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“… He stumbled over a root and the cry that pursued him rose even higher. He saw a shelter burst into flames and the fire flapped at his right shoulder and there was the glitter of water. Then he was down, rolling over and over in the warm sand, crouching with arm up to ward off, trying to cry for mercy…”

            It was Roger who first emerged from the alight forest in his wake. The crackling of branches snapping in the heat grew to a tremendous volume as the hunter approached his prey, his gait controlled and deliberate as his quarry attempted to find his footing on the soft sands of the lagoon beach. The ululations of the others echoed around them, but Roger did not reply with his own call. Having no reason to assume that Ralph had been cornered, the others continued on their paths through the forest, not bothering with the clearing and instead fanning out to cover the edges of the island and the mountainside. It would not be long until they were spotted, but it was long enough.

            “Roger!” Ralph pleaded. His heartbeat throbbed in his ears, almost drowning out the sound of his own voice. “Roger, stop it, this is crazy! Don’t you realize what you’re doing?”

            The hunter did not reply, but merely stalked closer. Ralph, who was stumbling backwards toward the water, fell once more, and was met upon his landing with the side of Roger’s spear thudding against the side of his skull. The hollow impact resonated within Ralph as starlight danced across his vision and his face fell to the water. A hand came down upon him, gripping the back of his hair and jerking his head back to stare at the sharp end of a wooden spear.

            “You are for the beast,” the hunter told him.

            Sounds of running footsteps on sand alerted them to the presence of another, and Roger turned just in time to see Jack as he threw himself over the two, forcing Roger off his feet to land hard on the shoreline with a splash of aquamarine water.

            “He’s mine!” Jack bellowed at his subordinate. “I’m chief, and I will appease the beast myself. This is not your kill!”

            Roger watched him with a quiet intensity as he rose from the shallows. The same thirst for blood had returned to his eyes, but this time, it was focused entirely on Jack. His hand gripped the spear which he had sharpened at both ends, and the two boys instinctively began to circle each other, slowly.

            “You are no chief,” Roger said. He drew back his arm, and announced, “You are not my chief!”

            With a frenzied howl, he heaved the spear at Jack, just missing him as the hunter-chief leapt aside. The two threw themselves at the other, both wrestling to pin the other and to grab the knife at Jack’s belt.

            Ralph pulled himself up, observing the clash as he hurried from the waterside. He had to make it for the trees. The other hunters would soon hear the battle, and when they came, he would have no chance of escaping. Jack and Roger were engaged and paying him no heed. He had his opening.

            But, there on the sand, lay the stick sharpened at both ends, discarded in the brawl and left several feet from the two hunters.

            Jack brought his hand around, landing a solid punch to Roger’s left cheek and sending him careening to the ground. Jack quickly regained his balance and moved to throw himself on top of his defenseless adversary, drawing his knife as he did so. But Roger was able to spring up to his feet once more, grabbing Jack’s wrist and snapping it backwards. The chief cried out in pain, pulling his arm back reflexively to his chest and dropping his weapon in the process.

            In one swift motion, Roger bent at the waist, snatched the blade, and snapped back up, burying the metal deep in an upward thrust, right through Jack’s lower jaw. He allowed his kill several seconds to taste his own blade before jerking it to the side, tearing open his throat, and then proceeding to slash and tear at