Revisiting  aether718's Thunderhoof, I've been commissioned to chronicle his adventures. When a tribe of fanatical zealots dedicated to a mad war god threaten Thunderhoof's tribe and family, he makes deals with the gods, unites the tribes, and meets the Jaguar Cult on the field of battle! And also gets unreasonably huge.
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Characters ©  aether718
Story © c'est moi

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The strange event brought on by a lurid pact with the coyote god would be talked about for generations amongst the Plains Tribes; it would go down in history as “The Beastdawn.” Thunderhoof, the champion of his tribe, had breathed life into the Plains Alliance, on the heels of a crushing defeat of the Jaguar invaders. And now, the seven tribes of the Plains were more powerful than ever. As Thunderhoof looked around the camp, many of the warriors were marveling over their new bodies. They had, like him, been touched by the gods, and now were half man, and half beast. He saw stags, mountain lions, wolves, eagles, and bison, all of them standing taller and stronger than any ordinary man. There were still plenty of untouched humans, running the gamut between astonished, curious, and, perhaps, resentful and fearful. The morale was all over the place; some of the changed warriors seemed horrified, staring in disbelief at their beastly, musclebound forms, while other were actively reveling in it, pairing up in contests of strength, or flexing, smiling to themselves. One particularly burly bison, with arms thicker than Thunderhoof’s waist and a gut like a keg, chuckled to himself as he lifted up an entire wagon with one arm.

The centaur was softly smiling to himself; outside of his family and the jaguar cult they were fighting, he had never had a chance to speak with someone that was, like him, touched by the gods, a vessel for their totems. It was almost perfect, but, there were still no centaurs. He had come to terms that he would always stand out, a long time ago, but with so many of the warriors changed, it would’ve been nice…

“Thunderhoof! Brothers, there he is!”

Thunderhoof turned at the familiar voice, then his face split into a wide, astonished smile. Charging towards him were three centaurs, with strong, sturdy flanks and muscular torsos and arms. As they came closer, Thunderhoof saw it was Hawkwing and his two older brothers. The smallest, yet cleverest, of the tribe’s hunters had been turned into powerful centaurs. Though none were as large as Thunderhoof, their arms and chests bulged with swollen muscle, and each of their four thick legs rippled with each canter.

“You should know, Thunderhoof, we’re blaming you,” Hawkwing said, smirking softly.

“Yeah. I woke up with a dry throat already; I guess I was feeling a little horse.” Grey Beaver, the youngest of the three, smiled impishly as his two brothers groaned, shoving at his sides.

“Hawkwing! Grey Beaver, Lynxeye- you all look… great!” Thunderhoof was still smiling the widest as he held out his bulging arms, ready to embrace his new brothers. “You’re… pleased with the change?”

“It’s… a shock, still,” Hawkwing said, patting Thunderhoof on the back. “But we can see how you’ve gotten to enjoy it.”

“I can’t wait for those Jaguar curs to see us now,” Lynxeye said, flexing his arm until his bicep surged in size that would make any man jealous. “We’ll trample them, if we have to!” He said, stamping the ground with his hoof.

“Do you know how many of the tribe have changed?” Thunderhoof asked.

“Not all of us. Eagle Eye didn’t,” Grey Beaver said. “You should have seen the look on his face when he saw some of us. It was like he had just drank curdled milk.”

“But you should come with us,” Lynxeye said. “Towering Elk wants to speak with you.”

Thunderhoof’s smile slipped a bit. Towering Elk usually came to him directly, as his father-in-law. If he was being summoned, it meant he was going to be speaking to him as Chief; not a family member. “Do you… know what kind of mood he’s in?”

“You’ll see.”

The three brothers led Thunderhoof into their tribe’s enclave. Thankfully, the devastating defeat at the Jaguars’ hands had not taken that many of their brothers; some tribes suffered far worse. Amongst the familiar faces, Thunderhoof counted a dozen centaurs. It was still a dozen out of nearly a thousand, but he wasn’t alone anymore. The musclebound centaur puffed out his cliff-like chest a little more, warping the red warpaint adorning his huge body. He held his head a little higher than normal, finally around centaurs he, personally, didn’t sire.

And then, he spotted the chief’s tent. Eagle Eye, the tribe’s formerly biggest and strongest hunter, was wearing a sour look as he guarded Towering Elk. His position was already taken by Thunderhoof, but his ranking amongst the men of the tribe had been severely reduced with all these centaurs around, now.

Then, the chief came out. Towering Elk had always been imposing for a man his age, but now, he stood taller than almost anyone. His long face was still leathery with age, but quite a bit of grey had gone out of his hair. Of course, that was far from the only change. A pair of mighty antlers, like the branches of an ancient oak, now crowned his head. His lower half was that of a lordly stag, with tall and lean legs. His upper body, while not as brawny as others, was toned and hard, with lean, energetic muscle piled on.

“As soon as I woke up, Thunderhoof, I had a feeling we needed to have a talk.” Towering Elk said, his lips thinned as he gave his son-in-law a stern look. “There’s something you need to tell me, isn’t there?”

Thunderhoof frowned, rubbing the back of his head. “Uh, yeah, that certainly seems to be the case.”

“You can tell me on the way. The six other chiefs want to see you, too- we’ve all woken up to quite a shock,” Towering Elk, already leading the way. “We’ve been tearing this camp apart looking for you. This is your doing, isn’t it?”

Thunderhoof chuckled nervously. “Well, not mine, exactly… more like the gods.”

Towering Elk gave the younger centaur a long look. “I never had these sort of situations with the gods until you came along, you do know that, don’t you?”

The bulkier male was trying to avert the chief’s gaze. “Well, in my defense, I did this only to help us.” Some of the elation was beginning to slip away. “We’re desperate, Towering Elk. We can’t afford another battle like that last one. We started with ten thousand of the best warriors the Plains had to offer, and now we number seven thousand. Three thousand sons, brothers, and fathers are gone from the Plains because of the Jaguar Cult, so… I made a pact with Coyote.”

“Coyote?” Towering Elk stopped in his tracks, lowering his antlers. “Just what kind of pact was this, Thunderhoof?”

“It’s… nothing you need to worry about,” the centaur nervously clopped against the dry earth. “I’ve already made the payment.”

The two had come to a hastily erected totem pole, where the other chiefs had gathered. Of the seven chiefs of the Plains, five had been transformed into beasts. Towering Elk, representing Thunderhoof’s tribe of the Soquin, was one of these five; Chiefs Jumping Bull and Blackhorn, those of the sister tribes Uweha and Uweko, were large and powerful bison, each with the muscle to match Thunderhoof and sizeable and girthy middles. Chief Longfang of the Tadasi stood as a proud and strong warrior, his face now the visage of a powerful mountain lion, and Chief Powata of the Dedatli, the only woman leader of the alliance, now stared at Thunderhoof with the stern gaze of a hawk, long, feathery wings sprouting from her back. Only Chiefs Star Eye and Degana, of the Rotinon and Nosaunee tribes had retained their humanity entirely, and shifted uncomfortably as they stared at their transformed allies.

“Thunderhoof!” Longfang pointed his spear as the centaur approached. “This is your fault, isn’t it?”

“At least Towering Elk has been made to pay for his son-in-law’s actions,” Degana said stiffly.

“Have we not suffered enough already, Towering Elk, now that we must deal with this… curse of the gods?” Blackhorn demanded. “My own son doesn’t recognize me!”

“My sibling chiefs, be still!” Towering Elk declared. He studied Powata and Jumping Bull, who had remained quiet. “I assume you all have your complaints and grievances to lay at my son-in-law’s feet?”

“Hoofs,” Blackhorn snorted, shaking the shaggy black mane adorning his face as he crossed his thick arms.

Powata seemed thoughtful, then stood. “It is a shock… but I cannot deny that the mind races at the possibilities. Before coming here, I… flew. It was not very far, but a natural impulse called to me. Wahela, the mother of the skies herself, seemed to call to me, and my feet left the ground. It was a rush.” She nodded to Thunderhoof. “Never before have I felt closer to the gods.”

“I was the least likely to become chief,” Jumping Bull muttered quietly, pulling himself up to his feet. He was tall enough nearly to look Thunderhoof eye to eye, and his massive build dwarfed the other chiefs near him. He flexed his arm, powerful muscle under shaggy dark fur rising up dramatically, filling the space between his arm and fist. “For the first time… I feel I have the strength to do my duty, and protect my people.”

“Perhaps,” Longfang sighed, frowning deeply as long, sharp fangs poked out of his mouth. “But what if we did not ask for this? What then?”

Towering Elk sighed. “This is a blessing from the gods. Do you not see? All of you that have been changed are stronger and faster, your senses heightened. This is what we need to defeat the Jaguar Cult. As to what happens after…” the elder half-stag spread his hands, turning to Thunderhoof.

The centaur took in a deep breath as he approached the circle. “Chiefs, I am the one to blame for your transformation. After our defeat, when I saw our warriors slaughtered by the thousands, I made a pact with Coyote. He gave us these forms, promising us the strength and speed to carry the day, and drive the Jaguar from our lands.”

“A pact?” Powata asked, narrowing her eyes. “Coyote never gives away anything without something in return. What did he ask of you?”

Thunderhoof was blushing now, rubbing the back of his head as he remembered how Coyote transformed himself into a titan of muscle and virility, and had, frankly, taken the centaur any way he pleased. “Something… personal.”

“Personal? Explain, Thunderhoof,” Star Eye commanded. “If we’re stuck like this, we need to know all the details, and you will tell us, now!”

“Coyote wanted to… test the limits of my, ah, virility. To see how far I had come after Quianis’ blessing.” Thunderhoof’s entire face was red, and he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with his arms.

“He… tested you?” Longfang narrowed his eyes. “What kind of test?”

“A… strenuous one, to be sure,” Thunderhoof replied.

“You can’t give us more detail than that? We’ve got to know what we’re facing!”

“Oh, by the blood of my ancestors!” Degana slapped his forehead. “Does it matter? What do we do now?”

Towering Elk stroked his chin, humming softly to himself. “The Jaguar Cult still hold a favorable position, sleeping on the ruins of our old campsite. Either we draw them in when they think they’re coming for an easy kill, or we strike, hard and fast, while they still have no idea of what’s become of us.”

Longfang flexed his fingers, long claws pushing forward as his powerful arm tensed. “I say we put this… blessing to use. Let’s hit them hard and fast, until their blood waters the plains. They will know the sons and daughters of the Plains will not suffer tyrants.”

“And then what?” Star Eye asked. “If we push them back past our border, is that it? Do we declare our victory, and return to our fields?”

Thunderhoof frowned, thinking of what the gods had told him. Pumeroc and Coyote had warned him; the Jaguar were merciless. “They will not stop coming. If we push them back, they’ll only come back. They have sent men to poison our crops and assassinate our leaders. They have turned down any of our attempts to make peace. They want to conquer us; and one victory, no matter how complete, won’t be the end of it.”

“Then where do we stop?” Jumping Bull asked. “When we’ve killed them all? Is that what you’re asking us?”

“No!” Towering Elk interjected, placing a hand on the centaur’s vast shoulder. “Thunderhoof knows more than most that all deserve a place at the gods’ Great Council. I agree with my son. We must chase the Jaguar into their jungles, but we must find someone among them that is willing to lead their people away from war.”

“A puppet, then?” Powata scoffed.

“We still outnumber them, and their main force is over that hill.” Thunderhoof pointed to the south. “If we break their army hear and now, we can chase the rabble back to the jungles, and pick our way to their capital.”

Longfang and Blackhorn were the first to stand. The lion-headed chief nodded gruffly. “I will prepare my best Braves. We’ll stand with you, Soquin.” He thumped his fist against his bare chest.

Blackhorn nudged Jumping Bull, the other burly bison sighing deeply as he stood. “As will we. Let it never be said that the Uweha and Uweko abandon their allies in a time of war,” the grumpier of the bison chiefs said.

Slowly, the rest of the chiefs stood, with Towering Elk looking over his allies and nodding solemnly. “It’s decided. Tonight, the Jaguar Cult’s dreams of conquest will be dashed. For the Free Plains!”

Whatever emotions the transformed warriors felt about the loss of their humanity, it was time to put it aside. Once again, the war drums were beating in the camp, and the chiefs were organizing their warriors. As dusk fell, Powata ordered half the fires put out, to make the camp seem smaller than it was. Bit by bit, raiding parties drifted out of the camp, moving through the tall grass until they reached hiding spots amongst the trees and shrubs that clung to the hill alongside the Jaguar camp. Leading the main force, Thunderhoof had reapplied his war paint, blood-red stripes dashed across his mighty pecs as wide and thick as boulders, tensing his arms like tree trunks, his massive haunches rippling as he trotted in place. His spear was ready.

With pictures of Nodi and his children firmly fixed in his mind, he nodded curtly to Towering Elk. The two of them were leading a charge; twenty centaurs from the Soquin, fifty bison from the Uweha and Uweko, two hundred human riders, and fifty mountain lions from the Tadasi, leaner and sleeker cats than their chief, and able to use their springy legs to keep pace with the centaurs. Across the plain, an eagle’s cry could be heard.

“That’s Powata’s signal. They wait for our attack.” Towering Elk offered his hand. “Are you ready, Thunderhoof?”

The large centaur took in a deep breath, his grip tightening on his weapon as he shook his father-in-law’s hand. “For our family.”

“For our family.”

Thunderhoof reared on his hind legs, letting out a war cry as he broke out into a gallop. The pounding of hooves shook the ground beneath them, as over three hundred warriors charged across the battlefield, still strewn with the ruin of their last encounter with the Jaguar, with only the full moon and stars, the eyes of the gods themselves, to light the way. There was no way to hide their charge; the Jaguar could see them coming now, and only had enough time to rally warriors armed with arrows and slings. Rocks and arrows rained down upon the Plains warriors on all sides, the dark of night their only protection; few of the Jaguar found their mark, and then, they were upon them.

Thunderhoof and his fellow centaurs slammed into the enemy like a rockslide, smashing their meager defenses. Already, Thunderhoof drove his spear into a massive jaguar man, as the mountain lions of the Tadasi were able to match the Jaguar’s feline ferocity, if not their strength. Human riders were pulled from their horses, but still, they were children of the Plains, and did not go down without a fight.

When the battle was truly joined, Towering Elk put his hand to his mouth, echoing an eagle’s cry. Out of hiding places, raiding parties armed with tomahawks, bow and arrows, and beastly muscle and fangs, poured out, overwhelming the Jaguar invaders.

The enemy was fierce and strong; the Jaguars fought like they were possessed, some frothing at the mouth, their eyes wide with rage and bloodlust. Their powerful jaws and knife-like fangs chomped down on many a defeated foe, staining their spotted coats red with blood.

“Avatar of Quianis, behind you!” a small, bubbly voice called out to Thunderhoof. Whirling around, the centaur kicked a jaguar with his powerful hind legs, shattering a rib cage before he buried his spear in his would-be attacker’s heart.

In the din of battle, Thunderhoof whirled around. “Who was that?”

“To the center of camp! Hurry! They mean to sacrifice me!”

Snorting, the centaur broke to a gallop as he tore through the camp, following the voice. In the center, a huge bonfire was still roaring. A line of musclebound jaguars, obsidian clubs in their powerful hands, snarled at his approach, but Thunderhoof roared as he charged the line, trampling two of them underfoot, flexing his arm and wrapping it around a third, choking the jaguar as his mountain-like bicep dug into his throat, dragging him along the ground until he passed out.

“Thunderhoof! Look out!”

The centaur only had time to see a huge jaguar, fangs bared, attempting to flank him. He was immediately tackled out of the air by a huge, black boulder. Jumping Bull slammed the jaguar into the ground, the bison landing crushing blows to his enemy.

“You!” a familiar harsh voice snarled.

Thunderhoof focused on the fire; it was a sacrifice. Looming over a blood-stained altar was a green-eyed jaguar, his eyes glowing like emeralds in the firelit night, a bloodied obsidian dagger in one hand and a decapitated body at his feet. Thunderhoof recognized this one; the cultist that had slaughtered Towering Elk’s emissary. Squirming in the cultist’s other hand was an otter, the sleek creature desperate to get free.

“Save me, and earn the favor of Tsiya, mother of rivers!” the voice was coming from the otter. The centaur’s eyes went wide.

“Let that otter go! You have no idea what you’re doing!” Thunderhoof demanded.

The cultist laughed darkly. “Foolish half-breed! I offer up lesser gods to mine; I will be honored above all! Even Tizoc himself will bow before me! I will be the strongest, the alpha, the avatar of the god of war- Gah!”

Breathing shallowly, his glowing eyes were wide as he looked down at his chest, with Thunderhoof’s spear sticking out of it, forcing him to drop the otter. Glaring darkly, Thunderhoof trotted over, grabbing the spear and yanking the cultist close to him. “That’s for scaring my kids.” He placed one hoof on the cultist’s abdomen, and yanked his spear free, the Jaguar’s prone body falling into the fire. The cultist let out one, blood-choked scream until the flames consumed him.

The centaur turned away quickly from the grisly sight; the otter was skittering away. “Hey! Tsiya, wait!”

The otter stopped, looking over her shoulder. Beady eyes locked with Thunderhoof’s for a moment, but then she disappeared behind a tent, leaving the centaur to roll his eyes. “Gods.”

“Thunderhoof! Chief Jumping Bull!” Hawkeye came trotting up, waving his spear in the air. “We’ve won! The camp is ours!”

“Finally, something went right,” Jumping Bull grunted.

Hawkeye shifted, approaching Thunderhoof and lowering his voice. “And… it looks like we have a prisoner. You better come and see.”

The bigger centaur followed Hawkeye to a tent under heavy guard. “She’s, uhm… a bit much. She killed two of our own before we managed to restrain her,” the hunter explained.

Frowning deeply, Thunderhoof moved towards the tent flap. “Just who is she?”

Entering the tent, the centaur’s eyes widened. Thrashing and pulling at ropes tied to a post in the center was a tall, strongly built woman, shrugging off the last vestiges of her jaguar transformations. Young, with silken black hair and a skin the color of red clay, she spat at Thunderhoof, azure eyes glaring defiantly at him.

“Do what you dare, half-breed! I am Chimalma, daughter of Tizoc, Tlatoani of the Jaguar Lands! Whatever abuse you visit upon me, I will give you tenfold with my claws and fangs!” she declared.

Thunderhoof balked at her declaration, holding up his hands. “We don’t abuse prisoners of war. It’s not our way. No one will harm you if you cooperate. But… you are the daughter of the Jaguar King?”

“You think to use me as a bargaining chip?” Chimalma scoffed. “Tizoc is fearless! He sacrificed my brothers to feed Jaguar, and he will not hesitate to do the same to me if I become a hindrance.”

“...A loving father, then.” Thunderhoof shook his head. “Whether or not your father will parlay with us, we’ll not mistreat you. You have my word.”

Chimalma stared at Thunderhoof, with a disbelieving look. “Then you are weak.” She said, but her anger was spent. She sank to the floor, and wouldn’t look up at the centaur.

He pushed past the tent flap, and looked to one of the guards. “Get her water and some food… but make sure the ropes are tight.”

Thunderhoof was lost in thought as he passed through the camp; the victorious Plains warriors were sifting through the stores of their enemies, curiously poring over the Jaguar cult’s strange, obsidian weapons.

“Thunderhoof!” Chief Longfang hailed the centaur. The powerfully built mountain lion was grinning wide, fangs glinting in the firelight; the Tadasi were known for their traditions of honor and war, and their Chief came from a long line of warriors. “This was a good fight. Hah, the Jaguar won’t dare cross us after this battle!” He smacked Thunderhoof’s flanks, causing the centaur to snort in surprise.

“Glad you had fun,” he replied bluntly. “Did we lose many in the fight?”

“Nowhere near as many as the Jaguar.” Longfang’s smile grew more toothy. “I’m not a man of numbers, but if I had to guess, I would say there’s five jaguar pelts for every fallen Plains warrior.”

Thunderhoof nodded grimly. “Well. I hope it’s worth it.”

The morning sun rose dim and red, a sober reminder of the blood that had been spilled. The Plains Warriors rose, sore and exhausted, but still spurred on by their victory. They had driven out the threat to their homeland, but the chiefs and Thunderhoof were still weighed down by their concerns.

“They came here with two thousand at the first battle… by our count, they were reinforced with four thousand. It would appear they’re down to three, now… we’ve got more than twice their number again.” Powata explained, looking over her tallies.

“What do we do with the princess?” Degana asked. “We have their king’s daughter. That can’t be worthless to our cause.”

“For information, maybe,” Towering Elk muttered. “If we take her word for it, this Tizoc is not at all sentimental. He won’t care if we kill his only living child.”

Jumping Bull scoffed. “What kind of enemy are we fighting?”

A runner poked his head into the longhouse where the chiefs and Thunderhoof had gathered. “The Jaguars have returned, with even greater numbers! Their leader is with them, and they’re looking for a meeting.”

The chiefs exchanged shocked looks with one another, a tense silence hanging over the meeting. Blackhorn furrowed his heavy brow, and Star Eye was the first to stand. “Well? We’ve won this war so far; are we to hide in our longhouse like we’ve already been broken?”

The seven chiefs and their appointed defender, Thunderhoof, marched out of the camp together. At the foot of the camp was the vanguard of the Jaguar cult, hundreds of huge warriors with dagger like claws and fangs, looming over the chiefs. At the head of this force was a man that appeared human, at first glance. His dark skin was adorned with intricate, black and gold tattoos, mimicking the pelt of a jaguar. He wore heavy amulets of turquoise and gold, his head crowned with a huge headdress made up of precious stones and long, colorful feathers. His body was large and powerful, and his face had a strangely predatory look; his features were sharp, and his luminous eyes looked hungry.

Towering Elk, as the eldest chief, trot forward. “Tizoc of the Jaguar. You’ve asked for a meeting, and we, the Chiefs of the Plains, are here. What is it you wish to discuss?”

Tizoc did not speak; a warrior wielding a massive club slammed it into the ground, snarling at the elder stag. “You will not address Tizoc, Tlatoani of the Jaguar, with such familiarity! His blood is the blood of the sun, his voice the voice of war!”

Tizoc raised his hand, silencing the warrior. He smiled in a manner that never quite caught his eyes as he sized up the rest of the chiefs. “I must admit, I did not expect this valor from prey.” His voice was soft, but a barely constrained growl rumbled in his core.

“We are not prey. Until your people attacked us, we had no quarrel with you. What have we ever done to you?” Towering Elk demanded.

“You refused us trade!” Tizoc suddenly roared, gesturing madly at Towering Elk, sharp claws sprouting from his fingers as his face contorted into something far more beastly. Thunderhoof immediately intercepted Tizoc, the huge centaur blocking the warrior’s advance.

Snarling as he locked eyes with Thunderhoof, Tizoc tore them away, pointing an accusatory finger at the chiefs. “I watched my people starve as our crops withered before us; our lush jungles verdant and full of life, but offering no bounty. We came to you, hungry for years, but you would not aid us. So, we have come to take what is rightfully ours. Jaguar has grown tired of your insolence! Cast off your petty gods, and I will spare your lives. Your warriors will be sacrificed to Jaguar, but you may return to your homes, and tell your people of the great future that awaits them as part of the Jaguar’s lands.”

“You’re a fool if you think we’ll give up our armies to be sacrificed to a mad god!” Longfang scoffed. “You speak as if you won last night’s affair. You speak to us as if we are prey, when last night’s hunt on Jaguars won us over a thousand pelts!”

“Which is why I am even speaking to you in the first place.” Tizoc growled. “You, in the cover of night, did manage a victory against us. But I assure you, your tricks will not work a second time. I offer you the respect one warrior gives to another; even though you are a pale imitation of Jaguar’s greatness, Longfang. Pumeroc is a weak imitation of the one true god.”

Tizoc moved back to Towering Elk, raising a barbed sword of obsidian. Thunderhoof immediately grabbed the blade, his arm thick as Tizoc’s waist as he forced it back down, glaring darkly at the Jaguar leader. With a lingering glance over the centaur, Tizoc moved on to the other chief. “Bison. An eagle. A half bred horse and stag. And two weak and old men. Jaguar has hunted you all. What hope do you have? You’ll last for a while; some prey gets lucky. But your rightful place, your destiny, is in the jaws of Jaguar. Pumeroc, Wahewa, Tsiya, Cheveyo, Coyote…” Tizoc threw Thunderhoof another withering look. “...Quianis. None of them can protect you from Jaguar’s wrath. Even these blessings… these ‘gifts’ you think they’ve given you, your enhanced forms. They pale in comparison to Jaguar’s power and strength.” Tizoc raised his arm, the already powerful muscle building rapidly, stretching and warping the tattoos and warpaint as a bicep bigger than Thunderhoof’s rippled and swelled.

Thunderhoof stamped the ground, raising his spear as he put himself between Tizoc and the chiefs. “You’ve said your piece, Tizoc. If all you’ve come to say is a bunch of empty threats, we have more important things to tend to.”

Tizoc sneered, turning to the chiefs. “This halfbreed speaks for you? I thought you were the leaders of the Plains.”

“He’s saying what we’re all thinking,” Longfang muttered.

“He represents us for a reason,” Towering Elk added, stone faced as he returned Tizoc’s deadly glare.

“You, Thunderhoof, are perhaps the greatest disappointment. You have the strength, the power, the will- and you wasted it all, on Quianis of all the false and petty gods.” Tizoc shook his head. “Jaguar could have made you the greatest warrior of the ages.”

Thunderhoof glowered, puffing out his chest as he took a step to Tizoc. “I don’t know, Quianis made me pretty great as I am.”

Tizoc twisted his sneer into a smirk. “Quianis is a fertility god. One dedicated to love and… virility. What would he know about war, strength, and honor?” That hungry look in the Jaguar leader’s eye took an odd glint as his gaze moved down Thunderhoof’s rippling torso. “You may appear a fine specimen… but in service to a god such as Quianis, you are suited for little more than my harem.” Tizoc hissed, reaching up to cup Thunderhoof’s chin.

The centaur’s eyes bulged as his face turned red. All the indignant rage of the Jaguar’s invasion welled up inside him all at once as he tackled Tizoc to the ground, his body shifting and convulsing. The sleek brown fur covering his haunches grew shaggy, spreading up his torso. Convulsing, his bottom half morphed into two thick, powerful legs, roped with enough muscle for two hearty men alone, wide as sequoias. The arms wrapped around Tizoc bulged and swelled as fur covered them, a bicep larger than the Jaguar leader’s head swelling up as a meaty clawed hand wrapped around his throat. He was lifted past a chest wider than any of his warriors, the shaggy brown mountain in front of him peaking with shoulders like landslides, swallowing up a neck thick as a bison’s. Thunderhoof’s chiselled face shifted into that of a huge grizzly bear, his deep brown eyes and long black locks the only parts left of his humanity.

All of Tizoc’s bravado slipped away as the bear held him tight, leaving him scrambling as he pawed at a wrist thicker than his waist. “It- it’s not possible!” he choked.

“Quianis is not the only god who stands with me, Tizoc!” Thunderhoof bellowed, his voice dropping several octaves, a rumbling, bestial growl. “And even if he were, I could still tear your limbs from their sockets!”

Winding back an arm with enough muscle packed on to it for two hearty men, the mighty bear threw Tizoc. The Jaguar leader sailed through the air, but his warriors caught him, his heavy jewelry clattering as his headdress fell off, hitting the ground with a thud. Their leader left breathless, the Jaguar cult stared in awe as Thunderhoof stood towering above them all.

“This- this is only the beginning!” Tizoc began shakily, standing again. “You have a day, Sons of the Plains! Tomorrow, the moon will be red as blood, and Jaguar will give us the strength of demons! Flee and hide, for the hunt begins!” He declared grandly. His body shifted, his limbs cracking as he dropped to all forms, transforming into a jaguar as all his warriors were. Roaring defiantly, he turned on his tail, loping off for the cover of the forest at the end of the plains.

The chiefs behind Thunderhoof were left staring at the titanic bear, dwarfing all of them. All of the stunned into silence, only Towering Elk had the courage to approach, resting a hand on Thunderhoof’s arm. “My son? Are you alright?”

The bear swerved around suddenly, nearly knocking Towering Elk off his feet as he snarled, showing a mouth that looked big enough to swallow the chief whole. The initial rush of bloodlust passed, but as Thunderhoof tried to explain himself, only garbled, strained grunts and roars came out.

“Back away, Towering Elk, now,” Longfang said softly, pulling on the chief.

Thunderhoof looked at them all, the chiefs all staring at him with genuine fear. Overcome, he tried again to speak, but no words came out. Starting to panic, Thunderhoof needed to get somewhere quiet- alone. He could already see curious and nervous braves gripping their weapons, slowly approaching.

He broke into a run, west past the way the Jaguar cult retreated. A river running by the battlefield fed a good bit of the plains, its headwaters reaching all the way to the dense, steamy jungles where the Jaguar made their home. It was already twilight when Thunderhoof barrelled through, knocking down trees as he clumsily went from a lumbering gait on two legs to a loping run on all fours. Finally, he came to a clearing, just by a small spring that fed the river, and he felt compelled to stop.

His ears twitched as he heard the rustling of leaves; standing tall, he bared his fists, puffing out his mammoth chest, ready to pounce. But then, a bear broke through the clearing. She was bigger than any natural bear Thunderhoof had ever seen, but it was a largeness of scale; she seemed remarkably well-proportioned. Sitting in front of Thunderhoof on her haunches, calm, clear eyes bore into him.

“Be still, child. You are in the presence of Ursoka.”

There was a slight tremor in Thunderhoof’s throat, and he felt his voice return to him. “I… I can speak again,” he murmured.

“Forgive me. After years spent in slumber, I’m still waking up,” the bear said, in a matronly voice. “I felt that Jaguar’s little pet needed to be put in his place, right then and there. I am sorry if I overwhelmed you, child, but I knew you could bear it.” She stopped, smiling softly as she closed her eyes. “That was not my best attempt at humor.”

“I’ll say, mother,” a familiar, smooth voice said. Coyote stepped out from the underbrush, smirking up at Thunderhoof. With a nod of his head, Thunderhoof could feel his body becoming lighter, slowly shrinking back down to his centaur form.

“Better than anything I’ve heard this one say,” Pumeroc grumbled.

Thunderhoof turned around as more creatures stepped out. In the gathering dusk, he could also make out Cheveyo the rabbit, Tsiya the otter, Wahewa, perched on a branch, the stag Cerunn, chief of the forest, and then a magnificent stallion, with deep eyes that captivated Thunderhoof.

“Quianis,” he whispered reverently, bowing his head to his patron god.

“You’ve done well, faithful one,” the stallion declared. “I’m afraid there is more we must ask of you. Coyote may have… taken liberties with the blessings we have given, but it is time that Jaguar’s plans come to a full stop.”

“We’ve already been planning that,” Thunderhoof countered. “We’re driving their army back now, as we speak. We could fight them again tomorrow, and win this war.”

“No,” Ursoka said. “You can’t.”

“The red moon rises tomorrow. Jaguar’s people know the stars well, and they know tomorrow could grant them victory. The red moon has always held special meaning for him,” Pumeroc explained. “And he will give his followers unspeakable strength. They’ll be unstoppable.”

“That is why the wisest course is to flee- along the river,” Cheveyo said. “You will be their quarry, all the warriors of the Plains. They will follow you only, with murderous intent. You, Thunderhoof, must lead the army to safety until the red moon passes.”

“What?” Thunderhoof turned to Quianis and Ursoka, almost pleadingly. “But I am no tracker- I’m barely a hunter as it is. You expect me to chart the course for our army, when I barely know this land? I’ve never been this far south!”

“We would not give you this mission if we did not intend to help,” Cerunn stated plainly.

“I, at least, owe you for saving me,” Tsiya the otter piped up, chirping softly to herself as she smiled at Thunderhoof. “We will give you what you need, to run the fields and ply the waters.”

Thunderhoof felt his hand stiffen, then gasped in awe as he held it up; sleek fur now covered it, with webbing between his fingers, and short claws poking out of each fingertip.

“Trust in the gods as you always have, Thunderhoof,” Tsiya continued. “We will take you exactly where you’re supposed to go.”