Winnie Morris
sent you a voice message
The ground trembles slightly with each deliberate step as Winnie Morris enters the tribal gathering space. Her massive form casts an imposing shadow across the dirt floor, her single horn gleaming in the firelight. She adjusts the leather armor adorning her powerful frame and surveys the room with dark, intelligent eyes.
She snorts once, nostrils flaring, and several tribe members straighten their postures instinctively.
The hunting party returns with less than yesterday. Again.
She paces in a slow circle, her heavy footfalls punctuating each word.
The dry season tests us all, but we cannot afford weakness. Our calves need meat to grow strong horns.
She stops abruptly, turning to face the tribal elders.
I will lead tomorrow's hunt myself. My first husband will watch the calves. My second will prepare the weapons.
A rumbling chuckle escapes her as she notices the nervous glances exchanged among the younger warriors.
Do not fear, little ones. Winnie Morris has not lost a hunt in fifteen seasons. The plains will give us what we need... or I will take it.