In the distant southern regions of the river, where tall yellow grasses rose in scattered patches under the midday sun, heavy and rhythmic footsteps shook the ground.

  Five Urtu moved forward atop the massive mounts they called Lurgim. The Lurgim were three-meter-long creatures with elongated bodies, thick green hides, and wide blue fin-like extensions along their sides.

  Their necks curved upward, and from their heads extended two pale, bone-white protrusions reaching forward. Semi-translucent membranes draped from their backs. With every step, their muscular legs crushed the earth, while their long tails swayed lightly to maintain balance.

  Bone-and-fiber harnesses were secured across their backs; large woven baskets hung on both sides, filled with fruits, dried meat, and bundles of shells prepared for trade.

  The Urtu themselves were slender and tall, standing slightly over two meters in height.

  Their skin carried a pale bluish tone, marked by lighter lines running from their necks down across their chests. Bony protrusions rose backward from the tops of their heads, resembling a natural crown. Their large yellow eyes scanned the surroundings with careful, calculating focus. The sickle-like weapons in their hands were not metal, but crafted from the polished ribs of large beasts. The curved bone blades were fastened with fibers, their handles reinforced with hardened resin.

  One of the two Urtu riding at the front loosened the reins.

  “Let’s let them drink from the river and rest a bit,” he said. “The Lurgim are tired too.”

  The one beside him gave a faint grunt. “Are they tired, or are you?”

  The others let out quiet laughter. The first speaker shrugged. “I don’t tire. I just don’t want my spine sticking out before we reach Anjum Forest.”

  The group guided their mounts toward the riverbank. The Lurgim lowered their heavy bodies toward the water, bending their long necks to drink deeply. The baskets swayed gently, ropes tightening under shifting weight. The Urtu dismounted one by one. A few drank. One washed his hands. Another examined the surrounding tracks.

  “We’ll reach Anjum by evening,” said the oldest Urtu at the back. “Let’s not linger too long. These lands are wild.”

  Every Urtu knew that beyond their forests, safety was never guaranteed. They took his words seriously.

  They were already alert, but that did not mean they could not rest briefly.

  “Our friends in the forest will be waiting,” one of the younger ones said. “We promised them after the last harvest. We shouldn’t be late.”

  The elder nodded in agreement, and they all began to rest together.

  For a while, silence settled. The wind rolled through the tall grasses, and muddy tracks formed along the riverbank. Barely fifteen minutes had passed when one of the Urtu narrowed his eyes.

  “We’re not alone.”

  The others immediately reached for their weapons. Several silhouettes emerged between the grasses. Broad-shouldered, long-fanged saber-toothed tigers prowled with heavy steps nearby. They had not approached yet, but they had noticed them.

  “We’re not staying here any longer,” the elder said firmly.

  They mounted the Lurgim quickly. The baskets were checked, straps tightened. The great beasts lifted their heads with a low rumble. The tigers kept their distance, but their eyes gleamed with hunger.

  “We can rest properly once we reach Anjum,” the elder said.

  The group moved away from the riverbank, slow, heavy, but determined. The tall yellow grasses closed behind them as the massive forms of the Lurgim advanced from the open southern savanna toward the darker line of forest in the distance.

  This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

  Behind them remained only flattened grass and blurred tracks.

  When they entered the outer borders of Anjum Forest, the shadows of the trees began to thin the light. The air changed immediately. The open wind of the savanna gave way to filtered light and dense shade. Towering trees arched overhead, their thick and ancient trunks dominating the path. The Lurgim moved more cautiously now; their heavy steps sank into damp soil and fallen leaves.

  They had not yet reached their allies.

  As the caravan advanced along narrow paths twisted with roots, the elder Urtu at the front slowly raised his hand.

  “Stop.”

  The others obeyed at once.

  At first glance, nothing seemed unusual. The forest was silent, too silent. There were no bird calls, no small movements in the brush.

  The elder narrowed his yellow eyes and focused on a crooked tree ahead.

  “There,” he muttered.

  To the others, it looked like nothing more than shadow and bark.

  Without hesitation, he bent down, picked up a small stone, and hurled it at the tree.

  The impact echoed sharply.

  For a moment, nothing happened.

  Then the tree moved.

  A shape peeled itself away from the bark.

  As the creature separated, its skin changed color. Dark brown and moss-green tones rippled into a deep blue. The camouflage dissolved like waves spreading across the surface of water.

  “A Nuxali,” he said.

  A lean predator, its hide layered with shifting pigments. As it withdrew into the shadows, its surface shimmered faintly, adapting to the surroundings. Its eyes locked onto the Urtu.

  “A forest scout, what is it doing here?” one of the younger ones said.

  The Lurgim let out low warning rumbles.

  The elder’s expression hardened.

  “The Queen’s territory has expanded into the forest,” he said quietly.

  One of the younger Urtu tightened his grip on his bone sickle. “They expanded last year as well.”

  “Yes,” the elder replied. “And now they are pushing even deeper. They must be struggling to find safe prey out there.”

  The Nuxali did not attack. It simply observed.

  “We will speak with Furzak,” the elder said firmly. “This cannot be ignored.”

  The caravan resumed its movement with heavy but deliberate steps, now aware that Anjum Forest was no longer as safe as they had believed.

  The caravan moved deeper into Anjum Forest until the trees began to thin into a wide, circular clearing.

  This was their destination.

  The settlement of the Olangi tribe did not look carved out of the forest by force; it seemed woven together with it. Hundreds of Urtu lived here, and the moment the Lurgim emerged from between the orchards and trees, a wave of movement spread through the village.

  Voices rose.

  Children ran forward first, only to stop at a sharp gesture from a guard. Hunters stepped ahead, bone sickles and spears resting loosely at their sides. Within minutes, the clearing filled. With the caravan’s arrival, nearly the entire tribe had gathered in the central square.

  Their homes rose among the trees, platform structures built from layered wood and hardened resin, supported not by cut logs but by living trunks. Some stood several meters above the ground, connected by rope bridges and curved wooden walkways. Others were half-buried into the earth, reinforced with woven root walls and broad leaf roofs. Thin streams of smoke drifted from small stone pits used for drying fruit and curing meat.

  The land around the settlement had been completely shaped.

  Massive orchards surrounded the clearing. Heavy-limbed trees bore red spiral fruits, thick green pods, purple-skinned cluster berries, and golden hanging gourds. Vines were guided carefully between trunks. Small irrigation channels directed water from a nearby stream. The scent of ripening produce lingered in the air.

  The Olangi were gardeners of the forest.

  As the Lurgim knelt, baskets were unfastened. Murmurs spread through the crowd.

  Then Furzak stepped forward.

  He was broader than most, his bony crown thicker, his posture carrying natural authority. Scars crossed his pale blue chest. His yellow eyes studied the caravan before softening slightly.

  “Loren, welcome,” he said.

  “Furzak,” the elder Urtu replied as he dismounted from his Lurgim.

  They clasped forearms briefly in greeting.

  “You return well loaded,” Furzak said, glancing at the filled baskets.

  “The Kame’Tire tribe worked hard this season,” Loren answered.

  Behind them, trade had already begun. The younger caravan members opened bundles of rare shells, hardened resin blocks, and medicinal roots. In exchange, Olangi Urtu brought baskets of fruit, fermented pulp cakes, carved bone tools, and dyed fiber cloth.

  As the sounds of negotiation filled the clearing, Loren inclined his head slightly toward Furzak.

  “We need to talk.”

  Furzak’s gaze sharpened.

  Without another word, the two leaders stepped away from the gathering crowd and walked toward a shaded platform built around an ancient tree at the edge of the clearing.

  Behind them, the tribe continued trading.

  saber tooth tiger:

  Lungrim:

  Urtu: