Souls in the Wind

Chapter Two: The Way of the Pack

"Feather," his mother had told him on the day of his very first hunt. "Remember the way of the pack. We are a unit. We are as one. If you are alone, you are not whole. You will not be able to catch enough food, and you will not be able to protect yourself. That is why, above all else, the pack comes first. If there is a danger that cannot be beaten without a sacrifice, then you must give your own life to save the pack. Never sacrifice the pack to save yourself. If you do, you will be worse than dead. You will be alone."

Feather had been away from the nesting ground when it happened. He and his brother, Red Stripe, had been sent out to investigate what sounded like a struggle between giants. Indeed, they had scaled the cliff that sheltered their current home only to find themselves witness to a battle of epic scale. One of the great leaf eaters was facing off against a creature that even the pack feared. Those enormous monsters, bulky and disproportionate compared to the sleek, refined build of his own kind, were gluttonous bullies, every last one of them. They'd gobble you up as soon as look at you. That is, if they were bold enough to challenge your pack. True, the pack considered the loss of one for the safety of the rest a noble and necessary sacrifice. On the other claw, a threat to one could become a threat to the rest. Better to rid the world of the threat, or at least discourage it, than to risk being decimated by it.

Feather wasn't all that worried about this one. It appeared to be alone, and it obviously had its sights set on bigger prey. Nothing to worry about, as long as the combatants kept their distance from the nesting ground. So Feather sent his brother to tell the pack as much, while he stayed behind to watch.

It wasn't really being alone. Though out of sight, Red Stripe and the rest of the pack were not far away. They would hear Feather if he called for help, just as he would hear them. Besides, he wanted to see the outcome of this fight. The plant eater was actually holding her own. He was honestly impressed. If her victory destroyed a possible threat to the pack, he would happily cheer her on. Not that he was cheering out loud, of course. No use drawing attention to himself. Better to watch silently, note every detail, and then regale his fellow pack members with a blow-by-blow recount of the fight. Everyone loved a good story, after all.

A tremor ran through the ground beneath his feet. That was troubling, but not uncommon. In a world full of danger, even the earth itself had been known to attack those who lived upon it. Feather had heard stories about the ground splitting open to consume anyone unfortunate enough to be standing on it. Entire mountains sometimes burst into flame, spewing immense boulders and bleeding liquid fire that destroyed everything it touched. A little tremor was hardly worth worrying about.

Unless it foreshadowed something bigger.

The giants were still fighting when the second tremor hit, sending pebbles rattling across the ground around Feather's feet. His tail lashed fitfully as natural instincts tightening their hold over his mind. 'Get back to the pack', they said. 'Get back to safety.'

'Just a moment longer,' he argued with himself. 'It won't last.' It had happened before, and it never lasted long. Stories were just stories, and he still wanted to see how this fight would end.

'Curiosity killed the pack.'

'Yes, and satisfaction brought it back, so shut up.'

The battling giants had not even noticed those minor tremors. They were far too engrossed in their struggle. Something tiny in comparison was scampering around near the plant eater's feet. Two somethings, in fact. Squinting to pick out the distant shapes, Feather realized that the large one was protecting a pair of offspring. It was no wonder that she fought so hard. Many herbivores understood the way of the pack just as well as Feather's kind did, albeit under a different name. And of course the most important members of the pack were the offspring. They replenished the pack, the young replacing the old, so that even as they lay dying, elderly hunters could rest easy in the knowledge that their pack would live on. The hunts would continue.

Red Stripe had not come back. Perhaps he was not as interested in watching the fight, but the tremors had left Feather feeling anxious. He should go back. The pack was fine, of course, but it never hurt to check. The fight was still raging, the opponents evenly matched, but he had seen enough. He could always exaggerate the story. Maybe act out some of the scenes. That would certainly keep everyone entertained for the night.

He could easily picture the scene he would walk in on when he returned. The hatchlings would be tussling on the ground, the elders watching them, and Red Stripe would probably be trying to court Wind Runner again. Feather knew that it was just a game to his brother. Wind Runner was his mate, or would be once the mating season began again. Everyone knew it, and Feather trusted Wind Runner more than anyone.

Even so, who knew what his mischievous sibling was up to? Yes, it was definitely time to head back. His mind was already supplying exciting ideas for how to conclude the story, and he couldn't wait to tell it.

Looking forward to his own heroic return, Feather turned away from the battle.

Then the earth began to shake in earnest.

Never had the young carnivore run so fast, not even during the most intense of hunts. Barely even slowing to check his aim, Feather leaped clear over the cliff edge, using a series of protruding ledges as steps. Jumping more than running, he followed a vaguely zigzagging path down the face of the cliff, often coming dangerously close to overshooting the natural stepping stones. Half way down, he landed on a rock that had been shaken partially loose by the tremors, leaving it at a diagonal angle which Feather had not anticipated. His own inertia sent him sliding towards the edge, talons finding no purchase on the smooth surface. The feathers he was named for snagged on the jagged edge and were instantly yanked out by his own weight as he fell. The hunter plummeted uncontrollably into the shadowed depths with a shriek of terror.

An instant that seemed like an eternity later, he once again struck solid stone, but this was the wall of the cliff where it became a slope instead of a shear wall. His decent continued at a slide instead of a deadly fall. Turning himself onto his belly, he was able to drag all four clawed limbs over the shuddering rock face to slow himself further, until an especially violent tremor nearly shook him loose. It was accompanied by a loud crash, but he barely even registered the ominous sound in favor of keeping all attention on his own immediate peril. Pressing himself flat, pointed teeth nearly severing his own tongue, the hunter jammed the tips of his talons into blindly located crevices and held on for dear life.

He was nearly at the bottom of the widening gorge when he finally regained full control of his sliding decent, but it was enough. Shaken in more ways than one, but still more concerned with the safety of the others, the feathered flesh eater hesitated only a moment before taking off again at a head-long dash. Even with the very earth trying to shake him off, his stride was sure, strength and agility keeping him relatively steady as he made his way towards the cave which his pack had claimed as their own. The fall had carried him farther then his planned decent would have, but the way was still clear. Just around this next narrow turn and...

Feather locked his legs suddenly and skidded to a painful halt, still almost slamming into the unexpected wall before him.

The wall of fallen boulders where the cave was supposed to be. Where it had been, before the planet's sudden fit had dropped the overhanging cliff upon it.

At first, Feather tried not to believe it. Surely he was mistaken. The fall had dropped him farther than he thought. He had run the wrong direction in the confusion. Anything to explain why his home was not where it should be.

Anything but the obvious truth.

A stumble over a loose rock, knocking it clear to reveal the softer form beneath it, made that truth too obvious even for a creature half as sensible as the clever hunter to avoid.

A face looked back at him - looked past him, really. Its short crest feathers were torn loose and scattered amongst the rocks, but a tell-tale red streak over its muzzle made it all to familiar.

Red Stripe... What was left of Red Stripe... lay buried beneath the rubble, clouded eyes staring into nowhere.

Feather could only stare back at his fallen brother, frozen in horrible, mind-numbing shock for a long moment. The cessation of the tremors went entirely unnoticed, his own heartbeat as loud in his ears as the rumble of the earth had been. He knew... he knew that Red Stripe was not the only one crushed under the fragments of the cliff which had protected them. He could smell the blood of the others on the shivering breeze.

His mother...

The hatchlings...

...Wind Runner.

Feather's world had - literally and figuratively - come crashing down around him.

Alone.

It had taken a long time for his mind to even acknowledge the word. In the end, though, it was inevitable. Unavoidable and irrevocable.

The ultimate destination of his distantly frantic thoughts.

Feather was alone. Feather was incomplete. Without a pack, or even a single companion, Feather was nothing.

Feather was in complete and utter shock.

The hunter curled up amongst the rubble, hidden from view more by chance then any sense of self-preservation. He lay there like the dead as the bright circle followed its path above him.

When it crested over the canyon, he kept his eyes shut, wishing above all else to avoid the sight of destruction in the full light of day.

When it sunk beyond the other side, he lay there still, clinging tightly to himself like an unhatched infant who had nearly outgrown his shell.

When darkness fell and clouds shrouded the sky, harsh flashes of lightning replacing the steadiness of the stars, he had yet to move. Even when the rain fell, ice cold and sharper than drops of water had any right to be, he only blinked and turned his face to the ground. Amidst the turmoil of his mind, a desperate wish arose - a wish to become as his dead pack, no thoughts to frighten him or emotions to rend his heart. He pressed harder against the fallen cliff side, wondering if he could merge with it.

If only he could become as cold and hard and unfeeling as the stone.

When the dawn came, Feather awoke numb. The complaining of his empty stomach drove him out of the shallow crevice he had burrowed into during his sleep, as if trying to place himself with the rest of his pack, where he belonged.

Still, he thought little of leaving the spot. He thought little of anything as he wandered through the canyon. His path was aimless at first, but eventually the scent of blood reached him again, drawing him all but blindly onward until he found a place where another part of the cliff had fallen, taking with it a trio of unfortunate leaf eaters. Their broken bodies were cold, but still more than fresh and meaty enough to satisfy his hunger. He even took the time to savor the food, tearing it into small pieces and swallowing unhurriedly as he stared into space. There was little danger of other predators finding what he had scavenged. His keen senses picked up no trace of a threatening presence within range. The creatures he did scent were all dead or dying.

Feather envied them.

The thought of starving himself to death or throwing himself over the cliff never crossed his mind. Suicide was not a concept considered by his people, or any others, for that matter. Sacrificing oneself to save one's pack was entirely different. Survival was hard enough without needless death by choice.

So Feather ate, and Feather took care of himself, and, sooner than he honestly believed was right, Feather's feelings of loss and despair shifted back to the recesses of his mind, still very present, but not all-consuming. He gradually began to think things through again, rather than acting on instinct. He allowed himself to mourn for his loved ones, but only in a quiet, controlled manner. Most importantly, he began to plan for his new future, knowing with solemn certainty how much danger he would soon be in.

Blindly fearing his solitary state would accomplish nothing, but the fact remained that Feather was alone. An incomplete being could not live until it was whole. Feather's first prerogative - the only thing that mattered beyond the base acts of obtaining food and shelter each day - was to find companionship. A new pack would mean a new life. Until he found that pack, he would not truly be alive.

'Here I was wishing to be dead like the others, when I'm already closer than I thought.' The realization echoed in his skull with a surprisingly wry note. Wind Runner had often teased him that nothing could destroy his sense of humor. Apparently, she was right.

'Of course. Wind Runner is always right.'

'Was.'

Feather sighed heavily and left the partially eaten corpse behind to rot with its fellows. Whether his appetite had been sated by the meat, or simply dampened by the tragic turn of his thoughts, he could not say.

Despite his decisiveness, he took his time exploring the canyon, rather than rushing to the first possible way out he spotted. While some passages had been blocked by the disaster, others had been opened. Before the light of that day had faded, he found himself in what must have once been a sealed cavern. Within it, an underground stream surfaced briefly. The clean water, the earthy floor of the chamber, combines with the daylight filtering through a crack in its ceiling, had been enough to encourage fauna to grow in this sheltered nook. In a land that was quickly becoming a desert, this was an oasis hidden within stone walls. While Feather could not eat the plant life, the water and shelter were both great comforts. It was here that he settled in for the second night alone, and here that he planned to return if he had not left the canyon by the next dusk.

The temptation of the canyon's relative safety and the easily accessible food and water kept him there throughout the following day, but he did not return to the cavern by dusk as planned.

Still wide awake, having fed and rested well during the day, he was lurking in the shadows of the cliff, watching the stars, when the dead silence of the night was disrupted.

Feather immediately focused all of his keen hunter's senses on the disturbance, and only relaxed slightly when it proved not to be a threat.

It seemed he was not the only survivor after all. Though another look at the intruder gave him reason to wonder how much longer she would last. In all honesty, he was quite startled to see her on her feet, especially when he recognized her as the same leaf eater who had gone one-on-one with that giant predator.

He couldn't help but announce his presence.

"Having a bit of trouble there, missy?"

The much larger herbivore jerked at the sound of his voice, and he almost winced in sympathy when the sudden movement left her gasping in pain.

"Easy there," he said amiably. "I won't eat you. You don't look like you have much meat on your bones, anyway." That comment was more of a joke than a real reason. Starved or not, she was more than big enough to fill his stomach. He would have acted differently, had there not been plenty of meat lying around on the canyon floor already. And, plant eater or not, she was probably the only survivor left other than Feather himself. Just like him, she was alone. If he was not going to put her out of her misery, he might as well show her another kindness. "I do know where you can start to fix that problem, though."

He watched in an odd form of amusement as she strained to pick him out from amidst the shadows. He could smell her fear. It mixed with the scent of her blood and weakness in a way that would tantalize any hunter, but he also recognized what strength she still held. She could crush his skull under her feet, or break him against the cliff wall, should he dare attack her while she was already so tense and frightened. Instead, he tried to ease her terror, if only to lesson his own temptation.

"I told you not to worry. I'm alone." Whether or not she heard the inflection of sorrow imbedded in that last admission, he couldn't say, and he told himself that he did not care. He would show her to his cavern oasis. He had no use for the plants there, and it was not as if the flowing water would run out just because he let another drink from it.

He was really only half listening when she asked why he was alone. He answered her automatically, keeping his inner thoughts elsewhere in order to hold his emotions at bay. He did, however, let her know that he recognized her and had witnessed her valiant fight.

The conversation continued, though he was the one doing most of the conversing. He could understand why, of course. Unlike him, she probably lacked the overpowering sense of humor and optimism that kept him thinking clearly even in this miniature apocalypse, and being so badly injured could not have been helping matters any. Finally, in the continued effort to settle her fear, he cheerfully introduced himself.

"I'm called Feather. You'll see why at dawn," he promised. "Now tell me your name."

This was the part of the conversation he expected her to respond most easily to, so he was surprised when she hesitated, her voice breaking with the very first syllable.

"I... I don't remember."

Ah. Well, that was an interesting twist. So, the calamity had erased her memory, whether by a physical blow to the head, or the emotional blow of so much trauma. In a way, Feather was jealous. At the same time, though, he found himself pitying her.

"Well..." the small hunter said slowly, "what name do you think would suit you?" It was the only way he could think to respond, and probably the best. Like him, she needed to move on ahead, no matter what had happened in her past. It was the only way to survive.

It took her several moments to answer, and he waited patiently. A tough decision, finding an appropriate name for oneself. He watched her scrutinizingly as she turned her head towards the sky. What exactly was she contemplating? He resisted the urge to ask, feeling strongly that interrupting her now would be detrimental. Why he cared about a plant eaters well-being so much, he had no idea.

Her voice, soft as it was, shattered the silence once again, the force of it increased greatly by the edge of determination in her tone.

"My name is Cloud."