Engage
Flathorn: Protoceratops
The land between the Great Valley and the hot Drylands surrounding it had always been something of a hostile environment. Even before stars fell from the sky, its canyons had been deep, its air dry, its food scarce, and its rockslides frequent. It was an environment that bred toughness, much like the newly-created Scar that bordered it, and all but the hardiest of creatures gave the area a wide berth, now even more so than ever.
Within a deep canyon, upon a path carved out of one wall, one such creature basked in the light of the Bright Circle, a daily ritual it generally completed without fail. Those who had once lived in the Great Valley would have called the creature a Stripecrawler, named for the three white stripes that extended from the top of its smooth head to the end of its long, tapering tail. The second half of its name came from its particular method of locomotion: crawling on all fours in a scurrying manner. But the Stripecrawler did not know the name others had placed on it. It had no need for names. To itself, the Stripecrawler simply was, and that was good enough.
What the Stripecrawler thought as it basked in the light of day was anyone's guess. While most dinosaurs didn't care, some had tried to decipher these ruminations, and the thoughts of Stripecrawlers often worked their way into topics of discussion between dinosaurs bored of their long treks and eager for something to speak about. Did they worry about the safety of their families? Was the time of day as important to them as it seemed to be for everyone else? What concerns did they possess? Did they love? Hate? Desire? Did they even think at all? The few conversations that got as far as this were often more intriguing than the Stripecrawlers themselves, and the little creatures were passed by without a second glance, so intrigued were the dinosaurs in speculating about them.
It was difficult to say whether the Stripecrawler perched atop the canyon path was thinking of anything at all, as the only one capable of knowing would have been itself, and it wasn't talking. But whatever its thoughts may have been, whether they existed or not, they were swiftly cut short as a pair of jaws full of sharp teeth closed shut around the Stripecrawler's head, jaws that belonged to someone who couldn't have cared less whether the Stripecrawler could think for itself at all.
…
Acras bit down for the second time on the head of the Stripecrawler, and its faint squirming ceased altogether. Almost immediately a tangy taste filled his mouth, and the juvenile Widejaw flinched. He didn't consider himself a picky eater, but food like this was hardly satisfying. Then again, one couldn't afford to be choosy while on the run. Once he was out of the canyons, perhaps he'd find a herd to pluck an unsuspecting morsel from. Hopefully.
With a few quick bites, Acras gulped down the rest of the meal, grimacing as the taste trickled down the back of his throat. It was a taste that he knew would linger for the rest of the day at least. Still, it was food, and for the moment, his grumbling belly was silent again. His hunger sated, more or less, he stepped carefully to the edge of the canyon trail and looked down.
His stomach lurched as he adjusted himself to the view. The canyon's walls were steep and tall, easily higher than just a few longneck-lengths. A drop from this height would be instantly fatal, a fact that should have scared the young predator, but his fascination kept him looking. From here, he could see the trees that marked the start of Widejaw territory tucked into the mountains behind him. It was humbling to think of just how huge their territory was, and Acras counted himself lucky every day that he hadn't run into some other Widejaw during his escape. Evidently, Lalen's lie had worked. No one suspected a thing.
He was just about to back away from the edge when the vaguest hint of movement caught his eye: a small form, no, several forms moving among the edge of the treeline. Intrigued, Acras returned to the path's edge to get a closer look.
There were two of them, stone-grey shapes that moved about in a half-coordinated manner. Acras recognized their coloration immediately. They were Widejaws, and young ones at that. It was impossible to tell who they were from here, and Acras couldn't have cared less anyway. Nonetheless, he watched them with interest, wondering what had brought them to the outer reaches of their territory.
Then another face broke through the treeline, this one much larger than the other two, and Acras's blood froze in his veins. Unlike the others, he recognized this one immediately by its yellow, red, and blue face-markings.
"Osta," he whispered to himself, as if speaking her name aloud might alert her, even from this distance. For all he knew, maybe it would.
The great predator emerged fully from the trees, sniffing at the air, and Acras shivered instinctively. It was impossible to look at her the way he once had, with respect and fascination, ever again knowing what he knew now. The only thing he felt now was fear, icy fear somewhere deep within the pit of his stomach. He knew he was safe on his narrow canyon trail, but it didn't stop his imagination from running wild. Osta was… different, after all.
"So what's she doing with the others?" he muttered, counting and recounting the shapes beside her. There were two, just as he'd figured. Two juveniles, like himself, and Osta.
And with a sickening knot developing in his throat, Acras realized why they were so far from home.
"The long hunt," he hissed, silently berating himself for having been so stupid. Every year, after the conclusion of the first hunt, the survivors would be escorted by Osta personally into the Mysterious Beyond. It was their first hunt as adults, though details of what actually happened on the hunts were murky. The running idea was that no two hunts were alike, and that Osta selected a new target each year depending on activity in the area, and the ability of the current batch of young ones. He wondered, for a moment, what the target this year might be before something struck him as odd.
He could only see two juveniles, but he remembered hunting alongside three.
Suddenly, Osta ceased her sniffing, turning her head slowly up towards the canyon path, and by extension towards him. Without thinking, he ducked, crouching low to the ground, his tail twitching nervously from side to side.
What if she knows I'm alive? He thought, watching as she swept her eyes over the canyon. What if she found out, somehow? If she knew Lalen let me go…
That would explain why there were only two other juveniles with her.
Acras backed away from the ledge, shaking his head. It couldn't be, the plan was foolproof, and the only witnesses to his escape had been himself and Lalen. There had to be another explanation. Maybe there was another juvenile inside the forest, lagging behind. Maybe he was off scouting somewhere else. There were numerous other equally plausible explanations, but he kept returning to the worst case, unable to shake the possibility from his mind.
Because if that's true, he realized, it means they might be hunting me.
He had to assume the worst. With Osta, there were no second chances. If he didn't accept the possibility that everything had gone wrong, he'd likely wake up one night in the jaws of the Pride-Leader. And even if he was wrong, and Osta was simply leading the others on a long hunt, he knew keeping his distance would be paramount. The decision to travel up the narrow, dangerous path, he decided, was a good start, but he knew it wouldn't be enough. To be truly safe, he needed to put some serious distance between himself and the rainbow-crested terror.
When the distant Sharptooth's head dipped towards the others, Acras took his chance. The moment she turned away, he was gone, sprinting up the canyon path, his only goal to outrun the long reach of Osta. He ran quickly, faster than he felt he'd ever run before.
Even so, as he raced up towards the top of the canyon, Acras could have sworn he'd felt the freezing touch of maliciously curious eyes upon his back.
…
If yesterday's walk had been strenuous and uncomfortably personal, today's was something else entirely. The moment the scouts laid eyes on the Sharptooth tracks, the entire mood switched instantaneously. No longer was Zaura the focus; no more prying questions, no off-claw comments about her health or mental fitness for the task. Now, everything revolved around the mission. Conversations were terse, and conveyed only what they needed to convey. Squall rarely touched down, choosing instead to fly in a circular pattern above the four dinosaurs, his eyes constantly sweeping the horizon for movement. Down below, the dinosaurs did the same, dividing their attention between the tracks and the landscape. Even Zaura was on the lookout, eager for the chance to divert her attention away from her own thoughts.
The tracks beneath their feet were fading fast, as tracks in the Drylands often did, and though the group never stepped up their pace, Zaura found herself wishing they could move faster.
She wasn't sure why. If they lost the trail but reached the river and the Sharpteeth were already long gone, their mission was technically a success. By all accounts, it would be a staggeringly positive outcome: no confrontation, no chances of being wounded or killed. As far as she could tell, it was the outcome the scouts were hoping for.
But not her. Zaura was quickly beginning to realize that she wanted to see those Sharpteeth at the end of the trail. She needed the—
(Blood and teeth)
—to be there when she arrived, to provide her first chance to confront it face to face. In a way, she was excited to see them. What was it Trocha had said, that looking inwards to face one's past was the only way to heal inner wounds? It hadn't made a lot of sense initially, with how murky said past had always been to her, but now some of that shroud was lifting, and Zaura marched onward with the scouts, anxious to finally meet the thing that haunted her thoughts face to face.
Not face to face, she reminded herself, we have to hang back, remember? Don't blow your chances on your first outing.
Around the scouts, the land was changing. As morning progressed to midday, the ground became darker, less dry. Dry-looking plants sprouted up through the cracks in the earth in sporadic patterns, some of which seemed to look greener the farther they went. They were getting close.
By a cluster of scraggly-looking trees and a few drooping bushes, Dorai called the scouts to a halt.
"Eat up," he commanded, "quickly now. No more stops between here and our objective."
His decision struck Zaura as odd. They had to be getting close now, so why bother stopping? Why not finish the trek, complete the objective, and then eat?
"Dorai?" she said as the group spread out and began to feed. Out of the corner of her eye, she barely missed Hau flinch at the sound of her question.
The Plateback turned to face her, a scowl upon his face.
"Yes, deadwalker?"
"Why stop here? Why not keep walking and get on with our task? We're getting close. I'm sure we could finish those Sharpteeth off and then eat, couldn't we? After all, we're heading for a river. Plenty to eat and drink there, I'm sure."
All at once, the other scouts grew silent. Zaura became aware that they'd stopped chewing altogether. In front of her, the Plateback's nostrils widened and he blew a blast of hot air towards the ground, dust kicking up in a cloud from the impact. He approached Zaura slowly, his armored tail swinging back and forth in a threatening manner.
"Let's get a few things straight, deadwalker," he grumbled, and without warning lunged towards Zaura. Instinctively, Zaura backed up and found she was back to back with one of the trees. An image flashed before her eyes, an image of a Longneck leering down at her. She was trapped in that image, too, at the mercy of someone much more powerful than she, but just as she raised her tail to defend herself, it faded and she was left staring down at an infuriated Plateback."
"First, you are not a scout. I'm not obliged to take any suggestions from you. Second, if we have to fight the Sharpteeth, and that's a big 'if,' it would be to our detriment to do so on an empty stomach. You cramp up in the middle of the fight, you make yourself vulnerable. You make yourself vulnerable, you may as well be dead. I'm sure you have some idea what that feels like. Third, if you ever do manage to become a scout, you will address me as 'sir.' Am I clear?"
Zaura looked down at the snarling Plateback, more surprised than infuriated. Every instinct told her to fight back, and with her tail already at the ready, it was tempting. But she could feel all eyes upon her, and remembered, then, how much was riding on her first impression, and she lowered her tail passively.
"Clear, sir."
"Don't call me sir," the Plateback spat as he turned away, "you're not a scout yet. And one more thing—"
He swung around one last time, locking eyes with Zaura.
"Don't ever raise your tail on a fellow scout. If I see you do that again, I'll have Kotres place you at the back of the herd with the stragglers."
"Understood," Zaura answered briskly. The Plateback returned to one of the bushes with a low grunt, leaving Zaura standing dumbfounded in the middle of the trees, trying to make sense of what had just happened. She had just seen her potential as a scout flash before her eyes, and without any immediate resolution, either positive or negative, she no longer had any idea where she stood with the others. Naturally, that didn't stop her from guessing.
I'm fucked, she thought, lumbering towards one of the untouched trees and stripping a few bitter leaves from its branches. The only reason we haven't turned around yet is because we're so close. As soon as we're done, they'll be finished with me.
Mentally resigning herself to another month's worth (at least) of giving directions and staring at the backs and sides of other dinosaurs, Zaura set to work eating whatever she could from the rest of the branch. She never saw or heard Trocha arrive, but when the familiar blue shape finally appeared out of the corner of her eye, Zaura was unable to muster up even a "hello." The Frillhorn didn't seem to care, however, and went about walking her front legs up the tree to get at some of the lower-hanging leaves. It was clear she was here for a reason, so Zaura waited for her to start talking. As expected, she didn't have long to wait.
"Probably not the best way to make a good first impression on your future leader."
Zaura turned her head just enough to see the Frillhorn staring up at her with a friendly half-smile.
"Kotres is my leader," she answered plainly, "and at this rate, he's the only one I'll ever have to worry about following."
"Pff," Trocha snorted, shaking her head, "I know Dorai has his moments, but I wouldn't worry too much about that little spat. I've seen worse from Kotres, and he thinks you're a fine addition to the herd. Dorai just has… well, he's got more to worry about, believe it or not."
"More than a true herd leader?" Zaura reached up into the tree again, coming back down with a mouthful of slightly greener leaves, "somehow I doubt that."
"Oh but it's true. See, Kotres has the herd, but Dorai has the herd, Kotres, us, and now he's got you."
"Me?" No sooner had the question slipped out when Zaura realized how obvious it was. Of course Dorai had her to worry about. She was a whole new dinosaur, one more body to keep an eye on.
Trocha chuckled, "oh yes. And with you, he's got quite the clawful. See, he's got to evaluate you, and while what you just did may not have helped your cause, I don't think he's failed you yet. You'd know if he did."
"I would?"
The Frillhorn nodded, and Zaura decided to press her further.
"Well fine, but why did he have to act like that? It was an honest mistake. I didn't know how to address him, or whether or not it was okay to speak up like that."
"Ah, and that's the real question, isn't it? Why?" Trocha settled into a comfortable resting position upon the hard ground, stretching as she spoke.
"To be honest I'm pretty sure I know why. And while I don't think he'd like me sharing this with you, I probably owe it to you, healer to healed. Or… at least 'healing.'"
Zaura managed to crack a slight smile in spite of the situation. Trocha, too, had her moments.
"See, at the end of the day, Dorai and I have your best interests at heart. Hau, too, even if he doesn't show it. Probably. And Squall is Squall. There's no figuring him out. But, remember when I said you reminded me of Talru?"
The Sailneck nodded, finishing up her grazing.
"Well, I think Dorai's noticing the same thing. Talru would've loved the chance to go hunt a couple Sharpteeth, but believe it or not, that's not what we do. We're scouts, not hunters. If something stands between us and our goal, we move it, but we don't seek out enemies to fight. So when you say to Dorai that we can go finish off those Sharpteeth before eating, what he imagines you're saying, I would guess is that you're eager to go out and kick some Sharptooth ass. Now, how do you think that sounds to someone who just lost another dinosaur under his command, one who used to say similar things?"
"Probably not great," Zaura answered, and Trocha nodded her head.
"Exactly. And between you and me, that's not the sort of thing I want to hear you saying, either. You have a second chance at life. Not so many others are that lucky. But you have to use this chance to improve yourself, to heal. Hunting down Sharpteeth isn't going to fix anything. How do we heal inner wounds?"
"We look inside, and reflect."
Trocha grinned. "Couldn't have put it better myself. I don't want to hear anymore about this Sharptooth-hunting crap. Okay, Zaura? That's the last thing you need."
Zaura dipped her head humbly. "I understand, and I'm sorry. Won't happen again."
Trocha smiled knowingly at Zaura's response.
"Good. I knew I could put my faith in you."
The last part of the Frillhorn's sentence stung. It was a loaded response, one that practically guaranteed she would feel guilt the next time she even considered going against what Trocha had said, and knowing the healer, she was certain it was deliberate. A flicker of annoyance flared up inside her, but she snuffed it out quickly. She had an impression to mend, after all.
"Look sharp, scouts!" Dorai barked, and immediately all of the scouts snapped to attention, their eyes on him.
"Get ready to move. We're back on the trail."
And, quietly, Zaura and Trocha left the tree behind as they fell into their normal positions. Dorai's gaze seemed to linger on them a moment longer than everyone else, but the scout leader said nothing to either of them, instead addressing the scouts as a whole once they were assembled.
"Right. Squall tells me the river is just ahead. Be on your guard and if you spot something out of the ordinary, call it when you see it. You spot something out of the ordinary, call it when you see it," he turned towards Zaura. "Think you can do that, deadwalker?"
"Yes sir," Zaura answered, unable to stop herself before the response came out. To her surprise, Dorai said nothing, though she thought she saw the faintest trace of a grin on his face.
"Good. I'll let that slip of the tongue slide for now. Everyone, let's move!"
As they started moving again, Trocha shared a smile with Zaura, and the Sailneck returned the gesture. But even as they left the few trees behind, the conversation with the Frillhorn still fresh in her mind, Zaura still retained some hope that, at the end of the tracks, a pair of Sharpteeth stood in wait.
This time, however, she resolved to keep that hope to herself.
…
Sol walked slowly, hunched with his snout low to the ground and his tail raised a little higher than normal, maintaining his balance in this strange, new walking posture. Beside him, Rear tiptoed through the sand as normal, her own snout tipped up high into the air. Every few steps, she would stop, take a deep breath, and then continue. Sometimes those breaths would be followed by a strange frown, but whenever Sol lifted his head up to ask why she seemed so concerned, she forced him back down again.
"Stay concentrated on the ground, Sol," she would say, nudging him towards the dirt, "your focus should be down there, not up here."
While Rear hadn't explicitly stated it, Sol had a pretty good idea as to why he was practically plowing through the sand instead of keeping his head on a swivel like Rear was. His sniffer wasn't particularly good, and while hers wasn't anything to be proud of, it was easily the better of the two. It made sense for her to be up and alert.
On the other claw, however, it made no sense for him not to be. He could see the ground perfectly fine from his normal walking height. To make matters worse, every time he tried starting a conversation, the Fast Biter shot him down with a sharp "shush." Eventually he'd given up altogether, and apparently this pleased the smaller Sharptooth immensely. Once again, Sol couldn't understand why. This was a lesson, and normally Rear's lessons involved talking, especially when they were as important as this one. But, as he continued to tell himself, Rear always had a reason behind her actions, no matter how strange.
So, trying to keep this in mind, he continued to walk, scanning every little grain of sand or sprouting weed that caught his eye for clues he knew he would not see, until finally Rear let out a short, sharp growl, the signal to stop. Sol, being unfamiliar with this signal, continued onward but ceased immediately once he felt the prick of Rear's killing claw on the top of his foot.
"Ow!" he growled, and was immediately greeted by the hissing "shush" that he'd become accustomed to. Having none of it, Sol wheeled around until he was facing the Fast Biter.
"Why are you shushing me?!" he asked, his voice cracking in pure exasperation.
"Shush!"
"Oh for—"
"Stop!" Rear hissed, speaking the first real words to come out of her mouth all day, "I want to see something. Now keep your head down and tell me what you hear."
What I hear? Sol shook his head in disbelief, wondering if he'd heard the Fast Biter correctly, but after a silent, encouraging nod of the head from Rear, he decided to go along with. Whether or not his mentor's mind had been thoroughly baked by the Bright Circle, it was usually best to do as she said. Usually.
"Lower," Rear whispered as Sol came down to his original hunched position. Sol looked down at the ground, then back to Rear, still thoroughly befuddled. The Fast Biter only waved her hand for him to continue.
Sol lowered his head further, until he was almost touching the ground, and looked questioningly at Rear again. This time, she smiled back at him, gave him another nod, and held up her claws.
Wait, the gesture said.
The Longclaw froze, and the two Sharpteeth stood completely still. All around Sol, his world seemed to dampen and then enhance as the sounds of the Drylands grew more pronounced. He could hear the wind whistling softly over the sand, the rustle of sand grains displaced by the wind, rubbing against one another, the far-off calls of Carrion Flyers, the occasional, likely unconscious "scritch-scritch" of Rear's killing claws against the ground—
And through it all, just below the din of the Dryland's ambient noise, he heard something else, too. It was almost impossible to hear, and at first, Sol wondered if he was just picking up on the sound of his heartbeat, or perhaps his mind filling in noise where there was none. But the sound persisted, growing in volume the longer he heard it. It was a repetitive, distant thumping sound, similar to the sound a tail might make striking soft dirt, but each impact was lighter, carrying a more purposeful pressing sensation rather than a slap. It took Sol a moment to realize what he was listening to, but once he figured it out, Rear's crazy plan began to make steps.
Footsteps. He he was hearing footsteps, perhaps dozens of them. And just as importantly, he knew where they were coming from: a little farther in the direction they were already traveling. He looked up to Rear. The Fast Biter had an expectant grin on her face, and Sol whispered, "I hear footsteps up ahead!"
The Fast Biter let out a "scree!" of glee and motioned for Sol to get up, which he did gratefully. With Sol's listening concluded, Rear then beckoned Sol to sit, and the two sat in the sand side by side while Rear conferred with her pupil.
"So you were trying to get me to use my hearing to track this entire time?"
Rear nodded.
"I recalled you saying that your ears are what allow you to hunt Scaly Swimmers so well underwater," she explained, "so I wondered if it would be possible for you to use the same trick out here on land. Turns out, it is."
"But how did you know where to start looking? And why not just tell me that's what you wanted?" Sol asked.
"Easy," Rear dipped her snout to Sol, "I was picking up the faintest hints of a scent already, so I stopped us and had you check. I didn't tell you why we'd stopped because I didn't want you imagining the sound of footsteps just to satisfy me."
Sol nodded. Rear's thinking made sense here. If she'd told him she was expecting him to find something, or if she'd given away that there was already a herd in the area, he might have imagined the sounds just to satisfy her. This way, she could be sure he had his own method of tracking.
"But what's really exciting about this," Rear went on, rubbing her front claws together, "is that with an ability like this, I don't think it'll ever be possible for someone to sneak up on us."
One of the Longclaw's eye-ridges arched upwards. This was new even to him.
"How so?"
"Well, think back to what I once told you about the wind. When we're stalking prey, where should we be?"
"Upwind," Sol answered immediately, almost reflexively.
"Correct. But that does not allow us to smell what is upwind of us. Like all Sharpteeth, that is a risk we must accept when we hunt. If we're not careful, or even just downright unlucky, someone may come along and take the opportunity to steal our kill. Or worse."
Sol tapped his claw on the ground, visualising his mentor's words. He hadn't thought of it that way before, but it certainly explained why Chomper had been able to sneak up on them in the Highmountains so easily.
"But sound doesn't work like that," Rear went on. "Upwind or downwind, you can hear someone coming from any side if you listen to the ground like that. It's sort of like how we avoid stampedes. You can hear a stampeding herd coming through the dirt long before you see them. With hearing as good as yours, I bet we'd even be able to pick up on a Sharptooth sneaking up on us. Really, despite your, well, next to useless sniffer, you ability to listen is far more valuable!"
"Huh," Sol scratched at his ear-opening with his hind leg, thinking this new development over. He'd never considered taking his aquatic talents on land, but now that Rear brought it up, it seemed the perfect method to supplement his weak sniffer.
"So you think this is how I should hunt?" he asked her.
"Definitely. It might be strange, but it suits you well, and when survival is on the line, that's all that matters. Now, on to the hunt…"
Rear sniffed at the air again wrinkled her snout, and sat back down.
"Couldn't get a good idea of what we're tracking by scent alone, at least not this far out, but I want you to try. See if you can figure out what we're up against by the sounds you heard. Have another listen if you need one."
Sol obliged, lowering his head back to the ground. This time he was actively listening for the sound from before. He could hear Rear's breathing, even her heartbeat, and of course his own much deeper breaths and beats. But he ignored those sounds, focusing instead on the smaller things, sounds emanating from farther away, and before long, he found it again.
This time, the pace of the thumps had slowed and become more sporadic. No longer were they rhythmic. Now each thump seemed to happen without any discernible order or pattern. He listened more closely, trying to imagine himself beneath the water hunting for Scaly Swimmers. It was hard to really determine anything else about the sounds, but there was a second sound, even lower than the first. He'd missed it the first time he'd listened, dismissing it as ambient noise, but now, he was aware of another sound, a much deeper, softer, roaring sound.
Water, he thought. And if that's water, then the foosteps I hear… they have to be a herd, right? He listened more closely, trying to get an estimate of how large the herd was, but the steps were too sporadic to pin down a number.
But that tells me something, too, he realized. That just means it's a big herd. And with steps that light, we must be dealing with smaller dinosa- with smaller prey.
Satisfied with his observations, Sol straightened up, reporting his findings to Rear.
"From what I can tell, we're not far from a river, or some source of moving water. The dinosaurs you smelled are part of a herd, a medium-sized one at the very least. I think they're stopped for the moment, probably drinking."
Rear looked up at the Longclaw in dumbfounded amazement. With the Longclaw's young age, it was sometimes easy to forget just how proficient he could be in certain areas.
Everyone's got something they're good at, she reminded herself, making a mental note to work with Sol on this newly-discovered talent as frequently as possible. Now to see if he's any good at the dirty part.
"Okay," she said aloud, "if that's true, then we're in luck. If the herd's drinking and resting, some of them may have let their guard down."
"Some of them?"
Rear nodded. "If the herd's not completely stupid, they'll have lookouts. Odds are, we won't be able to sneak up completely undetected on them, but once they spot us, we do have one thing going for us: the water. You might remember how we used the river to corner the Elders back in Riverside. Well, here we'll be doing the same thing. We trap them, and then we pick our targets."
Sol felt a lump beginning to rise in his throat, but he swallowed it back down. He was a Sharptooth now, a real Sharptooth, and this action- to kill- was expected of him. His pack was counting on him to succeed today.
"And how do we do that?" he asked Rear.
"We'll worry about that when we get there," she assured him, standing up and giving her claws a quick flex. "For now, be sure you're ready to run. The chase is definitely the fun part of the hunt, but it's the hardest, too."
"Fun?" Sol wrinkled his brow, unable to fathom how any part of chasing down a dinosaur who had done no wrong to him for the express purpose of killing it could be fun. Rear frowned but, picking up on Sol's confused expression, explained.
"When your life depends on your ability to kill someone else, you seek out fun wherever you can find it. Most Sharpteeth enjoy the hunt, Sol. It's part of who we are, and who we have to be. Don't pass judgment until you've tried it yourself."
Sol lowered his head, nodding slightly. Rear was right, and doing this was no different than hunting Scaly Swimmers in the river.
Except Scaly Swimmers don't scream when you gut them.
Pushing the thought aside, he reminded himself that, at the very least, he'd done the act before, once. If he could kill another dinosaur once, he could most certainly do it again.
Or so he hoped.
…
The river stretched before Squall's eyes, a bright and blue ribbon stretching from one end of the horizon to another. Along its banks, patches of verdant flora grew, standing in contrast to the bleak, dry landscape it cut through. Flying this close to the river, Squall was able to fully appreciate his discovery from the previous day. It wasn't just a spot of respite. Out here, it was a veritable paradise.
He looked back towards the other scouts, moving briskly across the plain, and then shifted his focus down toward the bank below him, where the tracks ended.
As he'd expected, the two Sharpteeth were still there, something that, if today's little incident had proven anything, Zaura was sure to be delighted about. Squall, too, couldn't help but admit to feeling a slight buzz at the prospect of going on the offensive, but unlike the naive landstrider, he kept these feelings to himself. A little fast-paced flying did wonders to break up the monotony of long-distance travel.
His first pass concluded, Squall descended for a closer look at the two Sharpteeth. Upon flying over them for the second time, he noted how pitifully thin they were. He could see the male's ribs through his scaly hide. It was clear they'd both eaten next to nothing over the last few weeks, and that made him all the more certain that their presence here was nothing if not deliberate. They were waiting for food, banking on the chance that someone else would be attracted to the river as well.
Unfortunately for them, they've attracted the wrong kind of attention, Squall thought, watching them bask under the heat of the midday Bright Circle. Confident his two passes had given him enough information to make a thorough report, Squall banked and headed back toward the scouts. The rest was up to Dorai and his surprisingly cunning landstrider mind.
…
When Squall had finished his report, Dorai took a moment to parse the information he'd been given. He hadn't really expected the Sharpteeth to leave their spot by the river, and from what Sol had told him about their half-starved condition, they were a clear and present threat to the herd, or indeed to anyone in the area; in other words, not something that could simply be ignored.
It seems Zaura is going to get her wish after all.
Despite his show earlier, Dorai didn't mind that Zaura was going to get the chance to see them in action. If she truly wanted to be a scout, it would be best for her to see them in action, performing one of their more difficult tasks. He only hoped she would obey his orders and hang back. Another friendly in the mix had the potential to set the entire procedure on a one-way trail straight to doom.
For the moment, he brushed the thought aside. Considering the "what ifs" was an important part of planning an attack, but one had to be careful not to get too hung up on them. At this point, he could only trust Zaura at her word, and prepare for what was probably the inevitable point at which she disobeyed him.
"Everybody, listen up!" he barked, bringing the group to a halt, Squall still riding atop his back, "Squall has informed me that we are close to the river, within range of beginning our attack. As you know, this means the Sharptooth are indeed waiting at the end of the trail, and from what I have been told, they will not be leaving anytime soon. In fact, they are expecting us."
Dorai couldn't help but shiver, thankful his thick plating more or less covered up the involuntary movement. Starved Sharpteeth were never easy to fight, and to date they were still the only threat that managed to give him chills. They were unpredictable, and willing to put everything up to and including their own lives on the line to make sure he wound up dead. They had everything to lose, and he had a crossing point. Not exactly what he would call a balance in motivations.
"So, we will have to strike with as many advantages on our side as we can. Squall has further informed me that there is a dune near the river where we can gather for our initial engagement. The dune is almost perfectly upwind of the Sharpteeth's position, and should allow us the element of surprise. I still want to try to scare them off first, but I have a feeling scare tactics won't be enough. As I understand it, these Sharpteeth are starved and eager for the chance to sink their teeth into anything that moves—"
…
Zaura felt an exhilarating tingle at Dorai's words. Not only were the Sharpteeth there, but they were ready for a fight too, from the sound of things. It was exactly the situation she'd been silently hoping for, and even if she wasn't yet permitted to mix it up with the fanged predators, perhaps seeing the encounter would prove to be enough.
(No it won't, no it won't, no it won't, blood and teeth)
"Zaura, you listening?"
Zaura silently cursed herself for having zoned out again. Her good sail flushing a slight shade of red in embarrassment, she asked, "sorry Dorai, could you repeat that?"
The Plateback muttered something and kicked at the dirt before repeating himself.
"You will stay behind the dune and watch. That's it. Call out if you see something we don't. Other than that, I do not want you to interfere. Clear?"
"Yes si- Dorai."
"Good," Dorai grunted, "as for the rest of the scouts, we will approach from the dune and engage as soon as we're spotted. If they don't spot us, engage at one longneck-length."
The others nodded in understanding and, satisfied, Dorai turned back to the path.
"Squall," he called back to the Flyer on his plates, "lead on."
With a crisp wave of his wing, Squall leaped off the back of the Plateback, circling around the group as he built up speed and then dashing off on a course slightly to the right of the Sharpteeth's trail. Dorai adjusted their course accordingly and the group started off again. The final leg of their brief journey was upon them, and Zaura could only imagine what might await them at the end of it.
…
By the side of the river, a flicker of movement caught Strym's eye. The male Smoothsnout Sharptooth tilted his head to the side just enough to get a good look at what had grabbed his attention. It was imperative that he avoid any sudden movements. If by chance he'd managed to spot some potential prey, the wrong move might be enough to scare it away, and if that happened he'd never hear the end of it from Euris.
Unfortunately, it wasn't the leader of a herd he'd spotted, nor was it a wandering, lone Leaf Eater. It was simply a Flyer, grey and green in color, perched atop a dune not far away, no doubt keeping its distance out of fearful respect. For a moment, he considered going after it. A Flyer didn't have much meat on it, but it was something to eat, and Scaly Swimmers had proven to be both hard to find and difficult to catch in these parts. But he knew the idea was foolhardy. Even if he was right on top of it before it noticed him— an unlikely scenario at best— the Flyer was probably fast enough to avoid his jaws, and where would he be left then? Without a meal and having expended more energy than he needed to. In short, worse off than before.
Grumbling to himself, he turned away and went back to watching the river run its course. Later, he would try for a few Scaly Swimmers, but he didn't have much hope for his chances. There had to be something better on the way. If there wasn't, he tried not to imagine the consequences.
…
The four dinosaurs gathered behind the dune, atop which Squall perched, his eyes locked onto the Sharpteeth that, for the time being, only he could see. He was their eyes now relaying information down to the huddled scouts, and it would be his word that would launch the attack.
"Okay," he muttered quietly, barely opening his beak, "they've lost interest. The male is looking away now, and the female's still watching the river. I think this is our chance. Move it!"
Dorai went first, quietly scuttling around the width of the dune and crouching as low as possible, reducing his profile. Hau followed him, and as Trocha, the last of the attacking group, passed Zaura, she couldn't resist a few more words of encouragement.
"Follow your orders, Zaura, and you'll be fine," she whispered. "Trust me. This'll be over before you know it. In the meantime, sit tight and watch the show. Maybe you'll pick up a thing or two."
And with one last wink, she too was gone, trailing quietly behind Hau. Finally, Squall looked down at the crouched Longneck and, spreading his wings, said, "well, Zaura. You've got your orders. I'll be keeping an eye on them from above, but I'll be watching you, too. But between you and me—" he lowered himself down to Zaura's head level, holding up a wing to his beak in a conspiratorial whisper, "if you want to watch the fighting, climb up on the dune when the action starts. Dorai won't mind, I'm sure."
"Yeah?" Zaura whispered excitedly, and Squall bobbed his head up and down.
"Oh yeah. Just keep your eyes on the sky for the best part."
His suggestion was met with a glare from the Longneck, and Squall took off quickly, launching himself into the air above the scouts.
Cautiously, Zaura extended her neck, peering above the dune to watch as the plan unfolded. There were two Sharpteeth on the shore of the river, just as Squall had said. Both were slightly smaller than Sol, with an odd pinkish-grey color to them. Twin white stripes adorned the neck, back, and tail of each one, and she could see the gleam of slightly-exposed teeth as they sat by the waterside, no doubt relaxing, completely unaware as the scouts crept up behind them. Dorai gave the group what looked like a signal gesture, tapping his foot on the ground quietly. Immediately Trocha and Hau moved in closer until they were practically touching. Then, as one, they advanced.
The female saw them first. Perhaps she'd scented them, or maybe she'd heard them coming, but at two longneck-lengths away, her head suddenly snapped around towards the scouts. The female leapt to her feet, a roar escaping her jaws, and as the male realized what had alarmed her, he too settled into a defensive posture, eyeing up the newcomers. Zaura crouched low, scarcely daring to breathe as she waited for the scouts to make their next move.
…
Strym couldn't believe his eyes when he saw what had triggered his mate's alarm-call. The moment he saw three healthy-looking Leaf Eaters walking straight towards them, he'd initially wondered if he was having a sleep story. It certainly seemed more plausible than watching his prey line up to be eaten. But the warmth of the Bright Circle, the sand beneath his feet, the saliva pooling in his jaws and dripping between eager gums— that was real enough for him.
But aside from the fact that they were actually being approached by their prey, Strym found something odd about the way the Leaf Eaters moved. It took a few moments for him to figure out what it was, and even when he hit upon what seemed the most likely answer, the idea was too absurd for him to seriously consider.
Are they… hunting us?
The entire prospect was beyond ridiculous, but it appeared that they were. They were approaching from downwind, low to the ground, and advancing without a trace of hesitation. Each of them seemed to have a focused, purposeful look about them that betrayed some hidden, malicious intent. The whole image would be hysterical if it wasn't so unnerving.
He turned to his mate, but she was locked in a dead stare with the Frillhorn, her jaw open wide and exposing sharp, white teeth.
Well, it's a meal.
Swallowing back any doubt the strange sight might have incubated in him, Strym crouched low, growling at the oncoming Leaf Eaters. As if answering him, they bunched in tighter, and together reacted in a way he'd never have expected.
They roared back.
The sound surprised him and he instinctively took a step back. The hiss from his right side told him that his mate didn't approve, but his action had been entirely involuntary. Never in his life had he heard a Leaf Eater roar back like that. Between the three of them, their grunts, honks, and bleats meshed together in a sort of guttural growl that would have rivaled some of the largest Twoclaws at least.
"Don't back down," his mate hissed, pawing at the ground with her feet.
"Oh I won't," he growled back, eyeing the lead Plateback carefully, "you just make sure you're ready. As soon as one of them opens up, I'm going in, and then it's dinner for the both of us."
Euris smiled. She always loved it when her mate talked like that.
The Leaf Eaters continued forward, and though Strym continued to look for an opening, none presented itself. Their formation was tight, and admittedly a little intimidating. They were close now, and the time for action was quickly passing them by. Without much time left to think, Strym chose his target, nudging his mate.
"The Spikethumb," he informed her, "get ready."
But before either of them could attack, the Plateback lowered his head and, with a frightening bellow, made his charge.
…
From her vantage point, Zaura saw everything. She saw the Sharpteeth hold their ground, confused as the scouts moved in on them, saw their whispered mutterings to one another as they no doubt tried to make sense of what was going on, and saw their utter surprise at having been attacked directly by Dorai. The Plateback held nothing back, careening forward into the midst of the two Sharpteeth and shunting them aside, splitting them. His spines left long, red wounds where they broke the skin, and the dazed Sharpteeth cried out in pain and anger.
The others wasted no time in picking up where their leader left off. Before the Sharpteeth could reorient themselves, Hau and Trocha moved in on them, Trocha thrusting forward with her long nose horn, and Hau grappling with his opponent, the female. While Trocha's intimidating display made for quite the eye-catching experience, Zaura found herself drawn to Hau's fight. For a dinosaur without any long spines or armor, he was holding his own quite well, nimbly stepping out of the starving-crazed Sharptooth's attack range before darting in and landing a shunt of his own, or a quick slash of his thumb-spike. Even when the Sharptooth managed to make contact with him, he shook off the blows, withstanding tailstrikes and headbutts that would have felled a lesser fighter.
Through all the chaos, Dorai and Squall were at work as well. Dorai moved in to support whoever needed him, making himself a decoy when it seemed the Sharpteeth might be about to gain the upper claw. He ended up on Trocha's side more often than not. Squall, meanwhile, was having the time of his life, swooping down into the thick of the fight and flying circles around the already confused Sharpteeth. Their strength together seemed overwhelming, and yet not once did the Sharpteeth give ground. In fact, their aggression only seemed to increase. Zaura watched as Trocha went in for a dash, her horn scraping the soft flesh of the male's inner thigh. The dinosaur roared in anger, lunging towards her back, and only a quick destabilizing hit from Dorai was enough to throw it off. Hau, still locked in combat with the female, took a hit from one of her swinging claws. He seemed unfazed by it even as blood dripped from a new shallow wound down his side, but the female appeared to grow bolder, ignoring the danger of his spiked thumb and bashing her head repeatedly towards and into him. Unable to withstand the attack, the Spikethumb finally fell over, and the Sharptooth took her chance, plunging her head down towards the vulnerable Leaf Eater. Hau rolled out of the way, and the Sharptooth, denied her attack, ended up only with a mouthful of sand as she slammed her head into the shoreline. Hau followed up quickly with a few jabs, aimed right for the Sharptooth's midsection. The first few connected, and the Sharptooth yelped pitifully before hopping back.
And then she stopped. Zaura saw her eyes sweep the horizon as if searching for something in particular. When they finally stopped, they were set on her. The Sharptooth spat, a broken tooth falling from her mouth, and began to rock from side to side excitedly, keeping her distance from the Spikethumb.
…
Euris couldn't believe she'd missed the fourth Leaf Eater. They'd been so focused on the strange behavior of the other three, that she'd never even bothered to look in the direction they'd come from to figure out what had caused them to attack.
But now, seeing the red head attached to a thin neck stretching up and out over the dune behind them, she understood.
"They're protecting someone!" she growled to her mate. Strym, busy with the Frillhorn, only grunted in response.
Euris sidestepped as the Spikethumb lunged for her again, his spike just barely missing her soft underbelly. Pain already radiated from multiple small wounds the creature had inflicted on her. She had no desire to add to that.
Her thoughts once again returned to the Longneck. If she could break through, perhaps it was weak enough that she might have the chance to kill it before the other Leaf Eaters got to her. And with nothing more to attack, they might just withdraw. If nothing else, she and her mate could pull back and wait. It would be impossible for the three of them to move her body, and when they left, she and Strym would finally have the chance to eat.
Her mind made up, Euris waited for the Spikethumb to strike again. When he did, she took the blow, reeling with the impact as the familiar sharp pain of the Spikethumb's spike burying its way into her side hit her. This time, instead of retreating, she advanced towards the jabs, throwing herself into the Spikethumb. Caught off guard, the Spikethumb began to flail, trying to regain its balance. Euris stretched her jaws wide, clamping down on the small of his back and heaving with all her might. It was enough. Thrown off balance, the dazed Spikethumb crashed down to the sand.
"Euris, wait!" her mate called.
But the female Sharptooth was already long gone, charging towards the face behind the dune.
…
When the female Sharptooth broke away, Zaura could only stare in awe. She knew starved dinosaurs could be unpredictable, but she'd never seen one so desperate to get away that it allowed itself to be wounded. Yet this one had done exactly that, toppling Hau and seemingly heading straight for her. The male cried out after her, but it was obvious that she wasn't listening. Hau tried to get to his feet, but the male attacked, beating him back down to the ground with a hit from his powerful flank.
He's making an opening for her, she thought, locking eyes with the advancing Sharptooth, and she's coming for me.
Her eyes traveled down the Sharptooth's face to her open jaw. Blood ran in a light trickle from her gum where once a tooth had been, but the rest of her teeth were sharp, hungry, eager to taste flesh; her flesh.
(Blood and teeth)
She nodded. Blood and teeth indeed. Her vision darkened for a moment, and she was back in the white tree grove, facing down the monstrous apparition lunging at her from the darkness—
Zaura shook her head, clearing it just as the Sharptooth made contact. She skipped to the side, but not fast enough as the jaws closed shut around a flap of skin on her shoulder. The wound was merely a graze, but the spot lit up with an all-too-familiar pain.
I've felt this before, she thought, watching as the Sharptooth staggered, recovering. I've been wounded like this, by a Sharptooth, before, haven't I?
She didn't know the answer. What was clear, however, given one more glance in the scouts' direction was that she did not have time to wait for someone else to rescue her. The Sharptooth was already regaining her footing, and apparently eager for her blood.
(Blood and—)
Stop. Whether you believe it or not, you should do as Trocha says and keep these thoughts out of—
(TEETH)
The Sharptooth lunged towards Zaura, and as she made eye contact again, she saw it. The Sharptooth was still there, still headed straight for her, but something had changed, something she could not quite place. Somehow, it appeared more monstrous than before, somehow more sinister, purposeful in its intent. No longer was it a starving creature, out to feed itself however it could. Now it was something much more twisted, desiring nothing more than to inflict pain, incite fear, to tear her down to bloody scraps.
Zaura twisted out of the way again. The Sharptooth's attack had been anything but precise, no doubt due to its hunger-induced craze. Now, facing down the beast, her mind flitting back and forth between the grove and the present, grove and present, grove—
(BLOOD AND TEETH KILL IT KILL IT BEFORE IT KILLS YOU)
The Longneck settled low into a fighting stance her tail swinging from side to side as she watched the Sharptooth prepare for another lunge. Normally, a Sharptooth would take the time to circle after two failed attacks, looking for an opening to take, but this one was different. This one she knew. She'd seen its face before, somewhere in the murk of her own mind, every day since she fled Riverside.
"You did this to me," she spat, pawing at the ground with her feet. She could hear the thudding of approaching feet, and a twitch of her head toward the sound told her that the Sharptooth had heard it too. This was going to end soon, one way or another.
The Sharptooth charged again. Really, Zaura hadn't expected any less. She was tired, bleeding, hungry—
(Wants to kill you wants to SPLIT YOU OPEN KILL IT NOW)
—and she was getting sloppy. A quick shuffle to the left was all she needed to avoid the jaws that snapped shut by her flank, but Zaura didn't stop there. No sooner had she heard the snap of the jaws when she bucked her hips back towards the Sharptooth. Its jaws made another snapping sound, this time as the force of the impact caused them to clack together. Zaura watched as the Sharptooth staggered back, then shuffled towards it again, rocking her hips and smashing the base of her tail into the creature's chest. The impact shook her body, but Zaura's feet remained planted. The Sharptooth, meanwhile, was lifted onto the tips of its toes by the impact. It was enough to create almost a full tail's length of separation.
Which was exactly what Zaura was counting on.
The tail completed its swing, pausing in the air as its tip curled around before swinging back down in a smooth, sudden, and sharp arc. A loud "crack" emanated from the tip, and the Sharptooth, lifted from the ground, was suddenly smashed back down to the dirt by the impact. As the tail carved its way through the sky and the Sharptooth, a sudden spray of blood trailed from it, spattering the sand and clearing from the tail as she brought it around again. Dorai and Hau, well on their way to help the Longneck, stopped, stunned as they took in what they saw. Even the male Sharptooth, haggard and weary as it tried to hold off Trocha's attacks, allowed a brief moment to see what had happened.
The moment of silence was shattered by a sudden, piercing scream from the Sharptooth, and as it struggled to climb back to its feet, Zaura could see why. Her eyes followed the blood-crescent, the pattern laid out by her swift and precise strike, to the Sharptooth, stumbling, eyes wide with shock. Fresh blood pooled on the ground beneath it, pouring from a long gash that stretched across the Sharptooth's chest and part of its side. Beneath the gash, an arm hung limply from its socket, dangling by a few stray strands of tissue. Zaura's eyes widened in stunned surprise.
I did that, she thought, taking in the grisly sight, Rachi always said Longnecks like me could do it, but now I know for sure.
(KILL IT)
The Sharptooth's pained whines grated against her ears. Its expression had changed to something eerily familiar to Zaura. Its face, once desperately furious, its mouth snarling and dripping saliva, was now pale, pitifully fearful. It retreated, stepping back away from her, never letting the Longneck out of her sight.
That it felt anything short of mindless rage was an affront to Zaura. What right did this creature have, one whose entire purpose was to end and destroy lives, to feel afraid? Her mouth curled into a vicious sneer. Now she was the one with power. Whether the Sharptooth lived or died now, the choices was up to her.
But the Sharptooth did not appear keen on allowing her the chance to make the decision. In a moment of clarity, she finally broke away, running towards her mate as if all the fury of the Mysterious Beyond was chasing her, her arm flailing as she ran, dotting the ground with her blood with every step. When her mate saw her, the same fearful expression flashing across his own face, Zaura suddenly remembered why it was so familiar to her.
She'd been that face once before, in the dark of that awful grove. She had been the one cowering, afraid as a crackling roar split the night.
It was how she had looked when she faced the shape in the dark, the one whose desire to consume her still haunted her every day. But now, someone else was the cowering mess.
"Zaura! Are you alright?!"
Dorai's voice split the veil of night that had descended over Zaura's thoughts. She shook herself once more, and nodded at the approaching Plateback.
"I'm okay. She won't be though," she said, w atching as the two Sharptooth mates regrouped before limping away, looking back only to make sure the Leaf Eaters weren't following them. Trocha, her fight interrupted at the sudden retreat, could only watch openmouthed as the wounded female passed her by.
"That's putting it mildly," Dorai muttered, "you nearly took her arm off. In all my life, I've never seen a Longneck do something like that before."
"Maybe you've been hanging around the wrong Longnecks," Zaura smirked, curling the tip of her tail around in the air. "Apparently a tail like this makes it pretty easy."
"Well don't get too cocky," Dorai growled, "got enough of that with Squall already."
The change in his voice grounded Zaura. The implications of what she had done finally hit her. She had acted, fought the Sharpteeth just as Dorai had warned her not to do. She'd blown it again.
"Dorai? I'm sorry. I didn't mean to disobey your orders, I—"
"Say no more," the Plateback shook his head towards Trocha, beckoning for her to come over, "you did what you had to do. I wouldn't have asked you to stand there and be eaten. And from the way you handled yourself…" a slight grin played about the corner of his mouth as he paused, composing himself for what he was about to say next.
"You know, I've been told that someone like you should be protected and guarded like some sort of hatchling, but from where I stand, it'd be a shame to let potential like that waste away in the middle of the herd. Especially with a tail like that. Squall, what do you think?" he asked the Flyer who landed gently on his back.
"Badass!" the Flyer squawked, quickly adding, "well, passable at least. It was an adequate display of strength. Still, a landstrider is a landstrider."
Zaura glared at the Flyer, who only seemed to absorb the insult, his irritating smile widening.
"Well, that's the best you'll get from him. Hau?" he turned to the Spikethumb beside him. Hau looked to Zaura, eyeing her up and down, his eyes lingering on the traces of blood still adorning her tail.
"She's good," he said quietly.
"And what do you think, Trocha?" he asked the Frillhorn as she joined them on the dune, "would you vouch for this Sailneck?"
"She still has a lot of healing left to do, sir," Trocha said, and instantly Zaura felt her spines tense as a strange sensation of annoyance flared up within her.
"But Hau is right. She's good, and as you've mentioned, we have an opening. I'm okay with it, as long as I can continue to help her heal."
Zaura's nostrils flared. The arrogance of the Frillhorn was staggering. She felt better already, and yet the pompous blue pestilence insisted something was wrong with her, as if she was some hatchling with an illness. .
"I would have it no other way," Dorai said, smiling at his healer before turning back up to Zaura.
"Well I guess that settles it, Longneck. You still want to be a scout?"
Zaura nodded vigorously, forgetting for the moment her irritation with Trocha.
"Yes I do!"
"Well you're wrong already. That'll be 'yes I do, sir, from here on out," the Plateback corrected her with a sly wink. Zaura felt a thrill of excitement course through her body. She had done it! Now she was a scout, and the real healing process could begin.
"Yes sir," she answered confidently.
"Now, let's eat, drink, and get our asses on the trail again," Dorai barked out, "and in the meantime, deadwalker," he said, turning back to Zaura, his grin still clearly visible, "I suggest you get ready. Because the moment we return to the herd, your training starts."
"Training, sir?" Zaura said, confused, "but I've already been trained. I know how to defend myself."
"Not like this," Dorai replied. "Not at all like what's coming. You're a scout now. Whether you survive training or not dictates whether or not you'll stay one."
"I'll train her, sir."
The sound of the grating, quiet voice of Hau startled both Zaura and Dorai, and the Plateback swung around towards the Spikethumb.
"Hau? You've never trained anyone in the past."
The Spikethumb dipped his head respectfully. "I know, but this one interests me. She has potential that Talru did not."
The others seemed to flinch at his brutally blunt statement, but the look of confidence about the Spikethumb told them he stood by his words.
"Very well, then," Dorai said, "I suppose the training of Zaura will fall to you, the—"
"Wait!" Trocha interrupted, butting in between the Spikethumb and her leader. "Sir, Zaura is under my care. With all due respect, sir, I should be the one to train her."
"You both want the honor?" Dorai arched his eyebrow, "how strange. Still, your claim is valid as well. Perhaps we should leave it to our newest scout to decide. How about it, Zaura? Who will train you in the days to come?"
Zaura looked to the Frillhorn, and then to the Spikethumb, her mind racing to think her offer over. The memory of her first encounter with Hau was still fresh within her mind. Not once had he thought of saving her. It had been he who suggested they press her for information about Sharpteeth in the area. Coupled with this, it was hard to deny that there was something unsettling about the mystery surrounding him, something he clearly hadn't told anyone about himself. Yet she found herself drawn to his last fight, the one with the female Sharptooth. Despite his lack of any offensive features, he'd held his own admirably. Trocha, in contrast, was getting more and more under her skin with each passing day. She knew Trocha wanted her just to keep her on her "healing" course, but the way she'd felt facing down the Sharptooth, the way she'd felt when she saw Hau wound her, they felt similar. They felt good.
They almost felt like healing.
Zaura made her choice.
"I'll go with Hau," she said confidently. The Spikethumb gave a brief nod and a small snort of approval.
"Then I'll see you upon our return to the herd, Longneck," he whispered before leaving the group, headed towards the blue river. Dorai followed him, offering Zaura his own brief congratulatory nod, but Trocha stayed, her gaze lingering on the Longneck a little longer.
"Zaura, I can't imagine why you chose Hau, but remember what I told you, okay?"
"Look inward, I know," Zaura half-snapped. "Pretty hard to forget when you're reminding me about it every chance you get."
The Frillhorn sighed, "I know it's frustrating, but it's the only way you'll truly heal. I'm glad you're one of us now, but I want you to focus on getting better first. As your healer, I want you to follow through with what I tell you, or you'll be no better off than you were when we found you."
"I know,' Zaura said, flashing a wan smile at the Frillhorn, "I'm working on it. Really, I am. I feel a little better already."
"I'm sure you do. Just remember every now and then to look—"
"Inward," Zaura finished. "Got it. You just told me that. Don't worry, Trocha! I'll be fine."
Trocha looked less than convinced, but left the Longneck alone nonetheless, heading down towards the water with the others. Zaura watched her go, unsure whether to feel upset or guilty about her treatment of her own healer. Deciding that giving her methods half a chance was the least she could do, Zaura finally turned her gaze inward.
She peered into the dark beyond the chasm, where she knew the thing that haunted her lay in wait. She opened her mouth wide, exposing her own gleaming, newly-grown fangs. And deep in the darkness, something shifted, and then drew back, and for the first time, Zaura sensed fear.
Her inward journey complete, she too started down towards the water, eager for a cool drink to refresh her dry throat.
And several dunes downwind, a large, old, pale Twoclaw Sharptooth ducked out of sight, stunned by what he had seen.
…
The two Sharpteeth watched the goings-on by the river with a silent interest, lying flat in the sparse, green grass that grew along its banks, the only thing indicating they were there at all, Sol's dull blue back, too tall to be properly hidden. Fortunately, none of the dinosaurs they were watching seemed to take notice. The creatures that gathered by the winding river were unfamiliar to the Longclaw. Some of them walked on four legs, looking much like small, dull brown Threehorns without any horns and bearing bright red frills. The others were much stranger-looking. They stood on two legs, their bodies covered in odd, brightly-colored feathers. The only commonality between them was their bright yellow underbellies and the dull beak on their faces. Upon seeing them, Rear wrinkled her snout.
"I thought I smelled Yellowbellies," she groaned.
"Yellowbellies?" Sol said, watching the odd creatures bumbling about on the shoreline. "What are Yellowbellies? And what's so bad about them?"
"Well for one, they taste terrible," Rear replied, "which is probably the only reason they're still alive. They're dull, slow creatures that graze on just about anything they can find. Perfect for your first hunt, though. Easy targets."
"And the others?" Sol asked, pointing towards the hornless frilled dinosaurs.
"I'm not sure, but they look like Flathorns to me," Rear replied. "I've only heard about them from other packs. They're like little Threehorns, but much less dangerous. Only thing you really need to worry about with them is the beak. If they get a hold of you with that, they won't let go, and it hurts. Badly."
"Right. I suppose it does."
"Anyway, we'll need one of those for sure. I'm thinking two Yellowbellies and and a Flathorn should be enough to feed us and Chomper, at least for now. Don't want to stress you out too much on your first hunt."
Uh huh, sure. Because three separate targets aren't stressful enough, Sol thought, watching the blissfully oblivious Leaf Eaters going about their feeding. It felt wrong, somehow, knowing that soon their peace was about to be shattered, and he would be a part of it. Someone was going to die today because of him, someone who had done nothing wrong.
For the pack, Sol. Remember, this is for the pack.
Sol could feel himself shivering, and sat down on the sand in an effort to hide his shaking legs from Rear. The Fast Biter barely noticed, however, as her focus was fully on the potential prey now.
"Alright, Sol. Here's the plan. You're going in first, loud and fast. Someone like you is going to draw a lot of attention very quickly, so you'll start the chase. Make sure you stay between them and the water. I'll come in behind you and when I pass you, choose your target and make the kill. Take a Yellowbelly first, I'll do the same, and then we can move on to one of the Flathorns. We take our Flathorn down, and that's it, nothing to it." She finished with a friendly smile directed at the Longclaw. Sol could only grimace back.
"You'll do fine," she reassured him. When the chase starts, most everything else is instinct. Just do what feels natural, and… I suppose for you, try not to think about it too hard. I know this won't be easy, but I have faith in you."
Sol gulped, looking out at the many potential meals just within range of a short dash. This was it, the last thing holding him back from becoming the Sharptooth he was born to be.
Just like fishing for Scaly Swimmers, he reminded himself.
The Longclaw got to his feet shakily, balancing on all fours.
"Now?" he croaked.
"Whenever you're ready," Rear replied.
Sol stood still, barely breathing as he watched his prey. He felt his tail begin to twitch involuntarily as his pupils dilated. His breath came faster and he crouched lower to the ground, keeping his silhouette as hidden as possible behind the tall grass. On his hands and feet he crept closer, Rear right behind him, until he could make out the buzzers landing on the skin of the unaware Leaf Eaters.
Now or never.
The Longclaw dug his claws into the ground, launched himself forward, and let instinct take control.
He exploded out of the grass, surprising the gathered Leaf Eaters with an ear-splitting roar. A rustle from behind confirmed that Rear was following him closely as he thundered towards the shore. After a moment of shocked confusion, the Leaf Eaters began to break, running in whichever direction seemed appropriate. Some broke away to the left, others to the right. Sol hit the sand hard, twisting and altering his course to the left. Those who had gone the other way would live another day.
He gained quickly, the Yellowbellies' stubby legs only carrying them about as fast as Fyn in a dead sprint. Some started to move away from the river, towards open terrain, but Sol ran in between them and their escape route, using the water to corner them, just as Rear had said. When he felt the rush of air and saw the tan blur pass by him, he knew what had to come next.
Sol bent down towards the Yellowbellies, his eyes sweeping over them quickly, sizing each one up as a potential meal, just as he might examine a school of Scaly Swimmers for the best catch. He picked one right in the middle of the pack, a violet-colored female somewhat larger than her companions, and moved in. The female let out a squawk of terror, and the others scattered as Sol lunged towards her.
But in that moment, something held him back. How would he do it? How would he actually go about killing someone? His jaws snapped shut just shy of the terrified Yellowbelly, and he shook his head, clearing the ensuing ringing from his ears.
Just lunge and bite, he told himself, It's easy.
Taking aim at the Yellowbelly's midsection, Sol opened his jaws wide and went in for the kill. His teeth sank deep into the Yellowbelly's flank flesh, and immediately a hot and somewhat odd taste filled his mouth. He stumbled, and felt the skin he held onto tear loose as he tripped, catching himself with his front feet. The Yellowbelly limped away, trailing blood from its near-useless leg, bleating horribly all the way. From farther ahead, he heard a gurgling screech as Rear claimed her kill. The Fast Biter looked back towards him, cautiously approaching his own wounded quarry, a disemboweled Yellowbelly already at her blood-covered feet.
"Kill it, Sol!" she hissed, "hurry up and move!"
Sol looked down at the pitiful creature at his feet, its watering, dull eyes staring right into his own predatory glare.
"P- please," it muttered in Leafspeak.
Sol closed his eyes, bringing his teeth down on the Yellowbelly's neck. Then, without another moment's hesitation, he plunged his fishing claw into the creature's neck and pulled. Hot blood coated his claws, and when he finally opened his eyes to observe the damage he'd done, the Yellowbelly breathed its last, gasping breath.
"Sol, move it!"
The Longclaw blinked heavily, then turned away. One more target left.
Rear had been gaining quickly on the Flathorn she'd picked, an old buck with a slight limp. By the time Sol saw her again, she was grappling with it among the tall grass by the water's edge, dancing out of reach of his snapping beak. She'd already managed to get in a few nips at the poor creature's hide, but without him, he knew the battle would be far longer and more painful for both of them. Trying to forget about the face of the Yellowbelly, Sol charged.
The Flathorn never saw him coming. One moment he was snapping at the thin Fast Biter just ahead of him, and the next something sharp closed around his midsection, digging in and holding fast. He felt himself lifted from the ground and dragged on his side through the grass as the teeth in his midsection clamped down harder. Then, for a moment, he felt the cool touch of water, and heard the splash of his own body and one much larger than himself. He opened his eyes in time to see the Longclaw, the one who had started the chase, drag him into the shallows as water erupted in a white spray all around them, water stained pink by his own vitality. He turned his eyes to the sky, and as the Sharptooth's hold released, kicked out with his feet at one last, feeble attempt to flee. Then a foot came down hard on his midsection, pinning him to the slimy floor of the river. Water filled his mouth, running down his throat, and for the last few moments of his life he found himself staring up from the bottom of the shallows, up through the surface of the water at a face bristling with snaggled, sharp teeth.
Then the face loomed closer, the gleam of a long, white claw broke the surface, the Flathorn felt a sharp, white hot pain in his neck as deep red color clouded the water around him, and all was silent.
Sol lifted his kill from the water, rolling it onto the shore. Once it was clear and well out of the reach of any Bellydraggers that might be looking for an easy meal, he staggered and collapsed onto the sand, his sides heaving as he took in breath after breath. Rear, too, was panting hard but through her exhaustion, managed to beam proudly at the Longclaw.
"Nice work, Sol. A little rough to start with, but you figured it out quickly enough. Come on, let's go get the Yellowbellies and bring them here."
Sol said nothing, but followed the Fast Biter quietly as they made their way back down the river bank. Evidence of their chase was everywhere. Tracks, and in some places blood, covered the sand. The grass was thoroughly trampled by both predator and prey alike. Sol wandered through his path of destruction in a daze. It had all happened so fast, he found himself wondering whether he'd actually performed the hunt, or if he was having a sleep story about the whole thing.
They moved Rear's kill back to the Flathorn's corpse with ease, and by the time they reached Sol's, its body already covered with opportunistic Carrion-Flyers, he knew that what he had done had been completely real. He roared at the gathered scavengers, and like the cowards he knew them to be, they took off quickly, willing to wait until only the scraps were left for them to fight over.
From here, he could see the break in the grass where he'd first started his charge, the moment that, he now realized, had changed his life for good. From here on out, he knew Zaura's fear had been justified. He was no different than the other Sharpteeth that had threatened their group so many times.
But Fyn knows, he told himself as he picked up the heavy corpse in his jaws, following Rear as they made their way back upriver. Fyn knew I had to do this, and if he can accept it, then so can Zaura.
When Sol deposited the kill by the other two bodies, he was surprised to find that his uneasiness, his anxiety about the whole ordeal, was gone, fading away like blood in the water. And by the time he and Rear started on the first Yellowbelly corpse in silence, he found he was strangely elated. While neither of the two Sharpteeth spoke a word, he could feel pride radiating from the little Fast Biter, and as they nibbled at his first kill, waiting for their old Twoclaw friend to return, Sol realized that his feeling of accomplishment, this new buzz of excitement at having welcomed his long-suppressed side, was quite alright with him.
Another long one for you all. I guess I can't help it when it comes to the "action-oriented" chapters like this one. They just tend to run a little long. Chalk that up to how fun they are to write, I guess. In any case, it seems Zaura's made up her own mind about how to go about her "healing" process. Only time will tell if her way is truly a help or a hindrance though. I'm going to have to sideline my writing for the weekend (though I still plan on knocking out 1k words per day) as I have a short story in development for one of my classes that I need to have draft-ready by next week. Could be a few days longer, but that shouldn't be a major problem. A 10 day wait is always better than a two month one, amirite? :D
By the way, looks like we've passed that crispy 400k mark! This story's over halfway done, I promise!
As always, I can't stress enough how awesome your feedback and loyalty has been. Until next chapter, see you soon!
Now, on to the replies. And to all three of you, I say thanks for confirming for me that the chapter didn't seem too much like filler! That's a load off my mind.
Rhombus: Yes, Cera does seem to be in somewhat of a hurry, doesn't she? What I've found quite interesting through her interactions with Fyn is that Fyn and Littlefoot are actually very different, and while Littlefoot was clearly a natural-born leader, Fyn does not appear to be, at least not in the way I've written him thus far. Rather, he's come across to me as someone who's had the position thrust upon him. Would he choose to be a leader if the situation didn't dictate it? Who can say? But it does make me wonder...
Spiritstrike: Thank you for your kind words! The Zaura problem, as you know by now, is only going to get worse before it gets better. I guess we'd better hope she doesn't go beyond the point of no return, and become the very thing she hates.
Keijo6: Well, now we know what role the Smoothsnouts played: not a device to bring Sol and Zaura back together, but instead one that arguably separates them further. As Sol embraces his own darker side with hesitant respect, it seems Zaura is jumping headlong into hers. One can only wonder what will happen when they next meet.