Mom and Dad weren't in great shape either. Mom, especially, had deep gashes across her shoulders and flanks where the hyenas had tried to peel her hide off. Every step she took left a rhythmic trail of red drops in the grass.
But she didn't seem to notice. Her eyes were fixed on us, checking Zack and Zoe for nicks and hovering over me like I was made of glass. That's the thing about motherhood in the Pleistocene—it doesn't leave much room for self-pity.
"Caw! Caw!"
The sky was already starting to fill with Teratorns. These giant scavengers are like the neighborhood snitches; once they start circling and screaming, every predator within ten miles knows there's a free lunch on the ground.
Dad knew the drill. We were vulnerable, bloody, and exhausted. Staying here was basically ringing the dinner bell for a Short-faced Bear or a pack of Dire Wolves.
"Roar~~"
Dad gave the order to move. He didn't leave empty-handed, though. He grabbed what was left of the elk—we'd learned the hard way back in the mountains that wasting meat is a sin. I hobbled after them, my right leg dragging through the dirt, feeling every pebble like a jagged knife.
Behind us, the Teratorns descended in a black cloud, fighting over the hyena carcasses. We didn't want the hyena meat anyway—they smell like a trash can in mid-July and probably taste worse.
Back at our new base, the adrenaline finally wore off, replaced by a crushing weight of fatigue. Mom went straight to work, licking my wounds with obsessive care. Even though the system had already done the heavy lifting with the Points, her sandpaper tongue felt like the only medicine that actually mattered.
I was drifting off when I felt more wetness on my fur. I cracked an eye open to see Zack and Zoe mimicking Mom, trying to help clean me up.
"Achoo! Pffft!"
Zack recoiled, shaking his head and sneezing. Apparently, the metallic tang of hyena blood and whatever filth they rolled in was too much for his refined palate. I had to huff a laugh at his dumb-ass expression, but honestly? It felt good.
When I first woke up in this body, I felt like an alien. I looked at Mom and Dad as biological providers—vessels for food and warmth. But somewhere between the mountains and the Mississippi, they stopped being "animals" and became family.
There was
Dad: the silent tough guy who was secretly a sap for Mom.
Mom: the fierce protector who once spent a week obsessing over a fishing weir I built. Zack: the goofy glutton who I spent half my time bullying.
And
Zoe: the clean-freak sister who acted like she was too good for the dirt we lived in.
With that thought, the exhaustion finally won. My eyes felt like they were made of lead. The last thing I heard before passing out was my own snoring—not the weak wheeze of a dying cub, but the steady, rhythmic engine of a survivor.
The clearing we left behind didn't stay quiet for long.
A Cheetah—the same one we'd robbed back at the Canyon—slunk out of the brush, lured by the scent. It saw the pile of dead hyenas and the swarming birds and its eyes practically lit up. Free food.
It didn't care about the birds; it hissed them away and started scavenging. But then, its nose twitched. It caught our scent—the Sabertooths.
The robbers.
The Cheetah froze, looking around nervously, wondering if we were still lurking in the shadows. It decided to eat fast and bolt.
But a second later, the ground throbbed.
THUMP. THUMP.
A low, guttural roar echoed through the trees, a sound so deep it made the Cheetah's fur stand on end. The birds went silent.
The Cheetah looked toward the tree line, its posture shifting from greed to absolute, paralyzing terror.
Slowly, a nightmare stepped into the light.
It was over three meters long—an American Lion (Panthera atrox). It was a wall of rippling, explosive muscle, its hide covered in the faded scars of a thousand wars. It walked with the bored, arrogant grace of something that has never had to be afraid of anything in its entire life.
Its golden-yellow eyes were cold, looking at the world like it was all just one big, waiting kitchen. This wasn't just another predator. This was the King of the continent.
And we were in his backyard.