Three Thresholds

Smoothsnout Sharptooth: Eustreptospondylus

When the Bright Circle rose the next day, Cera awoke to find Fyn absently chewing on the branch of one of the dry trees, staring off into the distance through puffy eyelids. Cura was still asleep, but she was tossing and turning more than usual. From the look of things, something was clearly up.

"Rough night?" she said to the Longneck, lifting herself to her feet and helping herself to the leaves of a nearby bush.

Fyn kept chewing for a moment before shaking himself free of his daze.

"What?"

"I asked if you had a rough night," Cera clarified, forcing down the bitter leaves. "You look like you've just come out of a stampede."

"Oh," Fyn said, and returned to his branch.

"Just didn't sleep all that well, I guess. Probably the food."

"Right," Cera said, unconvinced, "well, I hope you're ready to cover some ground today, because if we get a move on, we might be able to stop somewhere with a better variety than this. Then you won't have to pretend to enjoy eating all this crap."

As if to illustrate her point, Cera spit the gritty remains of a particularly dry leaf from her mouth, and Fyn managed to conjure up a weak chuckle.

"What, you think I was pretending?"

The branch snapped off in Fyn's mouth, and the Longneck, surprised, accidentally sucked a few dead leaves down his windpipe. Coughing and choking, he spat the leaves back out, grimacing at Cera.

"My point exactly."

"Stars, you're worse than Zaura," Fyn muttered, then quickly added, "but you're right. We do need to find something better."

"And we need to consider getting a herd together," Cera added, working through her morning meal with a practiced efficiency. Fyn nodded in response.

"I was thinking about that last night, actually."

"That what kept you up?"

"Oh no, no," the Longneck halfheartedly chuckled. "No, that was just a bad sleep story."

"A bad Dream, perhaps? Something we should know about?" Cera's tone had become lower, more serious, and while Fyn wanted to get it off his chest, he wasn't certain how much of last night's "Dream" had been useful to begin with. Things had gone a little crazy at the end, to put it mildly, but jumping to conclusions without considering that his own mental statement was somehow to blame was, he felt, the wrong move.

"As of now, nothing to worry about," Fyn said, brushing the issue aside, "just a bad sleep story, that's all. Brought on by this crummy food I'm sure."

"Hmph," Cera snorted, "if you say so. But back on the subject of this herd thing, I'm going to throw out a wild guess here, but I don't suppose you've ever actually led a real herd before, have you?"

Gulping, Fyn swept his eyes over his group of three.

"I'm guessing a couple of friends doesn't count?"

"No," Cera said wryly, "it does not."

"Well, my, uh, guardian started to teach me right before I left. That has to count for something, right?"

Cera let out a long sigh, and somewhere within Fyn, something snapped. Not a loud snap, nothing breakdown-worthy, more of a "dry twig" sort of snap. His eye twitched involuntarily. True, he'd never had any real experience commanding a herd, but his accomplishments up until now had to count for something, didn't they? If he could lead his sister and a few friends almost all the way to the Great Valley, surely commanding a few fellow adults couldn't be that difficult.

Yet beneath this layer of self-confidence, the side of him that had been so insulted by Cera's simple question, lurked another question, one of his own.

What if she was right? What if there really was something more to leading a herd? After all, leading a bunch of strangers was a far cry from leading a few close friends.

"Well, the short answer to your question is: no," Cera replied eventually, "but the long answer is: maybe. Depends on what you've been taught. You did a decent job getting the dinosaurs at Riverside to follow you for a short while, but really you just intimidated the living fuck out of their leader and got him to do what you asked. It's not really the same thing. Here, we have to build a herd ourselves, from scratch. You have to convince them there's even a reason to join you in the first place, and where we're going? That'll take quite a story."

Fyn grinned. "Well, it's a good thing I'm a good storyteller, isn't it?"

His enthusiasm was not met by the Threehorn, and the Longneck's smile faltered a little.

"I suppose we'll see. In the meantime, stomp your expectations flat. If you assume you're going to be a great leader just because the last year of your life has gone as well as it has, you're asking to be a Sharptooth's dinner. At best."

Behind Cera, Cura was waking up at last, working through her morning stretches and getting the yawns out of her system. Fyn barely noticed, though, transfixed as he was by Cera's intense, green eye. He tried burying his face in a bush and grazing on a few leaves to distract himself, but the Threehorn's wizened gaze followed him until he finally swallowed.

"Okay," he said, lifting his face from the bush, "I'll try."

"And listen to me along the way," Cera added, pulling down a low-hanging branch of semi-green leaves and tossing it in Cura's direction, "I may not be a leader, but I always wanted to be. I've seen the best, and for what it's worth, they never started out that way. So no matter what happens between here and the Great Valley, don't keep anything inside. If you have a problem, tell me. Odds are I've seen it before."

"Thanks," Fyn said, nodding, "I will."

"Good morning, everyone!" Cura called out, joining the two larger dinosaurs and dragging the stick Cera had found with her, "what's the plan today?"

She seems chipper, Fyn noted, almost as if she'd never seen the things we saw last night. Maybe…

He paused, watching the young Longneck eagerly devour the crisped leaves, and then shook his head.

No. We definitely shared the Dream.

Right?

"Eat up, Cura," Cera said, sitting down beside the little blue Longneck. "We have a lot of ground to cover between here and the Great Valley, and much to do before we get there."

Squall banked lazily, the warm touch of the Bright Circle's light wrapping around his wings like a pleasantly hot draft of air. A golden glow seemed to emanate from the outstretched appendages, further enhancing the young Flyer's airborne radiance. From down on the ground, he reasoned, he must have seemed a shooting star or some other sort of fiery object in the sky, hurtling towards—

No, not hurtling, he thought, shaking his head. Hurtling wasn't the right word at all. Something that was hurtling was reckless, out-of-control, plummeting gracelessly towards certain doom.

Plunging? No, not much better. Streaking? Yes! Streaking, that'll do.

Streaking towards the horizon in a bright flash of color, speed, and finesse.

Color, speed, and finesse? No, that really doesn't sound right either. How about brilliance, speed, and finesse? Perfect.

Brilliance, speed, and finesse. It was moments like these that he lived for, moments like these, and of course, the thrill of the chase. But as there were no other Sharptooth Flyers in sight, the chase wasn't really an option now. He was tempted to drop down low and partake in some ground-hugging flight, but he was up here for a reason, the same reason that compelled him to fly up here every morning. He was on lookout. Leaf Eaters weren't known for their eyesight. He, on the other claw, absolutely was, a fact that was only compounded by his ability to fly up and get the best vantage point possible.

Down below, things weren't particularly interesting. This, from what he gathered, was the boring part of the Scar, the part that had remained unchanged by the Great Skystone. Some said it had been a sandy, dry wasteland for generations, and he believed them. Just sighting a little oasis or river was enough to get the blood pumping, and that fact alone was really just sad.

Squall's interest picked up a little when he saw three two-legged shapes down below, feasting on a carcass. Sharpteeth, by the look of them. He could see the herd in the distance, but they were moving away from the group. Since the Sharpteeth were eating, he guessed they probably wouldn't present a problem, especially to such a large herd, but he resolved to keep an eye on them as he swooped over their kill site.

Once he made his pass over the Sharpteeth, Squall angled himself towards the herd, dove, and poured on the speed. The Sharpteeth weren't the reason he was so eager to get back to them; there was something else much more interesting on the horizon: a river, cutting through the drylands like a deep slash, life-giving waters surging across its banks. The herd hadn't had much to drink for the last few days, and neither had he. It was worth checking out, at the very least, and given its length he knew it would have to be crossed eventually. So, in no time at all, he forgot completely about the Sharpteeth as he surged—

Hold on, no. No, let's say blazed! Excellent!

Blazed towards the cloud of dust just ahead of him, marking the location of Kotres's herd. The boss would be keen to hear about this.

For Zaura, today was a better day than the previous. This was how it was with her recovering condition. Each day was a minute improvement over the preceding one. It was always something little. First, her sails had stopped bleeding intermittently, then the wooziness went away, and then, little by little, the pains in her bones and muscles started to recede.

"Started," of course, because they were hardly gone. She was still working on that one. Today it was a dull throb in her ribs, one that got worse whenever she sat down, and while she couldn't place how the spot had been injured, she could harbor a guess as to when it had occurred.

This was her daily obsession, the only thing keeping her sane as she walked in the middle of the herd, surrounded on all sides by dinosaurs usually much larger than herself. Without much of a view (though from what she could gather, that held true even on the outskirts of the herd), her mind was allowed to wander. Though if thinking about the events of the recent past was her daily routine, one which helped her maintain her grip on reality for the time being, it was also an activity which had her constantly treading a fine line between the real world and the dark abyss of—

(Blood and teeth)

Zaura snapped her head up, breathing in the sharp scent of freshly-kicked dust. She'd allowed her mind to wander, and her head had dropped a touch too close to the feet of the Spiketail she was following. A faceful of dust guaranteed a swift and uncomfortable return to reality, and Zaura sneezed violently, blowing more dust everywhere. The Spiketail didn't seem to notice.

How did I end up here?

Zaura pondered this point as she took in the herd around her. Each day, she was staggered by how she'd managed to get from one place to another completely different one without any real recollection of what had happened in between. Every once in a while an image surfaced, or perhaps a fragment of an old sensation (none of which were particularly pleasant), but without context, they were impossible to piece together. Only two things mattered now: first and foremost, Fyn was still out there somewhere, and while she wanted desperately to find him again, she knew that the only way to do so would be to head to the place they were going: the Great Valley. The second was much simpler: to survive until that point. Whatever that meant could vary with each passing day, but with each day scraped by, she was one step closer to having the chance to see her brother again.

And Sol. Provided he hasn't killed Fyn yet.

Zaura's mouth curved into an involuntary snarl at the thought of the slippery Longclaw. He fit somewhere into the blur, even if she couldn't figure out where yet. One thing she knew for sure, however, was that the "blood and teeth" that haunted her memories were somehow connected to him. They had to be. She knew he'd been there in some capacity, and there was no mistaking the clear memory from before that point: the image of him hunched over the dead dinosaur, eating away with the venomous little Fast Biter by his side.

A sour taste developed on Zaura's tongue and she spat, what little saliva she had left quickly disappearing into the dust. The taste was gone almost as soon as it appeared, but Zaura felt better for it. The gesture was all she could do, alone among strangers in an unfamiliar place as she was.

A shadow passed over the herd, and Zaura looked up to see a familiar green and grey winged form come zipping overhead. She knew right away who it was; no other Flyer she had ever seen flew so recklessly. Squall skimmed the top of the herd, dangling his feet just above the heads of the tallest dinosaurs before pulling up into a wide and showy loop. At the apex of his maneuver, he let himself fall before coasting gently down somewhere in front of the herd, no doubt on top of Kotres's head.

It was no secret to her what was going on. Each time Squall flew to the head of the herd, it meant he'd spotted something of interest. She could tell because not long after, she would see the scouts peel away from them, heading off at a brisk pace towards whatever the Flyer found so interesting. Sometimes, if the terrain was right or everyone ahead was shorter than her, Zaura was able to watch them go. From the first moment she'd watched them go off on their own, the sight had filled her with longing. She was secure here in the center of the herd, and if accomplishing her goal was truly all she cared about, the sight of the Scouts leaving wouldn't bother her at all. But she missed traveling, the thrill of danger, and perhaps most importantly, she hated being alone with her own thoughts.

There was, of course, the matter of Kotres's own end of the deal. He hadn't explicitly refused to have her trained as a Scout. In fact, he'd all but hinted that she'd get the chance eventually. Doubtless he was just waiting to establish trust between the two of them.

Pretty hard to establish a real understanding when he's up there and I'm back here though, she thought, watching as Squall lifted off from the front of the herd. Zaura sighed. Soon she'd hear the pounding of powerful footfalls as the three brave dinosaurs separated from the wider herd, and once more she'd be alone.

But contrary to his usual departure routine, Squall circled around halfway through his climb and started to descend down towards the herd again. This time, however, he wasn't aiming for the front. He blew past Kotres's spot and kept going. As evidenced by a few surprised murmurings, she wasn't the only one to have noticed this. Squall passed over, immediately locking eyes on her, and circled around once before coming to a stop directly atop the Spiketail ahead of Zaura. The Spiketail grunted.

"Shove it, Ruvo," Squall hissed in reply, "I'm sure you've had heavier males on your back before."

The Spiketail let out an angry growl, swiping his tail in a quick side-to-side slash. Zaura had to pull her head back to avoid the deadly spines, but Squall only laughed, holding on tight with his sharp claws.

"Was that really necessary?" Zaura asked, eyeing the tail warily. From atop his perch between the Spiketail's plates, Squall finally settled into a comfortable sitting position. With an annoyed grumble, the Spiketail carried on.

"Well you're awake, aren't you?" Squall replied. The Flyer didn't miss a beat. At the front of the herd, Zaura could hear the sound of thundering footsteps. The scouts were departing, just as she'd expected.

"I was awake anyway. Why the visit? Don't you have some scouting to do?"

"I do," the Flyer said with a bob of his head, "I'm just here to make sure you're aware that we're leaving."

Zaura's eyes narrowed. Someone must have told him about her desire to join the scouts. She'd mostly avoided direct dealings with Squall, but from the conversations she'd shared with Trocha during her routine visits, she'd been told he could be abrasive at times. At the best of times, really.

"I'm not sure why I should care," she said, trying to play off his statement.

"Sure you don't," the Flyer rolled his eyes, tapping his foot impatiently on the Spiketail's back. "Unless Kotres was blowing sand up my ass, I'm pretty sure he said you were keen on joining us at some point. Or am I talking to the wrong Sailneck?"

Zaura exhaled sharply. "Oh that's me alright. What, are you saying I'm invited?"

"Depends." The sitting Flyer's face contorted in an absolutely blood-boiling smirk.

"On what?" Zaura said, leaning in close to the Flyer.

"On how fast you can run."

Before Zaura could ask him to clarify, the Flyer dug his claws into the Spiketail's rump and heaved himself forward on his wings, launching himself up and into the air. He missed Zaura's snout by mere claw-lengths, and she felt the whoosh of displaced air as he soared upward, circling around until he was back in pursuit of the rapidly-fading sounds of footsteps.

For a moment, Zaura's stride did not break. Instead she stood in stunned silence, contemplating the Flyer's supposed offer. Had she really been invited to join the scouts?

What are you waiting for? Go!

Zaura lunged forward as if stung, deftly passing the grumpy Spiketail as she slipped through the herd. Some parted to let her pass, others seemed not to care. Spurred on by her desire to finally be of use, Zaura dodged them all, skirting swinging tails and unyielding strides as she worked her way towards the ever-more-visible outskirts of the herd.

When she finally reached the herd's edge, it was like hatching again. The clear light of day hit her, but not in an unpleasant way, enveloping her in a warm, relaxing embrace. For the faintest of moments, the haze of her fragmented memories seemed to lift, but the moment was fleeting, and soon she was left standing beside the column of moving dinosaurs, stunned by her newfound freedom.

She jerked her head to the right. Already the scouts were growing smaller and smaller as they moved farther away from the main herd. Zaura debated chasing after them, and the Zaura of three months ago might have done so, but instead, she took off running towards the front of the herd, where she knew Kotres was.

The pain flared up as expected, a dull, almost itching throb in her side that spiked each time she put her foot down. At best, all it could draw out of her was a flinch, or a minor gritting of her teeth. All in all, it was a very small price to pay for her new privileges. The front of the herd wasn't far away, and soon Zaura found herself neck and neck with the familiar spiny Spiketail. She slowed, falling in abreast with him. As usual, Kotres seemed not to acknowledge her.

"Kotres?"

A muffled "hmm?" met her words, but his eyes never moved.

"I'm going after the scouts. Squall hinted you'd be okay with that."

"Better get moving, then. You've got some ground to make up."

It was all the confirmation she needed, and without another word, Zaura took off towards the three plumes of dust in the distance, her feet pounding her own set of imprints into the sand.

It felt good to be moving again. Since her recovery process had begun, she hadn't been allowed to move much, aside from what was required of her in the herd. Trocha, who stopped by at least once a day when she was around, insisted it was part of the healing process, but to Zaura, the lack of productivity was just as frustrating as the pain. The Frillhorn had tried to ease her anxiety by talking to her, swapping stories, chatting about goings-on in the herd, the usual topics for a couple of dinosaurs traversing a long and boring path, but while Zaura respected her efforts, she continued to hold the feeling that she wouldn't truly feel better until she was able to get out and do something. Today, at long last, was that day.

Zaura glanced back at the herd as she followed the dust clouds past a stand of dry-looking, scraggly trees. This far away, she could once again appreciate the size of the herd. There had to be at least twenty dinosaurs to a column, front to back, and at the head of it all she could still make out the prickly form of Kotres, plowing on, stoic as ever. She looked back to the horizon. She was gaining now. It seemed the scouts had slowed, finally falling into their walking formation. Zaura put on another burst of speed, ignoring the pain in her side. It was finally time to make herself useful.

Sol picked at a yellowed bone crusted with dry flesh as he sat beside the carcass of what had once been a Sailbeak. They'd come across the carcass two days ago, and were surprised to find that, aside from the usual damage incurred by the Carrion-Flyers, the corpse was relatively intact. It bore no signs of trauma, and only one set of tracks led up to its final resting place. The Leaf Eater had died alone, another solitary traveler victim to the crushing heat of the Bright Circle, coupled with the Scar's own inhospitable environment.

Still, the Sailbeak's misfortune was a treat for them, and they had taken the opportunity to rest, occasionally spying on the traveling herd where they knew Zaura was. That was Chomper's job, mostly. With his legendary sniffer, the Sharptooth could track them without ever having seen the herd, and because he knew Zaura's scent, they were practically guaranteed not to lose her.

Beside Sol, Rear was busy cleaning the grime from her claws. Chomper was gone as usual, making his daily trek towards the herd, but both Sharpteeth knew he would be back soon. They were situated beneath a scooped-out portion of earth, no doubt carved out of the ground by lifetimes of erosion. At certain times of the day, the depression provided enough cover to allow for some shade, but now, with the Bright Circle at its highest, there was nowhere to hide from the light and the heat. It sucked the energy from them, coaxing them into a state of mid-day lethargy, and as Sol watched his friend picking at her claws, he found himself wondering if this was what had finally brought down their Sailbeak: the endless waiting and the lack of motivation to go on.

But not us. Not me. We have a reason, he reminded himself, finally managing to tear the dry, brownish strip of meat he'd been working on free from the bone. Most of the flavor was gone now, and the meat was tough and chewy, but he was grateful nonetheless for the small amount of sustenance it provided. Every little bit was important when the next meal was uncertain.

Rear, finished with the cleaning of her killing claws, turned to watch the Longclaw with a seemingly vacant expression. In reality, her mind was turning just as rapidly as Sol's, even if it didn't show. Over the past few weeks, he'd done his part for the pack, watching their backs and filling in wherever he needed to, but in truth, his responsibilities hadn't amounted to much. He tried not to show it, but the Longclaw had become somewhat irritable as of late, and she felt she knew why. Zaura meant a lot to him, if their conversation at Riverside had anything to show for it. Sol was good at hiding the way he felt, but she knew he wanted to do more.

This, of course, was why the prone Fast Biter was deep in rumination. With the last of their carcass sure to be finished by nightfall the next hunt would have to commence soon. They'd need more food, and likely water as well. In her old pack, such a situation would warrant another hunt— a long hunt, to be precise. The pack would move on, out of their territory if necessary, in order to find prey. Sol, to her knowledge, had never properly hunted anything. Perhaps this would provide her with the chance to show him how it was done. It was high time he learned, and given his eagerness to take on any task, no matter how menial, she was sure he'd be up for it.

"Sol," she croaked, sliding up next to the Longclaw, "I have a proposition for you."

"Oh?" Sol craned his neck down so that he was almost snout to snout with his mentor, "what is it?"

"A hunt," Rear answered, too tired and hot to mince her words as she sometimes tried to do around the younger male, "we're running out of food, and we have no water nearby. We'll have to do something if we want to stay on Zaura's trail."

To her delight, the Longclaw nodded slowly.

"Yeah, I guess you're right. It's high time we moved on, and I could definitely kill for some water right now."

"Well, that's the idea," Rear countered, and Sol snorted.

"Was that a joke, Rear? From you? Heat's really getting to you, isn't it?"

"Like you wouldn't believe. But listen, young one. You're sure you can do this? Normally a first hunt is something that must be done without question at a specific point in one's life, but you… well, you didn't grow up like I did. I'm willing to—"

"Nope," Sol cut her off with a wave of his claw, "you said it yourself. We need this hunt. If it gets us closer to Zaura, I'll do anything."

"Even kill?"

"It's not like I haven't done that before."

Rear didn't speak, but the intense stare she fixed Sol with seemed to provide all the response he needed.

"Look, it doesn't matter if it's different this time. I'll do whatever I have to do."

"This is important, Sol. Hunting isn't like fighting back against a weak Longneck. We could die. I need to know that you're fully committed to this."

"For Za-"

"Not for Zaura," Rear snapped, her jaws closing shut just shy of Sol's snout, "for us. You're hunting for us. I want to know that you're committed, even if we weren't chasing after Zaura."

Startled somewhat by Rear's sudden change of tone but too lethargic to show it, Sol simply nodded.

"Alright, I'm committed to hunting for us."

"Good," Rear purred, "then for now, rest up. We'll run the idea by Chomper when he returns."

When Zaura finally caught up with the scouts, their run was over, and they were moving at a brisk stride. Not one of them seemed tired from the ordeal, but Zaura was practically gasping for air, wincing as her side stung with every step she took.

The dinosaurs were arranged in a delta formation, something Zaura was already familiar with. It was a favorite tactic among Fast Biters, so it was odd seeing a group of Leaf Eaters pulling off the same triangular shape, but Zaura was too exhausted to care, and fell in behind them quickly, doing her best to control her panting.

"H- hey," she puffed, matching the group's stride, "I'm here. Kotres said—"

"Welcome, Zaura," the Plateback at the head of the formation said, turning his head to face her, "tough run?"

"You might—" Zaura started, and then stopped, noticing the Plateback's expectant stare. The question was innocent enough, but it might just as easily have been a test. Choosing to err on the side of caution, Zaura answered: "I've had worse."

"I don't doubt that," the Plateback replied, "we were the ones who saw you come to the herd, after all. Zaura, I'm Dorai, the head of Kotres's scouts. We've met before, but since you're not dying anymore, I feel a new set of introductions might be in order. On your right is Trocha, who I'm sure you're very familiar with—"

The blue Frillhorn on the right of Zaura turned towards her, shooting her a friendly wink. Zaura managed a faint smile through her huffing and puffing.

"—And on your left is Hau."

Zaura gazed to her left, but received no such warm gesture from the dark green Spikethumb positioned there. Not that she'd expected one. She remembered well the first time they'd met. To the surprise of no one, he was just as quiet and perpetually ticked-off as she remembered.

"And finally, if you look up, you'll see Squall."

Dorai lifted his head to the sky, and Zaura craned her neck to follow him. There was nothing above them, just the wide expanse of blue, interrupted every so often by scattered white clouds.

"Well, usually you'll see Squall. I'm not sure where—"

Zaura jumped as something ripped through the air by her face, blinking as a green and grey wing almost brushed her snout. With a wild whoop, Squall blew past the herd, pulled up, and settled into a slow, turning descent. He came in just over Trocha's frill, flared his wings, and came to a smooth stop atop Dorai's back, where he shot a crisp nod towards Zaura.

"You know me already, Longneck. I'm the one that saved your ass."

"And he'll never let you forget it," Trocha muttered.

"That so? Pretty sure you just spotted me and left me for dead. I saved my own ass," Zaura retorted.

"You wouldn't have saved your own ass if we hadn't found you," Squall shot back, crossing his wings as a smug grin crept over his face.

"That's enough," Dorai grumbled, bucking his hips and forcing the Flyer to hold on tight to his plates, "it's not a matter of who saved who anymore. Do you want to get on with the briefing, or is that too much to ask?"

"I was just reminding the Longneck who—"

"Squall. Briefing."

Annoyed, the Flyer twirled back towards Zaura.

"Right then. I'll go over why we're here, and when I'm done, these fine Landstriders—" he pronounced the word with a subtle air of superiority that was not lost on the Sailneck, "—will detail who we are, what your purpose here is, and what is expected of you. Am I clear?"

"Clear as water," Zaura replied, shrugging off his irritating tone. This was important.

"Good. This morning I sighted a river. Big one. Maybe about a day's hike from here. There are two important points to take away from that. First and most importantly, it's water and probably food. That's good for us because if you haven't noticed, we're starving. It's also bad for us because while the water's for everybody, I'm sure there's someone there that's looking for folks like us to provide the food."

Sharpteeth. Of course. One of the most important points Rachi had stressed during their very first herd experience was the danger of watering holes. Any place that brought dinosaurs together to drink would attract all types, even predators. One had to be wary, and in a herd like this, taking at least a few losses was almost inevitable.

"Point two: it's between us and the way forward, so we'll have to cross it. That leaves us with two objectives. Dorai?"

"Find a crossing point and neutralize any threats in the area before the herd arrives," the Plateback finished.

"Neutralize?" Zaura's brow furrowed. The word was an unfamiliar one to her.

"In our line of work, it means drive out or kill," Dorai replied, peering back at Zaura over his back plates. "Still interested?"

Something stirred inside Zaura, uncoiling in the back of her mind, the place she only dared to approach in her quiet reflections within the herd. In that moment she forced herself to return there again, peering into the darkness at the slithering thing she knew lurked inside. For an instant, and only for an instant, she was there again, back in the grove with the white trees. Everything was blurred, colors melting together, running down some unseen but implied surface like congealing blood, and through it all, somewhere just ahead of her, something lunged. She saw a flash of blood-flecked teeth—

Zaura rocked back with a sudden start and a sharp gasp. Trocha, flinched, caught off guard, but Hau remained unreadable. Zaura blinked, looking around her. The scouts were still there, and she was surrounded by sand, not the red and white of that bloody grove. Her mouth hung open and her chest rose and fell with rapid, shallow breaths. From the front of the formation, Squall and Dorai watched her, confused.

"So is that a… no?" Squall said, and Trocha shot him a glare before turning her harsh, icy gaze on Dorai.

"I told you she wasn't ready yet. These wounds take time to heal, Dorai."

"It's been three weeks, Trocha. If she's not ready now, then perhaps it's best if—"

"No!" Zaura shouted, once again startling the other scouts.

"No," she repeated, more calmly this time, "I'm still in. Still interested. Maybe even more so than before."

From the looks on the faces of everyone but Hau, she had done a poor job of convincing anyone, but Dorai continued nevertheless.

"Anyway, your responsibilities on this trek are simple. Watch our backs, stay out of any conflicts that come up, and observe. You're not fighting anyone, you're simply getting a feel for what we do. If you like it, we'll consider adding you. If not, well, you go back to the herd and life goes on as usual. Pretty simple, really. You're here because you expressed interest, and because, frankly, we're down one member. We have some tracks that need filling, and someone like you might just fit them. Might."

"Someone like me?" Zaura said, and this time it was Hau's turn to speak. He swung his neck around slowly, fixing his dark eyes on the Longneck. Up close, she realized that his face, much like her own, was covered in the scars of past battles, as was the rest of his body. Particularly prominent was a deep scar running from his jaw to a point midway down his throat, a wound that had once been terrible, perhaps even near fatal, but had since healed, albeit poorly.

"Someone with something to fight for," the Spikethumb said quietly, with a voice as coarse and cold as gravel.

"Or against," he added before turning away, resuming his pace.

Hang back and watch, Zaura thought, ignoring the pain that came and went with each stride, I think I can do that.

"Lead on, then," she answered Dorai. And, at least somewhat satisfied, the Plateback led his herd onward towards the breaking day.

"So let me get this straight," the large Twoclaw Sharptooth grumbled, sniffing at the picked-clean carcass at his feet, "you two want to split the pack even further and go off on a hunt all by yourselves?"

Both Rear and Sol nodded. Chomper frowned, but not in a disappointed manner. To the contrary, he seemed almost hurt by the decision.

"Without me?"

"Well, someone has to keep track of Zaura. Who knows how long this hunt will take?" Rear pointed out. "Besides, it'll be good training for Sol."

"It'd be safer training if I was there too," Chomper growled, looking off in the direction of Zaura's herd. The scent was still strong, but it was already beginning to fade. As much as he hated to admit it, Rear was right. If he went off in some wild direction for the hunt, there was no telling whether he'd be able to reacquire the trail or not, and hunting stragglers was completely out of the question, at least as long as Zaura remained with the herd. From what he understood, things were bad enough between her and the group's Sharpteeth already.

"Alright then," Chomper relented, "we'll split up for the time being, but do not lose my scent. I'll keep track of yours as best I can, but my priority is on Zaura."

Rear dipped her head, and beside her, Sol did the same.

"Understood," the Fast Biter chirped, "we'll get going when you return to the herd."

"Shouldn't be difficult finding something to hunt," Chomper said, raising his snout to the sky and sniffing. "Thought I smelled water earlier, when I was closer to the herd. If the old sniffer's right, and it usually is, you won't have far to travel. Odds are, that herd is headed there too."

"I hope," Sol agreed, his stomach growling as he looked longingly at the stripped carcass by his feet. "If there's one thing I want more than food, it's water."

Chomper chuckled to himself, a rumbling sound that reminded Sol of far-off thunder.

"Well, I can't say I can give you any water, but I can find the next best thing. We haven't used this carcass up yet."

Raising an eyebrow quizzically, Sol looked down at the pile of bones, confused. Rear, meanwhile, shook her head.

"Of course," she muttered, "can't believe I forgot."

"Well it's not often you have a bone-snapper among Fast Biter packs," Chomper responded, lifting a long, thick leg bone from the kill. It came away with ease, most of its connecting tissues already eaten away by the predators. The purple Sharptooth held it aloft, closed his eyes, and bit down hard. There was a sharp snap, like the sound of a breaking branch, and then the bone split in half. Chomper let the halves fall, spitting out fragments of white bone as he did so, and nodded to Sol and Rear.

"Have the first bite. There's plenty more where that came from."

Sol slid over to one of the halves, lifting one end free of the ground with his claws. There was a round hole in the middle of the bone, from which something pinkish seemed to be leaking. Intrigued, he peered inside. There was something inside, the same pinkish color as the stuff leaking from the bone. It looked almost like blood from where he sat, but it seemed thicker, almost like a mix between blood and meat. He glanced over to see Rear eagerly working her snout into the bone while Chomper picked up another. Both seemed eager to get at what was inside. He took another look at the bone, the strange food inside of it, and bent down to sniff at it. It smelled like every other part of the carcass, but at the very least it seemed fresher.

Well, let's see what all the fuss is about.

The Longclaw closed his jaws around the bone. He lacked Rear's slender snout which made getting in all the more difficult, but he was able to force his tongue inside ever so slightly. The taste hit him immediately, one unlike any other type of meat he'd eaten so far. It was strangely sweet, sweeter than most Scaly Swimmers he'd eaten, but there was a savory layer to it as well. Whatever was inside the bone was both tantalizing and satisfying, perhaps even better than the rest of the dinosaur's flesh. His pupils dilated, and Sol began to gnaw on the treat feverishly, unaware that both Rear and Chomper were looking on in marked amusement.

When his tongue could reach no further, Sol tried a different approach, sticking his fishing claw into the bone and working at the little stress fractures Chomper's bite had created. The hard bone was resistant at first, but eventually Sol was able to pry open a crack. From there, he worked his other fishing claw in, widening it until eventually it split with a splintering sound. Immediately his head shot forward to catch more of the pink meat before it spilled into the sand. The taste clung to his teeth, and still he continued until he was licking the bone clean.

Finally, Chomper's low, grumbling voice spoke, pulling Sol back up from his meat-induced trance.

"Never tried marrow before, have you?"

"Is that what that was?" Sol asked, looking down at the split bone, his mouth still watering.

Chomper nodded. "Yup, sure is. Most bones have a bit of it inside them. Takes a strong jaw to snap them open, but once you get in…"

The Sharptooth tore a rib from the carcass and repeated his bone-snapping process, dropping one end of the bone to Sol, and the other to Rear.

"There isn't a taste in the Mysterious Beyond that equals it."

Rear nodded in agreement, still picking the marrow out of her first bone. Her shorter arms lacked the strength to crack the bone as Sol had, but her slender snout gave her the chance to get in farther than the Longclaw.

Sol, meanwhile, wasn't sure how to take Chomper's comment. On one claw, it was certainly humbling to know that he was in the presence of the ultimate flavor, but on the other, it was just as disappointing a prospect to realize that nothing else would ever compare. These thoughts were quickly flung aside, however, as Sol began to crack open the next bone-half, greedily devouring the sweet treat within. Chomper watched him go, nodding to himself.

"You know, perhaps I was wrong to misjudge you. Maybe you two will be a fine hunting pair."

Sol looked up only for a moment before going back to his meal.

"Why the sudden change of heart?" he smacked, his mouth full of marrow.

"Well, it seems you're not the same Sharptooth I spoke with in the Highmountains," Chomper said plainly.

An image flashed through Sol's mind: a tail swinging straight for his face, one he had no time to dodge and might not have avoided even if he could have, a rose-colored face streaked with tears, eyes burning with hate. He nearly gagged on his meal then and there, but the image cleared and he was eating once more, hunger once again his first priority.

"A lot happened between now and then," Sol answered quietly.

"I suppose a lot has," said the larger Sharptooth, and the conversation was over.

The three spent the better part of midday finishing up with the carcass in silence. With Chomper, nothing but the bones went to waste, and even they provided something to gnaw as the afternoon dragged on. Rear spent the silence trying to find a way to break it, but the mood was set now. Chomper had brought up the past, and Sol was not ready to confront it yet. Nothing more remained to be said.

When they finally finished and Chomper was ready to part, they did so briefly, without much said between the two parties. It hurt Sol to see how Chomper had taken his response, but he said nothing, neither apologizing, nor backing up his earlier retort. In truth, he had no idea what to say. Just like his mentor, he was at a complete loss for words. Chomper's question, his own quick trip back to the past, had reminded him of who, exactly, they were chasing after, and that thought made him wonder things he knew he was better off not thinking about. Would Zaura even want to come back with him? Would he have the chance to apologize?

He didn't know. Right now, he couldn't know, so as Chomper turned to depart, following the faint smell of Leaf Eaters on the Drylands breeze, Sol returned to his mentor and, making sure to steer clear of Chomper's path of travel, they set off in their own direction, both committed to the hunt to come.

It was difficult to say, after a day of walking with the scouts, whether Zaura preferred their company, or that of the herd. The herd brought solitary silence, and with that, reflection. Sure there were conversations, but she was rarely the subject of them, and the multitudes often mixed and mingled around her, blending into a comforting din. It was within this din that she could try, albeit unsuccessfully, to toe the line between her present and her past, slowly, at her own pace. With the scouts, things were different.

Now, she was the subject of conversation, whether directly or indirectly. Dorai and Squall, for all their occasional bickering, always seemed to wind up back on the subject of the day they'd found her, and she could usually catch Hau, the silent one, looking in her direction with a strange, cool interest. But it was Trocha that proved to be the greatest offender, though through no fault of her own. She meant well, but the Frillhorn seemed to have no idea when to shut up. And between her duties as a scout and Zaura's caretaker, the talking never ceased.

"So, the pain," Trocha said, settling for perhaps the third time on the subject of Zaura's discomfort, "how bad is it? Where is it? What's gotten better and is anything worse?"

Zaura sighed, her shoulders sagging. If Trocha had picked up on the visual cue, she ignored it.

"Pain in my ribs, spines—" she caught her error and forced herself to start over again. It was easy to forget that half of her spines were gone now. Sometimes it seemed she could still feel them.

"Stubs sometimes hurt, I guess."

Everytime she was reminded of what had happened to her sail, it felt as if she was opening another wound. She'd never been particularly proud of her sail, merely regarding it as something all of her kind possessed for no reason other than to look bigger than they actually were when it came to showing off for mates and scaring away threats. It wasn't until half of it was gone that she realized how much value she had unconsciously placed in it. She'd never been a part of the mating crowd, but with her chances as slim to none, now she envied those who at least had a chance. The prospect of finding a mate one day had always remained an option to her. Now, that option was practically lost to her.

"It's weird," she added, addressing Trocha, who seemed surprised that the Longneck was actually elaborating on her answer for once, "I never knew how much I loved my sail until…"

"Until it was gone," said Trocha, nodding solemnly.

"Until it was taken from me," Zaura corrected her, her nostrils flaring unconsciously.

"Ever work out who did it?" The Frillhorn saw Zaura flinch as if she'd been suddenly hurt, and moved to correct herself.

"I mean, I'm not expecting you to know. Just wondered if you've found the strength to look back yet."

The Frillhorn's words struck a nerve within Zaura, and she narrowed her eyes. Strength? What did Trocha know about strength? She had to be at least ten years her senior, but her eyes shone with an optimistic glow whenever they spoke, her mouth was always smiling, and she carried herself proudly. She was not the image of a broken creature, as Zaura imagined herself to be. She doubted Trocha had ever experienced the pain of loss, distrust, and betrayal all at once, under a weeping sky as blood-tainted petals littered a once green and now muddy field, staring up into the nightmarish face of—

(Blood and teeth)

She shuddered. Strength, she reminded herself, we were talking about strength.

(And we were thinking about whatever's still in that grove, waiting for you. Not the grove you left behind. The one that's still here, all around you, inside you. Something's watching, laughing, screaming, tearing, snapping, bloo—)

"Zaura?"

Zaura blinked violently, staring back into the concerned gaze of her caretaker.

"I am strong, Trocha," she answered aloud, "I'm healing every day. You don't think I'm strong enough to look at my past? I disagree. I know what happened, I know who was there."

(Except you don't, do you? Not really. You remember me, though, and you know I'll never stop calling you back because of what you saw, what he did).

Sol?

(Maybe).

Carmas?

(Maybe).

"All I'm saying, Zaura, is that reflection is part of the healing process. In about a week, maybe more, you should be fine, physically at least. But as long as you avoid dealing with whatever brought you to our herd, some of those wounds will remain open. Inner wounds fester just as readily as the ones on the outside. It's healthy to remember, even if we don't want to."

"And that's why I'm here," Zaura said evenly, without a trace of emotion as she stared blankly ahead. Right now, she couldn't bring herself to look at the Frillhorn, afraid as she was to be reminded of the place she kept hidden away outside of her most private moments.

"Doing this? Doing something again? Feeling useful? That's how I'll get strong enough to look back."

Trocha nodded, satisfied. "Everyone has their own way. I can respect that. In a way, we're all sort of like you. Every scout has a reason to be here, something they're working to overcome."

"Like you?" Zaura pressed, eager to switch topics.

"Well, sort of," Trocha chuckled. "My story's nowhere near as horrible as theirs are though. One day, I just got sick of seeing scouts die, I guess. So I joined up with Hau, Dorai, Squall, and Talru."

"Talru?"

"She's the one who came before you. Domehead. Lost an arm to a Fast Biter attack when she was young, and somehow she survived. Carried that pain with her every time we moved on a group of Sharpteeth. She was a lot like you, actually."

"She sounds like quite a dinosaur," Zaura agreed.

"I still miss her. It was that same youthful fire that led her straight to a Bellydragger's jaws. It's the same fire I see in you, Zaura. That's why I want you to look back, okay? You carry that unresolved hatred and fear around with you, and one day you could be the next Talru. And I don't mean that in a good way."

Dammit. Somehow she'd managed to twist the conversation back around to her original point. Zaura tried her best not to show her frustration, but a disdainful snort escaped her nostrils. Trocha didn't seem particularly surprised by this.

"I'll work on it," Zaura said, and Trocha smiled.

"Good. I have faith in you, Zaura. Anyone who can spit in the face of death has a strong future ahead of them. I just want to see you realize yours. If this is how you plan to face your past, then I'll support you every step of the way."

Inwardly, Zaura cringed. With Trocha, it was difficult to decipher the "caregiver" talk from the "comrade" talk, and she sometimes wondered if the Frillhorn had trouble keeping the two separate. The words were encouraging, but she'd heard others like them before. Usually, they meant nothing, but she accepted Trocha's resolution as graciously as she could.

"Thank you, Trocha. That means a lot to me."

"Hold!"

All at once, the scouts stopped. Dorai, who had barked the order, approached a set of imprints in the ground. Moving up with him, the others did the same, and after a moment's hesitation, so too did Zaura.

It was immediately clear what he was looking at. Their path had taken them straight into a trail, one that the wind and sand had not yet erased from the face of the Drylands. Three-toed footprints formed two separate tracks, both headed in the same direction: ahead of where the herd was going. Towards water.

Sharpteeth, Zaura thought, a strange shiver rippling down her spine, one caught somewhere between anxiety and anticipation. Her thoughts were echoed only a moment later by Squall.

"Definitely Sharpteeth," Squall confirmed, alighting on Dorai's back. What do you reckon, Fast Biters?"

Dorai grunted. "Hard to say. I don't see the claw imprint that Fast Biters usually have, and they almost never travel in twos. Plus these are bigger."

"Twoclaw?" Zaura offered.

"Nope. Their tracks are almost big enough to use as a nest. This is barely bigger than the average Fast Biter. In any case, there's two of them and four of us—"

"Five," Zaura said, and Dorai fixed his gaze upon her.

"Four. Your instructions are clear. You will watch. You are not yet a scout, young one. Just stay clear and let us do what we do."

Zaura's good spines tensed, but she backed down. Now was not the time to go about challenging orders.

"As I was saying," Dorai continued, "this should be pretty easy. If they're in our way or near or crossing, we chase them off. We outnumber them, so I doubt it'll come to a fight. As always, though, be alert. You never can trust a Sharptooth to be predictable."

Nope. Definitely can't do that, Zaura thought, grimacing as she recalled, for an instant, the night she had confronted Sol about his treachery.

When Zaura looked up, her eyes met those of the Plateback. Dorai's gaze locked with hers, demanding her focus.

"Last chance, deadwalker. Once we get on this trail, there's no turning back. No shame whatsoever in running back to the herd now. We'll even accompany you. Just say the word."

"If the word is 'no,' then I'll say it," Zaura said, straightening herself up, "but if not, then I'm sorry to disappoint. I'm in. Let's go hunt some Sharpteeth."

Both Dorai and Trocha shared an unreadable glance, and Hau did nothing, retaining his quiet demeanor, but Squall couldn't resist one chittering call before the group set off down the Sharpteeth's path.

"I like her already!"

By the side of a trickling river, a deep blue slash amidst the warm, sandy backdrop of the Drylands, two Smoothsnout Sharpteeth bent low to the water for a much-needed drink, one male and one female. They were slender creatures with a stocky, aggressive build, but their frames were thin. The male's ribs were clearly visible against his pale pinkish-grey skin. Neither of them had eaten in days, with several weeks between their last significant meal and now.

But that was about to change.

The male lifted his head from the water, calling to the female, his mate, with a series of low, clucking sounds.

"The herd will be headed here, I'm sure of it."

"You're always sure of it," the female snapped in response, "I'd rather have taken my chances with them a week ago, picked off a straggler or two. We could have done that back then."

The male shook his head. "Don't be stupid, Euris. We wouldn't have stood a chance against a herd of that size. With a river this big, there's bound to be something in the water with a taste for dinosaur. We just have to wait and seize our opportunity when they cross."

"I've had it with waiting. I need to eat!"

The male rubbed his face tenderly against the female's snout, purring softly.

"I know it's frustrating, but you have to trust me. I don't want you doing anything risky before we have a nest set up. Okay?"

Grudgingly, the female met her mate's touch, pushing back against his rough cheek.

"Okay. It's just… it's been hard."

"It has," the male agreed,walking his mate over towards a wet patch of sand near the river bank, "it'll only be another day, two at most, then we can feed, and focus on better things. Right?"

"I suppose."

The male nudged the female ,coaxing her down into a prone position on the shoreline. He rubbed against her once more, and then approached the water.

"You go ahead and rest. I'll see if I can catch us something to tide us over, alright?"

The female nodded. "Alright. Just be careful in there."

The male winked at her. "I always am. You just keep thinking about that nice, juicy Longneck we'll be digging into soon, okay?"

She didn't answer him, but her smile said enough. Strym, her mate, had his rough spots, but he was a kindhearted dinosaur, one with her best interests at heart. If he said this was the prime spot for a crossing and, consequently, an ambush, then she trusted him. Even so, that was what he'd said last week, and the week before. Her trust was already inevitably beginning to wear thin.

Please let this be the end of the trail for us, she thought, watching her mate scan the water eagerly for movement, at least for a while.

As she reclined, she wondered what might happen when the Leaf Eaters finally showed up. Would she actually be able to hold herself back? Just the thought of sinking her teeth into a savory, fresh kill brought warm saliva to her jaws as her stomach growled angrily.

Would she hold back?

Eh, not much to say about this one. Didn't feel altogether great writing it, and I may come back to revise a bit later, but for now, I'm hoping it keeps the ball rolling while setting up for some big events in the lives of our three main characters and their assorted friends and mentors. If this comes across as overly "filler," I do apologize. Like I said, I may return and revise a tad. Still, this is in keeping with the writing schedule I'm hoping to uphold. At 1000-2000 words a day, I've discovered that I can keep up a pretty consistent rhythm, so as we start to move into more exciting territory (basically next chapter), I hope to hold the reigns and let the story fly!

I would like to point out one more thing I'd like to address about this chapter before I move on. You may have noticed that the scouts tend to use some, shall we say, anachronistic terminology. I assure you this is deliberate. Land Before Time has had its share of anachronistic speakers, and with their tight-knit pseudo-militaristic outfit, it seemed fitting for Dorai and co. to dabble in some tacticalspeak.

Thank you, by the way, to all my faithful readers who stuck with me through my not-so-little holiday hiatus. I try to hold true to my word, and there's no way I'm quitting on this story yet, especially not with the excitement that's been building on my end. Here's to another great year of writing and a (hopefully) more consistent publishing schedule! See you next chapter!