Another chapter for  aether718, where Thunderhoof and the Plains Tribes must escape the Jaguar cultists while they go on a murderous rampage. The gods infuse Thunderhoof with powerful new forms, but his mighty strength isn't enough to prevent a terrible tragedy. A little more serious of a turn, but the war isn't over yet!

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Characters ©  aether718
Story © c'est moi

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The night sky was stained with a red tint, as a full, blood moon loomed in the sky. Across the rolling plains, a horde of hulking beasts, half man, half jaguar, loped across the tall grass, the smell of their quarry driving them on as they roared into the night. This was the night when their blood-drenched god demanded sacrifices more than any other, to fuel his ceaseless fight against the void; this was the night of the Wild Hunt.

Their quarry were far from meager prey. The army the jaguars had pursued were the hardy warriors of the Plains Tribes, and the gods had been kind to them, granting them forms similar to their enemy. The Plains warriors had taken on the forms of their patron gods; horses, stags, mountain lions, and more, granted new power and strength beyond any they had ever known. They had even defeated the jaguar army just a few days prior, but now, retreat was their only option. The seven chiefs of the Plains were directing their armies from the rear, sticking to the laws of the Plains: a chief is first in battle, and last in retreat.

Star Eye and Degana, the only humans left amongst the Chiefs’ War Council, were navigating their path in the dark, as the Rotinon and Nosaunee tribes that they led knew these southern lands well. Both old and sage-like, they were not fighters, and could not keep up with the younger warriors. They were forced to ride on the back of the centaurs from the Soquin tribe, led by the War Council’s leader, Towering Elk. Himself an old man, new life had been breathed into the Soquin leader, granting him the swift body of a stag, with lordly antlers springing from his head.

The stag-like taur turned to his son-in-law, the Plains’ greatest champion, Thunderhoof. “They’re gaining on us.” Towering Elk huffed, looking over his shoulder as the space between them and the jaguars was growing narrow.

“Get to the woods,” Degana shouted over the din, pointing to a cluster of trees huddled by the wide river. “The trees are brittle and filled with thorns. Our scouts are at the front, and know how to get around them, but it will tear Jaguar to shreds!”

“Get everyone over the river,” Thunderhoof grunted, digging in his hoofs, his powerful legs tensing as he wheeled around to face the coming horde. “I’ll hold them off.”

“Oh no you won’t,” Longfang of the Tadasi snarled. He had been gifted a powerful, muscular build of a mountain lion, his name far more fitting with the knife-like fangs sticking out of his mouth.

A huge black bison stomped forward with heavy footfalls. Chief Jumping Bull of the Uweha stood beside the centaur and mountain lion. “We stand by you, Thunderhoof.”

The centaur grinned, tightening his grip as he looked back to the others. Towering Elk looked at him warily; the war had brought them closer, and the thought of losing Thunderhoof was like the thought of losing a son. “Go! We don’t have time to argue,” Thunderhoof shouted. “Get the tribes across the river, we’ll be there!”

Towering Elk gave a solemn nod, then shouted orders, herding the rest of his tribe into the cover of the woods. The centaur and the two chiefs readied their weapons, then Thunderhoof, feeling divine power coursing through his veins, placed his hands on the lion and bison’s shoulders. “Brace yourselves.”

“Thunderhoof, what’re you- Woah!” Lionfang’s head jerked back as he felt a rush of energy fire through his body. The mountain lion let out an adrenaline-fueled roar as he lifted clawed hands to the night sky, his arms tensing and bulging with power. To his right, the bison Jumping Bull dug legs thick as tree trunks into the ground, his shoulders and massive back spreading out.

Both, however, were dwarfed by Thunderhoof. Rearing back, the centaur began to shift and morph, the cracking of bone and the sight of swelling muscle distracting the two chiefs. The jaguar men, still in the throes of blood lust, took pause as they saw the looming figure on the horizon. Filled with the power of Ursoka, the great mother of the gods, his legs became two, as Thunderhoof’s sun-touched skin was covered in earthen brown fur, and his face morphed into that of a grizzly bear. His chest inflated, surging past his muzzle as he let out a roar. He beat that cliff face of a chest, his clenched fist digging into the muscle as biceps the size of boulders grinded against a back as wide as the river, supporting shoulders vast enough to hold up the sky.

With Lionfang and Jumping Bull flanking the titanic bear, the battle was joined. The jaguar men, each strong as five men, leapt at the three transformed warriors. Their claws stung as they raked against Thunderhoof’s behemoth frame, but his muscular form was so tightly packed, his skin so thick, they only left superficial cuts. The bear swung away three of the jaguar with a wave of his mighty arm. Jumping Bull threw another two back by slamming his full weight into them, and Lionfang skewered the necks of any who came too close to him, blood splattering his golden pelt.

Seeing their brethren thrown back with such ease, the main host of the Jaguar hesitated. But then, the most powerful among them, a cat of great power and strength, snarled. The heavy gold hanging against his gigantic chest, bands of turquoise warped around powerful arms thicker than most men’s waist, howled. “Get them! Blood for the Sun God! Glory for Jaguar!” Tizoc bellowed, the Jaguar king all but throwing his men at the three hulking animals.

The full might of the jaguar army crashed against Thunderhoof’s mammoth body, only to be scattered like the howling wind before the mountain. But they kept coming, and some managed to cut deeper than others. Lionfang and Jumping Bull were back to back, supporting one another against the onslaught.

“Fall back!” Thunderhoof finally shouted, in a deep voice like rolling thunder. “Go! Protect the tribes!”

“Not without you!” Jumping Bull shouted over the din, landing a punch that sent one Jaguar cultist swooning.

Thunderhoof snarled, his arm tensing to the size of a hill as he nearly lifted the bison off his feet. “I said go! I’ll be fine.”

“Come on!” Lionfang grabbed the bison’s arm, pulling him out of the fray. “You’re no good to your tribe dead!”

The bear stood alone amongst the jaguar army, but not for long.

“You think this will fool us? You think one man, no matter how strong, can defeat mighty Jaguar alone?!” Tizoc roared.

“No,” Thunderhoof grunted, beating off the jaguar, even as antlers sprouted from his head, and his bulky, wide legs suddenly became more sleek, rippling with hard cut, defined muscle. “But one man can, apparently, keep you distracted.” The bear’s size shifted only slightly as the stag took his place. Still a powerful titan, he tensed rippling thighs wide as Tizoc’s waist that were coiling like pythons about to strike, then he leapt into the air, over the heads of his attackers. The rush made him feel as if he were flying, and the stag landed on the ground with far more grace than his hulking form would have suggested. With one last smirk at Tizoc, Thunderhoof broke into a sprint, thick quadriceps pumping, grinding together, an exaggerated teardrop framing the swollen lobe of mass on either leg as his hooves pounded into the ground, crashing into the trees.

Roaring in animalistic rage, Tizoc slashed his claws deep into the chest of a Jaguar that had been thrown off of Thunderhoof. “After him!” he shouted. “If Jaguar is not appeased, doom upon all the world! I will have blood!” Tizoc all but shrieked. “And if you cannot supply me with Plains blood… then Jaguar will feed on his own tonight.”

The thorns covering the spindly trees crowding the river barely scraped Thunderhoof’s thick hide as he barrelled through, his powerful legs snapping smaller trees underhoof. He made it to the muddy riverbank, and could see the torches of the Plains army. He spotted Jumping Bull and Longfang, dwarfing the warriors around them, as they hailed him. Turning back, the Plains’ champion could already hear the cultists baying for his blood.

Thunderhoof cupped his hands, shouting across the water. “Douse the torches! Follow the river upstream!” He breathed a sigh of relief as, bit by bit, the army’s torches were snuffed out.

“There he is! Spill his blood!” a Cultist shouted as he lunged out of the brush, his fur tattered and matted with blood where thorns had pricked him, his fangs bared for the titanic stag’s throat.

With a grunt, Thunderhoof caught the cultist, throwing him down with a swing of his massive, bulging arm. The Jaguars had come by the dozens.

“Nowhere to run, Thunderhoof,” Tizoc stepped forward, bearing fangs and claws that caught the light of the moon, shimmering in the night. “Kneel before me, and I will spare you. Ten will be sacrificed in your place, but if you turn to Jaguar, he will give you power the likes of which you have never seen. You could even rule, after my time- I am in need of a new heir.”

“Your daughter still lives,” the stag grunted. “We took her as a prisoner.”

Tizoc scoffed. “Chimalma was captured by the likes of you, and did not take an honorable death. If you do not kill her, I will offer her heart to Jaguar myself for her failure.”

Thunderhoof’s face flickered; the coldness in the Tlatoani’s voice was sickening. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m good. Being your heir doesn’t seem to come with a lot of benefits.”

Tizoc offered a wide, toothy smile. “Good. Better to slit your throat myself. Tonight, you die!”

The stag had slowly been creeping back into the water, the river swallowing up his knees.

“Or let the river take you. You’re too big to swim, you cowardly lummox. We’ll collect your body when it crashes against the rocks, and stains the river red.”

“Now that’s where I’ll take my chances,” Thunderhoof quipped, and leapt into the water under a hail of stones, arrows, and poison darts. At first, Tizoc’s words proved true; his massive antlers were hard to turn in the water, and his body was sinking to the river bed, leaving him gasping for breath.

“My turn,” a bubbly voice chirped in his ear, to Thunderhoof’s relief. He recognized it as the voice of Tsiya, goddess of the rivers; she was repaying a debt owed him, after he saved her from a cultist’s ceremonial dagger.

He felt his form shift again, a little shocked as he felt himself getting even bigger. His fur was thicker and sleeker, and he could feel the weight of his antlers fall away, and his face broadened out to that of an otter. Some definition had been lost, but Thunderhoof was not so vain to care about that as he looked down at his padded limbs and chest, fuller and rounder, but it didn’t take long to hit rock-hard mass. His arms and legs bulged as he kicked the water, webbed feet and hands cutting through the river. When he finally broke through the surface, shaking his head, he looked to the stunned face of Tizoc, the Jaguar cultist sputtering madly as he stared wild-eyed at the hulking otter. Thunderhoof gave the Jaguars a salute, and then quickly dove under the water as a new fleet of spears punched through the water.

Either through the thrill of the chase or the excitement of a new form, Thunderhoof grinned wide, laughing as he cut through the water nearly as fast as he could run as a stag. His powerful body rippled and churned as he swam against the current, forcing his way up the river, the huge otter diving in and out to keep pace with the tribes. The army ran through the night, following the river until, at last, the blood moon was drowned out by the light of a new dawn. After hours, Towering Elk raised his hand, signalling that they could finally rest.

Moments later, a huge, brown-furred mass flopped on to the muddy bank. Thunderhoof sprawled on the ground, spread eagle as his trunk-like limbs ached, and his tired back sprawled out wide as a fishing net. His chest rose up and down, inflating to a tremendous size as he wheezed, desperate to finally catch his breath.

“Have a nice swim?” Chief Blackhorn asked conversationally, the huge bison prodding Thunderhoof with the shaft of his spear.

The otter smirked ruefully as he grabbed the spear, using it to pull himself up as he swung the Uweko chief on to his back. “Have a nice run?”

“We made it, at least. Now that the Blood Moon’s over, they’ll be much less monstrous again, correct?” Blackhorn asked, jumping to his feet.

“I don’t know. I think so? Why does everyone I assume I’m an expert on the Jaguar?” Thunderhoof asked, lumbering forward as he shook some water from his fur, threw back his hair, and began shifting back into his centaur form.

“The rest of us don’t have a direct connection to the gods,” Blackhorn quipped.

The two came to Towering Elk and the other chiefs. “How many did we lose?”

“Far less than we feared,” Towering Elk said. “Most of our braves still stand. They’re tired and sore, but they live.”

“Thanks to you, Thunderhoof,” Chief Powata nodded. “The Jaguar took enough to sate their thirst, I fear, but we still outnumber them by a good margin.” Blessed with the wings of an eagle, Powata had proven the Tribal alliance’s most valuable scout. She nodded to the land just south of them. “Now, however, we need to think of our next move.”

Before them sprawled wetlands; muddy water and tall grass, trees choked with hanging moss, sprawled out in either direction, and, all the way in the distance, a thick streak of dark, lush green.

“The jungle,” Star Eye muttered. “That is where the Jaguar’s territory begins.”

Towering Elk sighed, turning to Thunderhoof. “It’s time we spoke with Chimalma. We need to learn just what good Tizoc’s daughter is to us.”

The chiefs and Thunderhoof crowded into the tent the princess was being kept. She, herself, had transformed into her jaguar form, twice the size of her human shape, with strong, toned limbs, muscle rippling under her spotted fur. It had fallen to four braves, each of them powerfully built, to hold her down, tie her limbs, and muzzle her jaw with straps of leather.

“Chief Longfang!” One of the braves of the Tadasi saluted his chief. “The prisoner acted like a wild animal all night. The herbs Chief Powata gave her only kept her asleep for a short time. She nearly broke free,” he declared breathlessly. All four looked particularly haggard, fleeing the Jaguar army all while dealing with the transformed Princess. They were littered with bloody cuts across their bodies.

“We might have known,” Chief Degana muttered, shaking his head. “She’s a liability. We can’t barter with her. Tizoc himself said he would sooner kill her.”

“Then I say we do him a favor, and leave her head for Tizoc to find,” Longfang growled.

“Enough of that talk!” Towering Elk declared sharply, stamping his hoof. “We are not going to sink down to their level.

Thunderhoof pushed to the front, and bent his front legs down to Chimalma’s level. Her sharp, feline eyes were glaring darkly at him, but she had stopped snarling. “If you try to take my hand off, that’s not going to help your case,” the centaur quipped. He gingerly removed the leather straps, and Chimalma took a deep breath.

“The Blood Moon has passed,” she said conversationally. She looked up at Thunderhoof with a defiant eye. “How much Plains blood fed the Jaguar?”

“Not enough to sate your father’s thirst,” Longfang spat. “But the Plains warriors still stand strong, and we will avenge those who fell. We’re at the borders of your kingdom, thousands of us ready to take our vengeance for your father’s actions.”

Chimalma smirked bravely, even as she shed her jaguar form. “You have no idea what lurks in that forest, do you? We don’t keep roads, like you. Our grand cities are shielded by trees larger than your villages, and by the creatures that crawl and slither on the jungle floor.”

“We’re hoping that you’ll tell us,” Thunderhoof said curtly. “If you help us defeat your father, we promise we will be lenient. We just want you out of our lands. If you promise to keep the peace, we will put you on your father’s throne.”

Towering Elk nodded. “We do not seek to exterminate your race, as your father wishes to do to us. Nor do we wish to conquer your lands. We just want peace.”

Chimalma studied the Chiefs around her, but she spoke only to Thunderhoof. “And how can I trust you?”

“Your choice is either us or your father. Your father wants to sacrifice you and carve out your heart. We just want to end this war,” Thunderhoof replied, his powerful arms crossed.

Her face flickered for a moment, but she still wore her proud smile, raising her chin. “You may have the superior numbers, but my father will not tolerate you for long. He is a hunter, and you are his prey. He will no longer pay you the honor of being an equal in war, not when you come so close to his home.”

Thunderhoof exchanged looks with Towering Elk and Longfang. “What do you mean?”

“She means he’ll rely on dirty tricks and savage attacks,” Longfang snarled. “He’s proven he’s entirely without honor. Why should that change, now that we have him on the back foot and desperate?”

“Is it without honor if he wins?” Chimalma smirked at the mountain lion looming above.

“This is getting us nowhere,” Star Eye muttered. “We need to make a plan of attack. We’re standing on the cult’s doorstep, so what do we do?”

“We torch the forest,” Longfang growled. “Burn the entire jungle down. They can’t hide from us if there are no trees.”

“Have you lost your mind?” Powata snapped. “A fire like that could grow out of control. It would take everyone and everything with it; and unless you are prepared to say that every soul in that jungle is as guilty as the warriors that have invaded our lands, I will not stand to hear such nonsense again,” the winged chief declared stiffly, raising her chin as Longfang stared daggers at her.

“I’m going to commune with Pumeroc,” he said darkly, shoving the other chiefs out of his way. “Let me know if you lose your nerve with this… mongrel, Thunderhoof. If you don’t have the stomach for handling her, I do.”

Towering Elk shook his head, sighing deeply. “We lost few of our warriors last night, but one who did fall to the cultists was one of Longfang’s sons. His heart is still heavy with grief.”

Chimalma shrugged. “It makes no difference to me. I will tell you this, as a sign of good faith; my father has already found his way into your camp. One on your council is a traitor.”

The chiefs exchanged looks. “Which one?” Towering Elk asked.

“I do not know,” the Jaguar woman replied. “All I know is that it was someone who did not like the changes you had done to yourselves, your transformations. That is how my father first contacted them.”

“What nonsense,” Degana scoffed. “We have been together, my brothers and sister, day and night since we started this campaign. If any of us were suspect, we would know. Don’t let this cultist welp divide us now. I say, we hunker down and rest. Let our warriors rest and enjoy their victories.”

Towering Elk stroked his chin. “We’ll rest for a day. Any longer, and I fear we’ll be a sitting target.”

Degana nodded in agreement, ushering the other chiefs out. Towering Elk was the last to leave, turning to his son-in-law. “A moment of your time, when you’re ready?”

“Of course,” Thunderhoof nodded, then turned back to Chimalma. “You’re not exactly endearing yourself to us, you know.”

“I gave you valuable information. What else do you want from me?” the princess asked stiffly.

“I could ask you the same question. You act like we don’t have a right to defend our own homes from invasion.”

“You have a right to fight, but you act as if my father merely decided one day to invade your lands on a whim. You treated us with disrespect and refused to trade… all except Chief Denaga, that is.”

The centaur frowned at that. “Chief Denaga?”

“The Nosaunee tribe paid dearly for our topaz and gold. Have you never noticed how rich he was?” Chimalma thought for a moment. “He and Star-Eye are the only humans left on your council, is that right?”

“They are,” Thunderhoof replied tersely.

“Well… seeing all his compatriots with greater strength, gifted new forms by the gods… maybe a part of him resents that. And he turned to someone who could give him such a form.”

“Like your father,” the centaur concluded.

“I do not know your chiefs,” Chimalma shrugged again. “But if I were you, that is where I would start.”

Thunderhoof left the tent with a nod, and nothing else. Frowning deeply, he searched for Towering Elk.

“What do you think of the Princess’ warning?” he asked his father-in-law.

“I don’t like the thought of it,” the old stag stroked his chin. “But I fear she may be right. Tizroc and his cultists got a little too close than I thought they would have. Do you have any ideas on who it may be?”

“Chimalma suggested Degana.”

The old chief considered this, nodding slightly. “It makes a troubling amount of sense. Degana is hardly a warrior, and his love of gold is notorious. I hate to pass judgement on one of my brothers, however…” he looked up to the huge centaur. “Gather some of our hunters, and anyone else you trust. Have them watch him- quietly. We won’t make accusations, and threaten the unity of our cause, unless we have evidence.”

Thunderhoof thumped his beefy chest, bowing his head to Towering Elk. “I’ll see to it.”

He then gathered the brothers Lynxeye, Grey Beaver, and Hawkwing. Spread out amongst the encampment, they relayed messages to one another. The old Nousanee chief was acting strange; Thunderhoof quickly realized he was counting, as he went from tent to tent, staying only long enough to see the contents. Was he gathering numbers of troops and supplies? If so, for what purpose? The four centaurs relayed between each other as they followed Degana; he eventually succeeded in convincing the army to rest for another day, but on the second night, he left camp, with a heavy sack over his shoulder, unguarded, and heading towards the last location of the Jaguar army.

Thunderhoof called the three brothers together. “Lynxeye, stick to the trees to the right. Grey Beaver and Hawkwing, to the left of the path, and stay hidden. I’ll confront him on the path myself,” he ordered, tightening his grip on his spear.

It didn’t take long for the centaurs to get into position. Thunderhoof signalled them with a bird call, as they would when hunting buffalo, then galloped down the path. They had given Degana a decent start, but Thunderhoof caught up with him sooner than he had expected, only to find the chief lying face down in the mud, the ground stained a dark red.

“What?” Thunderhoof knelt down to the old chief’s body, turning him over. His eyes were wide, and an obsidian dagger was buried in his chest.

A bird call snapped Thunderhoof out of his shock. Returning the call, Thunderhoof charged into the trees, where Hawkwing was investigating a tree. “Look here, Thunderhoof. These markings with red paint… it’s a Tadasi hunting tactic, and the markings lead all the way back to camp.”

“I found Degana,” he muttered. “Call the others. There was a Jaguar dagger in his chest.”

“What?” the smaller centaur frowned. “Why would they murder him?”

“They got what they needed from him? Call the others. We’ll scout ahead a little bit to make sure there’s no ambush, then we gallop back to camp.”

The four centaurs gathered quickly, their weapons drawn as Grey Beaver quickly searched Degana. “All I found was this ledger. It has all our numbers in it.” He held up a leatherbound sheepskin, covered in markings.

Thunderhoof looked at the trees all around him, scanning the woods. “We don’t have time for anything else. We need to get back, now.”

The centaurs’ hooves pounded against the muddy ground, and it didn’t take long before they could smell smoke, and see it on the horizon, followed shortly by the sounds of battle. The Plains warriors’ camp was under siege, their meager fortifications overwhelmed as cultists stormed in.

“By the Gods…” Thunderhoof and the others turned as Longfang stepped out of the woods. The powerfully built Tadasi chief stared at the battle. “I didn’t know they would be so brazen.”

“Where were you?” One of the brothers demanded.

“I was honoring my son,” the chief said stiffly. “Giving him over to Pumeroc’s care.” He tensed his powerful arms, beating his broad chest then baring his claws and fangs. “I will go rally the others. Thunderhoof, go to your tribe. The Soquin are the best fighters we have, besides my own tribe.”

The centaur nodded brusquely as the mountain lion leapt on to a cultist, then dashed further into the battle. “Find Towering Elk, now!” he shouted, charging one Jaguar, piercing his chest with one thrust of his spear. The centaurs split up, covering the camp. Thunderhoof charged in first, going to the tent they were holding Chimalma. He threw open the flap, and saw two Jaguars closing in on the princess. With a warrior’s cry, the centaur wrapped one of his powerful arms around one of the cultist’s neck, throwing him to the floor, then slamming his full weight into the other.

“Your father came for you after all?” he spat.

“They were trying to kill me!” Chimalma howled back, baring her teeth as she struggled against her bonds. “Untie me, and I will fight by your side!”

“Why should I trust you?” Thunderhoof held up his spear. “You knew they were coming!”

“And I told you!” she countered. “I do not read my father’s mind, it is not as if I knew they were coming tonight.” Chimalma studied Thunderhoof’s face. “I was correct, was I not? One of the chiefs has betrayed you.”

“He did.” Thunderhoof huffed, then snapped the ropes with his bare hands. “Don’t make me regret this.”

Chimalma took in a deep breath, and her body expanded. Spotted fur covered arms and legs rippling with powerful, wiry muscles, and her teeth became razor sharp. Flexing claws like knives, she nodded to Thunderhoof. “Go to your chiefs. My father likes taking off the head of the snake, as it were.”

The centaur needed no other prodding. Charging out of the tent, he galloped towards the Soquin enclave. He shoved aside cultists, trampling them underneath, like a one-man stampede. He burst into the enclave, seeing his tribe brothers fighting the cultists off. He burst in to Towering Elk’s tent, but he was too late. The lordly stag was lying on a crumpled heap, in a pool of his own blood.

“No!” Thunderhoof rushed to his side, cradling the old man as he tried to sit him up.

Coughing violently, Towering Elk steadied himself. “I don’t have much time.”

“Towering Elk, I’m so sorry, I should’ve…” Thunderhoof was cut off by the old man.

“You were away on my orders, my son,” the chief gasped. “Do not blame yourself. Just… please… for our family, for our tribe… win this war.”

Thunderhoof gritted his jaw, trying to face this with a brave face. “I will.”

Towering Elk nodded, smiling contentedly as his head began to droop against his chest. “I would have… liked to see Nodi one last time. Tell her how well she married. Tell her how good a chief I know she’ll be.”

“She knows how much you loved her,” the centaur murmured, gently laying the old stag down. “And she loved you just as much… we loved you.”

Towering Elk gasped for breath, his face wrenched in pain, then, a peace washed over him. “Then all that is left… is to go to Cerunn.” And with that, after countless years of leading his people, Towering Elk passed from the living world.

Thunderhoof stared at the man who had been like a father to him. He felt disconnected from everything. He couldn’t will himself to stand, feeling an oppressive weight on his flanks, like he was buried by a mountain.

“Thunderhoof!” Longfang tore open the tent flap. “They’re retreating, but they’ve taken hundreds… maybe as much as a thousand.” The Tadasi chief took another step, and his face fell as he saw Towering Elk’s body on the ground. “Spirits… no, not Towering Elk too.”

Thunderhoof finally looked up at that. “Too?”

“We- the chiefs- were their target. Only I and Powata are left. They sought to take out our leadership. Degana is not accounted for, but Star Eye, Blackhorn, Jumping Bull… and now Towering Elk.”

“Degana is dead,” the centaur said in a heavy voice.

Longfang’s ran a hand across his face. “Five… five tribes, without a chief. Without a leader.”

“Not without a leader,” Thunderhoof gave Towering Elk one last reverent look, and gently closed his eyes. Gripping his spear hard, he stood to his full height, raising his chin as his powerful chest filled with a deep breath. “They have me.”

The five chiefs that had been killed were given as grand a funeral as the Plains warriors could muster. Totems were erected, and their bodies were burned in a bonfire under a starry sky, as Powata recited blessings for their spirits. Longfang had not been exaggerating; a thousand had been killed in the attack, but far too many bodies were unaccounted for. No one wanted to think about what the cultists may have done with their victims.

When the ceremony had ended, Thunderhoof stared darkly at the jungle looming to the south. Chimalma, who had kept her word and stayed with the Plains tribes, gently touched his arm.

“You’ll need a guide, if you’re thinking of going in there.” She looked up, meeting Thunderhoof’s eyes. “They’re looking to you, now. Where you go, thousands will follow. Think about your next move.”

Thunderhoof approached the bonfire without a word. Dipping his fingers into a bowl of warpaint, he reapplied the markings on either cheek, then turned to address the army. “We have been asked to face something none of our ancestors could have imagined. The Plains tribes have known war, but never like this. Our enemy has proven strong and vicious, but we know we can beat them. We’ve done it before. Tizoc thinks he’s wounded us hard enough that we will bleed to death, that without our chiefs, we’ll despair and scatter, like leaves in the wind.” He slammed the end of his spear against the ground. “But the Jaguar doesn’t know us. We didn’t fight this war because we blindly followed our leaders. We fought to protect our homes, our families- and the chiefs that now stand with the gods are watching us. Unlike the Jaguar, we followed our chiefs because they were worthy of being followed, because they guarded our freedom, and fought for the lives of all.” He nodded to the hulking bison, belonging to the Uweha and Uweko tribes.

“Would Blackhorn and Jumping Bull want you to run home now? Or would they have you fight, not just for them, but for your children back home?” He turned to the mostly untouched humans of the Rotinon and the Nosaunee- neither knew of Degana’s betrayal. “Would Star Eye say it’s wise to run and hide, like a cornered animal?”

“The Tadasi still have their chief to speak for them,” Longfang roared. “We looked to avenge our fallen, and this cowardly attack has only strengthened our resolve! For the Plains! For all our brothers and sisters!”

An enormous roar erupted from the gathered army. Thunderhoof smiled tightly before looking to his own tribe. Eagle Eye, once Thunderhoof’s rival and bully, stepped forward. Humbly, the hunter saluted the centaur. “Towering Elk trusted in you, and so do we. The Soquin will follow you to war!”

Thunderhoof raised his spear. “I intend to end this war, for Towering Elk, for the Plains, and for my family. All those that still have the will to fight, we’ll show Tizoc once and for all, we will not be broken!”

Nearly every warrior cheered. As Thunderhoof began the march into the jungle, he could feel the thousands of footfalls behind him. Turning his eyes to the sky, he said a prayer to the gods, his heart lifted as, one last time, he felt it would be answered.