FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

The struggle between herbivores and carnivores was as old as time itself. The two sides had always fought each other; it was in the nature of things that one wanted to eat the other. Over time, this struggle was waged with increasingly harsh methods, and eventually the fight for survival turned into a battle for dominance in the jungle.

The law of the jungle states: The strong eat the weak. Only the strongest survive.

This was the simplest law of nature, and most animals lived by it. There were a few exceptions, but they were insignificant.

But when, eventually, first the hunted and shortly thereafter the hunters banded together and organized against the other faction, a struggle for survival turned into a war for dominance in the jungle, which would ultimately change everything.

This war, in which the goal on both sides was the total annihilation of the enemy, had now been raging for many years, and only the high birth rates and the ability of the individual species to resolve their differences among themselves and act together against the common enemy had ensured that neither side had yet been able to claim victory. And yet, the balance of power was slowly shifting in favor of the carnivores.

Many of the carnivores had been hunting in groups for ages, allowing them to coordinate their tactics with the other hunters. And as if that weren’t enough, the ability to draw sustenance and strength directly from every enemy killed on the battlefield was a major advantage that the herbivores could not match. Last but not least, the effect on the morale of the opponents, who had to watch as their comrades-in-arms were sometimes devoured right in the middle of battle and before their very eyes, should not be underestimated.

On the other side stood the herbivores, who had always held a numerical advantage. Their sheer numerical superiority had a crushing effect in some battles, and their warriors some of whom were significantly larger and heavier had simply overrun the carnivores. Nevertheless, they were rarely able to truly draw strength from a victory, for every battle also devastated parts of the jungle and thus their livelihood, while the enemy’s warriors dragged their fallen comrades back to their camps as food.

The leaders of both camps were aware that sooner or later, the carnivores would win such a war. But at what cost? And what would the predators do then?

The battle was finally over. For several hours, the two warring factions had raged against one another. The field of honor as the more poetic among them called the battlefields was a completely devastated jungle area that now resembled a churned-up field rather than the green clearing it once was. There was no green to be seen; brown was now the dominant color, and the ground was littered with pools of blood, pits filled with entrails, and the lifeless bodies of the fallen, whose mangled and filthy corpses often didn’t even serve as food anymore. There were simply too many of them to be of any real use. At least not when there were other options available. The lonely cries of those not yet dead were quickly silenced by the marauders roaming the fields in search of a quick meal. The stench of blood, incipient decay, and death filled the hot, humid air, mingling with the sounds of the scavengers feasting on the dead.

The Great Khan, ruler of the tigers of this jungle, crouched high up in a tree, surveying the battlefield or rather, what remained of it with a stony expression. His warriors, together with the jaguars and wolves, had routed a large army of herbivores. It had been a massacre in which losses on both sides had been considerable, but in the end it could still be considered a victory for the carnivores.

All over the battlefield lay the carcasses of the herbivore warriors, some of whose bodies had already been partially devoured, while the carnivore warriors were still feasting on others. The Great Khan grimly noted that these were the luckier ones, for the survivors were being dragged away, screaming and thrashing about. They would later serve as training material and food for the carnivores’ offspring in the training camps.

“My Khan, the herbivores have retreated across the river. We do not expect a counterattack before dawn.”

One of his most capable officers sat a few branches below, relaying the scouts’ information to him. The Great Khan merely nodded silently. He let his gaze wander further across the landscape before finally descending from his vantage point.

“Look at this waste.”

He said quietly in a tone of disgust and turned away. His officers did not quite understand what he meant. The battle, though hard-won, was a victory over the enemy. An enemy that was increasingly backed into a corner and had essentially already lost the war.

“Gather the troops; as soon as everyone is provisioned, we will retreat to the temple. I want to see my advisors and officers. And bring me the spy.”

The Great Khan ordered in a tone that barely concealed his weariness and retreated into the jungle. One of the officers followed close on his heels.

“My Khan, aren’t we staying here?”

“No, Shani, there’s nothing for us to do here. The battle is over. We’ll retreat and rethink our strategy.”

Shani looked around uncertainly and watched the carnivores of the other races on the battlefield, who were still smacking their lips as they feasted on the fallen.

“But what about the others?”

The Great Khan stopped and turned to her, shaking his head.

“No, look at them. They’re no better than the hyenas on the prairie. They feed on carrion. It won’t be long before, in their greed, they even devour their own fallen.”

He spat a mouthful of blood onto the ground, giving greater expression to the revulsion and hatred in his voice.

“This war has gone on too long. We’re losing our pride and our manners.”

He added as he turned to leave again. Shani looked down at the ground in shame. Of course, she, too, had eaten the enemy’s fallen. What else was she supposed to eat? Hunt? None of them had done that in years. There was nothing to hunt. The prey was the enemy; every attempt to hunt was an attack, and every battle a fight for life and death.

“But my Khan, how do you intend to end the war? If we retreat, what are we supposed to eat?”

He turned back around and looked deep into her eyes. His own eyes burned with rage, his blood-stained teeth bared.

“And if we win? What will you eat then?”

He barked, making a sweeping gesture that encompassed the entire jungle.

“If we that is, the carnivores win and drive out or eat all the herbivores, what will be left? Do you want to eat wolves? And what will they eat then?”

In his anger, the Great Khan shouted at his officer and then shook his head in disbelief.

“No, we must find another solution to this war.”

She raised her hand.

“We could capture them and breed them.”

The smile on his face reflected the desperation he felt. His voice sounded more weary than angry at that moment.

“And how do you plan to do that? How do you plan to keep enough herbivores in captivity for us to feed on? They already outnumber us ten to one, and their numbers are just enough to keep us from eating more than they can replace.”

With that, he turned to leave without waiting for her reaction.

“They would overrun us, they would rebel… and then, yes, then we would have to kill them after all.”

He added over his shoulder, leaving them standing there.

...

The Temple of the Tigers, a complex of buildings whose centerpiece was a large pyramid-shaped structure that towered higher above the treetops than any other building in the jungle. No one knew exactly who had built it; it had stood there for an eternity. The only certainty was that tigers had lived there since time immemorial and that death had been at home in this temple for at least as long. The building contained countless chambers intended for ritual sacrifices of all kinds, and the smell of blood and death was ever-present. This pyramid was surrounded by four large courtyards that had originally been used for large gatherings and festivities. Now, during the war, the youngsters were trained there for the fight against the herbivores. As a rule, the prisoners and wounded from the last battle were simply thrown to them so that they could refine their techniques on them. This also served to regulate the food supply. Death did not always come quickly to these poor souls. The victims’ screams could sometimes be heard from far away, ensuring that the herbivores always gave the temple a wide berth. Of all the carnivores, the tigers were considered the most bloodthirsty and ruthless slaughterers. To be a prisoner of the tigers promised a slow and agonizing death.

On this day, too, the tortured screams of the prisoners could already be heard from afar as the Great Khan and his entourage returned home from battle. While the guards knelt as their leader came into view, the High Priestess stood motionless at the main gate. She awaited the return of her clan chief, and when he finally stood before her, she spoke:

“My Khan, you have returned.”

It was not a question, but a statement uttered with such certainty that it left no doubt that the Great Khan always returned home. She bowed deeply, and he returned the respectful gesture.

“Let us hold a war council. Send everyone to the great hall.”

He said calmly, and the High Priestess nodded. Further formalities were unnecessary.

“Your wounds?”

The tigress inquired, taking care not to show her concern too openly. He looked down at himself and could not say for certain how much of the blood that matted his fur and stained his armor was his own. Most of his wounds were superficial and had stopped bleeding some time ago, and the rest wouldn’t matter much, at least for now. When he looked up again, he shook his head.

“The war council first.”

He decided in a calm but firm tone. The priestess nodded and cleared the way for him, whereupon the Khan entered the temple with her. The officers of his entourage followed him through the gate and immediately made their way to the great halls to prepare for the council. The Great Khan, however, first made his way to one of the large inner courtyards.

The large courtyard had once been a vast open space within the temple. Nowadays, it was dominated by several fighting pits they had set up so that, depending on the time of day and the number of people present, up to fifty youngsters could train there. The Khan walked along the colonnade connecting the outer areas of the temple to the main temple and let his gaze sweep across the courtyard. At the moment, however, only one of the pits was occupied. There, a group of young tigers was busy tearing a recently deceased water buffalo to pieces. They looked and behaved like wild animals. Sadly, the Great Khan shook his head.

*No, they ARE wild animals.*

The High Priestess approached him quietly from behind.

“Sad, isn’t it? I see their immense strength and courage, but I miss their humility and grace.”

She said softly, the melancholy in her voice clearly audible. The Great Khan nodded silently. This had little in common with the Ruler of the Jungle, as his tribe had once been called. Of all the carnivores in this jungle, they were by far the strongest. Even the jaguars couldn’t keep up with them in this area. But strength alone did not make a ruler.

“Yes, we have already reached a low point, and this war will demand even more of us. We must end it.”

The High Priestess placed a hand on his shoulder and nodded.

“But how do you plan to do that?”

For the second time that day, he was asked how he intended to end a battle that could not be ended so easily, for tigers would not become herbivores, nor would jaguars and wolves, which constituted the other two major groups of carnivores. He was still deep in thought when a fight broke out in the courtyard among the tigers over a piece of meat that several of them were claiming. Torn from his musings by the noise, the Great Khan rolled his eyes, straightened up and breathed heavily before storming into the courtyard.

His roar was deafening.

“Enough!”

He roared, and the young tigers reflexively dropped to their knees before their leader.

“How low have you sunk. A disgrace before the ancestors. Not only do you no longer observe the ancient rites and have no respect for your prey, but you fight each other for food even though there is more than enough for all of you. Explain yourselves, or as surely as I stand here before you, I will personally send you to your ancestors. Then you can explain it to them.”

He screamed, completely beside himself. It wouldn’t have taken much, and he would probably have killed them on the spot. One of them, the largest and likely the oldest of the group, stood up. He was covered head to toe in the buffalo’s blood, and you could see how hard he was fighting his pride. Defiance burned in his eyes.

“That is the enemy. We kill the enemy so that we…”

He didn’t get any further before he was thrown backward by the force of the impact, dragging two more of his companions with him. Even as he pulled his fist back and straightened up again, the Great Khan began his tirade:

“That...”

He pointed at the carcass to his right as he screamed. Spit and drops of blood flew from his wide-open mouth as he continued to berate the youngsters.

“…That’s not the enemy. That’s prey. He was old and weak. No threat. He served to teach you how to kill them. The enemy. The enemy is out there. The true enemy is the one you don’t see coming.”

At this point, he was beyond rage as he turned toward the carcass and took a deep breath. It spoke to his ability to bring his state of mind under control in the blink of an eye that he suddenly appeared completely serene as he closed its lifeless eyes and recited the ancient rites with absolute calm. He thanked it for its sacrifice and wished it a safe journey. Having finished the ancient rites, he turned back to the young ones. His anger had faded, but his whiskers were still quivering.

“In battle, we cannot perform the rites; there is no time for that. But here, where there is no longer any danger after his death, that is where you perform the rites. Only through his sacrifice can you live. His death secures your meal. Be grateful, for goodness’ sake, and show some respect!”

The young tiger, whom he had sent to the ground just moments before, stood up and was about to reply.

“But...”

His companions, however, held him back and bowed deeply.

“Forgive him, Great Khan, he is still young.”

This apology infuriated the Great Khan even more, but he swallowed his anger.

“If I ever see anything like that again…”

He left the threat hanging in the air, unspoken, and turned away.

With heavy steps, he left the courtyard, his shoulders slumped. Before he even reached the colonnade again, he spat out another mouthful of blood.

As he passed the High Priestess, his voice sounded as cold as ice.

“Make sure someone teaches them some manners, or I will.”

Without waiting for a reply, he stomped down the corridor toward the great hall. On the way, he looked at his hand. He had broken at least three or four of the youngster's ribs. It was a miracle that he had been able to stand up at all. The descendants of his tribe were undoubtedly tough.

Finally arriving in the great hall, he was already expected. The great hall was one of the larger rooms in the temple. The Great Khans of the past had chosen this room as their throne hall, where they gathered their people, held feasts, or, as today, council of war. In times of peace, the hall was filled with tables and benches so that large banquets could be held, but now the room was empty except for a large table in the center and the massive stone throne against the back wall of the room.

His advisors, his officers, and his spy were already waiting for him. They were gathered around the large table in the center of the room and were just having the latest information on the enemy’s movements shown to them on a large map.

“The wolves have advanced as far as the waterfalls with two regiments. The jaguars attacked a herbivore position and were decisively defeated. That was here in the lowlands. Our battle here in the fields was a hard-fought victory. The army of water buffalo and tapirs was decimated and retreated across the river. We do not expect a counterattack before morning.”

Explained one of the officers, pointing with a staff at various points on the map. Another moved some figurines around, representing the various troops and regiments. Even before the Great Khan approached the table, his spy stepped up to him and stopped him.

“My Khan, there is news from the mountains. The herbivores will not survive the winter. The war is over.”

Whispered the spy with a mischievous grin, then held a small vial up to the Great Khan’s eyes and continued:

“And the leader of the water buffaloes will have a rude awakening tomorrow or rather, his calf will not wake up tomorrow.”

At the sidelong glance the Great Khan cast his way, the grin vanished from the spy’s face. Everyone present knew that the Great Khan was a traditionalist. Battles on the field of honor were a necessary evil that could not be avoided, and it was an honor for every warrior to die in such battles. These underhanded assassinations, especially against the enemy’s non-combatants, went against his sense of honor. He knew, however, that it was necessary to break the enemy’s morale in order to end the war as quickly as possible. Grimly, he walked past the spy toward the others and called out to them from a distance:

“I know. If you want to end a war quickly and in the most ‘humane’ way possible, you have to wage it as brutally as possible. But our enemies’ children? In their sleep?”

He was not so much angry as he was disappointed. An advisor was about to offer an explanation, but one of the officers held him back.

“We will end this war.”

That was an order, not a request. The Great Khan’s tone brooked no argument. As he approached the map, he looked around and gave each of those present a piercing glance.

“We are degenerating. Our warriors are no better than wild beasts. We are no better than those scavengers of the prairie. And if we are not careful, we will soon, just like those scavengers, be reduced to eating even our own dead.”

The Khan began, stepping up to the table. Breathing heavily, he leaned on the table, leaving bloody handprints behind.

“If we are to emerge victorious in any way and still have an empire worth ruling, then we must be the only carnivores to emerge from this war.”

He gave those present time for his words to sink in and for them to realize what they meant. When he saw that everyone had understood, he spoke the words the others dared not utter. His voice was soft, but it held so much cold-blooded hatred that the temperature in the room seemed to drop noticeably.

“We will kill or drive out the wolves, the jaguars, and all the other carnivores. We will claim the entire jungle for ourselves. The wolves outnumber us, but they are weak. Their hunting tactics allow them to take down even large prey, but they are powerless against ambushes, and in a direct confrontation, we are vastly superior to them. And while the jaguars are strong and fast, their numbers are small. The rest of the smaller tribes will offer no significant resistance.”

He picked up one of the statues from the map, which depicted a wolf. He examined it, turning it over and over in his hand. He looked at his officers and snapped off the wolf’s head with his thumb. The head, smeared with their leader’s blood, clattered onto the table, and the Khan smiled cruelly.

“We will eliminate the wolves first. The jaguars will help us. We will argue that we must stand together as felines and that these dogs are unworthy of us. In their pride to prove themselves against us, these spotted ones will be foolish enough to fall for it.”

He explained, turning to his spy.

“You will ensure that the wolves fall into an ambush, and then you will ensure that they...”

He handed the broken figurine to his spy.

“...are a little headless.”

The spy sensed his chance to make up for his leader’s disapproval and nodded before retreating silently. Then the Khan looked at his advisors.

“You will find out exactly how many jaguars are ready for battle at this moment and how many troops we can deploy.”

With these words, he turned his gaze to his officers.

“The scouts will tell us where to expect the herbivores’ next attacks. I want to surprise the jaguars in battle. Then, when they least expect it.”

One of the officers raised his hand.

“But the warwhat about the herbivores? What if they attack?”

He asked anxiously, and the Great Khan fixed him with his gaze; his voice was no more than a whisper.

“Then they will die alongside the jaguars. But it won’t come to that.”

He straightened up and looked at the small pool of blood that had formed around his right foot. Breathing heavily, he turned away from the table and walked to his throne. He sank heavily onto the stone.

“I suppose I do need a healer after all. And send Pequeña Franja to me. I have a task for her.”

He said, gasping for breath. Those present looked at their leader, and he looked back at them.

“You have your tasks. Dismissed.”

His voice sounded tired and annoyed as he let himself fall back against the backrest of his throne. His advisors and officers bowed and then left the great hall without a word. Finally alone, he closed his eyes and tried to relax.

*Just a moment... a moment of peace...*

When he opened his eyes again, one of his healers was busy tending to his wounds. He wasn’t really surprised; rather, he was annoyed with himself. He took a deep breath and looked at his arms and the various bandages that had already been applied.

“How long…?”

The healer didn’t look up but continued to tend to one of the wounds on his leg. He sounded deeply focused as he replied:

“Well, I don’t know exactly, but I’ve been at work for at least an hour, my Khan.”

The Khan’s groan sounded annoyed, and as he leaned his head against the back of his throne, he noticed another movement out of the corner of his eye.

“Come here, Pequeña Franja.”

He whispered softly, without turning his head in her direction. At his command, the petite figure stepped out from the shadow of a curtain and approached his throne completely silently. She knelt elegantly a few steps away from him and waited for instructions.

“I have a task for you.”

She nodded slightly but made no sound as the Great Khan continued:

“You will go to the herbivores’ headquarters. And deliver a message to their leader.”

Now she looked up, her dark blue eyes sparkling.

“No, not that kind of message. That might come later.”

Whispered the leader of the Tigers, his voice tinged with unmistakable affection. She lowered her gaze again.

“I want you to tell them that we will end this war. And that we will accept their surrender. Provided... yes, provided they submit to us...”

He paused mid-sentence and looked down at his healer with anguish. The healer, however, did not stop but continued sewing in silence. With a sigh, the Great Khan turned back to his best assassin. She was significantly smaller than the other tigers in his clan, and unlike her clanmates, only a few orange stripes adorned her fur. Even at a young age, she had stood out for her ability to hide and lie in wait for others. Now she used her talents to take out high-ranking targets or when it came to reliably carrying out impossible tasks for the Great Khan.

“...We’ll take care of the wolves first, take them out of the picture, and then they’ll help us in an ambush against the jaguars. It will be a bloody battle, but afterward, all the other carnivores will be gone. Only we and the herbivores will remain... And then there will be peace.”

He beckoned her closer. Her movements as she rose and took the final steps toward him were unbelievably graceful. She seemed to float, and though she was clothed, not the slightest sound could be heard. Not even her breath. Only her steady heartbeat, that rhythmic thudding in her chest, betrayed that she was alive at all. He placed his hand on her waist.

“Be careful. They won’t make it easy for you. They won’t believe you. They know who you are and what you’re capable of. I don’t want to lose you, but you’re the only one who can do this.”

His voice was full of concern, and his pained smile mirrored that emotion as he nodded to her. She looked at him for what seemed like an eternity, her feelings as inscrutable as her intentions; only her eyes served as a window into her soul, but even their dark blue remained unmoved. She finally nodded silently, and just as quietly as she had come, she vanished back into the shadows.

“She gives me goosebumps.”

Said the healer with a shudder as he bandaged the now-stitched wound on the Great Khan’s leg.

“Yes, she is quite special. But no one else would be up to the task. And even with her, I’m not sure if she’ll come back in one piece.”

The healer nodded. The leader of the herbivores was a truly ferocious bull. He was every bit as fierce as the tigers. Whenever he was involved in a fight, the losses on the carnivores’ side were terrifying. So far, they had not managed to take him out. But after the recent events and with the news that he would likely lose his calf that night, that might change.

The Great Khan took a deep breath. Perhaps he could frame it so that the jaguars were blamed for the death of his calf; that would be wonderfully useful for eliminating the competition.

“Done, my Khan.”

Announced the healer, standing up. He was one of the older tigers. His fur was shaggy and dull, and his eyes had lost their luster. He had worked too hard in recent years, but that was unavoidable. With the war came the wounded. Even before the war, the carnivores’ way of life had repeatedly led to the tribe’s warriors getting injured on the hunt, and injuries had also occurred time and again during training fights, but since the war began, he and his people had been on duty practically around the clock. Often the warriors’ wounds had not yet fully healed before they were back on his table again. There had never been a ceasefire long enough for the fighters of the various factions to recover completely; they did not want to grant the enemy that luxury.

The Great Khan nodded wearily. He was grateful to his healer, but at the moment he was capable of nothing more than a weary nod and a faint smile. The healer bowed briefly and withdrew. He left the ruler alone with his troubled thoughts. And lost in thought, the Great Khan drifted back into an exhausted sleep.

The following days were marked by frantic activity.

Contrary to expectations, the herbivores’ major counterattack had not taken place. The shock of losing his calf had hit the water buffalo leader harder than the carnivores had anticipated. His warriors had remained in their camps, mourning. Without the support of the water buffalo’s large and strong fighters, the other herbivores were not bold enough to venture an attack on their own. Minor skirmishes broke out between the warring factions at various locations; depending on the terrain and the composition of the troops, these skirmishes sometimes ended in favor of the carnivores and sometimes in favor of the herbivores, but neither side was able to gain a real advantage.

Behind the front lines, in the carnivores’ camps, the situation was similar.

Even though the war was generally going in their favor, things looked anything but rosy for the carnivores. The tigers’ spies were able to report that the jaguars’ troop strength was significantly lower than they had previously assumed. Circumstances in recent years had led to a significant decline in the birth rate, and without enough offspring, it was impossible to replenish the ranks of fallen warriors. The big cats would not see a significant increase in troop strength in the coming years either. They would certainly agree to a decisive battle in which they, together with the tigers, would emerge victorious.

The wolves, though far more numerous, were spread out across a front line that was far too wide and would never be able to withstand a concentrated attack by the herbivores. Their Alpha was well aware of this, but could do nothing to change it. Sooner or later, the war would stretch their ranks too thin, and then their flanks would be unprotected. So they, too, would not stand in the way of a war’s end in which the carnivores emerged victorious.

But even for the tigers, it wasn’t all sunshine and roses. Even though the tigers were a powerful force on paper, and their fighters were far more numerous than those of the jaguars, they were still fewer than the wolves.

Which is why the extermination of the wolves was the top priority. Furthermore, a significant number of their warriors were injured; some of them would likely never be able to fight or hunt again, and the young warriors were not yet ready to be deployed to the front lines. The Great Khan’s plan was extremely risky, and if even the slightest thing went wrong, the whole endeavor would backfire.

Nevertheless, messengers were sent out to negotiate with the other carnivores and plan the next steps. The tigers knew that these factions, just like the herbivores, had their own spies and were most likely aware of the situation in the other camps.

It was almost a surprise when both the jaguars and the wolves accepted the plan the Great Khan had proposed. The trap behind it was so obvious that none of the other parties noticed it.

They would provoke the herbivores into a major attack and use the wolves as decoys. They would retreat in stages, luring the enemy out of its reserves. Once the herbivores had advanced too far, the tigers and jaguars would strike at their flanks and encircle a large number of enemies. All that would follow would be a bloodbath in which the enemy would be completely wiped out, including its leaders. This victory would seal the end of the war.

So far, so simple. That was the plan the wolves knew. The jaguars knew the following plan:

As soon as the wolves retreated, the jaguars would fall back as well. If the wolves who were normally specialized in assault tactics and unfamiliar with the art of retreat fell into disarray, the jaguars would strike, and the tigers would attack the wolves from behind. Once the wolves were out of the picture, the big cats would deal with the herbivores. The war was essentially already won.

The jaguars were only too happy to get rid of a competitor in the struggle for dwindling food resources. What they didn’t know was that the Great Khan would be only too happy to outmaneuver them as well.

There was just one crucial catch to the plan: for it to work at all, the herbivores had to play along, and that was far from certain. If the information his spies had gathered was even half true, the balance of power between them and the carnivores wasn’t nearly as clear-cut as it seemed. If the herbivores waited until the big cats had taken out the wolves which would certainly lead to further losses on their side then it would be entirely possible for them to simply overrun the tigers and jaguars. The Great Khan was putting all his eggs in one basket with his plan and hoped that the bull’s wrath was entirely directed at the jaguars.

However, he still didn’t know whether the herbivores would play along at all, for he had not yet received word from Pequeña Franja. There were several possibilities for this, none of which left the tribal chief with a good feeling.

...

A few days earlier at the herbivores’ camp:

The herbivores’ main camp was situated on a mountainside, stretching from the foot of the mountain almost to the summit. Originally, it had been the largest settlement of the water buffalos, but when war broke out between the herbivores and the carnivores and it quickly became clear that the water buffalos were the strongest among them, a veritable mass migration began. Over the years, the settlement which had once been sprawling, with its large, green open spaces became a densely packed ghetto where one small hut nestled against the next. Where herbs and fodder plants had once been cultivated, the fighters’ barracks now stood, and where visitors had once been welcomed, meter-high palisades had been erected, their reinforced gates denying access to any stranger.

Even if an attacker were to breach these gates, they would find themselves facing a labyrinth of small, winding alleys in which even the inhabitants sometimes got lost. Deeper inside the camp, there were further fortifications that made an attack on the upper districts of the settlement even more difficult. These were decisive advantages when it came to defending the camp against attackers, and thus far, no attack had succeeded.

At the same time, the constant influx of new residents had led to the complete disappearance of the many green spaces that had previously covered most of their food needs. There was practically no food left within the settlement, and for every single meal, the herbivores had to leave the safety of their camp.

Each of these expeditions into the wilderness was accompanied by the very real risk of falling prey to one of the carnivores, who were well aware of this situation. Almost daily, there were attacks by the wolves, who waited in the nearby thicket for one or another herbivore to stray even a single step too far from the guards who usually accompanied the settlement’s foragers, in the hope of keeping losses as low as possible.

Meanwhile, in the camp itself, all signs pointed to an impending catastrophe.

Gordito Torro, the mighty leader of the water buffalos the largest, heaviest, and strongest of the herbivores sat slumped on his throne. Following the death of his only offspring, he had neither eaten nor drunk for several days and was lost in his grief. Several of his subordinates who had tried to encourage him to at least eat or drink something had literally been thrown out of his chambers. Since then, no one dared approach him, for fear of incurring the bull’s wrath.

For a time, this had not been a major problem, as the carnivores had also kept a low profile, but now things had changed, and recent events urgently demanded the bull’s attention. Their spies had reported bustling activity in the enemy’s camps and large troop movements, and all of this pointed to a single conclusion: the carnivores were preparing for a decisive battle. They that is, the herbivores would have to decide how to deal with these new circumstances, for if they allowed their opponents too much time to prepare, they would fall behind. The water buffalos, their strongest warriors, however, would not march into battle without a direct order from their leader.

And then there was that other matter…

Standing before the door to his chambers was one of the bull’s advisors. A nervous, gaunt okapi, the stress of the past weeks and months evident in the dark circles under his eyes. He was accompanied by two guards, large, proud water buffaloes, with a prisoner standing between them. They had come all the way from the lower camp to the bull’s chambers, and now the advisor hesitated; though his hand was raised, he did not dare to knock on his leader’s door. His breath trembled, and he looked around at his companions for help, but the guards did not move, and the prisoner merely stared at him silently, with that unsettling smile that never left her lips.

Since help was denied him, he turned back to the door, swallowed hard, and prepared to…

“Come in…”

The voice from inside sounded hoarse and weary. Startled, the advisor took a step back, nearly colliding with one of the guards, who prevented him from retreating any further. He was roughly shoved back toward the door, and for a moment he had the feeling that the guards took a malicious pleasure in seeing him suffer. The advisor swallowed again and raised his slender hand to the doorknob. As he cautiously opened the door, always ready to dodge a thrown object, a scene of devastation unfolded before him. His leader’s chamber lay in semi-darkness, for the shutters on the windows were closed, allowing only a sparse trickle of light to seep into the room. Dust danced in the glow of the light flooding in from the door, and his long shadow stretched almost to the debris that dominated the room. All the furniture had been completely dismantled and was scattered throughout the room. Deep in the shadows, where no light penetrated, stood the bull’s throne, the only piece of furniture to have survived their leader’s wrath. It had been carved from a massive tree trunk and still stood upright, and upon it sat or rather, slumped Gordito Torro, his elbows resting on his knees, his back, which no enemy had ever been able to break, bent, and his head hanging low.

“What do you want…?”

Asked the bull without straightening up; he sounded hoarse and utterly exhausted. The one addressed took a step to the side, revealing the prisoner.

“W… we’ve managed to capture this spy… and there’s troubling news from the front.”

The okapi was agitated and stammered as he presented his case, whereupon the bull slowly raised his head and fixed his bloodshot eyes on the captive.

“What does the front have to do with me?”

His reply was more of a statement, an acknowledgment of the overall situation, than a question, yet the advisor gasped. He did not dare, however, to contradict his leader, who seemed to be focusing solely on the prisoner. She was clearly a predatory cat, and even though she was quite petite, her gender was unmistakable. The sparse clothing she wore beautifully accentuated her slender figure, typical of her species, and her deep blue eyes sparkled like sapphires in her otherwise jet-black face. For a prisoner of war in the midst of her enemies, she remained surprisingly relaxed; it almost seemed as though she felt comfortable in her position. She had her hands behind her back, and her tail swayed calmly back and forth.

After a moment of silence, during which she and the bull locked eyes, she looked up at one of the two guards with a smile. The two water buffaloes were almost twice her size. Muscular, battle-hardened warriors who could easily crush a small feline like her like a straw. The guard reacted sluggishly and looked down at the prisoner, who turned elegantly toward him and handed him the shackles they had fastened on her at the gate. Caught completely off guard, the warrior took the shackles and looked at her in bewilderment, while the prisoner stretched with relish and turned back toward the bull. She raised her hands and took a step toward him.

She didn’t get any further, for the guards’ shock at her nonchalant “escape” lasted only briefly. The guard to her left reached for her, while the one to her right dropped the shackles and grabbed his club. It all happened so fast, and yet it felt as though the massive warriors were moving in slow motion. The feline moved so fluidly and so quickly that she simply evaded all attacks and attempts to pin her down again. She didn’t even try to attack the two guards, but simply stayed out of their reach. Grunting and panting, the guards spun around on their heels to keep up with the prisoner’s elfin movements; she still made not a sound, but simply danced around the two of them with a quiet grin. She seemed to tire not at all, or even exert herself, while her opponents were already showing clear signs of exhaustion.

“Enough!”

The bull roared from his chambers, thereby saving the honor of his warriors, who were unable to recapture the agile cat. Upon hearing his thunderous cry, the advisor, the guards, and the now-freed prisoner stood rooted to the spot. Gordito Torro laboriously rose from his throne and looked at the still-grinning, completely calm big cat.

“Are you here to kill me?”

He asked with an eerie calm in his voice that suggested he had already come to terms with that possibility, as he slowly approached her. With a wave of his hand, he signaled to his subordinates to step back, and suddenly she stood alone before the leader of the herbivores, looking up at him. Next to his massive body, the little tigress looked like a dwarf.

“I know who you are, Little Stripe. Are you here to finish what your accomplices started?”

He asked quietly, though there was no real hostility in his voice rather, it was resignation in the face of the inevitable. She listened to him intently, pricked up her ears, and then tilted her head as if in thought; finally, she opened her hands, shrugged, and made a vague gesture with them.

“She won’t talk. We’ve tried everything…”

The advisor admitted, which earned him only a weary sideways glance from his leader.

“Of course she won’t talk. She’s mute. Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t speak.”

The bull explained, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. When he looked down again at the assassin before him, she was smiling broadly, and her large blue eyes were practically glowing.

Gordito Torro took a deep breath and looked at his subordinates.

“You may go. If she’d wanted to kill me, you’d all be dead already.”

He ordered curtly and turned to Pequeña Franja.

“So, Little Stripe, what are you doing here? Why did the Great Khan send you?”

The bull asked wearily. She glanced around briefly and then pointed to the bull’s chambers. He nodded and cleared the way for her. Meanwhile, the advisor gasped for air to complain that they wouldn’t leave their leader alone with an enemy assassin, while the guards merely nodded silently. The feline, however, passed the bull with a relaxed smile on her lips and entered the bull’s chambers, only to stop barely five steps into the room in front of the completely smashed table.

“Go on now. I can manage on my own.”

Gordito Torro ordered angrily, pushing the advisor aside.

“B… but…”

The advisor got no further before the door slammed shut in his face.

As he closed the door, he also shut out the world outside his chambers. Even though the door was anything but soundproof, it still significantly muffled the sounds of the camp, leaving behind a strangely loud silence in which the bull’s breathing was the only thing audible for a moment. He was still standing by the door, watching his guest, who stood motionless before the remains of his table. The only thing moving were the dust particles dancing through the few narrow beams of light shining in through the slats in the shutters. She stood less than three steps away from him, and the fact that she remained there completely motionless and utterly silent sent an icy shiver down his spine.

The bull was certain that the Great Khan had sent his best assassin for a reason, and he wouldn’t learn that reason unless he asked her, so he steeled himself and approached cautiously. When he stood directly behind her, he could look over her shoulder and saw that she was examining a small, delicate wooden figurine that she had undoubtedly picked up from the rubble. His eyes widened, and with a gentleness one would not have expected from this massive warrior, he took the small figurine from her hand.

“It belonged to my daughter.”

He said softly, his massive fingers closing tenderly around the figurine.

“My only daughter.”

He added, and though the sadness in his voice was unmistakable, there was something else there as well anger and revulsion vied for dominance in the undertones of his voice. Slowly and heavily, he walked past the assassin, and when he looked into her face, he could clearly see that she, too, was struggling with this situation.

“I see you’re familiar with the concept of grief and loss. After that act, I wasn’t entirely sure if you carnivores were even capable of feeling such things.”

He noted wearily before carefully placing the small figure on the armrest of his throne and turning back to Pequeña, who still stood unmoved before him in the room. He sighed and began gathering the largest pieces of debris from his table and a chair, stacking them so they could at least be used as a makeshift seat. When he was done, he slumped onto his throne with a groan and gestured toward the makeshift chair he’d cobbled together for her.

“And now explain to me why you’re here, if you’re not here to kill me.”

Obeying his request, Pequeña Franja sat down on the makeshift chair and leaned against the structure that was supposed to be a table. It looked as though she was searching for something on the floor before she apparently found it and picked up several pieces of debris, placing them on the table. Gordito Torro watched the little tigress closely as she lined up the four pieces of wood on the tabletop. After rearranging the logs several times, she picked up the first piece, held it up, and pointed at herself. The bull nodded; this piece represented the tigers. Pequeña nodded as well and put the wood back in its place before taking the second piece and showing it to him. She pointed at him and made a gesture that encompassed the entire camp. The bull nodded again; this piece was meant to represent the herbivores. After putting this one back as well, she took a third piece and held it up. She stretched out her snout and mimicked pointed ears. This time, too, the meaning was clear: wolves. She did the same thing with the last piece, only this time she puffed herself up and made a roaring gesture. The bull couldn't help but let out a small grin. Yes, the jaguars liked to show off.

Now that all the characters were known, the assassin arranged the “figures” on the table. The herbivores on one side, the carnivores on the other, just as one would expect. The bull raised an eyebrow at this, but Pequeña Franja shook her head and then removed the tiger figure from the group of carnivores. This piqued the curiosity of the large water buffalo, who now tilted his head. Then she took the figure of the wolves and placed it in the middle of the table, pulling the herbivores toward them.

“A battle?”

Asked the bull, but the little tigress slowly shook her head. As she moved the herbivores’ figure toward the wolves, she slowly pulled the wolves’ figure back toward the jaguars and let the herbivores follow them.

“An ambush.”

The bull stated dryly, and Pequeña Franja didn’t contradict him this time, but she raised a finger to get his attention. Once she had pulled the wolves back a bit, she took the jaguars and attacked the wolves’ flank with them.

“Ooooohhh...”

The bull leaned forward; now things were getting really interesting. On the table, the jaguars were engaged in a skirmish with the wolves, then she took the tigers and used them to attack the wolves from behind. For a moment, nothing happened, but finally she slowly looked up at him. Her eyes glowed in the semi-darkness of his chambers before she knocked over the wolf statue with a grim smile. The bull’s vice-like paws clamped around the armrests of his throne as he saw this.

“I see… and then.”

Honest curiosity resonated in his voice as he watched her place the statue of the jaguars over that of the wolves. They now stood between the herbivores and the tigers, then the little assassin pushed them from both sides toward the jaguars. This made the bull prick up his ears, and he raised his eyebrows. Pequeña looked over at him, and her grin was frightening as she finally brought down the jaguars as well. The dull “thud” as the wood fell underscored the flash of her fangs in the few rays of light reaching her through the blinds on the windows. Now only the tigers and the herbivores remained. Now she took both of them, placed them in the center, and looked over at the bull again, her finger resting on the herbivore’s head.

“So you want to end this…”

The bull observed, leaning back on his throne. She flattened her ears and looked at the two figures, then at the bull.

“We will not surrender without a fight.”

There was a deceptive calm in his voice, and the tigress nodded knowingly. Then she removed her finger from the herbivore figure, picked up the figure representing the jaguars, and rose fluidly from her makeshift chair. She circled the table and moved toward it with an unnatural elegance. There was something hypnotic about her utterly silent movements as she undulated her hips and let her tail swing behind her with every step she took toward him. She was only two or three of her small steps away when her grin vanished and she laid her ears so flat against her head that it almost looked as if she had none at all. The bull watched her every move and tensed. What would she do? Did she really expect them to surrender without a fight? And if they didn’t, would she kill him after all?

The little black tigress finally stopped in front of him. Even sitting down, he was still taller than her and looked down on her petite figure.

*If I’m fast enough, maybe I can…*

But his train of thought was interrupted when she presented him with the piece of wood depicting the jaguars. The bull looked at her small hands and swallowed. Then she slowly reached for the figurine of his daughter, while he watched her as if hypnotized. He didn’t resist when she took his huge hand and placed the figurine of his daughter inside it, after she had shown it to him again. The water buffalo’s breathing quickened slightly, and then she took the jaguar figure and showed it to him. Now Gordito Torro tensed and his eyes widened, and as she placed the figure in her hand with her eyes closed onto his daughter’s and closed his hand, tears welled up in the bull’s eyes.

Even as he struggled with his emotions, Pequeña Franja slowly withdrew and walked around the table, back to her seat. The elegance of her movements found no audience this time, however, for the bull stared only at the fist that the little assassin had filled with an implication that threatened to tear him apart.

Grief threatened to overwhelm him, but his rage toward the raiders who had taken his daughter from him kept him from simply collapsing. He would not allow himself to fully surrender to his grief until he had hunted down the one responsible for his daughter’s death and with him, his entire damned clan.

Slowly he raised his head, and through the veil of his tears, he looked over at Pequeña Franja, who was holding the two remaining figures the tiger and the herbivore. When she realized she had his attention, she brought them together, just as children play with dolls when they make them fight. It was what he had expected, but she didn’t show him how the fight ended; instead, she set them back on the table and shook her finger in a gesture of disapproval. Instead, she stood up again and approached him once more. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her; her gentle, swaying movements held him spellbound as she placed one foot in front of the other. His jaw trembled with tension, and he stiffened as she stepped right up to him this time. This time she didn’t flatten her ears, and his grief was reflected in her blue eyes. Carefully, almost gently, she placed her hands on his, which seemed so incredibly huge in comparison to hers. Her hands felt like silk smooth, supple, soft, yet also fleeting, elusive, and astonishingly cold while his were rough, marked by battles and hard farm work; they were strong and unyielding, but despite all the scars and calluses that adorned his leathery skin, they were warm and soft in a way that didn’t quite seem to fit him. She took one of his hands and guided it to her chest. There she opened his hand and placed it on her sternum. She did the same to him.

She remained like that for a moment, feeling his heartbeat, sensing it synchronize with hers, then she looked deep into his eyes and formed the words with her lips:

“No more war.”

When she took her hand from his chest and placed it on his cheek, the bull finally collapsed.

Pequeña Franja simply stood there, holding his hand on her chest and her hand on his cheek as the only support the leader of the herbivores had at that moment. All barriers broke down, and the great bull sobbed, trembling, as he pressed the hand bearing his daughter’s image to his chest. His head weighed heavily on her hand, and the tears he could no longer hold back soaked her fur, but she remained motionless, remained strong where he could not, and gave him what none of his own had been able to give him until now: peace.

It took over an hour for him to calm down. When he finally lifted his head and looked into her eyes with his swollen, bloodshot eyes, he repeated her words.

“No more war.”

They sounded harsh, and there was so much hatred in them that she didn’t quite believe him; yet she slowly and carefully withdrew her hand from his cheek, careful not to hurt him, and let go of his hand resting on her chest. She nodded slightly and silently affirmed.

“No more war.”

The bull’s jaw clenched as he slowly withdrew his hand, rubbed his fingers together, and finally raised them to his face. He leaned back, took a deep breath, and wiped the tears from his eyes; then he looked first at his wet hand, and then his gaze fell on his fist, which still held the jaguar statue and the small figurine of his daughter. Trembling, he took a deep breath and opened his hand. As he looked inside, unbridled hatred, unchecked rage, but also endless sorrow and a weariness were reflected on his face emotions Pequeña could understand all too well.

“We can only end this war if the carnivores disappear.”

He said quietly, his voice hoarse and choked with tears, then the bull slowly looked up at her. The little assassin still stood motionless before him and tilted her head slightly. Her eyes seemed so infinitely calm, one wanted to lose oneself in them, but she raised one of her eyebrows as if to ask, “All of them?”

“At least some of them have to disappear…”

He corrected himself before taking the jaguar figurine and simply crushing it in his other hand. Even Pequeña had to admit that this casual display of his sheer physical strength was impressive. The crunching and cracking of the wood in his hand was eerie in the otherwise silent room. Only when the now completely destroyed piece of wood finally fell to the floor did he look at her again. He had pressed his lips together so tightly that they were almost white.

“...and the wolves, too.”

He finally added, after the last splinters of the jaguar had also found their way to the floor. The tigress nodded silently.

“Is the Great Khan certain of his course? Will the plan succeed?”

Asked the bull, his dark eyes sparkling beneath his massive brows. She made a vague gesture but finally nodded.

“And this plan will only work if we play along.”

It was a statement, not a question. He looked at the remaining figure in his hand and turned it slowly back and forth as he gathered his thoughts.

Actually, he just wanted to retreat to his chambers. He was far from having come to terms with his grief, and his heart demanded that he give in to it; at the same time, it cried out for vengeance and drove him to take his best warriors and storm the Jaguars’ camp to hunt down this King of Talons. His reason, however, argued that it was completely pointless to set out alone now when there was a chance to perhaps end the war altogether.

Finally, he looked up again.

“Hopefully he knows that with something like this, there’s only one shot, and if it goes wrong, it won’t just be him…”

Once again, the assassin before him nodded.

“What good does it do us if there’s still a clan of predators in the jungle after the war? It’s not as if the tigers would stop eating meat.”

His tone was filled with resignation, yet he looked at her hopefully; after all, miracles did happen, so why not? His hope was dashed, however, when she raised her eyebrows, took a deep breath, and shook her head with her lips pressed together.

“I figured as much.”

The bull admitted, rubbing his eyes a little before sighing.

“It would have been too good to be true, wouldn’t it?”

He asked, though the question wasn’t directed at the tigress in front of him. With some effort, he rose from his throne, the armrests creaking under the weight. Pequeña took a step back, but remained standing before him.

“I think…”

He growled, straightening up very slowly to his full height. Now that he was standing truly upright before her for the first time, the little assassin looked almost like a small child next to his truly enormous body. He placed a heavy hand on her shoulder and squeezed it gently before continuing:

“…it’s the choice of the lesser evil. A clan of carnivores is better than three clans full of bloodthirsty killing machines.”

She placed her hand on his and smiled gently, then nodded slowly.

“Choosing the lesser evil...”

Gordito Torro murmured, more to himself than to her, as he looked down at her.

“We’ll help you, but only on one condition.”

He warned earnestly, raising his index finger, whereupon the little tigress tilted her head and waited.

“You’ll do me a favor when all this is over…”

What he said next made her eyes widen.

...

The days leading up to the decisive battle passed quickly, and both the herbivores and the carnivores mobilized all available reserves for this final battle. When they finally gathered in a clearing in the middle of the jungle on the day of the battle for the muster, the carnivores’ army was formidable. The Great Khan, together with the King of Talons and the Alpha, surveyed how their warriors were lining up, and pride flooded the leaders. As expected, the wolves had provided the most fighters, followed by the tigers, who had marched out everyone who was even halfway ready for action, and finally came the jaguars, numerically the weakest among the predators, but they were never to be underestimated.

The sight was breathtaking, and yet the Khan still harbored doubts as to whether his plan would ultimately succeed and whether the herbivores were truly sticking to the plan. He still hadn’t received any word from Pequeña Franja, and slowly he began to fear the worst. However, he would have no time to dwell too much on his thoughts; he had to keep up appearances and devise a battle plan.

The other two leaders, along with a small group of their most loyal officers, were already standing around the large table, on which they had spread out a map of the area and where some of the officers were already busily placing markers.

As the Great Khan gathered his thoughts, he took the few steps over to his allies to hear the latest reports from their scouts and spies and then set the plan in motion. When he reached the table, one of the Tigers was just placing the marker for the herbivore army on the map.

“The scouts have located the Herbivore Army roughly here.”

Explained the warrior, whose armor bore the insignia of the Khan’s Elite Guard. His clawed hand was already pointing the large marker toward a mountainside north of their position.

“About two hours at a normal marching pace, though we expect them to be moving more slowly. The army is truly massive; we suspect they’ve mobilized everything they have left.”

The tiger added, straightening up again. The Alpha studied the map and nodded as the King of Talons pointed to another area on the map.

“Then they’ll likely come from there and attack. That would be ideal for what we have planned. If only we could lure them here...“

he explained, drawing a path to a small valley nearby.

“...then they’ll be trapped in the valley and we can attack them from all sides.”

The leaders looked at the valley basin on the map, which they had chosen precisely for that reason. Now the Alpha began to pant, something he always did when excitement took hold of him.

“My vanguard is already on its way. We’ll lure them into following us there. Stay ready there so we can attack them from three sides. Today this war ends, and we will be victorious.”

The excitement made him sound almost shrill, while he could barely control his tail. He was ready for battle and longed to sink his fangs into his prey, but he would have to be patient, for if he struck too soon, the plan would fail and the herbivores would overrun him and his army. The King of Talons nodded silently while the Great Khan smiled.

*Conceited as always, stupid dogs...*

“My warriors will be in position. I’ve stationed assassins; they’ll take out the herbivores’ leaders as soon as our attack begins.”

The Great Khan indicated, pointing to several spots on the map that lay along the path to the location marked by the King of Talons. The latter nodded contentedly and, in turn, placed his hand on the map.

“We will attack from here, here, and here.”

He explained, pointing to several spots at the entrance to the valley basin.

“The water buffaloes will undoubtedly be at the head of the army and will then be cut off from the rest of the army, and once your assassins have taken out their leaders, they won’t know how to react. Once we’ve destroyed their warriors, they’ll have nothing left to oppose us. We’ll slaughter them in the truest sense of the word.”

The leader of the jaguars stated, running his claw across his throat. The Great Khan nodded and smiled.

*Oh, if only you knew how right you are...*

He crossed his arms over his chest and looked over the battle plan again, but then raised a warning finger.

“That is true, but do not underestimate the herbivores; the bull will be with them. He seems to have overcome his grief and is out for revenge. They have nothing left to lose, for they know this is the final battle. They will not give up until we have destroyed them. We’ll attack them from behind. Take advantage of the unrest in their ranks, but don’t focus on killing them instead, render them incapable of action. It’s enough if they can no longer defend themselves; we can kill them after the battle. Work quickly and precisely; make no mistakes. Even though they’ve suffered heavy losses, they still outnumber us ten to one.”

He sounded calm and focused, and what he said was true, which helped mask the inner turmoil and tension that raged within him. They bought into his speech; they nodded. They were all fully aware of the situation; the plan was risky. Calling for a decisive battle against an opponent that was weaker in many respects but vastly superior in numbers was always a danger. Even if everything went according to plan, they would have to conserve their strength; otherwise, the herbivores would win this battle through attrition. It would not be a victory in the true sense, for the losses on both sides would be devastating, but they would have won nonetheless. Victory had to be achieved quickly and with a precise strike.

The Great Khan watched his allies with Argus’s eyes; even if the betrayal went entirely according to plan, his clan would also emerge weakened from this battle. They would suffer losses that was inevitable. They would have to be careful that the herbivores didn’t simply overrun them after the battle. Even now, their numbers weren’t particularly high, and by the end of the day, they would be even lower. The few they had left behind in the temple would be unable to put up any significant resistance afterward, should the herbivores decide to exterminate all the carnivores after all. It would take quite a while for them to replenish their ranks, unlike their enemies, who had always had an easier time making up for their losses. Secretly, he hoped he could keep this fact hidden from his “allies.” but especially from his enemies. Their only chance of emerging from this conflict as true victors was to continue letting the herbivores believe that they still posed a threat.

While the Alpha and the King of Talons continued to discuss the battle strategy, he cast a discreet glance their way.

The wolves wouldn’t be a problem; their warriors were smaller, weaker, and after today’s battle, there would hardly be any left. It would be easy to defeat them now and drive the remnants out of the jungle after the fight. The jaguars, on the other hand, were a tougher nut to crack; jaguars were excellent lone fighters and always a danger. Even if they managed to drive them away now, the likelihood that individual jaguars would remain and roam the jungle alone was still very high. He would have to reckon with guerrilla attacks for years to come.

He was abruptly torn from his thoughts when another of his officers joined the group and knelt down.

“My Khan, the herbivores are on the advance.”

Reported the tiger with his head bowed, whereupon the leader of the tigers nodded and placed his hand on the tiger’s shoulder.

“Good, rise.”

He commanded quietly and turned to his allies.

“The enemy is on the move; it’s time. We should take our positions. Good hunt.”

His voice was firm and his tone grim. The Alpha and the King of Talons nodded silently and turned to leave. The tigers remained at the map table, watching as the others departed. The wolves howled their commands and sprinted off to intercept the enemy’s army, while the jaguars set off for the ambush. In the end, only the Khan’s striped warriors remained in the clearing, waiting for their leader’s orders.

The Great Khan waited a moment longer before turning to his officer.

“Are the troops ready?”

He asked calmly, glancing at the map one last time.

“Yes, my Khan. We are ready.”

The officer confirmed.

“Good. Do we have word from the scouts that the herbivores are playing along?”

The Khan’s voice gave no hint of how tense he was, but his posture spoke volumes. The officer confirmed silently. Whereupon the Great Khan smiled grimly to himself.

*Then let the games begin ...*

…

The vanguard of the wolves confronted the herbivores’ army at the foot of a hill, where the great water buffalo warriors burst from the thicket at full speed and literally trampled the carnivores’ first line of defense.

Led by Gordito Torro himself, their attack resembled a battering ram, whose sheer force crushed all resistance. The ground shook beneath their hooves, while their deafening roar thundered in the wolves’ ears. The impact with the wolves’ main force, which had just arrived behind the vanguard, hurled some of the wolves several meters through the air; others were crushed beneath the feet of the giant warriors. The Alpha, who arrived at the scene with his warriors, had expected a large and powerful army, but what he and his forces encountered was far more than that. It was an unstoppable wave crashing down upon them.

He quickly realized that the retreat, which was supposed to be merely a feint to lure the herbivores into a trap, would be anything but a feint. The wolves, accustomed to hunting their prey, were suddenly the hunted. As the herbivores gave chase at full speed, the wolves raced across the plain.

Normally, the wolves were fast and enduring runners, and normally the herbivores would never be able to catch up to them, but the plan required that the herbivores not fall behind. It was essential that the opponents remain in contact at all times, as otherwise they could not be lured to the ambush site. As a result, the wolves, who now formed the rearguard, were always within range of the herbivores, and the latter seized every opportunity to further decimate the enemy. One by one, they fell victim to the furious mob.

The Alpha, who had been in the front row during the charge, was now dangerously close to the enemy. More than once he had the feeling that someone was reaching for him, but he always managed to evade his pursuers. Slowly, the thought occurred to him that the plan might not have been such a good idea after all, for so far only they had suffered numerous losses, while the warriors of the bull had yet to mourn a single fallen comrade; and if this hunt continued to go against them for much longer, they would no longer be able to put up any resistance.

It was like a relief when, a short while later, the howl of one of his warriors announced the approaching gorge that would lead them into the valley basin, where they would finally receive reinforcements. The Alpha joined in the howl and spurred his warriors on; they had almost made it, and soon this battle would be over.

*Just through this narrow pass... if the herbivores are in there... *.

Indeed, his first warriors reached the entrance to the gorge shortly thereafter. They rushed through the gorge, driven by the thought of finally putting an end to this war, and did not even notice that the herbivores were slowly falling back. Only the Alpha, whose keen senses had saved his life time and again, noticed that something was wrong, and when he dared to look back, he realized that the distance to his pursuers had grown significantly. For a moment, doubt crept into his mind, but he forced it aside; they had come too far to waver now likely, the enemy’s stamina wouldn’t allow for such a long sprint. With a final burst of strength, he followed his warriors into the gorge and prepared to turn back and resume the fight against the herbivores.

The realization that he should have trusted his instincts only came when the jaguars attacked his warriors’ flank not the water buffalo’s. The mighty warriors of the King of Talons came over the steep sides of the ravine and attacked without warning or restraint. Before the wolves had fully grasped the betrayal, the big cats were already in their midst. The Alpha, who recognized the betrayal for what it was, could do nothing more to help his warriors. The trap had snapped shut, and they were right in the middle of it.

Cats had always been ambush hunters. Their strategy had always been to lie in wait for an opponent from a superior position and strike at the decisive moment, which is why the Khan’s plan was so perfectly tailored to them. The jaguars had timed the ambush perfectly. The first wolves had just reached the other end of the ravine, and the last wolves were just about to enter the ravine when they roared and pounced on the Alpha's warriors.

Although the wolves were endurance runners and seasoned warriors, they were so taken by surprise by this attack that no coordinated counterattack by the exhausted wolves was possible. The Alpha howled his commands and cursed these treacherous cats. He saw no tigers among the traitors, but it was immediately clear to him that this must be the work of the Great Khan.

And so his final cry, before one of the jaguars pounced on him, was:

“KKHHAAAAAAAN!”

His cry died out quickly, just as his life did, and when the jaguar rose again, its muzzle was smeared with blood and its claws and forearms were red with the Alpha's lifeblood. Triumphantly, the jaguar roared out its victory, while the battle still raged around it and both friend and foe fell alike.

While the fate of the wolves was being decided in the middle of the ravine, the tigers emerged from the valley basin and drove the remaining wolves those who had managed to survive until the end before them, back into the ravine. The Great Khan led his warriors into battle, and it wasn’t long before he found his first victim, his claws and lips now stained with the blood of his former allies.

The wolves, deprived of their leader and any chance of escape, fell into disarray and were quickly torn apart between the jaguars and tigers. It was a massacre, plain and simple. The losses among the big cats, meanwhile, were minimal. The second part of the plan had also worked perfectly; now it was time to put the final part into action.

The herbivores, who had remained outside the ravine until now and had let the carnivores kill each other, now began their attack. With a deafening war cry, the warriors of the bull charged forward, once again making the earth tremble beneath their hooves as they poured into the ravine. Gordito Torro had ordered them to take no prisoners. All the jaguars would die, and if a tiger or two perished in the process, that was a consequence the bull was only too happy to bear.

When the noise of the approaching water buffaloes reached the predators, they turned toward the new danger, and just as his plan intended, the Great Khan’s last allies, including their leader, found themselves caught between his warriors and the herbivores. The final battle had to be fought, whatever the cost, and so the carnivores’ warriors launched a counterattack.

“For the Khan…!”

Roared the tigers, and the jaguars joined in as they charged toward the warriors of the bull. Still intoxicated by their recent victory over the wolves, the warriors of the King of Talons did not notice how the tigers had imperceptibly fallen back, allowing the jaguars to lead the initial assault.

It was as if an unstoppable mass had collided with an immovable object. The dull impact of the jaguars against the significantly larger and heavier warriors of the bull slowed the herbivores’ advance only for a moment, before the first felines were already hurled through the gorge such force lay behind the unbridled fury of the water buffaloes. But the jaguars were also brutally efficient fighters, and so the attack did not leave them unscathed either; most of the warriors on the front lines fell during the assault, while the rest suffered terrible wounds.

One of these warriors stood out in particular. He was even larger than the other buffaloes fighting around him, and his arms were like tree trunks. His horns had been wrapped in bands, and he wore a chain around his neck from which hung a small wooden figure. The hammer he held in his hands was larger than a tiger’s chest, and when he swung it in a circle, it mowed down the cats before him. His constant roaring drove the other warriors of his tribe into a frenzy, compelling them to ignore their pain and wounds. It was Gordito Torro, the leader of the water buffaloes, the best and strongest among them, and he was here to lead his warriors into battle one last time.

After the first exchange of blows ended, the battle lines broke apart, each fighter seeking out his own opponent. A hopeless melee in which everyone fought against everyone else and no one could keep track of what was happening. The screams of the wounded mingled with the roared commands of the officers, who were desperately trying to coordinate their troops.

In the midst of the fray stood the King of Talons, relishing the carnage around him. He had just ripped out the throat of one of the water buffaloes when he heard the bull’s bellow.

“YOUUUU… COME HERE, I’LL STOMP YOU INTO THE GROUND, YOU WORM!”

He turned around, and less than fifteen paces away stood the bull, covered in blood and snorting wildly. The shaft of his hammer had snapped in half during the fighting, and the hammerhead was cracked on one side and soaked in the blood of his enemies. The leader of the jaguars grinned to himself.

“Finally, a worthy opponent.”

He muttered, dropping the bloody piece of meat from his claws before slowly approaching the bull. Killing the leader of the herbivores would bring immense prestige and instantly turn the battle in their favor.

The bull, whose ultimate goal was the death of the King of Talons, had been waiting for this opportunity. Breathing heavily, he too advanced toward his opponent. Slowly they drew closer to one another, while the battle raged around them.

It almost seemed as though they were in their own little microcosm, where only the King of Talons and Gordito Torro existed; nothing else mattered. Every distraction was blocked out from the start, for both had eyes only for the other.

They were almost upon each other when one of the jaguars leaped between them and roared something at Khan, but before the warrior could finish his sentence, the bull had smashed his skull with his hammer. No one would deny him the satisfaction of hunting down the one responsible for the death of his only daughter.

He flung the mortally wounded jaguar and his hammer aside and stood just a few steps away from the leader of the jaguars. The jaguar had his arms outstretched and was bleeding from a multitude of small, superficial wounds. His opponent was himself ready to attack, but te Jaguar hesitated. What his warrior had called out simply made no sense, but Gordito gave him no time to ponder it. The mighty water buffalo let out a thunderous battle cry and charged toward the much smaller jaguar, ready to end this fight once and for all.

But the collision the bull had expected did not happen; the big feline was clearly faster and more agile than the much larger, heavier warrior and effortlessly dodged each of his cumbersome attacks. Every time he dodged one of the attacks, he landed a blow on the enraged buffalo with his clawed hands. None of these counterattacks alone would bring down a warrior like Gordito Torro, but with each successive attack, their number increased.

“You will die a death by a thousand cuts, bull. And for what? So that you may serve me your species on a silver platter.”

The King of Talons taunted his opponent, already certain of his victory. Facing him, Gordito Torro, in his rage, did not feel the pain of his wounds, but he certainly felt the blood loss that accompanied them. He was painfully aware that he had to kill the jaguar quickly, or victory would go to the predator. He was already feeling a little dizzy, and his strength was waning with every passing moment. Just as he was about to launch another attack, another jaguar interrupted their duel.

“Betrayal! The tigers have betrayed us!”

The pain-filled scream, uttered by one of his warriors, made the leader of the jaguars hesitate for a moment. In disbelief, he tore his gaze toward the direction from which the cry had come and saw one of his own being struck down by one of their allies.

*So they did it after all...*

The thought flashed through the King of Talons’ mind.

That was the small opening the bull had been waiting for. He seized his chance and rammed his massive arm up to the elbow into his opponent’s solar plexus with a brutal blow. His opponent’s reaction was not immediate; it was almost as if the Jaguar still had to process the new situation. Only when the bull jerked his arm back, tearing out his opponent’s entrails in the process, did their gazes meet again. The leader of the jaguars lunged at the bull once more, but the bull simply kicked him to the ground.

The satisfaction the bull felt as he saw his adversary lying on the churned-up ground of the battlefield and witnessed the light slowly fading from the proud warrior’s eyes was almost impossible to put into words.

In his final moments, the jaguar could see the Great Khan, covered in blood, dragging the lifeless body of one of his warriors behind him as he approached the bull.

*Betrayed...*

Then everything went black.

The Great Khan stopped a few steps in front of the bull and dropped the carcass of his latest victim. Breathing heavily, the two leaders of the last warring factions stood facing each other. Neither had ever met the other directly; they had only ever heard of each other and defeated the other’s subordinates in battle. Both felt a certain, almost instinctive respect for their opponent a respect they did not feel toward others.

The temptation to kill their opponent right then was almost irresistible to both of them, yet they knew that if they gave in to this desire now, the war would likely just continue until neither side could claim a real victory. Peace had to be made NOW.

The Great Khan was the first to speak.

“No more war.”

His voice was slightly strained and his breath reeked of copper, but his gaze was hard as stone. Gordito Torro replied:

“No more war.”

It was almost like an admission of defeat, but he stood firm against the predator. This was the signal for the Great Khan, and he raised his fist triumphantly and roared, whereupon his warriors let go of their opponents and joined him. The few jaguars that had survived the carnage seized their chance and fled headlong.

Meanwhile, the warriors of the bull gathered behind their leader, unsure whether the battle was truly over or if it was just a feint to lull them into a false sense of security before the final attack came. Both sides were badly battered by the fighting; not a single warrior had emerged unscathed, though it was not always clear whether it was their own blood or that of the enemy staining their armor and fur.

The forces faced each other on a battlefield whose ground had been churned up by a brief but fierce battle and was saturated with bodies and blood, unsure if and if so, how long the truce would hold. Years of war and ancient instincts could not simply be swept aside and forgotten. It took several agonizing minutes, but before unrest could take hold in their ranks, the Great Khan finally stepped forward and extended a bloody, clawed hand to his opponent.

“For peace. No more unnecessary bloodshed.”

Now that he had calmed his breathing and spat out or swallowed most of the blood, the tiger appeared completely confident and in his element once more. The bull, on the other hand, was breathing heavily; he felt his wounds and the loss of blood, every movement and every breath wrung from a body that simply wanted to lie down and sleep, but he also knew that he had to hold on now.

With heavy steps, he stepped forward and took the tiger’s paw in his massive hand. It literally disappeared into the bull’s fist, whose handshake resembled a vise firm and unyielding.

“For peace.”

He growled, squeezing the tiger’s paw so tightly that the tiger actually winced slightly.

“We’ll talk about the bloodshed later.”

He added emphatically before releasing the Great Khan’s hand from his grip. The Great Khan nodded, unconsciously rubbing his hand, before turning to his warriors, raising both arms high, and calling out to the assembled tigers:

“Peace…!”

Whereupon his warriors erupted in cheers. Savoring the moment they had worked toward for so long and for which they had betrayed and killed the other carnivores the leader of the tigers looked contentedly over his celebrating warriors. When he finally turned back, the bull had already vanished into the ranks of his warriors, and in his place stood a tapir whose meager armor was tattered and whose body was adorned with numerous superficial wounds.

“The bull is withdrawing. Urgent matters await his attention. We assume you will take care of the remaining carnivores.”

It was a command, not a question or a request, which the significantly smaller warrior delivered dryly but not without respect, while looking around uncertainly.

“There should now be enough meat to sustain you for the next few days.”

The herbivores’ deputy continued, and when the Great Khan did not immediately contradict him, he seemed to grow more confident.

“Even though we have accepted the peace, there will still be some need for negotiation. We assume you will get in touch with us. After all, you want your little spy back, don’t you?”

At the tapir’s last sentence, the Great Khan’s pupils dilated for a brief moment and his lips twitched, but then it was over. Then he smiled slightly and nodded. When he finally replied, his voice brimmed with feigned goodwill.

“Indeed. We will drive out the last wolves, jaguars, and whatever else roams the jungle. Food will also be no problem in the coming days. As for the next steps and the supply of food, we will of course get in touch with you. Rest assured, you’ll find out when we’re hungry.”

As he spoke the last sentence, the Great Khan flashed his blood-stained teeth and relished the panic in the tapir’s eyes; then he leaned forward, closer to his counterpart, and as he continued, he lowered his voice to an urgent whisper that sent an icy shiver down the deputy’s spine.

“As for the little spy to whom you owe this peace. If even a single hair on her head is harmed, pray that the ancestors show mercy to your soul, for my warriors and I will not.”

With these words, the Great Khan left the tapir standing there, turned away, and walked slowly back to his warriors, who were still celebrating their victory.

The coming days would bring great changes.

In fact, the following days brought about several changes that would alter the face of the jungle for years to come.

The aftermath of the decisive battle was felt by all factions involved. After the battle, the Tigers had retreated to their temple, and following a brief respite, they began hunting down the remaining carnivores still in the jungle. They proceeded with a brutality never seen before, razing the last camps of the wolves and jaguars to the ground.

Those who had not fled beforehand were mercilessly hunted down and killed. The slaughter lasted for days, until the tigers had killed the last jaguar and displayed its remains at the border of their territory as a warning to the others.

In the herbivores’ largest camp, however, things were much calmer.

The survivors of the battle had returned home and reported that the tigers actually intended to honor the agreement and that the war was over, but instead of the expected jubilation, there was a quiet acceptance. First, they would tend to the wounded and mourn the dead who had lost their lives in a completely senseless war.

Meanwhile, Pequeña Franja sat in a cell, waiting to be called. The herbivores had brought her here and locked her up after her meeting with Gordito Torro. It wasn’t that she couldn’t have broken out at any moment; there was nothing in this camp that could hold her back even for a moment… except perhaps…

But before she could finish that thought, a shadow appeared at the door of her cell and caught her attention. It was still too early for her meal, though the grub they served her could hardly be called a meal. So there must be another reason for their visit.

She had noticed that the army had returned after the battle, and that the losses had been significant. Perhaps the bull had been killed, and now they had no further use for her. They wouldn’t simply let an enemy assassin go; they would eliminate the problem. She wouldn’t wait for her executioners that much was certain.

She stood up slowly and completely silently and retreated to one of the corners. It was quite dark in the cell, so she blended into the deep shadows in the corner. She remained completely relaxed and waited for the person at the door to unlock it.

The bolt was drawn back and the door swung open inward. In the glow of light streaming in from outside stood a young tapir. She seemed uncertain, wore ordinary clothes, was unarmed, and carried a jug in front of her chest. After a moment of silence, her voice rang out.

“Little Stripe?”

There was a slight tremor in her voice. Pequeña Franja didn’t move and waited to see what would happen. When she received no answer, her visitor cautiously entered the cell and looked around.

“Little Stripe?”

She repeated the question, a certain concern now resonating in her young voice. She had now reached almost the middle of the cell and looked around once more for the prisoner, but could not see the little tigress anywhere. Meanwhile, Pequeña Franja silently emerged from the shadows and stepped behind the tapir. She could see the herbivore’s frantic heartbeat pulsing in her carotid artery and raised her clawed hand for the fatal blow when…

“Gordito Torro sent me. He said it was time to make good on your promise.”

Instantly, Pequeña Franja froze and her eyes widened; her hand jerked back. Her thoughts raced and she hesitated uncertainly, but finally, just before the tapirin turned around, she placed her hand on her shoulder. Startled, her visitor flinched and dropped the vessel from her hands. The dull clatter in the otherwise quiet room was alarmingly loud. The tapirin turned around and stumbled back against the bunk that dominated the back wall of the small cell, but before she could scream, the assassin gently placed a finger to her lips and looked deep into her eyes, which spoke of sheer panic. Pequeña Franja shook her head very slowly, without ever breaking eye contact with her opponent, and then also placed a finger to her own lips.

“Shhh…”

The young herbivore’s eyes were wide open and her breath came in rapid, irregular gasps; she was so tense that her whole body trembled uncontrollably, but she didn’t make a sound. Then the assassin heard the sound and sniffed the air, briefly closing her eyes before finally looking down at the ground. She let her shoulders drop and removed her finger from her visitor’s lips, and when she looked up at her again, her gaze was full of compassion. Slowly, she straightened up again and took a step back to avoid the rapidly spreading puddle. She still maintained eye contact with her supposed victim, but her ears twitched and a smile spread across her lips before she retreated back into the shadows. Only the faint reflection of the light in her pupils was still visible before that, too, vanished. The tapirin’s mouth fell open, then one of the giant water buffalo warriors appeared in the doorway.

“What’s going on here?”

He asked in a loud, impetuous voice as he gripped his mace. His eyes darted back and forth across the cell before he spotted the young herbivore crouching on the floor in front of the bunk. A flush of anger rose to his cheeks before he barked at her:

“Lima, where is the prisoner?”

Her eyes were still wide open, and she looked around in panic while the warrior snorted in annoyance. Trembling, Lima finally raised her hand and pointed to the shadows beside the water buffalo. But before the warrior could even react, he felt a velvety-soft hand resting on his own weathered one. It was black as night, and her touch was so gentle that he hadn’t even noticed it at first. The assassin moved absolutely silently and so fluidly that for a moment he mistook her for an illusion, until she smiled at him and her fangs flashed in the half-light of his own shadow.

“You don’t scare me.”

The warrior growled coldly, looking down at the little tigress who barely reached his chest. Her grin widened, and she tilted her head as if to say, “Oh, really?” Then she slowly withdrew her hand from his and brought it behind her back. For a moment, nothing happened at all, and the warrior felt vindicated in his stance toward the evil and dangerous assassin, but then his skin split open exactly where she had previously run her razor-sharp claws. It didn’t even hurt. His skin simply split open and began to bleed. He examined the four narrow slits in his thick hide, on the one hand impressed that she had managed to slice his skin so precisely without him noticing, on the other hand amused that she apparently believed it would affect him or even frighten him. He smiled mischievously.

“Now stop playing your little games; the bull is waiting for you.”

He finally grumbled, his voice taking on that exasperated, fatherly tone one used to get unruly children back under control. Meanwhile, Pequeña Franja kept her smile, raised an eyebrow, and looked pointedly at his hand. Following her hint, he looked at his scratched hand again and noticed that the bleeding was getting heavier with time, and his eyes widened. It slowly dawned on him that these wounds were probably not just simple scratches after all, but might need proper treatment. Angrily, he turned back to Lima, who was still crouching in front of the simple bed, frantically glancing back and forth between the tigress and the guard.

“Damn it, Lima, pull yourself together, take this beast to Gordito Torro I need to see the healer; this won’t stop bleeding.”

The warrior grunted, pressing his other hand against the wounds before squeezing past Pequeña and quickly walking away. The little assassin watched the water buffalo leave and bowed deeply before turning back to her with a smile that showed her teeth and made the tapirin uneasy. The smile, which at first glance seemed warm and friendly, was all the more unsettling when one knew what the little black cat was capable of, and now she leaned toward Lima and nonchalantly held out the very hand with which she had just wounded a warrior of the water buffalo. The young tapirin, however, demonstratively kept her hands to herself as she laboriously scrambled to her feet and stood before the bed for a moment. Pequeña Franja looked at her hand, then at Lima, and finally back at her hand before grinning and pulling it back, slowly tilting her head to the side.

When her counterpart didn’t move, however, she took a step away from the door, clearing the way out. Now that her escape route was open, the young tapir quickly squeezed past Pequeña Franja, and when she finally stood in the hallway outside the cell, she breathed an audible sigh of relief. She didn’t hear the soft sound coming from the dungeon, which sounded something like a giggle. It took another moment before the small, black-furred tigress also stepped out of the dark room and blinked several times until her eyes had adjusted to the bright daylight. She stopped in the middle of the hallway, closed her eyes, and enjoyed the feeling of the sun on her fur. Lima, standing a few steps away, watched her and waited, confused.

How could an assassin, known for having no conscience or scruples whatsoever, stand there in the sun like that and enjoy life?

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Pequeña opened her eyes again and looked over at Lima. She pointed with her hand toward the path that led up the slope between the huts and to the bull’s dwelling. The young tapir, who had been chosen as her guide, followed the tigress’s pointing finger with her gaze and nodded slightly, whereupon the tigress made an inviting gesture and bowed slightly before her.

Lima swallowed, but the lump in her throat wouldn’t quite go down. But when her counterpart didn’t move any further, she finally plucked up her courage and walked past her along the path that would eventually lead her to her destination. The assassin followed her, silent as always and with a broad smile on her lips.

As they walked through the herbivores’ camp, everyone who saw them took a step or two back. Children were dragged into the houses, and the doors were shut. It was a triumph for Pequeña that she could spread such panic among the herbivores without even trying.

The herbivores’ camp was vast, and even after the terrible losses of the recent battles, there were likely more of them living in this single settlement than there had ever been carnivores in the jungle. The sheer variety of species and their diverse cultures jostled for space and recognition in this cramped area. She would have gladly spent many more hours sneaking through the settlement to take it all in, but she had an appointment. An appointment she couldn’t miss. She had promised; she had promised him.

When they finally stood at the foot of the stairs leading up the steep slope to Gordito Torro’s hut, she looked up at the steep steps and very slowly her smile faded. A smile that had graced her lips from the moment she’d learned it was time to keep her promise. Lima didn’t notice this change; she’d been walking stiffly ahead of her “prisoner” the whole time, too tense, too excited to look back at her.

Now they were climbing the final stretch of the path up to the bull, up to the spot where she would fulfill a promise she had made just a few days ago and which she intended to keep. As they finally climbed the last few steps, Pequeña’s expression had turned to stone and her ears were laid completely flat against her head. Her entire demeanor and aura had changed completely compared to before.

At the foot of the stairs, she had looked like a little child on her way to a birthday party; now she looked like the embodiment of death that she was. When Lima turned around on the landing to tell her they had arrived, she fell silent instantly and nearly swallowed her tongue.

No longer was there a tiger standing before her; the creature now standing before her radiated a coldness that made the blood in her veins freeze, whose gaze could kill, and whose mere presence made the others in the room age by years. She didn’t look at the tapir right in front of her; she looked right through her, her eyes fixed stubbornly on her goal. Pequeña simply stepped forward, and Lima, who was unable to move of her own volition, did so anyway, as her body instinctively sought to evade the danger before her.

When Pequeña Franja entered Gordito Torro’s chambers and locked the door behind her, she found herself in the familiar semi-darkness. The shutters on the windows had been closed, and a tense silence reigned. The only sound capable of piercing the room’s stillness was the rattling breath of its occupant. The bull lay on his bed, his entire body covered in bandages. The little tigress didn’t need to be an assassin or a healer to see from the doorway that the mighty leader of the water buffaloes was closer to death than to life.

The many injuries he had sustained in battle were too much even for a warrior like him. It was obvious that the bull would lose this, his final battle. Her eyes narrowed at the thought that she might no longer be able to keep her promise, but she steeled herself nonetheless and approached on silent paws. His subordinates had since cleared away the debris from his quarters, and so only the bull’s massive throne stood between her and his bed. She ran her hand over the smoothly polished wood as she circled the leader’s seat of power and finally stood before his bed.

She was little more than a shadow as she stood beside the colossus, and when he finally noticed her, he turned his head toward her with great effort. He smiled only faintly, but it reached his eyes.

“Little Stripe… have you come to fulfill your promise?”

His once-powerful voice, which even in a whisper had a volume that could have filled banquet halls, was now but a shadow of its former self. Pequeña Franja did not move. She looked down at the bull through half-closed eyes as he lay completely helpless before her.

“Yes, I had imagined the fulfillment of your promise differently… it was supposed to be one last glorious battle…”

His words were a hoarse whisper, interrupted by shallow breaths. She nodded briefly, which was what he had wanted from her when he had agreed to the Khan’s plan.

“The jaguars took my child from me. My future. In a jungle without war, there is no place for an old warrior who cannot forgive an enemy for his deeds. When all this is over, you will face me in a fair fight, and you will send me to my daughter. Promise me that!”

Those had been his words. The death of a warrior, not that of a coward who had agreed to a peace that was no peace at all.

A sad smile played around her lips as the final moment drew near, and just as she had done when they first met, she placed her small, delicate hand on his broad chest.

“It weighs heavily, the responsibility in your hand. I can feel it.”

He whispered, closing his eyes. His breath rattled with each shallow breath, and she could feel his heartbeat beneath her hand; it was already very slow and weak. His body had already accepted what his mind still refused to acknowledge.

Gently, she took his hand and placed it, just as she had a few days ago, on her chest. That way, he could feel her heartbeat too, which, unlike his, was strong and steady. She left his hand on her chest for a while; there was no reason to hurry, not anymore. It would end here, one way or another. When he opened his eyes again after a short while, a little strength had returned to his gaze.

“Don’t let it end like this. Do what you came here to do. What you promised me.”

Even though his voice lacked the strength to give his words the emphasis he would have wished for, she was still ready to keep her promise. She nodded slightly and leaned down slowly toward him, kissing him gently on the forehead. As she straightened up again, she took his large, heavy hand from her chest and placed it gently beside him. The bull closed his eyes, took one last deep breath, relaxed, and stretched his neck.

Her movement was so fast that it was almost impossible to see.

Pequeña turned around and took the first step away from the bed before it happened. Tears welled up in her eyes as the wounds on the bull’s neck opened and the fountain of blood stained the walls and ceiling behind her red. There was no struggle, no twitching, no final convulsion. The body of the bull, the leader of the herbivores, simply went limp, and with his last breath, life also fled from Gordito Torro.

She circled the throne once more, but no longer dared to touch it. Her steps, small, deliberate, and as silent as ever, carried her through the small room, which suddenly seemed so cramped, and as she approached the door, she looked back one last time.

As she left the bull’s chambers, her tears had already dried up, but in the glaring sunlight which seemed so out of place given what she had just done she still had to squint her eyes.

She walked past Lima without a word; Lima was still standing on the landing, frozen in place.

Somewhere between the huts, she merged with the shadows again and simply vanished.

The young tapir’s scream when she found the bull echoed through the camp for a long time.

It took a few more days before calm finally returned to the jungle and a semblance of normality settled into the survivors’ lives, but nothing was the same as it had once been. Everything had changed over the past days and weeks. Not only had the number of carnivores decreased significantly due to the tigers’ betrayal, but so had the overall biodiversity. Over the years, the war had driven some species to complete extinction; others had escaped this fate but had withdrawn from this part of the jungle.

The jungle itself had also suffered from the fierce fighting, and vast areas of the once impenetrable thicket had been completely devastated. Nature would need many years to repair the damage done, and some areas would likely remain permanently altered.

None of the surviving species could foresee what long-term changes and problems this would bring. However, nobody really cared about that. For the moment, the only thing that mattered to most of them was that they had survived and ended the war; everything else would be addressed at a later time.

When the Great Khan’s messengers finally arrived at the herbivores’ camps and delivered his request to attend a meeting at the Temple of the Tigers, most of the herbivores were skeptical.

The Tigers were the last remaining carnivores; it was they who had offered the ceasefire, devised the plan to drive out the other carnivores, and thus ended the war.

Technically speaking, they hadn’t won the war, but if they hadn’t ended it, the herbivores would certainly have lost it.

Now that Gordito Torro, the nominal leader of the herbivores, was dead, discord reigned once more among the herbivores. The war was over; there was no longer any reason to fight the common enemy together. The other herbivores were now rivals again when it came to the best feeding grounds and the best areas for raising their young.

The Great Khan knew this and used it to his advantage when he presented them with “his” terms for a lasting peace. All in the name...

of the greater good.

Concept and Idea by

El Poyo Diabolo

Written by

El Poyo Diabolo

Characters by

El Poyo Diabolo

Edit by

El Poyo Diabolo

Published by

El Poyo Diabolo