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ᴏɴᴇ

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The soft ruffling of leaves was the only sound Rhea could hear, other than her footsteps as leaves crunched under her sandals. She held her sword close to her body as she ducked behind her tree, keeping an eye on the large buck that was grazing with a small herd of deer in front of her. She pulled a small dagger out of her belt which hung low on her hips; it shone harshly in the sunlight as she went to throw it, only to hear a whizzing sound.

She watched as an arrow entered the buck’s temple, the deer scattered and the buck went down. She scowled, hearing loud laughter as she turned around to spot Xanthe—named after her yellow hair—holding a bow as she walked towards her, “What have I told you about being too slow to catch game Rhea?”

“Never be too slow,” Rhea mumbled as she kicked at the dirt covered ground, “You could blink and they could be gone before your eyes opened again.”

“Correct,” Xanthe climbed over a fallen log, “Now come, Queen Maia ordered us to get some buck for tonight since tomorrow we are going hunting for men.” She spat the word, a lot of them hated men and Rhea knew why, they had ran from them years ago to stop being treated poorly since the first Mother was abused. “We are going to have our very first daughters, can you believe it?” She asked in excitement.

“It will be very pleasing,” Rhea agreed as she wrapped a rope around the buck’s legs. She looked up at Xanthe as she hitched the rope over her shoulder, the thick, rough material digging into her back. She began to drag it back towards their encampment, “Do you think it will hurt?”

“I have heard it hurts,” Xanthe frowned, “But that is only if the man is not doing his job properly, you punish him if does not pleasure you, it is what Queen Maia has told us since we first grew breasts Rhea, you remember this.”

“I know,” Rhea looked up as they began to enter the village, every spring every five years a select few of the women would leave to reproduce, to add numbers to their camp. It had been five years since the last group of men had been captured and many of them had been killed, among them the sons the women produced. But some had been released. Those men had been distraught as they had a tiny infant left in their arms and the women dropped them off at the edge of their towns, not caring at all.

Rhea was now old enough to go out and reproduce, she would choose her own man and would hopefully be gifted with a daughter. Young girls of five spring seasons held their very first daggers; their mothers smiled and stroked their chubby, dirty cheeks. Their teacher—Gaia, their Queen Maia’s sister—stood proudly behind them, Gaia had never had her own children and cut off all her hair to show that she was dedicated to their way of life, nobody else had taken her lead, she was still a suspected virgin woman, pure as the day she was born.

A call was announced as they spotted Xanthe and Rhea at the edge of camp, other women came running forward to grab the dead buck and Rhea dropped the rope. She stretched out her tight muscles and rolled her shoulders back; she headed further into their little village and rubbed her dark skin. Xanthe was the only golden haired woman in the whole tribe, she was worshipped and she knew it, there were rumours going around the camp she’d be the next queen.

Everyone else had dark hair, dark skin and dark eyes, but they ranged from different shapes and sizes, with different personalities too. But alas, everyone loved Xanthe and the children just wanted to touch her hair. Xanthe’s mother had passed on in battle when Xanthe was only young, but she had told great tales of the pale haired and pale eyed man she had produced Xanthe with, if Rhea believed in such nonsense of love, she’d believe Xanthe’s mother had loved a man.