While the troop slept huddled near the entrance, a tangle of fur and noisy breaths, Mogu advanced into the mountain's depths. His bare feet made no sound on the cold stone, and he moved like a shadow detached from the others.
The air deep inside was still, smelling of ground stone and the taste of blood in the mouth after a fight.
Mogu stopped before a wall where the bare rock disappeared under a thick layer of ice. It was a different kind of ice from the outside. It wasn't white and fluffy like snow; it was bluish, hard, a shell that had covered the mountain for countless winters.
He felt a tingling.
Not in his fingertips, but in the center of his chest. A strange pulsation, as if he had swallowed an ember that refused to burn out. It bothered him and, at the same time, pushed him forward.
Mogu raised his right hand. He hesitated for a second, watching his own breath turn into a cloud in the icy air, then pressed his open palm against the glacier.
The thermal shock should have hurt or burned his skin with the cold.
But the opposite happened…
The moment his skin touched the frozen surface, the tingling in his chest shot up his arm, running beneath the muscles like a furious river, until it exploded in his palm.
Tchiss...
The sound, subtle, was like water dripping onto heated stones.
Mogu was astonished.
Under his fingers, the ice was not merely melting slowly, as had happened with the crystal outside. The ice was receding. Water flowed thick and fast, washing the stone, creating a dark puddle at his feet.
He did not remove his hand — the sensation was good and powerful — feeling the heat flow into the wall, a silent exchange where he was the winner.
He drew a line on the ice with his index finger. The mark was deep in the frozen surface, carved by the unnatural heat of his touch.
— Huh?
The sound came from behind.
Mogu did not turn immediately. The warmth in his arm lessened.
When he turned to what was behind him, he caught three pairs of eyes shining in the gloom. They were two youngsters and Bura, a robust male who often disputed the best pieces of meat with him.
They had woken up and followed the leader, curious or perhaps suspicious.
Bura stared at Mogu, then at the wall weeping water.
The robust male grunted, impressed. Liquid water was life; it showed that, from then on, he wouldn't need to chew snow to mask his thirst.
Bura pushed Mogu lightly to the side, claiming the space with the arrogance of one who has bigger muscles. He puffed out his chest and forcefully slapped his own hand against the remaining ice, in the same spot Mogu had touched, hoping for the same result.
Bura pressed. Grunted. Strained until the tendons in his arm bulged.
Nothing.
That icy part remained cold, indifferent, hard as diamond.
Bura quickly removed his hand, shaking it in the air and blowing on his fingers, with a grimace of pain from the intense cold that burned his skin. He looked at the wall, confused, and tried again, this time with both hands.
The ice remained motionless.
Not a single drop. Only the cold biting Bura's flesh.
The two young apes also approached.
Shyly, they stretched out their long fingers and touched the edges where Mogu's water still flowed. But, under their contact, the water was already starting to freeze again. They stared at their own hands, then the wall, and finally looked at Mogu.
There was no trick. There was no tool.
Mogu stood still, his breath calm, observing the scene. He looked at his own palm, similar to anyone else's: calloused, thick skin, dirt-stained nails. But he knew it was not.
Bura stepped back two paces. His challenging posture, with raised shoulders, wilted. For the first time, the strong male did not look at Mogu as a rival who could be brought down in a fight of teeth and fists.
He perceived Mogu as a being of another nature, as if his essence were composed of the same matter as storms and fire.
— Mogu... — one of the youngsters whispered, stepping back, afraid.
Mogu turned toward the wall, placing his hand on the glacier again. The heat came, obedient, immediate, and the water flowed liquid once more.
— The mountain sleeps — Mogu said, using the tongue clicks with a new gravity. — But I am awake!
He scooped up a handful of the melted water and offered it to Bura. Not as a servant, but as someone granting a benefit.
Fear blossomed in Bura, clear in his hesitant gaze. However, his thirst nourished him. The great male bowed his head and, finally, drank from Mogu's hand.
In that dark cave, while the rest of the troop slept, dreaming of the cold, the hierarchy had been confirmed forever. Muscle strength was worthless before the ape who carried the summer in his veins.