The Mogushal Monkeys — formerly Gray Monkeys, now renamed in honor of the dream Mokessa had shared in the predawn hours of yesterday — woke up slowly, their bodies curled up in the makeshift shelter of branches and leaves, with soft snores echoing like whispers.
The smell of the forest was intense, a fragrance of freshly wet earth combined with the sweetness of fallen ripe fruit. In a way, breathing that air brought an unfamiliar sensation: it was as if the world were beginning anew, yet a kind of uncertainty hung in the air.
Mokessa felt the weight of the new name on her chest, like the beat of an extra heart, a reminder of her vision with Mogu. She got up first, her eyes — now livelier and almost luminous — examining all the primates in the group.
"Mogu is alive."
She thought, and the troop believed it, for the dream had been recounted with vivid detail: the Summer Bearer returning, not in physical form, but as a guide.
While the group, in a mixture of laziness and awakening, stretched their muscles and released morning grunts, a young male stood out. His light fur, speckled with patches, and his curious eyes revealed a restless mind. He approached Mokessa. He was, by far, one of the most questioning, his gaze always carrying a hint of uncertainty, but his loyalty to the alpha was practically unwavering.
He scratched his ear absently, his nervous gestures showing his internal agony — it seemed like faith and skepticism, as if the dream were a tale too good to be true.
— Mokessa — he said, whispering, yet firm, pausing to adjust the position of his paws on the soft ground, where leaves fell like confetti. He looked at her with an intrigued expression, eyebrows furrowed in a subtle arch, as if weighing invisible words. — Is it serious? You changed your name from Kessa to Mokessa? It sounds like one of those stories we tell on cold nights.
Mokessa turned to him and stared, her eyes narrowed in suspicion against the sun filtering through the leaves.
— It's not just a story. — she replied, with conviction. She gestured with her hand, fingers curling like claws, but she restrained herself.
It was not time yet; in fact, Mokessa did not even know if any element obeyed her.
Her thoughts were racing:
"He questions what I say, but his hesitation will be overcome. Mogu returned to me, and to all of us. If I don't prove it, the group might dissolve into nothing."
The young male blinked, his expression shifting to a slight grimace, his lower lip turned down in doubt, as he scratched his chin with his hind paw, a nervous habit he often indulged in.
Other monkeys came to join the group, creating a crooked circle, full of curiosity and a certain fear. The way they looked, initially distrustful, showed a stored tension — bodies ready for whatever happened, but focused on caution rather than pure reaction.
An older female, with scars from a time when the ice stubbornly refused to thaw, grunted in support:
— If Mogu spoke to her in a dream, it is true. He defeated the Eternal Winter before, and that cannot be denied.
However, the young male persisted, turning his head with strange interest, as if trying to decipher some mystery.
— But couldn't it just be exhaustion talking? We built the shelter yesterday, and today the world turned upside down? It's too much to process, Mokessa. To me, you are Kessa, the leader who kept us alive after Mogu left.
Mokessa felt a wave of emotion — pride alongside impatience, like fire and water meeting without extinguishing each other. She touched his shoulder with her hand, a gesture of affection, while her intense eyes demonstrated a sign of power.
— I understand you. But the experience was vivid, I cannot deny it, as solid as stepping on firm ground. Mogu gave me the name Mokessa so that I would be his link to our people. And now we are the Mogushal Monkeys. — she concluded: — You can doubt, but the truth will be before your eyes. Just observe.
The group's silence was absolute. They merely exchanged glances and some low grumbles, forcing agreement with a nod while others allowed apprehension to grow. The conversation ended, but the questions — at least from some primates — persisted.
The group dragged itself toward the morning tasks — gathering food and fruit —, however, the air was dense, heavy with a bad premonition. The sun hit the ground in bright spots, filtered by the trees, suspending the cloying aroma of recently rotten fruit.
Mokessa accompanied them, her chest tight with a knot of emotions: a spark of hope trying to fight anxiety, perhaps? The alpha stared at the sky, where the clouds gathered like a threat of rain, and a single thought crystallized:
"Mogu, give me strength. The troop needs to believe!"
The sun rose higher, transforming the jungle into a cauldron of light and shadow, where ancient trunks stood like silent guardians, and vines intertwined like a living creature. The troop continued following its alpha, a handful of monkeys: the questioner, the scarred female, and some curious youngsters, their steps synchronized in rhythm — the troop had divided into several smaller teams.
Mokessa paused occasionally, her ears attentive to the birdsong and the buzzing of insects, which seemed like a melody of the "end of the Eternal Winter" and the announcement of life. They took cautious steps, their bodies lowering to avoid low branches, expressions of concentration — eyes narrowed, noses sniffing, paws testing the ground.
Mokessa, at the front, stumbled over something soft, suffering a small fall.
Her gaze lowered, and what she saw were bodies — the monkeys of the troop, once her brethren, now inert, dismembered at absurd angles, like the remains of shattered puppets. Dry blood stained the soil, a raw testament to the violence that had fallen upon them there.
— No... it can't be — she whispered, her voice tearing, an uncontrollable tremor that was shock and pain. Her mind was a whirlwind:
Who dared to do this? Was it a beast? Mogu, why now, why at this moment?
The group stopped, stunned by the brutality of the scene, a horror that united them silently and perplexed. Mouths hung open, mute, in unsounded grunts, eyes bulging, fixed on the deads.
The scarred female approached slowly, her paw covering her mouth in a reflex of someone who feels the weight of what they see, the tension squeezing the air around her like a storm in the soul.
— Look at the marks, Mokessa. Huge teeth, like a predator's. It's not a common wolf.
Mokessa knelt beside a body, anxious fingers touching the bloody fur, even as tears welled in her eyes.
The young male recoiled, nauseous, murmuring:
— Were ours hunted while we slept? — The blood was coagulating in almost dark pools, the glassy eyes of the dead gazing at nothing, irregular wounds like tears in living tissue.
They moved on, and despair circulated through the air, tightening the stomach of each one like a knot. Hearts pounded in a frantic and disorderly rhythm, breaths came short, choked, in a mute and somber premonition that something much larger and more terrifying awaited them.
— It can't be mere chance — Mokessa murmured to herself, feeling the abyss between the sweet promise of the dream and the cutting harshness of reality. A flash of heat ran through her veins, Mogu's fire wanting to emerge, but she contained it. — Who took their lives? Could some beast from the Eternal Winter have dared to return?
The scarred female grunted:
— We have to go back and warn the others! This is an immense sign of danger, Mokessa!
The smell of decomposing bodies mingled with the perfume of the living forest, creating a brutal contrast between nature and the primates.
A shiver ran down Mokessa's back. The ground, marked by colossal footprints and torn grass, signaled the passage of a apparently gigantic beast. A host of questions assaulted her:
"If Mogu returned, why this trail of terror? Would it be a challenge?"
With effort that curved their backs and steps, the troop began the painful transport of the bodies. The burden was double, weighing not only on the body but also on the spirit, and with each step the anguish intensified. The forest, which once welcomed them with its serene green, now became a hostile and strangely dangerous place.