The cub was howling.

Shale was deaf to the cries of fear and hunger, or discomfort at being held a little too tightly by an inexperienced father. The bass of the Gotara’s drums struck a chord with his heart, but he barely felt that either. All he knew was a soul-piercing agony.

Intermittently, he would remember the cub, or notice the humans, or scent the blood that encrusted his hands. Then, he would remember that it was his cub, or what the humans had done, or that it was her blood on his hands. He killed her, but he couldn’t run; he couldn’t save himself, because it was his fault. Stuck deep within, he breathed in soft sobs. So deep within that a distant buzz, neither soft nor intimate, went ignored.

The cub stopped crying, dwindling energy manifest in gurgles and whines.
 

It was new for two human boys, young enough to know only stories of the forest demons. Both were caught up in the revelry of the experience, that they were heroes, akin to... better than, Demontricker himself.

Or so the Elders were saying. For tonight, they would be allowed privilege highest below that of the Shaman. For tonight, mere boys would be privy to the secrets of the men’s rituals. It would be the beginnings of a great and privileged life, remembered long after those now living had taken their place by Gotara.

Ehok was not so sure.

They gnawed at him, the last few hours, as he tried to quell the conflict within. He had not meant to hurt anyone, and a dead demon could hardly be counted as harm. But up close, this one seemed too hurt. Too human.

Maybe there was a reason Demontricker never killed.
 

Shale never knew why. He never questioned, either. He found himself led, and couldn’t remember where. He would remember, be urgently coaxed to continue, and forget all over again.

*Shale!*

The summons were nearer, now. The humans were chattering gibberish, gesturing and urgent. The raft had stopped moving, only bobbing violently at the arrival of a fifth.

So far gone, Shale could not even recognize the presence of his chief.
 

Bearclaw was livid.

Ehok hoped that, once free, the demon would have fled into the night. He hadn’t expected other demons to drop from the trees.

He remembered the wolves, and how they moved. He remembered how they died, snarling and furious. This demon was Brother-of-the-Wolves, and Ehok saw him running with them in the death hours of night.

Brother-of-the-Wolves took the baby demon in one hand, the magic knife in the other never losing sight of the two of them. There was vengeance in his eyes, and Ehok felt regret stab at his heart. He knew now, if he hadn’t truly before, that he had done wrong.

The vengeful eyes fell on Taf, and Ehok feared.

"No!" he insisted, hoping desperately in spite of it all, "It’s my fault. Please... I’m sorry."
 

Bearclaw listened to the human babble, understanding and not. His soul demanded blood for blood, blame regret or nothing. The human almost made it easy, and he didn’t like that, not now.

He took what was offered, and nothing more.

Moonshade hesitated. She could see, from the safety of her den, just so the morning’s light dappled her hands. She was curious, summoned by name while the rest of the tribe awaited knowledge of what had happened. Eyes High’s death had settled cold on the previous night. They deserved to know... and Bearclaw summoned her again, with as much force to send her scrambling down into the day.

He stood before the Father Tree, with Shale pitched haphazardly at his feet. Moonshade drew near, and her chief offered little explanation, only second chances. His repentance, for something he did and did not remember.

Far from satisfied, Bearclaw was gone. New loss mingled with old, swaths of since-forgotten grief. His parting glance was for one, who mourned openly in the branches. Golden hair; tear-streaked death, fault, blame.

He would not be gone long. He needed to be chief.

But first, he needed to forget.

Fishing did not quite mean what Cutter took it to mean. There was a lot less catching fish, and a bit more splashing. And growling, there was a bit more of that as well. And what really settled in his mind was that Skywise seemed far more intent on catching Foxfur. Also, that Skywise seemed to have a lot of fun without him... and without the fish, but that was beside the point.

Cutter decided to get in on the fun. Furthermore, he intended to bring a fish.

This tree was the tallest tree in the forest.

This tree, at the base of which his life fell to pieces so many years ago.

This tree, where now stood a demon too familiar. Taf stopped and stared. He knew this one in youth, and in dreams. His bitterness found what it had searched for in earnest, for it was the demon’s fault; all the demon’s fault. His pain, his disgrace... his brother.

The human trudged forward, startling the being half his crooked height. The demon had not changed. Even the pain was still fresh.

Taf wanted to strike. The best he could manage was a soft touch, and tainted by childish curiosity.

He now saw what his brother had seen, and gambled his life away for.

More, he saw forgiveness.