? Kaidy gasps. The smiles instantly slip off the children's faces, when you find the strength to only nod.

Mischief on children's faces gives way to compassion.

Just at that moment Noa's voice is heard from outside the door.

Without the fears, as it was before, you allow him to enter and ask, why he has come.

"Just wanted to... help with decorate the house... And with nest" Noa looks from under brows at the wreath that hugs your hair. Noa looks at you for a long. Not at all, like he usually does. "You're like a queen in this... crown"

"Oh, right!.. But this a princess's crown. Queen can't rule without a king" looking away and laughing carefree, you clarify. "Maybe you'll sit down?"

Hanging an awkward silence. Is this a coincidence, nothing much more?..

You don't know, how to hide your commotion. Is Noa really serious? You thought, all this talk about the ritual of raising a companion — was nothing more than just covering up the gaps in your knowledge. It turns out, that this apes ritual concerns you, a human, directly.

In Noa's hands is a pile of branches, vines and... fluff? Nests in the bird pen, where the tiny chicks, just hatched from their shells, are kept warm and well-fed, are lined with exactly the same material. You heard, that everyone in the clan, upon reaching adulthood, undergoes initiation by proving responsibility for their own bird. Does this mean, that you are allowed to stay not out of pity, but as an equal?.. But then first you need to find the egg yourself and watch over it tirelessly. You weren't rushed with this ritual — and now Noa has literally provided you with all the necessary supplies. All that remains is to build a nest, as Soona and the other females taught you. Perhaps, being here, this is the only thing, that you have learned to do correctly...

And, probably, after that you will have go to the eagle's nesting place on the rocks?

In an awkward silence, Noa lays out everything he brought a short distance from your bed. Then he sits down, an arm's length away — so as not to trigger the anxiety, that's still gripping you by the scruff of the neck — and scratches Daisy behind the ear.

Meanwhile five pairs of children's eyes are looking at you fixedly, waiting for the continuation of the untold story.

"With my parents happen something very bad. And someday, later, I will definitely tell you about it..." but you're looking not at the children. It is too early for them to hear such monstrous details about the far world.

You looking at Noa. Was not was. Maybe, that's a good way to hint at how important to you were his actions?

After all, what else, expect honesty, can you thank him? He deserves to know that about you.

And you're almost ready to share it with him.

And he imperceptibly nods to you.

"But now I don't want ya'll to be sad. So I'd better tell you who else I would thank..." you take a deep breath of morning air, to satisfy returned for children curiosity. "I would thank Nature and the Lord. For being able to be here. To look at the sun, the moon and the stars. I would thank the Elders. For sharing their wisdom with ya'll and being indulgent towards me, who doesn't know, how to do anything that is customary here.

"Not true!" Paco exclaims, and the others immediately echoing him. "You already know everything, that should know... a real ape! You plane... spears and beams on par with Master of Birds!.. And mess around... with the little ones no worse than their mothers"

Immediate praise makes Noa smile at the corners of his lips and move a little closer to you, chuckling.

"By the way of the little ones. I have to go to them, while their mothers are busy. And ya'll, I have no doubt, will turn this hut into real royal chambers by the time I return" you feel your heart warm from what you've noticed. And you laugh quietly, when you see the enthusiasm of the five assistants.

Ask Noa to stay with them — while you, according to your recently habitual routine, go to look after the babies of the mothers-gatherer.

Mothers will return only in the evening, bringing berries, roots, and medicinal herbs. So during the daytime hours you — a full-fledged nanny.

And this new status, this necessity is flattering even after fusion with responsibilities.

***

Soared into the twilight sky sparks fascinate you. Official, if it may say so, part of the celebration came to an end — all the gratitude was carefully absorbed by the crimson evening. As for you, you plucked up the courage to say thank not only to the sky and the earth, but also to name all the names. Elders, impressed, remained on the logs that resembled perches. Noa, — Master of Birds, confused by your sincerity, — having listened to you, answered the same way, as he answered all the others who spoke, if don't count smile from ear to ear. True, he immediately left the field back towards the huts. And promised to return later.

Your knees were shaking, when you spoke. But, even those who hadn't had the best opinion of you before highly appreciated this step. Isn't this a success, albeit a minor one?

It gives you confidence — but not so much, that you join in the general, strange to you, fun. You look at dancing crowd through dancing fire. Movements to the accompaniment of huge drums are so outlandish, chaotic. But not grinning. As in, it would seem, human society. Dance is like fooling. Although very frivolous, but fooling. Without any vulgar subtext. Well, unless this context was desired by the dancing couples.

Yes, only couples danced. Married, heading towards marriage.

Or friendly teasing. Like Soona and Anaya, for example.

So you, sitting on a fallen log, enjoyed strung on a peeled twig mangoes, leaving the dancers aside.

Was unnecessary to put on a parade dress, only to feel uncomfortable in it now. It wasn't that much parade. Gray, washed out. Wreath still adorned you — and it was the only thing, that calmed you down in the motley mess. It was fun to watch. But you didn't want to take part in this mess. What, if you did something wrong?

"Why are you sitting here... alone?" Kantis sits down next to you. Must be, she upset, that you're not with the others.

"The scar on my leg still hurts" you lie with all your might. But don't keep quiet about the real reason. "Besides, I've never danced in my life. My clumsiness could ruin everything."

"Is that... such a problem? Let me... help you find... a cavalier, who won't be afraid of your clumsiness?" she giggles, putting her arm around your shoulder in a family-like manner. But then she falls silent. "...Or is it you're afraid of something..? Right..?"

“Yes,” squinting from the smoke from the fire, you sigh. “Not here, in the clan. Place, where I grew up, was different. In a bad way. That’s what I’m afraid of"

Smoke spreads in the gusts of wind, and you wrap yourself in the sky-blue fabric over your dress, so that you feel like a caterpillar. It takes Kantis less than a second, to hug you tighter, realizing your words. She says nothing. She rocks you from side to side, like a frightened child. She says nothing, because she understands, what you mean. That's why you're was silent as a fish.

Waving his hands and laughing, Ogun beckons Kantis — she can’t sit like this for the rest of the evening, saddened along with you — back.

And you move away from the dancers. Maybe, this will be better?

It seemed, like you were alone not in a firelit field, but in the entire forest. But that was okay. A little uneasy. But okay.

It didn't feel, like loneliness.

And would be better if it were loneliness.

Anything would be better, than appearing out of nowhere Jeru. You realized right away, he was the same as the bastards from the settlement, when he opened his filthy mouth and was supported by the embittered jackal and mutt. Over the months of living in the clan, you always managed to fight off his advances. More precisely, there were always those nearby, who could fight him off. Now you only hoped for the favor of fate, so that this bastard would stop bothering.

"I think... if we have fun with you... properly..." drawn-out, mocking phrase makes your soul run to your heels. "No one will notice... the loss"

"Go away. Right now. Or I'll call everyone, to see, how you're enjoying yourself" there's not an ounce of firmness in your voice, but there's plenty of determination.

"Are you sure, that... you... at least someone will hear? Because you're... so far from the others"

You look around in all directions. To make sure that situation is hopeless. Now Jeru is with one of his henchmen, nameless and brainless. They are accompanied by the same intention, with which lustful male hands climbed under your skirt. They reek of the same intention to have fun. One thought is spinning in your head: "Not for anything show fear!" Jeru waddles up to you. Looks you up and down. Calls you muck again. Tears the fabric off you with one greedy jerk. First he reaches for the buttons on your dress. Then he spits somewhere under your feet, shod in worn-out shoes. Four fur slimy hands grab your elbows, dragging you deeper into the thicket.

Wreath of delicate flowers falls, getting lost in the grass.

As you trying break free, you scream. Heart-wrenchingly, to the point of squealing, to the point of wheezing. Loud to the point of madness. Grip becomes crackingly strong. Slap, that Jeru gives you, blazes.

Falling, for a few moments you grow into the ground. You faint from the washed over you icy rain of horror. You decide, which blow would best suit his vile mug.

You clench your fists until dark spots appear before your eyes, waiting for the right moment — you hit furiously, not knowing, what you're doing. Hit the bastard, wherever you can end up. Continue to scream, hitting the second one. Your rage to them, is like a club to an elephant. Grunting like a pig, Jeru leans on you with his heavy body, squeezes your boobs... And one by one, tears off the buttons of your dress.

While the nameless jackal, having dropped down, raging tries to pull off your underwear.

Fire's glow is invisible behind the trees, bushes and moss. Sparks don't fly off. Smoke don't curl.

Tears roll down your cheeks involuntarily. Miserable, ugly tears.

Everything repeats itself.

Bring your legs.

You're kicking.

With his hands around your throat, ripping your dress to shreds and clawing your boobs with a ravenous greed, Jeru grabs your thighs. Everything blurs and darkens, just like that night. Even worse. It's your own fault, for being separated from the celebration. You were out of place there. But there was safe.

In the grass flashes barrel of a pistol. It wouldn't take any effort to reach it, if you won't suffocate.

Knock the jackal off yourself, bite the bloated bastard on the strangling hand — and, crawling away, reach for the pistol. Taking aim, pull the trigger...

Nothing happens. You miss, twice — the bullets grazing the ear of one and the chin of the other, whistling off into the night.

No more bullets. Damn it!.. Shaking themselves off, they pounce on you again. The gun flies off, you can't reach it again. They dig their four hands into your knees. With terrible force. Until crunch. Your kneecaps are probably broken. Only now you feel, how cold in your skin, because there is almost nothing left of your dress. You can't move from the paralyzing pain, but you continue to fight back. So that they, having changed places, don't dare to reach the same place, where tried to reach those insignificant scum. You resist, but the resistance is cut short by a beating, from which your jaws tremble. You bite through your tongue and cheeks. You choke on your own spit and blood. And you continue to scream in despair, as your bones continue to break under the brute force of Jeru and his lackey. Fangs snap in front of your face. You squeeze your eyes shut. Already preparing to accept the fate, that awaited you...

Until out of the blur of night blue looms approaching Noa's shadow. His strides are wide and uncharacteristically fast. Too fast. Noa breaks you free of his predatory grip and swings at Jeru, backhanding the nameless shakal, that has sunk teeth into your thigh. He rains down more blows on them, until they are spitting blood on their knees. Then Noa says something, that you can’t understand — in your temples pounding your own heart. You spit into the scarlet-stained grass. You feel sick to your stomach, the contents of your stomach spilling out in a liquid mess. You can hardly even hold your head up, because you want to lie down and bury yourself alive. You press your hand to the frighful wound on your thigh, but it doesn't help. Noa hits Jeru again, when he tries to continue the fight that just ended. Noa growls at him in isn't his own voice. He utters only one word: "Away." The bastards, indistinguishable from other bastards, evaporate into thin air.

You can hardly see anything through hair, which hangs down like nasty wet straw.

Not hovering, but sitting down opposite you, Noa stretches out his palms to you — stained with blood and rotten earth, again saving. You reflexively put forward one disobedient palm, with the other trying in vain to cover your nakedness — shameful, unforeseen, and almost absolute. Noa offers you to put on the bright blue scrap of fabric, that covered his shoulders during the holiday and that he threw off in anger. Half-dead from beatings and shock, you are unable to do this. The dress hangs on your waist in uneven stripes.

“Can I..?” with this unfinished question, Noa himself wraps you in the robe that just belonged to him.

"You can watch... What now a difference..." you smile without any emotion. It's unbearably painful to extract sounds from yourself. With incredible persistence, Noa avoids looking at your scratched nipples, visible under the fabric.

"If... I do this... I'll be no better than them" in Noa's words are clear both, desire and regret. He again intertwines his fingers with yours. And looks exclusively into your eyes. "But I don't want to be... like them... in your eyes. I want to... you look at me... differently. I shouldn't have... left. Everything... should have been... not that"

Your heart skips a few beats, dropping and pricking like a pin. Just a few steps away from the two of you in the flattened, low grass sparkles a handmade bracelet.

Beads on it are transparent-blue. Cut from precious stones.

This can't be, no-no-no...

These bracelets signify a proposal to become a couple.

This bracelet is thin. Braided to size of your wrist.

All you able to think about — is the overwhelming realization, that you aren’t safe here either. Yes, with Noa to you nothing straitening. Yes, under his robe you’re covered from your neck to your broken knees. But the fabric is immediately soaked with your blood, clinging to your body as you failed try to rise. You can’t stand, let alone walk. A portion of bloody vomit accumulates in your mouth. You shudder. Shrink. Road to the hut is short, but winding. And Noa has just confessed to you it something, that you could hardly even imagine. In that case, how long will Noa, whom you have only recently begun to trust, be able to maintain control? How long will he do impossible, being with you, in this state, so close?..

"No one will hurt you... again. Never. Y/N, I promise you" Noa carefully helps you up. Still trying not to look at you. Although in vain, but causing you to feel a surge of endless respect. "Let's go..?"

“Let’s go...” you can only sob and sound like a bloodless echo, allowing Noa to cover you with wide, warm palms. “I'm so much want to go home...”

Noa could have long ago undress, lay and dishonored you.

Noa could have gnaw off your virginity, and leave you in total darkness.

But Noa holds you so gently. Gently!.. Damn... Tears are eating away at your eyes, and you tossing in Noa's arms, to wipe them away. The fabric bunches up, sticks, revealing the curves and hollows of your collarbones.

You no longer mind, how many inches of your body are exposed to his excited gaze.

For some reason, for some unknown reason, he is not like all the men, who you have met before. He doesn't harass, but almost begs. He expresses sympathy, crush, which you only knew about from fairytales.

For some reason, even more mysterious, inexplicable reason, even if you had the strength to defend yourself, you wouldn't. He doesn't give you that spine-crawling anxiety, that you're used to.

If time had been kind to the two of you, Noa could have become your closest friend. You've called him friend out loud more than once in the past month.

But to become a couple...

What does Noa know about you? Does he know, why you were so hostile? Does he know, that you were subjected to attempted rape more, than twice? Does he know, that you can't always tell the difference between the stretched from the past nightmare images and the real events? Does he know, that you thought of him as a dirty animal, even while acknowledging his nobility? Does he know, that you were seriously prepared to kill him in the middle of a fragrant plain? Does he know, that your hatred of the man kind has only begun to dull thanks to... he himself?

Barefoot walking on rocks and branches is unbearable. You barely move your feet, hoping to see your lost shoes.

Stumble, you grab onto Noa as tightly, as you had, when you staggered in the saddle. Just like yours first met...

His cleared long glances still don't added up into the puzzle...

When and why did he think of you in that watercourse?..

Is even possible that union?..

"Wait..." the seconds seem like years, when you, almost falling, pick up glittering in the light of the scattering stars bracelet. You would have fallen, if Noa hadn’t held you on.

"So that... none of them... ever try to..." Noa pauses, but doesn't let go of you. His gaze is focused on the bracelet in your weakened palm. "You... can... become not my mate, but... my... woman?" he speaks so quietly and so decisively, that you are almost afraid, having misinterpreted his words. "I will not touch you... Will just... live under the same roof. I will always... protect you. I swear"

Everything happens fast. Too fast. You don't know, what to answer to the asked question.

You have never before talked so much.

This is unusual.

Harassment will continue anywhere.

Because women have become valuable commodity, important trinket, everywhere. Wherever you go. Besides, you have nowhere else to go. And you scarcely get far. A worthless cripple. That's who you are now.

Of all the things, you've had the misfortune to endure, Noa — isn't the least of your evils. Noa — is a blessing. And you don't want to hurt him by refusal. Even if agreement will lead you to an unpredictable future.

Noa looks, like ashamed of his own suggestion.

Noa looks, like he stabbed by a dagger.

"Can we... pretend? No one will dare look at you like a... thing. We can live not as... husband and wife, but... as allies..." you feel so sick, that the treetops curl into spirals. Sensing something is wrong, Noa holds you tighter.

"We can pretend, that concluding marriage. But we know, it won't be a marriage..." It feels so awkward to talk about, so that you sit back down on the ground. Halfway to your home. "I don't know, what prompted in you that thoughts, Noa. I don't know, how I can be useful to you."

“It’s... I want to be useful to you, Y/N” determination comes from Noa. He breathes on the top of your head, adjusting your hair. Your world turns upside down. “For you to stand behind my back, Y/N... I want to be... your man"

"If you become my man, what will be the condemnation of your own congeners?.. You deserve another union. Truly. We're different..." bowing your head, you sigh deeply and hopelessly. Laugh. Tremble. You look at Noa for a long. Completely different, from usual. "If we return to the clan with this intention, we will condemn each other to eternal loneliness..." what is happening seems unreal. You give him all your secret thoughts. And your wrist. "But if you intend to help me, I will help you as much, as possible. You are the only one, who I trust completely. I owe you my life. Therefore, I entrust my life to you. Whatever the consequences"

"Shall we ask the children... to weave a new crown?" turning it into humor, Noa actually giving you time to change your mind.

"As soon as king takes queen back to chambers" you answer this question with consent too, smiling. And without changing your mind.

Putting aside doubts, you present to Noa your claw scarred wrist.

Putting aside doubts, Noa places the bracelet on your wrist unacceptably carefully.

***

It's impossible to challenge taken decision.

It's too late to retreat.

All that was left of fire is a handful of ashes. All that was left of dancing crowd is a handful of those, who were not tired yet remained — and looked at Noa, who was leading you not into your, uninhabited, hut, but into his own, the leader's hut, not with suspicion, but with acceptance. Someone called the healers.

Ground tilts, heaves. Unaware of yourself from the pain, you press yourself into the wool on Noa's strong shoulders. You, falling, fading, are caught by reliable hands. Everything plunges into darkness, emptiness, oblivion.