Onward they marched, the land dotted with lakes and mud holes. This southern hemisphere possessed no great body of water, just streams and ponds for the most part: beautiful as they were they were not home for the many: even though Siren got to like this part of the planet quite well. Some plains had a dark thick forest here and there then all of a sudden: barren hills, a few mountains in the background; more pleasant than the grasslands she figured by far (and the vipers were hoping she did not get to liking it too much in this area); but it was not suitable for their livelihood, and she knew it. Siren did call this land “The Land of Variety,” for it had a lot of everything all together.

In many ways this land was more livable than the tall grass lands they were heading back to, or the mounds with the forest surrounding it; the rodents abode, both seemingly above and below one another, and the mound in the middle between them, here is where Siren had built her castle in the trees. But it was familiar ground for all, and it seemed the creatures were longing for it, and it seemed she had a duty to bring them back home, and so she was.

—What her followers were learning about their leader was that: Siren was (if anything), a tenacious character: stubborn, and at times down right bodacious: she called it being assertive though—but it was a ting beyond that I suppose. And her abode was the conclave for the armies to gather and see where the next movement would be. It was home.

Linguistically speaking, Siren was becoming just that, a linguist: not so much in forgion languages as it would normally be under such a title on earth, but in all areas: human and animalistic speaking, for such a title on SSARG: she could related to all and whomever, whenever. Here is where she and they would do their emendations, if needed.

They had been gone almost two-years by this time, by the time she and they, her armies arrived back at their homeland; now standing by their tree house, castle that is, still the only cloths she had on was the small, cut tunic she acquired from the cliff dwellers, here all of a sudden she felt something was wrong; call it her intuition, or simply her warriors sensory perception: her sense were working overtime.

Something was wrong—, there was a horde of (clan of) Jackals, now in possession of the land, whose eyes were like voodoo drums, beaming on them from all sides.

They were making sounds, encircling her and her army. They had come from the other side of the world: they had heard about Siren and the great battle. Siren had become a living legend on the planet. And the Master Jackal, Blezza e’l (seemingly a demonic-jackal with somekind of reasoning), a creature from another planet perhaps she deliberated, that had entered the jackals of SSARG’s, for she had seen jackals, but not this aggressive or verbal, or for that matter, army orientated. He was quite different from his followers, who did not have formal reasoning, but rather his followers acted on the sameness, intuitive mind of their normal kind, yet took orders from this mastermind of aggression. There were 50,000-jackals, all creeping in and around the conclave area. He wished to be worshiped as the world warrior, yet this was not told to Siren, on you, my intrepid readers.

Siren knew this battle would not be as easy as the last one, although the last one was not easy in the sense of losses, it was in the sense of they knew (it as not the unknown I mean), they new, they’d win at the end, and they knew they’d have to suffer a paramount of losses. This battle looked like extinction at this point. These warriors were trained to dodge; bite, step back, and look for the weak spots, then re-attack. And they looked most barbaric of all the creatures on the planet, so was Siren’s deduction of the situation.

“Siren the Great,” called the Master Jackal. He wanted to know his enemy; know the one who conquered the planet—for she was the only one that had ever done so: he wanted to know the living legend, the queen who took the Cliff Dwellers. And so, she allowed him to stay within the mound area without dispute, and treated him with respect for the first month, and they seemed to get along well, both conquerors they both were and Siren with the worldwide reputation. Hence, it came to a showdown, it was in the forenoon, and he had told her:

“Recognize defeat, and proclaim it, and we shall move on, or be defeated, and we shall rape this land!” He actually was respectful about it, and perhaps, thought Siren, perhaps he could be trusted, but could she chance it. Would he do what he said he’d do, leave; or was it a ploy to say he won the greatest battle from the greatest conqueror of all time, and never lost one soldier in the process; thus, it would be the greatest of folklores ever told, for a ten-thousand years.

On the other hand, did she have a choice; she had stalled for time, and her two armies were ready for battle, but could 10,000-beat, 50,000-who had been rested up, just as much as they, fed and ready for battle. But the Master Jackal hadn’t thought of something, the season, and Siren had. The monsoon season had set in, and the Jackals had not been aware there was such a season, anyplace on this planet; had they token the time to look at the tall grass, it should have told them something: it needed plenty of water, and thus, where did it come from—the water that is. Save, the fact was too late, and the season was upon them, and Siren had already talked to her rodents and vipers, and all was set for the battle, as the Master Jackal waited for Siren’s defeat, verbally.

She stood in the rain in front of the Master Jackal, in protest, and with a kick to his ribs, broke two of them, so started the war:

The war went on within the swampy grasslands where the jackals massed up, ended up getting lost and got eaten up by the snakes. Night after night, it rained, and night after night the snakes chewed them up like worms; they got caught in the thickness of the grass, entangled in the webs of the grass; as the rodents would chase them into the grass, and often be chased into the grass, but the vipers would not attack the rodents, only the jackals, and they waited for them, and attacked them in the woods and grasslands, night after night, like a territorial army of a hundred-thousand; yet they were only five-thousand vipers and five-thousand rodents.

See Dennis' web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com

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