You don’t like the chief much.

His eyes are often narrowed into thin, distrusting slits and sometimes, you see his fingers twitch—like he’s resisting the urge to strangle.

He leads fearlessly, and with courage. The tribe is safe under his rule.

One night, the people gather around a fire. He announces that a lucky woman will be selected to bear his heir. The women of the tribe preen and titter in excitement. You swallow your disgust.

And then his eyes settle onto you. Quiet, mousy you.