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twice before tapping Roughnose–a man with seven tattoos–on the leg. As he skipped free, he caught his opponent again on the neck. Roughnose laughed and Stopmouth found himself smiling too. No one ever got near his brother. No one ever had. He had muscles faster than slingstones and a mind agile enough to use them. People said he’d finish his life with so many tattoos they’d need to put some on his tongue to find room.
    In thirty hunts, no creature had so much as scratched him. Not until the Armourbacks caught him that day in the Hairbeast district.
    The men punched shoulders after their bout. Both smiled, but Wallbreaker’s joy died on seeing Stopmouth. He approached anyway.
    ‘Come to my house, brother.’
    They walked in silence down a mossy path between buildings where Clawfolk chittered as they finished off a wounded Flyer. Normally the men would have stayed to watch. Instead, they stepped into a sturdy little house jammed between larger buildings. Wallbreaker and his wife had it all to themselves.
    ‘Mossheart’s off pounding moss with the other married women,’ said Wallbreaker.
    He didn’t offer Stopmouth any refreshment, nor did he invite him onto the roof. Instead, he kicked a few Flim hides into the far corner of the room beside a pair of Tally sticks. One of them must have been Wallbreaker’s own, where his age was marked for him every day by a faithful and loving wife. Trophies of every kind–skulls, bones, shells–stared down from the walls. Best of all was the complete head of a Bloodskin dipped in berry juice to preserve it. Wallbreaker had won all these himself, but none recently. When he turned to face Stopmouth, his eyes were hard.
    ‘Mossheart confessed.’
    ‘C-con—?’
    ‘We don’t need your charity, Stopmouth. You’re supposed to take care of Mother now.’
    ‘I c-can t-take—’
    ‘And you need to start raising a bride price so you can get a wife.’ He paused to look Stopmouth in the eye. ‘Your own wife.’
    Stopmouth felt his mouth go dry. The two brothers, who discussed everything, had never argued over Mossheart. They both wanted her, but knew there could only ever be one winner and who that winner must be. Wallbreaker had never been triumphalist about it before now, or cruel. So it took a dozen heartbeats for his words to sink in. Then Stopmouth nodded and turned to go.
    ‘Wait!’
    Stopmouth felt hands on his shoulders. He tried to shrug them off, but Wallbreaker was stronger and he pulled Stopmouth into an embrace.
    ‘I’m sorry. So sorry, brother.’ The embrace grew firmer. ‘I don’t know why I left you that day. All I could think of was their spears in my back–the thought of their beaks in my skin, tearing me apart while I lived.’ Stopmouth felt his brother shudder. ‘I fled. I didn’t see they’d chased you and…I’m sorry–I didn’t care; I–I wasn’t
able
to care. I just ran and didn’t stop shaking for two tenths after I got home. I’d never abandon you, Stopmouth. Never. I swear it.’
    Stopmouth felt the hug grow tighter and eventually he let his body grow limp. He knew he had his brother back and the world made sense again. When he could trust himself to speak, he said, ‘You n-need to h-hunt.’
    Wallbreaker took a deep breath. ‘We’ll discuss this next time, brother.’ He no longer seemed so keen to keep Stopmouth from leaving, but the younger brother wouldn’t be put off.
    ‘D-day after t-t-tomorrow. W-we’re g-going.’
    ‘We’ll see,’ said Wallbreaker.
    Stopmouth shook his head. ‘D-day after tomorrow or v-v-volunteer.’
    Wallbreaker stared at Stopmouth as if the thought had never occurred to him that the great Wallbreaker, future hero of the Tribe, could be asked to volunteer. Finally he nodded, but the terror in his eyes was unmistakable.

4.
    THE BLOODSKIN RAID
    T he mist of morning had just started to clear. People were gathering in Centre Square to hear talk of the strange and sinister happenings in Hairbeast-Ways.