Boyhood: Book One of the Guardian of Gaia Series

Pups

Ray Bradley Warren

I got all three of my picks: The Nakan Prodigy, Hinata Murashima, my niece, Leslie Steele, and Prince Morgan. My men thought I was going soft by adopting these kids under my lead, but I knew something they didn't. These ten-year-olds surpassed most grown men and haven't had proper training yet.

My brother-in-law and I took control of Morgan and Leslie's training. They were pushed hard, but we have only mountain resources. We've built up the land with our salaries, but these kids were keeping up with our best. It always surprised me how the younger generation grasped things that betrayed their elders or heritage.

Morgan was a curiosity. I had witnessed his power, something thought of myth. The ability to teleport at will. The mysteries of the Ecru people. I have had Morgan reading this lore, these stories of his people. Hoping it somehow triggers him into using the other abilities in the stories. The kid loved to read. I couldn't get Leslie to sit in front of a book for more than twenty minutes daily. I often found Morgan in a tree reading until either he or his book fell from the tree.

At least he learned he could keep the study to himself. The kid needed space. He had a cold and calm disposition, but he's yet to heal nor forgive me. He doesn't trust anyone, nor does he speak much to anyone. Though, he's kept a journal. Obatta had taught him well.

My sister laughed at me once, saying she never saw me as a father but as an uncle. I was only the father of my works and my men. The military was in my family since humans walked on this soil—the Warren name from Warrenton Valley, where the mountains were the only place to go. For centuries we had worked to spread across the region covering most of Erdu. Yet, we suffered as our family collapsed from divorces, adultery, death, and suicide. We were jarheads to the core. It was our blood, and it was our blessing and our curse. We weren't the type to have sex or drink. We had few kids or caretakers. The mountains are challenging for survival. Growing old doesn't come naturally but the master of life. If they are weak, they'll die.

One winter, when I was a boy, our oxen died in a snowstorm. I had never seen so much blood butchering my friends. Animals I had helped birth and raise. We were helping my father preserve the meat by packing it all in snow and desperately fighting off bears, mountain lions, and even birds. There are an endless amount of starving animals. You stop seeing the differences between the two worlds.

Humans are not the apex predators. People pretend for their comfort. Our dominion over animals comes not from courage or power but our cunning.

The animals were relentless and plentiful and had already eaten our oxen alive for years. Yet we could defend them as they ran and fought back against predators. We had created a buffet.

We became starving animals, yet at the end of the day. My father believed in mercy. He believed the animals needed food more than us. The foolish things fathers say to recover their failures or soothe their family's fears. My father died before the winter ended. He and my father went hunting. And my uncle came home alone with an idea.

After the animals stole our food, my uncle took all the men on a raid. We were to steal from the animals what they had hoarded. Or they were eating the animals we had marked as thieves with darts and painted beads.

My father protested slaughtering all the animals. Many knew a fight ensued, but most raiders were tired of starving and willing to follow whoever promised food.

The animals had stored enough to feed us. Yet, they would fear us if we slaughtered all the marked animals. The feeding frenzy ensued. They were nearly burning down the forest while smoking all the meat. My father's body had never returned. And the men who supported my uncle swore themselves to secrecy. But I knew his screams when I heard them. I had heard them fighting bears.