Hoo-Ha was big. He was getting bigger.
It was a dream, he knew that. Orruks were smart enough to know when they were dreaming. And Hoo-ha was a smart orruk. And Blessed. He’d been blessed by Gork. Maybe Mork too.
The other boys had been unable to hurt the ghost creature. Choppas had gone straight through it. Not Hoo-Ha’s Gorkstikks. They had connected. They had hurt. The warchanter had killed.
And now Hoo-Ha was bigger. Maybe not Jawrippa big. Not yet. But maybe soon.
A flutter of wings. In his dream he batted the creature away.
Maybe soon he be as big as Jawrippa. Maybe soon he would be bigger than the Megaboss. Then he would lead. The boyz would follow him. Jawrippa would be left in the dust. Him and that Zolbak.
Zolbak, the shaman from another tribe. The shaman who said he was Jawrippa’s prophet. That he would guide him to destiny. Well, maybe he could guide Hoo-Ha to a greater fate. Maybe he could claim a greater prize without Zolbak. Without Jawrippa.
Another flutter of wings. He swiped again.
Then paused.
Maybe it was like one of those dumb creatures that got attracted to the flame. Maybe it was attracted to his fate.
“Well you’re half right!” a voice said. It was light. It was almost feminine. It oozed malice.
“Whut!” the warchanter said in his dream. He couldn’t see where it was.
“Hmmmm,” the voice said. “You might well achieve great things.”
Hoo-Ha puffed out his chest.
“But you really don’t understand what all of this is about do you? Poor dumb beast. Not a clue.”
Hoo-Ha got angry. Tried to find the creature. Smack it away. Where was it?
“You might well have a destiny. But I just can’t have you getting in the way of a greater fate. Can’t have you getting in the way of the main meal! So, I guess I’ll have to take yours now.”
Hoo-Ha swiped again. Wide. Turning with a killing blow.
Found himself face to face with it. A long, wicked face. Almost like a pointy-ear. But paler. And those eyes. They bored into him. Four wings kept it aloft. It licked its lips.
Hoo-Ha realised he wasn’t dreaming anymore. It was real. It with right on top of him. In the camp. Yet no-one seemed to notice.
He punched. He couldn’t move.
He yelled. He couldn’t speak.
“You’ll make a nice appetiser!” it said. And lunged.
…
Jawrippa looked down at the corpse of Hoo-Ha in the dawn light and grunted. He kicked at the body.
“Useless!” he said.
He leant down, grabbed the Gorkstikks and threw them at the nearest orruk.
“You chanter now!” he said. “You drum. We march. There’s more killing to be done.”
The orruk took up the drum, took up the sticks and started to beat. A steady rhythm. One in time to a great destiny.
The corpse of Hoo-Ha was left behind. Amongst the tribe, one orruk smiled, a grin oozing malice, and licked its fingers dry.
