swirl. The tide beat against the rocks, causing the mud to swirl in the opposite direction, once again renewing the cycle of destruction and reformation. As the waters finished cooling, the tide weakened, and the lack of force created less dust for the fiery mote. The mud continued to barrage itself, relying totally on its own force.
The clumps took a uniform shape as the beating becomes less sporadic. They collided less and less, yet their motion continued. The clumps moved around individually, sometimes swirling around in sync, sometimes swirling around and smashing into each other. When the clumps of mud formed identically, the autonomous motion ceased, and each individual clod moved on its own accord. They scattered in tiny groups around the giant landmass, mingling, yet too solid to combine into a singular whole. This confusion lasted until the clumps distinguished each other from different features. These were split into two distinct groups, though no individual impeccably resembled another.
They came to be known as Kay and Kel. The small groups, an equal mix of both type, congregated around the dry lake’s remnants. Whenever these groups came into contact, they engaged in combat. The Kel fought Kel, while the Kay birthed more between battles. Death was initially impossible, since Kel bodies could endure the strikes of other Kel. As countless time passed, many grew weaker, while others managed to retain their strength. These were valued above all others and were given leadership among their groups, which came to be known as clans.
Over time, the leaders made themselves distinct from their subordinates, and even more so from the other leaders, whose subordinates resembled their masters more than the subordinates of other clans. The greatest fighters lacked speech, while the lesser fighters communicated verbally, mocking their enemies and praising their leader. As a result, the clans shared a universal language.
Names were given to those who lacked speech. This consisted of the chiefs and a few of their top fighters. When the better fighters died in battle, the lesser adopted their names. The names of the chiefs were considered sacred, since their battle prowess surpassed the others by a considerable degree. The lesser revered their superiors, lashing their envy onto the other chieftains, always considered inferiors to their own. This sort of boasting occurred frequently during the mating periods, when the Kel would replenish their number with the Kay.
The Kay were given unique names. If one were to birth another Kay, the elder would be killed and the name passed to their offspring. Since the Kay did not participate in battle, their numbers needed to be culled; else the population would grow to an enormous number, thinning out the bloodline and producing inferior warriors. Births took place a day after conception and full growth another day. The average Kel lifespan was short due to perpetual warfare. Each new generation brought its own defects, giving the older a priority in choosing mates. This prolonged the species inevitable degradation, though still leaving a substantial gap between the newborn and the clan leaders.
The clans were narrowed down to six and reached a long stalemate, leading to a massive increase in numbers, resulting in unceasing skirmishes. A routing clan would find another at their rear, while a victorious clan would discover an attacking clan at both flanks. This meant an all-out war with wholesale slaughter as the sole condition.
There was no communication between clan members during this demoralizing period. If not for the Kay, even names would have been forgotten. They were not wholly excluded from combat; enemies occasionally seized or killed the opposing Kay without resistance. They continued to flourish, despite the continued efforts to keep their numbers at a manageable rate. Neither Kel nor Kay could abstain from their wanton desire to reproduce. The weaker fled from battle to find a