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Short Story S:2 P: 11 - "The Tribal Chief"

     He settled on the stone, his crinkled eyes sweeping over the faces gathered around him as he gripped the staff with the gleaming stone perched atop it warily in his hands. It all felt different--like he was suddenly alone, separated from them--and his shoulders curled a bit up and forward as if the sensation had weight and he wished to protect himself. Their stares no longer regarded him as father, grandfather, brother, ally or even enemy. No, they looked at him as something else now--something undefined but necessary.
     He did not know what to expect of them and, he suppose in turn, they did not know the same of him as well.
     This was all so...well, he had no comparison.
     Perhaps, he thought, this was where they should begin.
     Lifting his chin up, drawing their attention towards his face, he gestured to the vast plains and jungles around them--his hand slightly cupped to be clear he was deeming all that they could see as a whole--while words tumbled out of his mouth loudly to be heard by all. He wanted them to understand, this was theirs, and--bringing his hand to his chest, palm spread--they were apart of it. Responsible, just like the water that flowed which quenched their thirst, and the plants and trees that grew and gave them shade. They had a duty, a Balance to keep.
     But it wasn't just for the world around them.
     It was also for themselves.
     He saw worried eyes sparkle with curiosity and hope as he spoke, he saw tension seep away from muscular shoulders and awareness creep into the stare of those who were often foolish. They were listening, all of them, and it urged his words onward.
     They had a balance indeed that needed to be kept because, looking around them, they needed to realize how small they are, how few they counted as they huddled together. They do not see a single black crawler no bigger than the pad of their thumb as it makes its way across the rough earth while they walk, do they? No, it is one of many, a line that seems to follow a command of some kind, one that breaks apart and works together when it gathers, and then reforms again as they journey on.
The large black four legged terror that stalks them in the trees does not come into existence alone or even attacks its own kind. No, it is aware that it is apart of a much bigger whole, more than can be seen around them and they must embrace that.
     Otherwise there would soon be nothing left of them.
     How many times had they kicked fresh earth over pools of their own blood to cover the scent to keep other predators away? How many tears had they shed while standing over the body of one of their own? How much did they hurt? How long did it take for them to heal after each fight? Did they not grown when they hunted, traveled and lived together?
     And did they not fall apart when they fought amongst themselves?
     This is why they must create something--an order perhaps--among them. There must be a balance to encourage growth, to keep them safe and to build trust. There has to be something...or someone...who would be the one responsible.
     They needed a leader, an elder--someone higher than a father or mother, perhaps. Someone of supportive intent to make the hard decisions.
     Someone...like a Tribal Chief.
     And he would be the first.
     He was not young nor fit like some of the others. In fact he was much older, grey and weathered. But he had been like them. He had hunted not just for food but for satisfaction, killing those different from him and those he had once shared his childhood with. He had taken what he wanted, protected none, and soon his body had started to ache. He no longer felt free or weightless. The heat of the bright sun did not sooth him, nor did the sparkling twilight at night. It was as if he carried rocks in his stomach and they were dragging him down where he may one day only be able to crawl forward instead of walk.
     He did not want that for them.
     So he would take on this responsibility first. He would teach and judge others around him and hope that, when his eyes close for the last time, they pass on his experiences and keep the small band of creatures they were, alive. Because they were all alike, apart of the bigger view, and they had to adhere to the balance around them.
     They had to survive.
     He cast his eyes around him again, saw their heads slowly nod in agreement, watched as they glanced to the ground and then, one by one, they lowered themselves before him--as if they were kneeling for water--or nourishment, until their heads were bowed. He stood above them, alone, weighted, but he stood and he nodded his head to himself. This would be good for them, it was necessary.
     And they would live on. 

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