W20 - Changing Breeds.pdf

Once, Ajaba played a vital role in the natural andsupernatural microcosm of Africa. Today, they scrambledesperately for survival in the wake of a leonine massacre.Their enemies thought to destroy them, but nowthe werehyenas are hungry to reclaim their duties — andexact their revenge.LegendDark times are upon us, my child, but do not mourn.Set your teeth instead to the killer’s grin, for darknessis a friend to those who know the shadows — and noneknow the darkness better than we.It was not always so. In the light of First Morning,we were a proud people with a sacred duty. We were thechoosers of the slain, the cullers of the flock, and in ourfootsteps the tears of those who mourned fell like rain. Ourjaws offered salvation from a slow death by hunger, by age,by illness. We cleared away the misshapen, the perverse,the wrong-blooded and warped who sullied the herd withtheir taint. We slew the weak, that the strong might growstronger and the fallen feed the scavengers and carrion-birds.It was an honorable duty, a strong birthright, andwe did our job well. For generations without number, weheld to our ways, and the veldt prospered.Then came the dry times, when the rains no longerfed the grasslands and hunger swept the land. Droughtkilled more than even we would dare slaughter, fromhunger, thirst, and the heat of the never-ending summer.It drove the herds to seek new lands, looking for water,food, or shelter from the sun.And it brought men to the land of the beasts.They came with their flocks, bearing their villageson their backs, and the grasslands died, eaten bare bytheir cattle and goats. We moved to cull their numbers aswell — beast and man alike — but the humans baited us,hunted us, and in time, proved their worth. These werestrong men and women, and their blood strengthened ourline. Our numbers grew, both two-legged and four, and fora time our clans stretched from one edge of the land to theother. It was a glorious time for the Bringers of the Rain.42CHANGING BREEDSBut the dry times did not end. And though we heldour duty dear, the rains would not fall, no matter howmany tears we called to summon them. The wild flocksfaded. Even we could not bring swift peace to all thosewho faced the long night with hollow bellies, never tosee another dawn.Just as hunger drove the herding villages to us, seekingrespite, it brought other predators into our lands.Our cousins, the cats-who-walk-on-two-feet, sought thedwindling herds also, and we warred beneath the twilightfor food to feed our cubs.The war between ourselves and catkind grew todesperate levels. They who had once patterned themselvesmighty hunters, but who stormed in to steal ourkills. They who fouled our waters with their lazy ways.They who left meat to rot in the sun rather than bearthe presence of the scavengers who starved around them.They blamed us for their poor hunting. Blamed usfor our “unnatural ways”. Blamed us when their ownpride left their cubs to hunger, their Kin to starve, theirchildren to dry up in their mother’s wombs.There was no longer enough for both to survive. Notenough food. Not enough water. Not enough hope thatwe all might live on. They murdered our young, and wetheirs, and the grasslands supped on blood from both.Then came the Endless Storm, and the battle cameto a head.Bare your teeth, my child, at the name of BlackTooth, killer of our kind. It was he who learned theYava of our people. It was he who raged across the lands,slaying Ajaba, hyena, and human alike. It was his pridewho swept the Serengeti like a murderous squall, and hisminions who hunted us to the streets of Bombay.Something had to be done. Our king, Adjua Ka,called the people together, to unite our forces — andcounterattack.We gathered by the hundreds — men, women, andchildren — filling the Ngornongoro Crater until thevalley glowed bright as day with our campfires. Metisand Kin, an army of hyenas, humans, and we in between.