The golden liquid shimmered in the dim light of the cave, thid viscous, a treasure coaxed from the Pain Trees with a small fire, a lot of smoke. But if anyone asked, I’d let them believe it was won through a dozeings and a close call with death. The honey, rid rare, was worth it.

  I found my mother he back of the cave, foldiher strips in preparation for the onths ahead. I approached quietly. She gnced up, "mom fallow me to our home" I asked, she did, and as she entered she found me holding the pot of honey with both hands.

  Her brow furrowing as she took in the honey, a rare sight in our meager supplies. “Where did you get all that, Anir?” she asked, her voice hushed, though the curiosity in her eyes was unmistakable.

  “From the Pain Trees,” I replied, keeping my tone light. “It took some time, but I ma.” I replied, keeping my tone casual, almost dismissive. She didn’t o know the details, and I didn’t need her w about the risks. This wasn’t just about the hohis was about trol, trust, and the subtle pnting of seeds that would grow into something the tribe couldn’t yet prehend.

  Her lips tightened into a thin line. “And the bees? I don’t want you risking yourself for something sweet.”

  “I scared them off with smoke and fire, and this ho’s more than just sweetness, Mother,” I said, my voice firm but gentle. I offered her the pot, watg her study the thick, golden liquid with a mixture of awe and caution. “This honey could mean more for us than just food.”

  She raised an eyebrow, looking at me with a hint of amusement. “And how’s that?”

  I drew closer, my voice dropping. “If winter’s hard this year and the tribe goes hungry, they may kick us out into the snow. Fewer mouths to feed.” The words were brutal, but I forced himself to say them. “If we want to make it through this winter, we ’t just rely on their goodwill.”

  A shadow crossed her face, and she lowered her gaze, her hands idly trag the edge of the pot. “I know it’s hard for us. But… we’re part of the tribe, Anir. They wouldn’t just turn us out.”

  “Would they?” I pressed, My tone carrying a sharper edge. “Do you think they’d feed us if it came down to it? You and I are the lowest iribe’s order, and you know it. We’re expendable.”

  She was silent, her expression troubled as she sidered my words. I tinued, a touch ency slipping into my voice.

  “We need our own food reserves,” I said, holding her gaze. “I hunt, but I ime, and we need allies. We need people who’ll look to us if it es down to a choice between us and the Bronlos.”

  Her eyes flicked up to meet mine, wary but attentive. “And you think honey will ge that?”

  “It could be a start,” my voice dropping to a low murmur. “Offer it to the other women, just a taste for each of them. Share it, but be careful. Make sure most of it goes to Tahya, wife of V Bronlo. When they ask why there isn’t more, tell them that the Bronlo family kept most of it for themselves.

  If the women are slow to uand you, mention—just in passing— how they like to make sure they get the best of everything.” I let the words sink in, watg as a flicker of uanding crossed her face.

  Her brow furrowed, he blinked, and glimmer of uanding beginning to repce her ay. She nodded, fingers curling around the pot with a newfound iy.

  She didn’t resist my pn, and I saark in her eyes I hadn’t seen in a long time. “And you think that will make the others… what, resent them?”

  “Maybe,” I said, shrugging as if it were merely a passing thought. “Maybe they’ll start to wonder why the Bronlos need so much. Why the rest of us have to make do with less. When winter bites, envy is just another form of hunger.”

  The Bronlos had ruled the tribe for too long, using their status as the “main family” to justify every excess, every indulgenow, it was time for that authority to be tested, weakened.

  She looked back down at the honey, her firag the edge of the pot thoughtfully. “I see. A taste of something sweet make people realize what they’ve been missing.” She paused, her voice softening. “But I don’t know, Anir. I’ve lived in this tribe for years. People have their ways… they don’t ge easily.”

  “Mom, people ge when they’re hungry,” I said, a hardness creeping into my voice. “And when they have a taste of something they might never have again, they start asking questions.”

  I looked at her and I know she needed more ving.

  “Give them a reminder,” I murmured, nodding toward the pot. “Something they hold onto. A remihat there’s no reason the Bronlos should get the best of everything, especially when there’s more than enough to go around.”

  My marded me thoughtfully, the lines on her face softening with a newfound purpose. “And you think... this will make a difference?” she asked, her tone more a challehan a question.

  “It already has,” I said evenly, a calm vi in my voice. “Just be careful how you say it—a suggestion here, a quiet ent there. Let the idea take root on its own.”

  She hesitated, gng outside toward the other women in the cave. “And what if it doesn’t work? What if this brings more trouble than help?”

  I softened, pg a reassuring hand on her arm. “Then we’ll still have a small reserve of our own. A ce to protect ourselves when things get harder. But if we make people question why they have less while the Bronlos get more… maybe we’ll have the ce to ge our p the tribe, or just let people look at the bronlo's instead of us.”

  She nodded slowly, her expression pensive. “All right. I’ll do it. Carefully.”

  I squeezed her arm gently, a rare moment of warmth between us. “Thank you, Mother. This is the first step, just a seed of doubt. We’ll let it grow on its own, and see where it leads.”

  She managed a small smile, her fiightening around the pot. “And you’re sure about this?”

  “As sure as I be,” I replied, fidehreading through my words. “We survive the winter. But we need more than just luck to do it.”

  She stood straighter, cradling the pot with a determination I hadn’t seen in her before. “You’re smart, Anir,” she murmured, pride warming her words. “Your father would have been proud.”

  The weight of her words hung heavy, pulling me momentarily from the strategy at hand. Father,,, the ohat abandoned me or the ohat died leaving the shadow of his abseo lingered over us both, but I forced the thought aside.

  This wasn’t about se, legacy or honor. This was survival. And it was time I showed the tribe what I was capable of.

  Later that evening, when the cave was sealed, I lingered in the shadows he edge of the firelight, watg as my mother moved gracefully through the huddled women. She cradled the honey pot like it held the st ember of a dying fire. With careful hands, she doled out the honey sparingly, each small portio with wide eyes and murmurs of appreciation. Some of these women hadn’t tasted honey in years.

  As eaan received her share, I noticed the ghey exged, eyes lighting with quiet envy and curiosity. They were tasting more than just hohey were tasting possibility.

  One woman, a tall, wiry figure, took a slow taste and looked around with suspi. “From the Bronlos’ stores?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper but heavy with pointed doubt.

  My mother smiled, dipping her finger into the honey and holding it out to the woman. “No, my son Anir collected it himself. This is all I have left, after sharing most of it with the main family.” Her words were soft, almost absent, but I saw how they nded, how the other women exged gheir eyes narrowing with just the fai edge of envy. Not even enting on my bravery.

  “You’d think they could spare a little more,” another woman murmured, her gaze drifting across the cave to where V Bronlo sat with his family, oblivious to the subtle seeds of reseaking root in the hearts of those around him.

  Perfect. They didn’t know it yet, but the Bronlos’ trol was slipping. The women were easy to buy there price was low, this was just test, I wao see how loyal they’d remain to the Bronlos when paid with something sweet, something they’d been denied for too long.

  Now I see, A hint of sweetness could breed bitterness just as easily as envy.

  It wouldn’t take much for that envy to turn into distrust. And from distrust? Disobedience. Just a taste, that’s all it took.

  Now Bronlos, with just a hint of rese, I'll see how well their title hold up against the quiet envy of the women. Women that share that seed of envy with their men, son's and daughters.

  I leaned bato the shadows, a slow, steady satisfa unfurling withihe Bronlos had ruled by force for years, believing that might was the only answer. But now, I’d found something far stronger: division.

  Brutal authority could only be perfected in the minds of those it oppressed, but perfe crumbled uhe fai whisper of distent.

  I could already see it in their faces—the way the women gnced sideways, suspi tainting their admiration. They didn’t know the game I ying, not yet. But they would. Soon enough, the tribe would see what happened when the cracks in power were exposed, one small taste at a time. And all it took was a little honey.

  As the murmurs spread and the pot emptied, I slipped further into the shadows, letting the satisfa settle. There was more work to be done, of course. But for now, the seeds had been pnted.

  This was only the beginning.