Many a moon had it been since the num had dealt with the nyarr.

Oh, the dreadful nyarr, sharp of fangs, long of claws and master of its slithering tentacles.
It would have devoured the num as it had many a other creature.

Fierce and long had that battle been, and the num would not say that the nyarr might not have won.

But for the fact the num was not like other nums.
A weak num.
A soft num.
Not hale of body, strong of limbs, wise in the ways of battle.
And hollow without the passion that drove the wild num onwards.

And so the num had fought. Fist against claw, strong teeth against dreadful fangs.
Seven days upon seven nights.
Beneath the golden sun goddess, and beneath the abalaster moon goddess, as they wandered across the heavens.
East to west

If those who had driven the num out of its village had seen it... they would have known,
that truly the wild num was a monster and that they were right to do so.

For naught but a monster could face the nyarr and live. Let along win. Yet, the num had done so.

In the end, the nyarr fell. The ground shaking as its body over a hundred shaku long collapsed.

From that battle, the num bore many a scar... over which it wore with pride, the hide of the nyarr. And in hands... weapons.
For the num forged of the claws, blades that it could use. Its own claws.

And yet... despite that victory, it was still a sad num...
for it was alone and there were no other nums to witness its victory.