The sounds of hammers filled the high-noon air. The sky overhead a clear sheet of cloudless sky. A tropical perfection hung over the village as teams of men milled about the new house being raised at the edge of the village. These men, drawn away from the fields came from two families coming together to partake in a wedding ritual, the construction of a new home for a newly wed couple.

Walking down the gently meandering hillside the hovel was being build on, Nyutien came to inspect how the action was going. Though he did not personally count the newly wedded couple as anyone particularly close to him, activity was all the same an attractive fair to observe played out in the village and the appearance of their village chief would be a high-honor. The two now coupled were of modest station, and attention to their prominence was patronage as much as awarding them a material stipend to support and reward them for their work.

On the far-side of the project, the newly married couple stood watching in giddy anticipation as the house went up. They had been married just several days before and already the rising home was getting beyond the simple framing stage and there was a very home-like quality to it. A thatched roof rose high over the frames with a bowed top beam that extended far out of either side, a solid long palm tree cut and formed when the marriage preparations were still virgin and under way.

It is how this small community had grown, spreading itself out with each and ever coupling of adults. To the fledgling beaurecrats, it was a sign of growth beyond the central seed that had rooted long ago and Nyutien smiled wide in the shade of his wide-brimmed, fur hat.

Nyutien was becoming an older man himself. His frame was large and fit, but these muscles were waning in recent years and he had a stockier look. Like many in the village he had farmed as a youth, though not as dedicated as many others. He built his house from stone when his father still lead the village and grew in the back a vegetable garden with his wife. He kept soil and chlorophyll stained hands wrapped firmly behind his back in the sleeves of a robe of thinly strung cotton, enough to keep him modest, but without becoming overcome with the heat and humidity of high-summer.

His hat, nearly as wide as the beams were long at the tops of homes kept from his eyes the harsh sun. The sun's light had long drawn his eyes into narrow slits from squinting for so long into its bright glow and the hazy reflections off the Great River nearby. He awoke in the mornings on a room that faced the north, to the river. When he would rise from his wife's side from the wicker and thatch cot he called a bed the morning glow would shine with a fury from the misty river with a fury greater than that of any high-noon.

And while Nyutien walked with a back bent over, it was not a bend that suggested he had won it with long painful toil, leaning over rich red and brown soil with a hoe in his hands. It was the arced bend one got leaning over a desk, writing daily accounts and signing them off in wood-planked scrolls. It was a legislative osteoporosis that put the bend in his spine.

He stepped to the side of the road, letting a boy leading a cow laden down with chords of fire-wood past. Nyutien tipped his hat to the skin-tanned youth and he answered with a polite bow before moving on his way with only a quiet and stifled “hello” passing from his lips. As he passed, he looked back home and watched with anticipation and wonder as the workmen went about their trade. He stroked his fingers through the wild and thinning beard that radiated from his sagging cracked face in every direction, like the rays of that afternoon sun that hung over head.

Behind the waiting couple, holding each other in their arms and chattering excitedly as they watched their house go up the rest of the village stood behind him. Not totally as a single concentrated entity, but an ocean of fields of grain and managed groves of trees surrounding clustered islands of familial homes. It was practice as much as tradition that the marriage of two young adults, where the son was eldest of his family took his bride to an unseeded corner or edge of the village and set down a new home. From there they'd begin a new family.

The marriages of second, third, and fourth borns added to their parents home, slowly building up into clustered complexes of living space where when the parents died the second born would take over with their brothers and their wives, or even set the foundation for a new familial cluster.

The very core of the village of Sü was made in this way. A wild circular concentration of homes built and added to over the years. Inherited and re-purposed. Burned down and rebuilt again. Put on the auction for bartered goods; it was this that Nyutien oversaw when it came to regular civic duties. He and his brother, and their aids recording the transactions as they happened and signing them off in a strict observance of order.

Duty and role was the order of the day. And of the week, and of the month. When their ancestors came here that was all they had left of the old world. And it was what they would seed in the new world. It was what spread as homes were put up and moats of farm fields planted around. It was what hid behind palisades of wood and stone that guarded many and the oldest of these farmsteads. It was what was guarded through the point of spears and the tips of arrows when it came to dealing with the savage hunters of the realm who did not look up to them as something higher, something better.

And it was daunting work to see it done, but it was homes being put up on the ground such as this that made it all the reward. Something to look forward to seeing when the doubt were in place and there was fear. But they had made it a century so far, they would make it another century again. Nyutien's son would continue the pattern as well, as would his, and on in the cycle of life and death. This newly married couple, they were a sign of that much.

The newly minted husband looked down and saw him, and for a moment his expression froze in mid-conversation with his wife. Then he smiled, and bowed low in respect to the old man. Nyutien bowed lower, and walked away.

Toranaga, the first of his name, glanced up at the sky, judging the suns position as it dipped ever more swiftly towards the Western Horizon. He picked up a pair of wooden cudgels and knock them together gently, marvelling at how the muscles on his arm tensed and moved as he did so. Like the rest of his Tribe he wore only a loin cloth and a leather sling around his body from which hung a few items of personal value. A spear rested against the clay and stone wall a couple of feet away. He waited a few more minutes, enjoying the ocean breeze as it played over his skin. Then is was time.

Taking up his two cudgels he stepped up to hollow log that hung from the roof beams of a small structure that had been built to hold it atop a platform raised to have a view of the Village, the Bay, the Rivers mouth and the rainforest beyond. He began a steady measured beat on the log, the sound echoing out over the bay and into the forest. It was the signal for all the villagers to return home, the sun would be gone soon. It was perhaps the most important job in the village and Toragana had been flattered when he'd been offered the position by the council.

After a hundred beats he laid down the cudgels and picked up a massive shell that lay next to the log. It was as pink as the morning sky and as large as his head. He had not personally seen the creature that had been inside of it but he had tasted it and found it to be quite delicious.

From his height atop the small tower he could see the various fishing vessels out in the bay begin to swing back towards the village. The long canoes, a recent invention, had become very popular and every single fisherman who wished to live to see his twentieth season had bartered for one, or carved it themselves. The result were some less than impressive specimens and Toragana had watched a large shark with a head like a hammer smash one of the smaller ones into pieces a few days before and devour the fishermans catch, the man himself had been pulled to safety in another canoe. Those strong enough to survive the rigours of the water dotted the bay as they turned, some with a single rigged sail, others powered only by the strength of their owners, and headed for shore.

The Village itself had been built on a rocky ridge that ran out from the mainland, sticking out into the bay where it divided into two parts, curling around a small sheltered harbour that provided safe haven for the fishing boats. A fresh water spring bubbled up on one side and a hot spring on the other arm. It had been a fortunate find as the connection to the mainland had needed a wall built across it to prevent the Tiger's from taking villagers right out of their huts. It was also where the small tower had been built. A gate opened through the wall beneath the tower and was closed at night with heavy thorn bushes while the wall had been topped with sharpened wooden stakes to prevent the big beasts from leaping over it.

The village huts, like the wall, were built of clay and stone, layered upon each other and hardened in the sun to form a formidable obstacle. The rains had of course caused serious issues in eroding the wall until a small bamboo covered had been built for the top and the wall was saved.

Toragana waited until the last fishing boat had been drawn up in the small harbour, looked up at where the sun was just starting to touch the horizon, and then raised the shell to his lips. He licked his lips, took a deep breath, and blew a deep steady note that echoed towards the forest. This warned those out in the forest that the thorn bushes would be dragged across the entrance soon and that they needed to hurry or they would be left outside for the night.

The sun sank slowly toward the horizon, its rays shooting across the ocean with a stunning brilliance. Then shoots came from the edge of the forest and three people appeared, hurrying toward them. The first two were young women and they waved up at him, smiles creasing their faces, they were naked to the waist like everyone else, baskets on their backs full of wood. The third was an older man who had a deer slung over his shoulders and he offered Toragana a nod as he passed out of sight under the tower.

As the final rays of sunlight slipped away Toragana clambered down from the tower. Ishido, the night watchman, waited for him at the bottom of the steps and together they heaved the thick bramble thorn gate into place. Already they could hear the night creatures of the forest begin to stir as the heat left with the sun. They even heard the distant roar of some great creature deep within the forest.

Toragana thanked Ishido and handed him the watchmen spear and cudgel before waving goodnight and hurrying into the village. His house was near the wall, not far from the spring. It was identical to every other house, a small entrance fitted with bamboo door, bamboo roof and slay walls. Each hut had a small kiln outside the door that also served to heat the homes through their floor. A very unique but safe way to prevent fires in the homes.

He pushed open the door to his hut and stepped inside. A single candle burned in its bracket against the wall but it was enough for him to see Mariko, one of the girls who had waved at him earlier, lying on his bed. She didn't say a word as she spread her legs and beckoned him towards her. It was nice to be important.

The twilight of dusk had settled upon Batu Menangis, with the sun only just beginning its descent behind the great mountains surrounding the valley. And in the centre of the town Sin Chik, the High Priest, was busy tending to his duties. The high priest was not an old man though his hair, kinky and close-cropped, did have streaks of grey and there were a great many lines and creases on his face. Chik was dressed in a loincloth as was typical, though he also wore several long strings of colourful beads across his shoulder and had a small white circle tattooed on his forehead.

The duties in question were the traditional nightly offering to the spirits, a simple matter but an important one nonetheless. Chik was careful as he made his way to a tall stone, standing mighty in the middle of a clearing with intricate designs carved and painted into its surface. In Chik's hands were a pair of bone bowls, one filled nearly to the brim with a dark red liquid while the other was piled high with offal. Situated in front of the stone was a small fire, kept burning throughout the entire day, which Chik then knelt in front of.

Slowly he picked the offal from the bowl and set it in the fire, watching as it slowly sizzled and burnt in the flame. And then, once there was no more offal remaining he picked up the other bowl, slowly pouring the blood over the fire in order to extinguish it for the night. That done, Chik stood back up and smiled as he looked around at Batu Menangis; the sky was only getting darker and while there was little activity it was not entirely silent. Some of the longhouses, great wooden things with thatched roofs which served as the communal homes for the towns clans, had groups of men sitting on the covered porches and chatting by candlelight. Likewise through many of the rear windows light could be seen, and indicator of the womenfolk gathering on their own.

Chik smiled as he saw a younger man of the village 'sneaking' to what was presumably the longhouse of another clan. The high priest was reminded of himself when he was younger, as well as what he had planned for this night. But there was one last thing he needed to do first, and he picked up the sacrificial bowls and carried them off to a small building on the edge of the clearing. Compared to the longhouses it was small and modest, but in truth it was a sign of great prestige. It was Chik's own home, and as High Priest he was one of the only ones in town who had a whole room to themselves, let along and entire house no matter how small. He quickly made his way inside, not even bothering with any light since he knew his home well enough to navigate it by the twilight, and set the bowls on a small table on the side. Then he plucked two small pieces of dried and salted meat he had hanging his ceiling. One he popped into his mouth, while the other he carried with him back outside.

Then he made his way past the longhouses of the town, occasionally responding to a greeting from the men sitting outside. It wasn't long at all before he arrived at his destination: a longhouse just like any other. Out front were a group of men who all smiled and waved when they saw Chik.

"So, you going to take the time to talk with us tonight?" one of the older men asked.

But Chik simply smiled and shook his head, "Sorry Uncle Megat, but I'm busy tonight."

"Oh, you're always busy, Uncle Chik," said a younger man, "You can take a break, right?"

"Sorry Ujang, but this has nothing to do with my duties tonight," Chik replied.

"Oh really?" one said, then another added "What is it?"

"I'm making a visit," Chik said simply, to which the men all grinned and a few even laughed.

Then there came the barrage of questions. "Who is she?", "Is she beautiful?", "For how long?", and "Aren't you getting a bit old for that?" Though that last question earned a good-natured smack on the head from a man even older than Chik.

"We just met, and I'll have you know she's the most beautiful woman in Batu Menangis," Chik said, which was met with "Aren't they all?"

At that Chik just smiled and shook his head, before proceeding to do what he'd actually come for. As much as he enjoyed chatting with the men, that wasn't why he was here. Instead he made his way to a small thing on a post in front of the longhouse. It was another longhouse, built exceedingly small and mounted in front of the porch. And it was on the porch of the tiny house that Chik put the second piece of dried meat, as an offering to the spirits who lived there and watched over the Sin clan.

"Well, I'll see you all tomorrow," Chik said, waving goodbye to his clansmen, "And I promise I'll stay to chat then."

They all waved back at him, telling him goodbye and good luck before quickly going back to their previous conversations. After that Chik made his way through town once again, looking forward to what was to come. Once again the walk was a short one, and he stopped by yet another longhouse. This one had fewer men sitting out front, though the murmur of conversation was evident front the back of the longhouse. Quietly he made his way around back, though one of the men around front noticed him. The man just ignored Chik; after all, the sneaking was nothing but tradition. After all, the women all slept in a communal room and one knew how they liked to gossip. And quickly Chik made his way to one of the open windows, and peeked in.

The room was large and consisted of a quarter of the longhouse, a communal bedroom for the women and children of the clan but with enough open space for the women to gather and talk in the twilight of the day. And chatting they were; while the children slept the women were up and talking with each other, a few were simply lying or their beds or sleeping, and there were a handful dealing with fussy infants. Then one of them noticed him, and made her way over to the window he was peeking in.

"Well, High Priest, what brings you to our window tonight?" she said, loud enough for all the other women to hear. Almost all of them looked in his direction, with the notable exception of an exceptionally elderly woman who could very well have fallen asleep sitting up. Chik simply smiled at the gaggle of ladies staring at him.

"I've come to visit Seeran Kasih anak Dayang," he said simply, "Tell me, is she here?"

Once more the women all focused on a single person, but this time it was one of their own. It was a young woman, fidgeting with her hands even as she beamed at him. She stood up, and began to make her way to the window when the first woman moved in front of it.

"Oh, I'm not sure if she's here right now," she said, a playful smile on her face, "Perhaps you'd like to visit someone else?"

From his vantage point most of the room was now blocked by the woman's body, but he could see the mortified expression on Kasih's face and hear the laughter of the other women. "Oh come now Dayang, leave the little lovebirds alone," one of them said and the woman laughed as she moved out of the way.

Kasih quickly made her way to the window, and swiftly gave Chik permission to enter at which point he climbed through the window. After that Kasih escorted him to her bed, and it was quite obvious she was embarrassed almost as much as she was nervous. "I can't believe my mother did that," she told Chik quietly. But it evidently wasn't quiet enough, as laughter rippled through the assembled woman who had purposely not even glanced in the couple's direction since Chik had climbed in. Kasih did her best to ignore them as she undressed, while Chik did the same. Chik gave a very pointed stare to a woman he caught staring, who quickly looked away. There was, after all, a way this was to be done and it didn't involve spectators. Then the couple climbing into bed with each other for the first time, and it was there they would stay until the morning when Chik would steal out the window in time for his morning duties.

Mariko was seated under a massive tree, it's huge trunk towering up into sky until it's upper boughs intertwined with the other tree's around it, forming a huge canopy of green that hummed and sang with life. She could see small monkeys chasing each other through the tree's while birds of any dozens of colours flitted amongst the branches in pursuit of insects. She had rested her back against the great wooden trunk, the wood warm and the moss soft against her naked skin.

The sound of a child's giggle brought her gaze back to ground level and she saw her eldest son running towards her, something clutched in his hands. He was a handsome boy, nearly six seasons old now. She was still trying to decide who his father was, either Ishido or Toragana. That much she could be certain. They were the only two she had taken during her thirteenth summer, and both frequently. It was convenient that they stood watch in opposite rotations, though it was no taboo for her to take whomever she wanted.

The boy, she had named him Toshiro, hurried up to her and presented her with his catch, his hands carefully forming a small cage to held a bright green and orange Humming Bird. It was sitting on his palm, regarding her through two small black eyes, occasionally fluttering its wings in protest.

"Can I keep it?" The boy asked, holding the bird up so that he could look closely at it again. He was adventurous, there was no doubt about that, and on more than one occasion found wonderful things. He had even once found the small and pitiful body of a Tiger cub. They had buried that one deep and quickly returned to the village.

"No, of course not." She laughed quietly, reaching out to stroke his cheek. He must be Toragana's son, he was kind to gentle to those who could do him no harm. Ishido was always rough with her. Toshiro had no violence or intensity to him that she could see, not yet anyway.

The boy gave a disappointed sigh and unclasped his hands. To the surprise of both mother and son the bird did not at once zoom away. Instead it regarded the boy for a moment, then dipped it's head as if to thank the youth, and then shot off into the upper canopy of the rain forest. They watched it go until it's brightly coloured form was lost among the thousands of others around it.

"You are very gentle Toshiro, this good. And you respect the creatures of the forest, this is even better. Without respect we will destroy, or be destroyed by this place." Mariko waved her hand about at the forest then patted the moss next to her. "Sit down with me."

The boy sat obediently next to her, leaning back against the tree with her as he did so. For a half an hour the two sat in companionable silence, watching the rain forest move around them. They did this at least once a week, as Mariko did with all her children, she had three now, Toshiro was the eldest. The other two were twins, three years old, and today they were learning how to collect clams from the beach with their father, also known as Buntaro the Builder. He was the man who built the wall and the huts in the village. Such was his skill that with a single assistant he could a new hut from the ground up in two days.

Such was Koshibito Tribal culture. Children spent equal time with their birth parents, though all children lived in a specially designed hut until they were one year old, under the constant supervision of their mothers to ensure they were properly cared for and safe. Once they reached the age of one, they would move to their mothers hut and remain her constant companion until they were three when the father was expected to begin taking an active role in teaching them basic tasks they could perform to earn their keep around the village. As one might expect, not all of them survived, but that was the Koshibito were so liberal with sexual partners. Tales still told of the near extinction of the village on several occasions when to few children were being born.

After a few more minutes Mariko stood and, Toshiro in tow, began to walk back towards the village, a basket of mushrooms balanced on her hip. Toshiro had his own basket of birds eggs that he taken from the lower level nests. It had been an excellent foraging day for mother and son.

The jungle was mostly quiet, the only sounds the calling of birds, the chirping of insects, and the conversation of their quarry. Sulung and his hunters had left Batu Menangis with the intention of hunting other prey; they expected some monkeys, birds, perhaps a tiger if the young ones were feeling especially bold or stupid. But they had come across the footprints of men in the mud, and so decided to follow them. Sulung thought that perhaps they were a band of their brothers on the journey to Batu Menangis, but when they saw them it was evident they were not. Their pale skin and slanted eyes were enough for the hunters to tell as much. But there were too many for Sulung and his hunters to take down on their own, and so they had spent several days following them. It was easy; Sulung had been hunting in these jungles since before he'd lain with a woman.

And early in the morning, their patience had paid off. Sulung and his hunters were crouching, hidden, in the jungle and watching the four men making their way clumsily through the underbrush. Truthfully Sulung had nearly given away their position, and had needed to hold back a snicker; the fact that they obviously knew so little about how to move through safely through the jungle was just funny. Sulung half expected a tiger to leap out of the bushes and steal away their prize.

But nothing of that sort happened, and Sulung simply waited. The dirt was soft between his toes, the air hot and sweltering, but he did not move. Then he heard it, the calling of a bird. Most would not recognize it, as it blending into the calling of the birds all around them. Then he heard the same exact calling, and then another, and another. And finally he drew his own bow and nocked an arrow, before whistling the song of the bird as well.

The attack was over before it even began, arrows flying from the brush and burying themselves into flesh. None of their quarry even had the chance to run, as they were killed before any of them even realized they were under attack. And then out of the bushes Sulung and his hunters, near half a dozen of them, emerged to take a look at their handiwork. Most of the men laid dead among the grass, the leaves of the nearby plants painted red where they fell. However one of them was still alive, the arrow only having pierced his leg, and was making a futile attempt to crawl back to his fellows. Sulung quickly strode over to the man, and when he saw the hunter approaching he attempted to scream for help. However, his cries turning to a strained gurgle as Sulung drew a stone dagger and slit his throat.

By the time he was dead, the other hunters in the group were already picking the arrows from the corpses and prepping the corpses for transport. Sulung didn't even need to tell them what to do; even the young ones had been on hunts before and knew what was necessary. It was barely any time at all before all of them were ready to move out, the corpses of their quarry in tow. Quickly they made their way through the brush doing their best to not leave a trail, though it was difficult carrying the bodies. Sulung was exceptionally grateful that their quarry obviously knew little of these jungles. He didn't think they'd be able to follow the group; as far as they were concerned the men would just disappear into the jungle. And that was exactly how Sulung liked it.

Once they were far enough away, Sulung gave them the signal and they put the corpses down. One of the hunters gave a sigh of relief as they did. "Ugh, how is this man so heavy?" he said, "The lowlands sure do breed their men fat, don't they?"

One of the others laughed, "Is that so bad? More meat on their bones is good, is it not?"

"Makes it harder to carry them though." "A small price to pay, right?"

"Indeed, but we'll shift them around," Sulung said, interrupting the two younger hunters, "We won't be able to carry much else, so we're heading back to Batu Menangis."

"This early?" one of the hunters asked, "I wonder what they'll think when they see us returning."

"They'll be grateful of a hunt gone well," Sulung said, "And besides, we can always bag some smaller game on the way back."

The other hunters, many of them sitting down for a break, agreed with Sulung. The hunters took their rest in the jungle, silent save for the sounds of nature and conversation once more. But this time it was the conversation of the hunters, and they made no effort to hide themselves. They'd be moving on shortly after all, and while they were resting and talking amongst themselves they all had their eyes on the perimeter in case a hapless predator had followed the scent of blood. But all too soon for some, the time for rest was over and Sulung motioned for the men to move out. The corpses were hefted onto backs, to be carried until the time came to switch off. That way they could keep moving without need for rest; Sulung estimated they could make it back to Batu Menangis in a few days max. And he knew the villagers would be pleased at the success of their hunt.

The sun was setting below the horizon as Nyutien returned to his home. The glowing golden light of the sun illuminated the sky with such great hues it was an inflamed spectacle of oranges, reds, and pinks. And in the highest corners, and those areas closest to where the moon had already risen skyward there was a deep sullen blue, nearly purple where thin wispy clouds caught the very weak frills of the setting sun's light.

Nyutien stopped briefly to check on the condition of his garden, a raised terraced lot that hung off the side of the house and where a steeply inclined wall marked the edge between it and the dirt roads that ran around it.

In the center of town the conglomerate mess of houses stood in tightly packed fortresses of wood and stone as dirt and hard-packed clay roads divided each island with a enough space for a creek to flow. Already the multitude of generational, veteran family units were settling into their evening routines and the soft lights of candle sticks and lanterns fueled from fish oil cast a golden flickering light that punctuated the deep purple of late evening. There was a subdued song of chattering in the streets as families gathered for the night and the sounds of their prayer, song, and argument flowed out into the streets from open windows.

Turning from his garden with a handful of large wrinkled squash. The bitter fruit, a long green melon would be fried the next morning for breakfast. Nyutien stepped into his century-old home, and was greeted with the leathery and earthly aroma of the wood and the furnishings. From somewhere the tiny pluck of a harp sang from some upper floor as Nyutien milled about, passing by a small red-painted shrine he turned and bowed, offering a small flower from his pockets into a blue ceramic bowl. To his father and grand-father, and the nameless ancestors that predated them. On a wooden plank the names of his ancestors dating back to Bangyu, written in the scratched-out, blocky characters of their native writing.

Leaving the shrine, he placed the long withered fresh-green melons onto a rough hewn table and made his way up naked wooden stairs to the floors above. The wood creaked and groaned under his weight as he ascended the steps. “Nyutien.” a voice said softly in the dim candle light of the upstairs hall. Turning slowly Nyutien came face to face with his younger brother, bowing formally he greeted his kin.

“Yung, how was your day?” he asked as he walked around his brother's side and down the hall, Yung followed at his side, holding his hands at his stomach.

Yung was stouter than his older brother. And as someone four years his junior he looked the part. His face looked fresher, almost pale in complexion and undaunted by the sun's heat. Although scars of illness put sunken scars in his face, he retained still a broader physique still in its prime. His hair likewise was thicker and freshly shaven stubble rung his chin.

“It was a good day.” his brother responded. As well as being Nyutien's brother, Yung was his house-keeper and the second husband to his wife. In this arrangement, there would be someone to take care of Nyutien's wife and youngest children should he pass away, affirmed by a status of brother-co-husband.

At the end was a small room, not much larger than the parapet of a watch tower and half as open. It was an office room with a small desk at its center. It overlooked one of the main drags of the village's center. Silken curtains hung from polished wooden poles hung over windows consisting of little more than open frames with a latticed net of a saplings to form a rough screen. Through this the sweet air of night drifted in and gave the second-floor office a balcony feel.

The table itself was positioned low to the ground and both men sat on the ground opposite of each other as Nyutien produced a scroll of light, soft wooden stakes. Taking a small brush, he began to write on the planks.

“I watched the new home go up today.” Nyutien said flatly.

“Oh, did you? I had heard about the marriage.” said Yung, he kept his hands folded in his lap, “I would have gone, but the walk was not for me.”

Nyutien nodded knowingly. Yung was an unfortunate case of misfortune. At a young age his hand had been crushed in a game when another youth knowingly or mistakenly smashed his hand with a rock. The broken bones never healed right and the crooked mangled hand was always kept covered by a sheet of cloth.

Though while his hand was smashed, he could still use a spear in hunting game. But it had been a trip ten years ago that had struck Yung with another great injury when hunting troubling wolves in the country-side one had attacked them. Yung had fallen onto his back and a particular large and deadly beast had tried to drag him of by the ankle, nearly tearing the foot clean off. Nyutien had managed to save him, but his brother was mangled. Over time the wound had healed, and while he could bare passing up and down stairs at a slow pace, or at times crawling he would never wander far from the house, preferring to stay within the block.

And hoping to not nearly lose so many more limbs, he never exerted himself much more beyond the duties. Helping to keep the large communal home in order. And taking messages.

“By the way, I got a message from Yu Fung.” Yung announced, “He comes complaining that the men who work at the edge of our fields are being harassed by strange men. Foresters report having stones thrown at them as the venture south to cut trees. The men who work the fields report seeing dark-skinned men trying to steal off with food stuff.”

Nyutien gave him a cursory look up and nodded. “I'll have to seek him out tomorrow. How worried was he?”

“I don't know, he didn't come in purpose. He sent his youngest son as a messenger. But he said he wants permission to raise a small levee and hunt these perpetrators down.”

“I imagine I will.” Nyutien sighed, “Was that all.”

“That is.”

“Very well, thank you.”

“You're welcome, and good night brother.” Yung smiled, standing up and shuffling out the door for his room.

---

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Jalak the golden sun dragon was fading in the endless blue horizon, its brother and eternal rival, Tavak, the pale moon dragon came hunting for it. Legends spoke that at one point the two had lived in harmony with one another and the sun shone eternally. But then one day the God of Shadows at tempted Tavak with a dark promise. Simply by slaying his brother, Tavak would be granted even more power than before and become king of an eternal night.

The two brothers fought hard once they realized that neither side would be swayed and so for five long days, the world was in termoil as the sun and moon shifted back and forth, the two being together at the same time. Chaos had ensued in the mortal world until Jalak finally reign triumphant over his traitorous brother. But he was unable to kill him and instead forced him into exile into the darkness which he gave himself up too. From that day, the two dragons chased each other around in an eternal circle, Jalak bringing warmth and light while Tavak brought darkness and cold.

However the village of Khaha na Ronn was not to be told to remain silent in the darkness. Even as the moon rose, the fires of torches and forges still burned hot, Jalak's light imbued into each ember. Hammers and saws continued to work and move in the night as metal was pounded and logs cut. Lord Yuetin Arrun had heard of unfavorable whispers in the wind, the high priests confirming ill omens. The lord demanded that his people should take precautions and stay on the look out for wild men with the strength and savagery of beasts.

It was long common knowledge that the people Khaha na Ronn were not the only peoples who lived in these lands. Some even frequently saw people from other villages or tribes who lived or came to the river's edge. Fisher folk mostly as they claimed mastery of the waters, their rafts cruising across the water's edge as they drag their nets below the waves, praying that they won't be swallowed whole by rough currents or dangerous animals.

Yet the wind brought news of people far more treacherous than many of those previously known. People who would rival the Yomkep in their destructive plans and bring nothing but ruin in their wake. However, the Yomkep were presumed long dead, eaten alive by the jungle as divine punishment for brining harm to the favorite of Hourei the Greater. And the village was prepared with plans of their own should such a thing happen again. But there were still doomsayers who spoke of savages born of the Yomkep that would return.

Many of these men had been executed by the Lord's personal guard in fear that their words would shake the peasantry to the bone in fear and cause them to refuse to work in the fields which would leave them vulnerable. Sure there were towers and the occasional patrol, but was was 4 men to do against 40? What were the poor and defenseless farmers to do should they be met by raiders with weapons and experience? Sickles could cut flesh, sure, but compared a sword they had no hope.

Lord Arrun had made a vow upon his ascension to protect his lands and his people whatever the cost as had his mother before him and all the previous rulers of the village. With his faith in the Heavens and the wisdom of his forefathers and the determination of his people, the lord was sure that they would be able to make it through these testing times, no matter what manner of unholy, vile creature dare to oppose them.

The old soldier sat over the table, his legs cross over each other, the tops of his rounded knees angled over the table. The ground was stiff but warm under his buttocks. The small wooden home smelled lousy of pork and spices from a morning of cooking and preparing breakfast. Now the soldier's wife was in the next room, preparing the left-overs to be used further in lunch and ultimately dinner.

Dressed in loose fitting robes and a dropping brown sash that ran over the shoulder and down to the hip the soldier looked like a pauper in good care. He mid-life now, late into his thirties. But he was also going along fast. Sun had baked his skin dark and hard, shrinking it against a wide bony face. His eyes looked down a the wooden plate with globs of white sticky rice mixed with cuts of cut and stone-friend pork mixed in. A few coins worth of cut greens lay to the side, undisturbed as bit by bit the man shoveled away pieces of rice with his fingers. His tongue ran across his long thin lips, cleaning off anything that got trapped there or in the beard that was already beginning to run the signs of late age with witheringly white strands in places. He kept it otherwise clean and trim, it followed a wide jaw-line and continued those lines until it met with a sharp spade tip.

There was a knock from the door, stirring the man on the floor to look up. He eyes, perhaps small for his head turned up and he called in a raspy voice, “Who is it?”

“Nyutien,” a voice from the other side yelled, “You wanted to discuss some things with me?”

Yu Fung nodded knowingly. A bit of pressure he didn't know he was with-holding released and he sighed as he stood up, taking the wooden plate with him. He went to the door, and opened it. Greeting their village officer with a bow. “Nyutien.” the commander of Sü's watch said as if addressing a casual friend.

“I didn't both you, did I?” asked Nyutien.

“Hardly, I sometimes expect to be bothered by someone when I'm eating. It's the time people often spring this on me. Come, we'll talk up-stairs.” Yu invited, leading Nyutien in.

Yu Fung's home was old, but not the century old amalgam building that was the sort of structures commanded by Nyutien, reflecting a growing entrenchment and prestige in the old families such as himself, those old iron-wood central trucks of a great crawling fig. As true as the comparison is could be called, there were plenty of Bang houses, or individuals related to scattered through Sü's farmlands. But there were hardly any Fung's.

Yu Fung's father migrated to the village from the west. The story was that he was pursued for high-crimes in the Empire in the far distant horizon. But he had run so far that they had ceased to chase him. Fungyen, Yu's father settled himself in Sü, and then garnered notoriety when on a hunting trip he had not just returned with a small deer, but two native wives. Both he took as concubines as sorts. One died young, only sixteen during childbirth; her offspring died stillborn. But Fungyen did mourn her and instead impregnated the other local girl, who may have been nearer to her twentieth year, she bore two children before she was overcome with depression and drowned herself.

The mixed blood helped to explain Yu's complexion, where others were more olive in complexion, near to a faded lemon yellow at times Yu was from the womb a darker boy.

The simplicity of the home unit was as well a sign of a less than prestigious heritage. It was modest, un-decorated, and naked in the walls. There hadn't been an interest to finish the wood even, and it stood as graying as an older stable. The wood creaked under the two mens' feet as they ascended the narrow wooden steps, barely wide enough to accept a man facing forward. Nyutien's clothes brushed along the walls as he followed his chief to more private rooms.

“As I told you, we're having problems.” Yu said as they made it to the second landing, “Usually I wouldn't care much if farmer's and frontiersmen weren't complaining. These don't usually come up as often as to be irritating and they don't often leave behind blood.”

“Did someone get killed?” Nyutien asked, worried.

Yu stopped and turned to him, sucking off a few grains of rice sticking to his fingers. Usually, this would irritate Nyutien, but he had to hold himself back from a man known to be insufferably angry, and who was the best wrestler in the village. “No.” he answered, “But Nyun is stuck trying to reset a few bones, dig an arrow out of someone's thigh, and has another man who hasn't woke up from a long sleep. He had to patch the later's head with clay and cotton and hope he doesn't spill his brains.

“I've had five incidents brought to me this passed week alone.”

“Why haven't I been told earlier?” Nyutien demanded. This was clearly not a minor event.

“I was waiting to see if they die down.” Yu admitted dismissively, “besides, the last three were sprung fast. They managed to make off with a cow.”

Nyutien was flustered with agitation. “So what do you need?” he asked.

“Men, weapons, and fire.” Yu requested, continuing their walk, “I'll burn them out of the woods and bring the entire tribe responsible to town as slaves.”

“I can not risk that!” Nyutien nearly shouted, “You don't even know who is responsible. I can't met your demands unless I know what and who is doing this.”

“Force is going to be the only way to put them in their place.” Yu grumbled. He was maybe right, he had more experience as well hunting and taking on hostile or interloping groups before. But he was also rash, and needed to be restrained. And already Yu's dark face was glowing red with anger.

The two entered a room at the far end of a narrow hall, and Yu sat; throwing his plate onto the ground and promptly leaned over it to eat, craning his neck up like that of a crow. His long black hair dropped down to his shoulders.

“I will let you pursue them.” Nyutien said, and the wrath in Yu's face ebbed. Then Nyutien added the clincher: “But only to probe them. I don't want a direct fight. Meanwhile I want preventative measures here around the village; a wall.”

“A wall?” Yu snorted, “I'm sure they won't be able to climb it. But if I'm going to be “probing” I doubt that we'd have a wall up before I provoke something more. It's not as simple as that.”

“And how is it not that simple?” Nyutien asked.

Yu took a minute to chew through more food before entertaining the response: “Ignoring them clearly will mean they continue as-is, looting us. Probing means we may anger them and they'll attack us. Our only choice is to eliminate them wholly.”

Nyutien sat silent, watching Yu sloppily eat away. Then looked out the window. He looked back at him and said: “You don't even know where they are, do you?” he asked.

Yu looked up from his food. “I'll find out.” he said mumbling.

“So make it part of your tracking.” Nyutien said, “But in the mean time I want your men to help me build a wall.”

Yu grumbled incoherently for a minute. Sucked on his fingers as he starred at a corner in thought. Then admitted: “Alright.”

“So we have a deal.” Nyutien acknowledged with a relieved nod, “I will get things together soon. I expect you'll start picking out men to prowl the jungles then.”

“This afternoon.” Yu grumbled.

“Very well, thank you for the audience.” Nyutien said as he rose, bowing.