Luke woke up to the sound of drumbeats. Oh shit. The drumbeats can only mean one thing. It was that time of the year again. He sat up on the hard ground. Today marks his eighth year of being a weak, unmanly cry baby.
It is a tradition in the Imrans tribe that when a boy reaches the age of twelve, they will kneel down before everyone while their bare backs get beat with whips. The drumbeats were just to open and close the assembly and to regulate the speed of the beating. They aren't allowed to scream, or cry, or even flinch. If you do, you will have to receive yet another beating the next year with all the other twelve year olds.
Luke was known in his tribe for being a weakling. He was twenty years old, yet he still hasn't passed his beating. He reluctantly stands up from his spot on the floor, and exits his hut—his parents kicked him out theirs when he failed his third year, which was four years ago.
He arrived at Nicaul, which was where the beating was to take place. He saw some young boys already kneeling down and silently praying to the Gods, and some boys still being encouraged by their parents. But what surprised him was that the Judge of the Bellarmino tribe, Hale, was there, with his daughter Phyllis, shaking hands with the Judge of their tribe, Raz. Great, he thought, I'm gonna embarrass myself in front of Bellarmino leadership.
Embarrassing yourself in front of Hale is like embarrassing yourself in front of the entire Bellarmino tribe—which is the biggest of the five tribes—and embarrassing yourself in front of the whole Bellarmino tribe is like embarrassing yourself in front of the Imrans, Cordelli and Kostia tribes combined. Plus, Phyllis, who is known to be the most beautiful young woman in Bellarmino, was there. Everyone wanted to marry her. Everyone. Even Luke, but now he knows he has no chance as she's about to see him cry and urinate at the same time.
Luke went and kneeled down with the rest of the twelve year old boys, after a good two or three minutes of staring at Phyllis. He sighed—she's gonna see how weak and unmanly he is. Some of the boys gave him questioning looks, but most of them looked at him with facial expressions that said, oh, it's him again.
It was soon time for the first boy to receive his beating. He was at most half the size of Luke, and he passed. Luke felt a pang of jealousy towards the small boy. He looked up and searched the crowd for his parents, have they given up on him? Then his blue eyes landed on those of his mother's. And behind her stood his father. Both their lips were pursed, eyebrows furrowed. I'm sorry, He tried telling them with his eyes. But their facial expressions remained the same.
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Phyllis watched as her father and Raz shook their hands. She sighed—she didn't want to come. She couldn't bear to watch little boys get beat with whips. It was brutal. She knew the Imrans tribe was known for beating twelve year old boys. She hasn't actually watched it, but by the worried slash frightened looks on the little boys' faces, it wasn't very pleasant.
Sighing, she followed behind her father who sat next to Raz, and sat down next to him. She studied this year's group of boys. They were trembling, taking deep breaths. She saw parents coaxing their children, which made her smile a tiny bit. But what really caught her eye was a boy, who looked to be about her age, kneeling down amongst the other young boys.
He really stuck out because apart from his age, he looked to be about over six feet tall. He must've not passed his beating yet, she thought. And, judging by the fact that he's still here, he might not be physically strong. But on the inside, he was. He was not afraid of being humiliated in front of his tribe, with a bunch of children.
Time went by quickly, and it was soon the older boy's turn, she saw him shut his eyes tight, as the whip made contact with his bare back. Again. And again. And again. But he did not cry, nor did he scream.
☼☼☼
Calum sat, his back against a tree deep in the woods, throwing rocks at another tree in front of him, pretending it was his mother. How could she, he thought to himself.
He's been sitting there, doing it for hours now—throw rocks at a tree, when they bounce back, pick them up off the ground, then throw them back at the tree.
That's how things were in the Cordelli tribe. If you aren't married by the age twenty, your parents get to choose who you marry for you. And Calum would've been fine with it, if the woman he was supposed to marry wasn't spoiled, bratty, bossy, self-centered, narrow-minded, short-tempered, and the list goes on.
He was no longer paying attention to where he was throwing his rocks, but he noticed that one of the rocks he threw didn't create the same sound as the others when they made contact with the tree. Must've hit something else, he thought, probably a wolf or something. There were lots of wolves in the Cordelli tribe. He shrugged and carried on with chucking his rocks.
Then he heard a cry—an animal's cry. Slowly, he stood up from where he sat against a tree, and followed the sound of the whimpering.
He looked around, and realized the sound was coming from his left, so he headed left and started looking behind bushes and tree trunks. The sound was getting louder and louder, so he must've been getting closer and closer.
As he got closer, for a moment, the sound was loud and clear, then it was completely silent.
"What the—", Calum started, but cut himself off when he heard the sound of the rustling of bushes in front of him. He walked forward and stopped in front of a particularly large bush.
The rustling has stopped by now, and Calum mentally counted to three, then ripped the bush apart to reveal wolf he hit accidentally with his rock.
Except it wasn't a wolf.
But a girl.
☽☽☽
