One day had passed.
That small stretch of time had been enough for Peter to understand that his position as chief was under threat. It weighed on him constantly. He had spent every hour replaying the moment in his head — what if he had moved sooner, what if he had thrown the spear, what if, what if — until he had barely eaten at all. Not for lack of food. Oudra had left a chunk of meat — origin unknown — at the entrance to the cave.
"Chief. Come out," the loyal warrior called.
Peter said nothing.
"I know the situation isn't in your favor. But a chief of your caliber cannot afford to fall apart."
Still nothing.
"Do you remember our clash with the Northern tribe? You fought bravely and led us to victory. Pull yourself together. We still need you."
The words reached Peter — deep, somewhere real. But he still didn't answer.
"I'm heading back down for now. May you recover," Oudra said quietly.
Once he had made his way back down the mountain, a group of about ten warriors rushed toward him, their faces tight with worry.
"What did he say?" one of them asked.
Oudra looked at them with quiet resignation. His eyes held both sadness and disappointment. He shook his head slowly. The message was clear — the chief wasn't coming down.
"Oudra!"
The voice came from across the camp. It belonged to Karg — a warrior with a scarred chest and wild eyes. He had been among the first to challenge Peter's authority, hungry for a change in power.
"What do you want, Karg? Come to spit your poison at me?"
"Easy, brother. I'm here to offer you a place in my camp. I'm putting together a group. We'll go to the elders — it's time to replace Oonak."
"What did you just say?!" Oudra snapped.
"Don't even think about going down that road. I know you've been waiting for an opportunity like this. But the chief is still standing."
"Stop shouting at me, Oudra. That man isn't worth it anymore. He's finished. Since when does Oonak tremble?"
Oudra's jaw tightened. He looked like an animal coiled to strike. But somehow — perhaps because he knew they were evenly matched — he held himself back.
"And what will you do when the Rokar attack? You know as well as I do that only Oonak can beat their chief."
Karg didn't answer. He spat to the side and walked away.
And just like that, the night ended.
---
On the second day, Bork — the head hunter — assembled a small group that included Karg. They set out early and returned that evening with two saiga antelopes.
The moment they entered the village, the others erupted. They cheered them like heroes, as if to say: yes — you succeeded where he failed.
Bork dropped the catches in the center of the village and began dividing the meat. Oudra saw it happening and ran toward him at full speed. Just as Bork raised his blade to cut into the animals, Oudra grabbed him by the wrist.
"Stop. You know that's the chief's role. Unless you're planning to overthrow him too."
Bork held his gaze for a long moment, then pulled his wrist free with unsettling ease.
"Oudra," he said, his voice measured. "For your information — I am one of the people who respects our chief more than anything. So don't say that to me again."
"But then—"
"However." Bork's tone didn't waver. "In the state things are right now, he is not fulfilling his role. How long do you expect me to wait? Who feeds the women and children of this tribe?"
Oudra had no answer. Because Bork was right. He turned to leave.
"Wait." Bork held out a piece of meat. "That's your share. And this one —" he held out another — "is the chief's. Take it to him."
Night fell over the tribe.
---
Peter was lying on his back when he heard them — courtesy of his host body's razor-sharp senses — light but deliberate footsteps. Not the steps of someone who hesitates. Oudra again.
He set something down at the cave entrance. The smell of smoked meat drifted immediately through the air. Oudra glanced inside and noticed that yesterday's food hadn't been touched.
"You haven't eaten since yesterday," he said. "Why? As far as I know, starving yourself won't bring him back. You're punishing yourself for nothing."
He paused.
"Do you know who hunted this meat? Bork led them. And Bork divided it. Even if he didn't do it willingly — you know what that means. Don't you?"
Oudra didn't need to say more. Peter already understood. This couldn't go on. He had known it himself, somewhere beneath all the guilt. He had already made his decision — staying here was getting him nowhere.
"Take it," Oudra continued. "It's not a favor. It's just meat."
Peter sat up, reached forward, and took the piece. He ate without a word.
Oudra stayed in the cave entrance, looking out over the camp below. After a long silence, he spoke — almost as if to himself.
"Tomorrow there's a ceremony for Goran. To guide his spirit. You will be there."
It wasn't a question.
Peter looked down at his hands — Oonak's hands. Wide. Calloused. Marked by combat.
"I'll be there."
Oudra nodded once. Then he rose and disappeared into the night.
That night, for the first time since the failed hunt, Peter stopped thinking about going home.
He thought about tomorrow.