Emi

Emi crouched low in the tall grass of the high meadow, the warm sun casting golden light over her messy blonde pigtails tied with thin leather strips. The air smelled sweet of wildflowers and crushed grass, and far below she could see the river winding like a silver snake between tree-dark hills. Tiny white and yellow flowers brushed her bare knees as she leaned forward, plucking a handful of purple tuber blooms from their stalks. Her small fingers worked carefully to avoid snapping the stems too close to the root. Mama say break too high, plant no come back. Emi wanted to do it right.

Around her, older girls moved with quiet grace, woven baskets on their hips or backs. Some hummed soft wordless songs while they gathered, and the gentle breeze carried their notes down the slope. Emi peeked at them with wide bright blue eyes. She wished she could hum like that and not lose her breath. She turned her attention back to the dirt patch in front of her, digging with a sharpened bone stick until she unearthed a small reddish tuber. It smelled earthy and sweet. She grinned, revealing her little gap-toothed smile.

“Good root,” she whispered to herself in her cave dialect, slipping it into her small grass-woven pouch tied at her side. She sat back on her bare heels for a moment, brushing dirt from her knees. The sun felt hot on her skin, but she liked its warmth. Butterflies danced between flower heads and bees buzzed lazily, too busy to worry about a little cave girl. Emi tilted her head back to watch a hawk circling high above, wings spread wide like the sky spirits from elder stories.

She felt peaceful here, high above the clan caves and hunting grounds. No angry elders, no dark cave shadows, only bright flowers and the smell of sweet grass. She reached out to pluck a pink blossom, pressing it to her nose to breathe its scent. The wind ruffled her pigtails and the fur of her cropped top, making her giggle softly. She tucked the flower behind her ear and rose to her feet, brushing dirt from her simple fur loincloth.

Nearby, two older gatherer girls laughed as they braided flower chains for their hair. Emi watched them with longing. She stepped closer, holding out her flower shyly. “Emi have pink bloom… pretty like thky at thleep-time…” she mumbled, her lisp making the words soft and childish. The older girls smiled warmly and motioned for her to sit with them. Her heart felt warm like the sun.

Settling cross-legged in the grass, Emi let the taller girl weave the flower into her hair beside the leather tie. She stayed very still, feeling the gentle tug on her hair and breathing in the meadow’s sweetness. She closed her eyes for a moment, listening to bees, wind, and the hum of gatherer songs around her. For now, there were no big tooth cats, no thunder, no angry voices – only this perfect golden moment on the high meadow.

Emi’s tiny bare feet slapped against the hard dirt path as she ran, heart pounding so loud she could hear nothing else. Tears streamed from her bright blue eyes, blurring the tall dry grasses that whipped at her legs. Behind her, crashing through bushes and snapping branches, came the low rumbling growl and heavy thudding paws of the big tooth cat. Her chest burned with each ragged breath, and her throat made little sobbing squeaks as she ran.

She had only wanted to play. Mama say no go High Rocks. Papa say too many danger. But the sun was warm and the rocks looked so pretty above the river. Emi had danced and skipped between the stones, singing silly little songs to herself, pretending she was sky bird queen with wings of light. She thought she saw a shiny pebble near a bush and bent to grab it. That’s when she heard it – the deep rumble like thunder in a cave.

When she looked up, it was there. Huge and golden with dark spots along its thick shoulders, long white tooth knives curving down past its jaw. Its eyes glowed yellow in the sun as it stared at her, ears flat, tail lashing once. Emi didn’t scream. She couldn’t. Her little body froze, knees shaking so hard she fell backward. The big tooth cat stepped forward with silent deadly grace, sniffing the air, lip curling to show its huge teeth.

Then something in her legs woke up. She scrambled to her feet and ran. Ran as fast as her tiny legs could carry her, tears flying off her cheeks as she panted and sobbed. She didn’t look back. She didn’t need to. She could hear it coming, its breathing loud and deep, like a giant angry dog. The ground shook under its weight. Her mind screamed for mama, for papa, for anyone. But only wind and grass answered.

Her pigtails flew wildly behind her, and the leather ties whipped against her neck as she darted between thorn bushes, hoping their sharp branches might slow the beast. Her small furry top was torn at the side, and her feet burned from sharp stones and dry thorns. Still she ran, weaving desperately, her little chest heaving with terror. She stumbled over a root and nearly fell, but grabbed a thorny branch to keep upright, tiny hands now bloody with scratches.

Somewhere ahead lay the berry meadows, and beyond that, her clan caves. But they felt a world away. All she could hear now was her own ragged breath, the thudding of giant paws behind her, and her thoughts repeating over and over like a prayer: “No want die… no want die… no want die…”

Emi had watched from behind her mother’s fur skirt, peeking out with wide bright blue eyes as the strangers came into their cave camp. The morning sun made their painted skin gleam red and black, and they wore necklaces of teeth and claws. The tallest was the chieftain, with long streaks of grey hair tied back in bone pins. Beside him stood his son, a grubby-faced teenage boy with thick arms and a brow heavy like a bear’s. He kept scratching at scabs on his chest, eyes flicking to Emi again and again with hungry interest. Behind them waited two hunters, stone clubs in their belts and heavy spears across their backs.

Emi pressed deeper against her mother’s legs, feeling Luna’s hand slide protectively down to her head. She heard the voices rumble like distant thunder as the chieftain spoke to her father, Bruk. The words were sharp and loud, many of them strange to her ears, but she understood enough. They wanted her. They wanted to trade for her, take her away to be tied to the grubby boy like mama to papa. Emi’s stomach twisted with fear and confusion. She was just a gatherer child. She didn’t want to be tied to anyone.

She heard her father’s voice rise, deep and angry. “No. Emi stay. Emi child.” The chieftain growled low, and his son kicked at a stone, glaring. For long breaths there was silence, broken only by birds chattering in the trees above the cave mouth. Finally, with narrowed eyes and a curled lip, the chieftain spat into the dust. He turned away with a harsh grunt, his hunters following. The grubby boy glared at Emi one last time, then stomped after them, scratching at his scabs.

That night, after the fire had burned down and the clan slept in heavy silence, Emi curled against her mother’s warm side, dreaming of gathering sweet berries in the dawn light. But hands closed around her, rough and fast. She woke with a sharp squeak of terror, blinking at shadows and feeling strong fingers clamp over her mouth. Her body was lifted like a bundle of furs, carried out into the moonlit dark. She kicked and struggled, but the man’s arm was iron around her tiny chest. Tears poured down her cheeks as fear choked her silent.

Hours later, as pale dawn lit the misty ground, Emi lay trembling on a cold dirt floor. Her wrists were tied in front of her with coarse twisted vine, ankles bound tight. Around her rose high hide walls stretched over bent tree trunks, smelling of smoke, meat fat, and unwashed bodies. Outside she heard gruff voices and smelled ash fires burning. She curled in on herself, her little heart racing with terror. A shadow fell across her as the hide flap opened, and the grubby teenage boy stepped in, scratching at his chest and grinning at her with yellowed teeth.

Emi whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut as hot tears spilled down her freckled cheeks. Her small voice came out broken and muffled through her sobs. “Mama… papa… Emi thcared… want go home…”

Emi sat on a flat stone at the edge of the silent clearing, knees pulled tight to her chest, arms wrapped around her scraped shins. Her blonde hair was tangled with bits of grass and dry leaves, pigtails fraying where the leather ties had loosened days ago. She stared out at the darkening forest, eyes dull with exhaustion and loneliness. Her gap-toothed mouth trembled as she chewed the last bite of a wrinkled berry she’d found under a bush, its sour taste mixing with the salt of her tears.

She had run so fast from the rival village, stumbling through thorn thickets and muddy gullies under the pale dawn sky. Her wrists were still rubbed raw where the vines had bitten into them, and her small bare feet were covered in cuts, bruises, and clinging mud. But she didn’t stop until she reached the old cave grounds by the river, her heart singing with hope. Home. Mama. Papa. Safety.

But when she came stumbling up the path, panting and limping, there was nothing. No smoke from cooking fires. No smell of roasting meat or sweet root mash. No voices of elders telling sky stories. Only empty cold caves, ash piles scattered by wind, and faint footprints leading away into the hills. Her clan was gone. Moved on to find new hunting or safer grounds, as they often did. She had missed them by a day, maybe two. Her heart broke like dry wood under a spear.

For a week she tried to track them, following old paths, sniffing for fire smoke, tasting footprints in the mud like mama taught her. But rains came and washed away scents. The hills rolled on forever, dotted with silent stone piles and black twisted trees. Each dawn she woke cold and alone, curled in her fur top and loincloth, listening to wolves howl far off. Each day she walked until her legs burned, gathering what little she could – sour berries, bitter roots, grass seeds. Her belly cramped with hunger, growling like an angry spirit.

Now she knew she needed more than roots and flowers. Her tiny body was shaking with weakness. She needed meat. Needed to hunt. Papa always said little ones gather, not hunt – but there was no mama here to gather for her. No papa to bring her scraps. Just Emi. She wiped her tears on the back of her dirty hand, sniffed loudly, and looked down at the short sharp stick she had been whittling with a stone flake. Its point was rough, uneven, but strong enough to stab small things.

Emi swallowed hard, blinking her red puffy eyes. Her little chest rose and fell as she took a shaky breath. “Emi… Emi brave… no want die…” she whispered to herself in her cave dialect, voice breaking as she stood up on trembling legs. The last rays of evening sun turned her tear-streaked cheeks golden as she stepped down from the stone and walked alone into the silent shadowed forest, clutching her sharpened stick like a spear.

Emi’s breath came out in small white puffs as she climbed the rocky slope, each step scraping her sore wrapped feet against cold stone. The rabbit fur tied around her ankles with twisted grass cords was dirty and stiff, but it kept her toes from freezing in the morning chill. Her little body ached with every step. Her furry top and loincloth were thin against the wind, and her ribs showed under her freckled skin. She tightened her grip on the flame-hardened spear, its dark tip worn smooth from constant use.

She had lost her clan’s trail days ago. The old footprints and broken stems vanished into open plains and rocky gullies, leaving her to wander alone. Now she just walked the easy routes – deer paths, dry streambeds, and low ridges where she could see danger far off. Twice she saw smoke columns from strange tribes, their painted hunters pacing the camp edges. Both times she crept wide around them, belly-crawling through tall grass or hiding under thorn bushes until her shaking legs could carry her on.

Tooth cats hunted these lands. Twice she woke at dusk to see golden eyes glinting from tree shadows, long white teeth shining in fading light. Both times she found a small cave to wedge herself deep inside, clutching her spear to her chest and pressing her lips shut to keep sobs silent. She was alive only because she was small, quiet, and moved like a mouse. But her belly was empty again today, only waterweed and tiny sour berries inside her. She forced her legs to keep walking.

As the sun rose higher she reached a bare rocky hill and crouched low, crawling over the edge to scan the wide valley below. Her eyes widened with shock. There, sprawled across the river bend, was the largest settlement she had ever seen. Dozens and dozens of leather tents, smoke spiraling into the sky, children running, women weaving grass mats, hunters shaping long spears, elders warming their thin bodies in the sun. She counted at least six or seven tribe marks on the tall boundary stones, painted and carved with clan signs. So many people. So much noise.

Fear prickled through her. She edged backwards, ready to skirt around them and disappear into the trees. But as she turned to crawl away, something flickered in the crowd below – a familiar stooped shape with white-streaked hair tied in a twisted bun. Emi froze. Her heart hammered in her chest. She blinked hard against sudden tears. It was Elder Nura, from her own clan, standing beside a drying rack of fish skins. Her eyes darted beyond, searching desperately. And there – near a tent flap, kneeling over a stretched piece of leather, working it smooth with a sharp stone – was her mama.

A sharp sob burst from Emi’s throat. Without thinking she leapt to her feet, nearly slipping on the rocky slope. “Mama! MAMA!” she screamed in her childish cave dialect, voice cracking as she stumbled down the hill, tears streaming down her dirt-smudged cheeks. The leatherworkers looked up in shock. Her mother’s eyes widened, mouth falling open. Then she dropped the leather scraper and stood, arms reaching out as Emi sprinted into her embrace, burying her dirty tear-streaked face against warm familiar fur.