An: sorry that I haven't been updating on my other stories but like I said I did this for English and seeing how it needed to be typed up I thought that I would post it.

Disclaimer: I own nothing that you recognize

The brute is back, swinging his silver branch at me, trying to get to me walk forward. As we walk I glare at him and as usual, I am ignored. We are now below the small cloth-sky, I look around for the herd of furless tree-climbers who ground-walk, and they are. They mill around in a sea of colours speaking in a language that I cannot hope to understand; only the fire-headed one speaks to me so I can understand. Across the sea of colours I see him, the red ruff of fur atop his head making him easy to spot. I want to go to him but the threat of the brutes branch keeps me in place, the memory of the burning ache of the last time still fresh in my mind.

Since I cannot go to him, I watch. I see the way that he looks at the brute, his eyes narrow and his jaw clenches and from his body language I can see that he wants to hurt him. It's odd to see him like that, he is normally such a friendly caring person, but seeing him dislike the brute endears me to the fire-headed one and makes me hate the brute that much more.

Speaking of the brute, he's crouched at my feet, twining a vine around my foot and planting the root into the ground, although if I wanted to it wouldn't take much for me to rip the root out of the ground, but yet again the memory of the branch keeps me in place. I hated that damn branch almost as much as I hate the creature who wields it. There's nothing much I can do so I start to snuffle the ground, hunger clawing at my stomach. It's not that I don't get fed well, the fire-headed one and the feathered-sparkle-one make sure that I eat, but no matter how much they give me it's still not enough. Sometimes the herds feed me except today they keep their distances, there is a red rope separating them from where I stand.

I follow the faint scent on the ground, searching, a little to the left and -aha! I plucked a piece of fluffy-crunchy cloud and popped it into my mouth. As the brute finishes with the vine on my foot I hear the trumpeting coming from the inner cave. The sound seems to mean something to the herd, they all move towards the noise. Hmph, that trumpeting was weak, a male who made that noise would never make a suitable mate and yet these ground-walkers head towards them. I don't think that I will ever understand these odd creatures.

As the last of the herd disappears light pours in from the front of the cave and the feathered-sparkled one walks in. I turn expecting to see the fire-headed on staring at her but when I turn I no longer see him. As the trumpeting slowly increases in pace so does the feathered ones steps.

The brute gives a final tug on the vine then turns around. Spots her. The look that appears on his face makes me tense, it is not a friendly look. In fact, it's the look that he gets right before the burn of the branch hits my sides.

He storms over to her. " You're late, why are you late?"

" Oh, Auggie, I was just putting the finishing touches on Rosie's headrest seeing how the last one inexplicably ripped"

"For some reason I find that hard to believe."

These words mean nothing to me so I am content to let my eyes wander freely around. A sudden spike in the volume has me turning to see that a few of the young members of the herd have snuck snuck off and are doing something near the cold-grey-huts that house the other wild-ones. I am about to move to see when the brute voice raises into a shout.


These words make no sense to me but the motions his forelegs explaining it all. He threw his headpiece to the ground and kicked it, his eyes glowing with anger. He's going to hurt her. I charge to get in front of her but the vine stops me. I need to protect her. I reach for the vine, with the intent of ripping out of the ground when three things happen in a quick succession.

The feathered one screams, the brute turns then blanches and there's a whoosh of blood as the white-furred, big-pawed wild-one swiped the head of one the younglings, cracking his skull wide as the white-one walked out of its now open hut.

I don't know if it's the smell of the fresh spilled blood or the shrieks and screams of the other younglings that makes the other wild-ones burst from the huts and flood into the middle of the room.

Another ground-walker walks in. "What in the hell is going on in-" The striped-fanged one jumps and takes down one of the running prancers. The colour drains from his face, turning his skin almost as grey as mine. He spins on his heel and backs through the wall, the trumpeting stops then picks up at an intensely fast pace.

It's complete chaos in here, as quick as I can I grab the feathered one with my trunk and push her behind me. The brute is screaming away. Other than pulling the feathered one to safety I remain still, I am too busy thinking about how easy it was for the white-one kill a ground-walker. After all the abuse that we wild-ones take from the ground-walkers, thinking that there was nothing we could do about it, when In reality all it takes is the tiniest swipe of a paw to take care of a problem.

The ground-walkers who are always around flood the cave, wild-ones streaming about. The fire- headed one is here, scanning the tent frantically. More shrieks and screams join in the symphony of noise surrounding me, the herd has scattered. Most of them trying to come back into the main area, but then they see the bedlam in the tent and it's a stampede to get back.

An idea strikes me when I look into the eyes of the fire-headed one. I reach down and pluck the root of the vine out of the ground, holding it loosely with my trunk. I look at him again, trying to convey with my eyes that I was about to solve both our problems. I shift my eyes to the brute. Standing and flailing his forelegs. I step forward, the feathered ones reaction to earlier tells me she won't be able to handle seeing this. I hear the voice of the fire-headed one just barely over the din but it is just as if I didn't hear it, he's speaking the word I do not understand. Even if I could understand him, it wouldn't have stopped me.

I lift the vine high into the air and bring it down with a resounding crack, his head splitting open like the green and pink fruits that I am often fed.
His body falls into a heap, a lifeless shell, I step back just as the one of the wild-ones descends onto him, ripping apart his body, innards spreading across the ground.

The feathered one collapses, and the fire-headed one is rushing over to us. I quickly step over her and shelter her with my body and wait for the chaos to die down.