Chapter Three:

It was still pitch black. Fox looped his rifle's shoulder strap around his left shoulder, wrapping his free arm around his friend's upper body. Just as his hand moved over the space between the bird's shoulder blades, he felt a large gash in the jacket. Moving to look at it, he saw that it was about three feet long, beginning between the shoulder blades, ending just above the waist line, that it was framed by black burn marks. A laser? No, if it had been a laser, it would have killed Falco, with a mark that long; it would have cut him almost all the way through. Deciding to worry about it later, Fox did his best to lead Falco away, through the darkness, back to camp, the avian dragging his feet, looking down at the ground most of time. They walked out of the forest that lay between the southern bank of the river upon which they were camped and the festering swamp about a mile away. Eventually reaching the river, they went west, parallel to the opposite shore for a mile or two, retracing the route Fox had taken in going to look for his companion. Coming to the only spot they had found shallow enough to cross on foot, they entered the river. Crossing through the black-as-ink, freezing-cold water, the falcon tripped, falling in, not caring, letting himself become sopping wet, making no effort to get up. Fox tried to help him--

"Come on, let's go. Give me your ha–"

The avian interrupted, speaking almost inaudibly--

"I'd rather drown here....than face that thing again....."

Fox didn't understand.

– "Hmm? I didn't hear you-- what'd you say?" The canine asked, placing hands on hips, obviously weary from essentially carrying Falco all this way.

The bird starred up at him for a second, then said--

" Nothing. Nothing. I didn't say anything." He quickly picked himself up, no longer needing help to walk, then began walking back to the cave at a normal pace, as if nothing had happened.

Fox just stood there in the river, not noticing the cold, his legs numbed by the water. He was still worried, wanting to know exactly what it was that had threatened two of his shipmates within an inch of their lives, made them both break down like that.

Actually, it wasn't really that strange for Slippy, who, coming from and ideal suburban life, and a large family that had always smothered him with affection, and catered to his every need and wont, had never faced much adversity in his life, beyond getting a B on an assignment he may or may not have deserved an A on. As a result, he never learned to deal with his emotions, let alone control them.

As well, academia seemed incapable of posing any serious challenges to him, and he breezed through just about every class he had ever taken, from elementary school grammar lessons, to "basics of electronic music", to calculus. In fact, he managed to skip a staggering two grade levels between the first and eighth grades, and graduated second out of fifteen-hundred pupils at his high school. So it was no surprise that he went straight to university after graduation, choosing the prestigious Royal Cornerian Aviation Academy, earning a bachelor's degree, a double major, in aviation structural mechanics/avionics.

Immediately after graduation from that institution, he applied, and was accepted to, the Cornerian Naval Academy, getting the votes of all but one member of the selection board, he would later find out. Later earning the rank of Ensign of the Royal Cornerian Navy, and his second bachelor's degree, this one also a double major, in aviation ordnance/aviation survival systems. He was recruited by Fox McCloud, seen by his old school chum as a potentially invaluable resource, and has thus far shown as much, despite his emotional shortcomings.

Falco, on the other hand, had fended for himself from about age ten. His abusive father, constantly landing himself in two-to-five year prison terms, in between terms, taking pleasure in making his son's life a living hell. He eventually drank himself into a seven-dollar casket. His mother, while actually meaning well, was also a drug addict; if it was white and powdery, she had probably sniffed it. He never really knew his younger sister, since she had been taken in by his mother's parents at two years.

The young avian bullied his way through elementary, and middle school, eventually cleaning up his act, just in time for high school, which he only got through by the skin of his teeth, or in his case, beak. So, never really considering college, he enlisted in the Royal Cornerian Marine Corps at the tender age of seventeen. He did well as a Marine, earning the rank of lance corporal in boot camp, something almost unheard of. After boot camp, he "went infantry", as they say, for four years, earning just about every medal one can in a peacetime Marine infantry company.

But it was while participating in "rifle drills" on Fortuna that he had an epiphany: It happened while leading his squad of seven in an attack against the opposing company's base, made painstakingly slow by having to shovel through waist-deep snow. While taking a short rest, he heard a glorious sound overhead: that of Marine fighter jets screaming by, on sorties against enemy positions. He watched, awestruck, as they brought their immense firepower to bear against the all but helpless enemy force, and it was at that exact moment that he knew his destiny: he would be a fighter jock! The minute he got back from the rifle drills, he requested information about going to Navy flight school, but because he had to go through the chain of command, it took almost a year for him to get anything. But he was happy, nonetheless, and spent all of two hours reading over all the information, then firing back a request for a seat in flight school. He got one.

And, after completing his sixty-one-week course of instruction, now a second lieutenant, he quickly earned himself a good reputation as a fighter pilot. In his second year "in the fleet", his past caught up with him, when he was offered a position on the newly-rebuilt StarFox team, and the rest is history.....

Knowing as much about the falcon's troubled history, the things he had been forced to deal with, as he did, the canine realized that, whatever it was, it had to have been something truly fearsome. He found, that while pondering this, his head, seemingly of its own accord, had turned to face the forest behind him. Blinking, he shook his head, and broke out of his stupor. Realizing he was all by himself, still standing in the river, Falco having made good distance between them, and that his legs were now numbed, the canine trotted the rest of the way across the river, all the way back to the cave.

Back at said cave, after pouring his heart out about what had happened out there in the wilderness, Slippy had fallen into the fetal position, weeping. Bill, who had yet to leave the cave that 24 hours, helped him up off the floor, to his rack, helping the frog into his sleeping bag, zipping him in; Slippy still whimpered as he fell asleep.

Slippy had been at rest for about twenty minutes when Falco strolled back in, soaking from head to toe, pretentiously calm. If the husky hadn't known better, he'd say the bird had just come back from a brisk swim in the river.....with his rifle, wearing his boondockers(military boots), and BDUs(Battle Dress Uniform, a.k.a, camouflage pants, jacket, and hat), and that nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Dripping, the falcon set his rifle to "safe", removed the clip, placing rifle and ammunition in the "gun crate" near the back of the cave, then walked tohispersonal area. Sitting down on his rack, he tossed away his eight-pointed cap once again, then put head in hands, elbows sitting on knees. Bill had been watching him, warily, the whole time, deciding to wait for Fox to return before asking either "furry" any questions.

It took awhile for Fox to return. As he walked in, he paused at the front of the living area, Bill immediately posing a question–

"What the hell happened? Both these guys are stones. I mean, Slippy told me a little, but...."

The fox replied, equally in the dark, shrugging his shoulders–

"I have no idea! I mean–Slippy came rushing past me, yelling something, but I couldn't really understand what he was saying, something about a monster. Th-then, I guess I just let my curiosity into the driver's seat, like I was possessed.....and I started running, following Slippy's footprints--down the river bank, leading to a shallow area, where I could cross--god! It must have been a mile away! Then I crossed, 'cause the tracks started right there, at the water's edge...and when I was on the other side, I saw more of Slippy's footprints, coming out of the forest-" pausing for a second-

"I was on pins and needles by then, but I couldn't stop myself, I just had to keep going.....so, I walked on, into the forest a ways, and I ran into Falco; it was the strangest thing," moving over to sit next to Bill, " he, um...he had his gun pointed at me, but I just froze, and I....I called to him, "hey, Falco!", and he lowered it, and came walking towards me real slow, like a zombie almost, looking like he had just seen a ghost. So....." Fox was at a loss for words, Bill trying to help him out--

"Okay, so you saw Falco-- and he was acting really weird......" But it didn't work. Remembering the large gash in Falco's BDU jacket, Fox's face suddenly went from bewildered to stone-serious–

"No music tonight, Bill. No," breathing heavily, "I want you to get out the shotgun, and make sure that sonofabitch is loaded to the max! I'll get on the H and K, and we're gonna watch that door all night, and we're gonna blast anything that comes through it, be it a vicious whatever, or a girl scout selling cookies!"

Bill nodded nervously, and got up, going over to the large crate that served as their armory. Pulling out one of the drawers, he pulled out their brand-new, plastic/fiberglass blend shotgun, complete with folding stock, as well as a box of large, purple shells. He quickly, sweaty hands fumbling with the slippery little kisses of death, loaded eight shells into the breach, sticking another eight in the notches on the left side of the weapon. Looking to his right, the husky saw Fox, now athis ownrack, pulling out from under it, the medium-sized Heckler and Koch sub-machine gun that had gotten him out of a few jams, fitting a clip into it, setting the weapon to full auto; he wasn't taking any chances with whatever it was out there.

Going back over to the front of the cave, Fox brought another of the silver boxes with him, for use as a chair. Bill joined him a moment later, turning his rack sideways, placing it at the bottleneck of the cave entrance, so as to force any potential intruder to go over it to get very far in. He then returned to Fox's side, leaning against the wall. Both sets of nervous eyes met for a moment, then turned again to face the door, ready for anything, or so they thought.

Falco, still sitting on his rack as he had been earlier, briefly broke the silence, speaking for the first time that night since he had come to that conclusion about wether or not he should charge up that hill earlier,

"What the hell?-We're all gonna be murdered some day!"

Removing his head from his sweaty hands, he regarded them both naively, warning his canine shipmates, smiling evilly–

"If you think those weapons are gonna stop that thing, than you have another thing comin'. Hah! That beast has goddamn energy shields! And even if you knock those out, it has armor! And It do' use guns, like us, no-- it has two, great big energy blades-"- looking over at his captain- - "....yeah, Fox, I know you saw that gash in my BDUs--boys, you might as well just lay down your weapons , andtry to get some sleep, build up some energy, so, in case that thing comes here, we can try to outrun it again." Having said that, he lay down, not even getting into his bag. At that, Slippy started whimpering again.

Both men, now very nervous, simultaneously cocked their weapons, gulping, almost comically. Fox then interjected, smiling–

"I guess I was right about the....uh...dangerous aliens, huh, Bill?" To which the husky replied–

" Small victory."

But little did the Cornerians know, Edullon had no intention of going after them, during the night at least; she was content with just sleeping the rest of the night away on a bed of moss, in her own little, actually, gigantic,hollowed out tree stump. She had decided that she would track down these interlopers in the morning, and perhaps exact some revenge for their unwarranted attack against her earlier, her earlier wish of rejoining her Templar comrades having been forgotten the moment the blue "furry" fired its weapon at her.

And there she slept, all through the night, curled up in as much a ball as a full suit of armor would allow. Although the rotted walls of her shelter provided a perfect windbreak, they did nothing to protect from the cold, but it didn't bother her too much, and it was only when the early morning sunlight shone directly into her eyes that she awoke, satisfied after finally getting a full night's sleep, that her energy had returned.

She stretched her limbs, still feeling a little atrophied from the night's extreme cold. As soon as she was content with her blood's circulation back into her appendages, she began climbing up out of her shelter, finding foot and hand holds as she went. Finally reaching the rim of the gigantic, hollowed out tree stump, she swung her left leg over the side, then, with little difficulty pulled the rest of herself over, till she was balanced on her stomach, on the edge. Then, swinging both legs over the side, she let herself fall the ten or so feet to the now-muddy forest floor, landing in crouching position.

Breaking her crouching position, she stood. She scanned the area, trying to familiarize herself with her surroundings. No good. It had been so dark last night, she'd had trouble distinguishing earth from shadow. And, seemingly just noticing the thin layer of dew on herself, she saw that it had rained pretty good that night, turning the forest floor into mud, erasing any and all tracks left by both parties. Now, she was utterly lost, uncertain of which direction she had come, from the hill to the stump she briefly occupied, let alone which direction her targets had gone in. So, leaning back against the outer wall of the tree stump, she thought on it a good while, poring through her memories of the last twelve or so hours, mostly coming up with dead ends.

Awhile later, her mind having gone off on a wild goose chase after some memory that probably wouldn't help her, Edullon spied a small, purplish bird, swooping through the trees, coming to a landing a short distance away. The parched bird walked on its short, stubby legs over to the nearest puddle, where it proceeded to gorge itself on the muddy water, making a small "ploop" when its beak broke the water's surface.

Hearing that noise was exactly the stimulation her memory cortex had needed; with a crazy, wide-eyed look on her face, she now knew remembered exactly which direction the "furries" had run in; she flashed back to her first few moments of peace under the god-blessed tree that had saved her life back there, remembering that the tree was on the last hill in that range of hills, as you were going north, and that from atop that hill, you could clearly see a small, foresty strip of land beyond the swamp, and beyond that, a river.

But how could she be sure that they had gone towards the river? Obviously, she had chased her two attackers away from the swampy range of hills, into the forest, and although she hadn't chased them that far into it, she was entirely sure that they had gone at least as far as the river, perhaps crossing, going somewhere in the northern reaches beyond. Why? Well, firstly, who would camp in the swamp, any swamp, given a choice, especially since that is where they ran into her? Secondly, she knew of a system of caves that ran throughout the northern hills, beginning near the river, although she didn't remember exactly where. Now certain of her search area, she was off, thundering through the forest, on to the river......

At "SF cave", both Fox and Bill had managed to maintain their nervous, door-side vigil through the freezing-cold night, never putting their weapons down, struggling to ward off sleep the whole time; finally, Bill, seeing that Fox was also slumbering, let the drowsiness take him. Slinking back against the cave wall, sliding down it, Bill landed on his rear, letting go of the shotgun; amazingly, his weapon didn't go off when it fell to the ground with a clatter, but the clatter had woken up another of the cave's denizens.

Falco, having decided that trying to fend off the alien with the weapons at hand was pointless, hadslumbered peacefully on his rack while his friends stood guard, putting the previous day's trauma behind him, awaking quickly, hearing Bill's shotgun hit the ground. He stretched his body to maximum length and he sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of his cot, himself now facing the rest of the cave.

Seeing that he still had his ripped BDU jacket on, he removed it, and the white t-shirt underneath, balling it up, and throwing them over on top of his cap, replacing it with a soccer jersey, one of about fifty he had. It was almost entirely white, with three thin, black lines going down each shoulder, ending in a black-rimmed collar, halfway down his arm. As well, there was a black, sewn-on crest, a German-style eagle, circled by the words, "Deutscher Fußball-Bund"; three stars, one red, one yellow, one black, above it, all this situated on his left chest.

Now standing, stretching his arms and yawning, he saw his canine friends, still guarding, more sleeping by, the door. Smiling, he went over to the crate containing the MREs. He rummaged through it, looking for the "perfect breakfast", carefully reading the titles--

"Let's see......oh, this looks good, "hash browns and-- powdered eggs"? Bluhh!" Discarding it on the floor, the green packet slid along the floor, crashing into one of the legs of Slippy's rack. The toad, ripped unceremoniously from a wonderful dream involving a gorgeous Swede, was understandably, very upset--

"Uhhh! What? No!" his head emerging from sleeping bag, Slippy searched for the origin of this most unwelcome disturbance.

Seeing Falco going through the MRE crate, casually eliminating ones that didn't match his high standards, the toad yelled at him–

"Hey, Falco! what the hell? Me'n Inga were just–D'oh!" The bird looked over his shoulder, forgetting the MREs for a moment, starring at him, grinning.

Encouraging him on, he said–

"Yes, you and...Inga? What were you two lovebirds up to this time?"

The amphibian, in an attempt to avoid embarrassment, immediately went on the defensive--

"This time? Hey, buddy, if I hadn't said, "me'n Inga", you would never have known! Never!" Slippy screeched back, rolling over onto his stomach.

Falco had this to say--

"Hah! "We would never have known", my ass! Slippy--you when you fantasize-- let's just say.... we all know about it. Not-very-discreet."

Slippy, now completely humiliated, retreated into his sleeping bag

Falco was about to continue torturing Slippy, but Fox, having been awoken by their conversation, stepping in on Slippy's side as usual, ended it, but not before he had gotten a potshot in at the toad as well-

"Falco, leave Slippy alone! And– fuck! Just because you may or may not like the MREs, doesn't give you the liberty to toss them about, and disturb people like poor Slippy over there,"

Slippy was made happy by his captain coming in to help him out; but his happiness would soon be crushed--

" that only ever get any in their dreams! Damnit!" Fox finished in a huff. Silence gripped the room, the falcon feeling somewhat bad about torturing Slippy, although he only felt that way because Fox had confronted him with it and chewed him out.

The silence was followed by an eruption of laughter from all three men over Fox's last burn. Even Slippy, who had learned over the years to take personal attacks such as that with a grain of salt. The laughter was good for them, giving them a small morale boost, making them forget for a short time their encounter of the most violent kind, with the seven-foot-tall alien warrior out in the wilderness.

That same alien warrior was making its way at breakneck pace to their cave, and would probably find them within the next few hours.

The Templar had run the two miles between the far edge of the forest and the southern bank of the river in just under a half an hour. When she paused, panting for breath, and thirst, at the "near" edge of the forest, a mere two miles from the "furry" camp, it was about 09:00. Now, the hard part of her quest began; she had easily figured out which direction to go in pursuit of her "prey", until she hit the river. It was at this moment that she was glad that she had accepted her commanding officer's recommending her to light infantry/scout school, because it was there that she learned the invaluable skills about discerning an enemy's whereabouts from a great distance, tracking him through seemingly untraceable conditions, such as all shoe prints being washed away by the rain, but she knew it would still be a challenge. She spent the next couple hours bent over, searching for anything that could betray her enemies' location. She searched and searched, combed, and searched some more.

After an hour or so, searching amidst the flora nearby, she found something: It was a long, black object of some sort. It was very skinny towards one end, with a hole, as if the exit point for something. The other end, however, was significantly larger, and almost triangular in shape. She couldn't tell what material was used in its construction, but she was sure it wasn't metal. She circled around it suspiciously, wary of touching it. She wasn't sure what is was but guessed it was a weapon of some sort. She thought long and hard, crouching over it, daring the occasional finger stroke.

After a while of staring at the object, she reached for it, as if to pick it up; perhaps tactile contact would help her remember what it was. Putting her left hand under the triangular part, she gingerly lifted it off the ground, holding it with only two fingers, standing up again. Confused as to how one would "activate" this weapon, she spied a small loop towards the back of the object, next to the triangular part; the loop in question circled around another, even smaller, curvy.....she didn't know what. It looked almost like a claw. She stuck her finger into the loop, touching the side of the object's small, curvy extension; nothing happened.

Next she placed the triangular end to her right shoulder, holding the rest in her left hand; somehow it felt right, holding it that way. Then, as if some instinct, long-dormant, had awoken, she raised the object to meet her face, closing her left eye, the right eye lining up along the object lengthwise; as she did so, she noticed two notches, the first a few inches from her face, the other at the other, skinny, end. Keeping it straight and level, she swung it around, eventually finding that, positioned a certain way, the two notches, shaped differently as they were, appeared to meet, becoming one, in her eyes.

As her left hand made its way down the length of the object, she felt something else: another thing sticking out from the rest of it. It was short, box-like, and, she realized, could be separated from the rest of it, but she dared not, not knowing what might happen. Eager to find out how this weapon worked, she followed a hunch; lining the two notches up again, she placed her right index finger on the small, claw-looking.....thing. Fixing the two notches on a tree near by her, she gently applied pressure, until.....bang!

The second she pulled the trigger, heard the sound that resonated from the small hole at the other end of the object, and saw what the metal object it had ejected did to the tree, she instantly knew what this oddly-shaped, long, black object was. A memory suddenly came rushing back to her: it was that of her school days, as a young girl, recently inducted into the Templar caste; of a lecture that one of her teachers had given, those two-hundred-odd years ago. She remembered it, clear as the water of Aiur's many rivers.......

This group of young Templar novitiates, a company of sixty, in turn broken into three "sections" of twenty, was in the thick of yet another long, strenuous day, one of countless such days that marked the twenty-year path to proving your mettle, that you were good enough to don the golden armor of the Templar caste. This day, they were led by their master, a fully-trained Templar by the name of Aedus, and four recruits that were much further along in their training, that served as his junior drill instructors, had arisen at an ungodly hour of the freezing-cold morning, before the sun.

After rising, they performed their ablutions, mostly spiritual in nature, taking an hour or so. Next, they ran the usual six miles from the barracks building to the geological formation known as Cathedral Rock. Their master had shown more compassion than usual today, not requiring them to run there AND back, nor with their packs, as was the norm; but he had compensated by ordering the four senior recruits to give a good flogging to any stragglers, of which there were only one or two. Nobody ever died during the course of this training, but some members of every section come close, and the rest just wished they were dead.

For Edullon, this murderous, twenty-year training was only the beginning of her desired path: that of earning the title Infantryman of the Protoss Empire, to earn the right to wear that silver brassier, complete with the crest of crossed swords and hunting horn, with her parade armor. Although the brassier is merely a large, rather uncomfortable piece of metal hung about the neck by a silver chain, every Templar that had ever wished to join the ranks of the infantry had been willing to endure any pain, pass any test, spill any blood, be it theirs or another's, to get it.

Her company, weary to the bone already, was formed up, marching to the obstacle course, the same obstacle course that they would complete on average of five times a day, a good section taking about forty-five minutes to do so. However, as they approached the entrance to the course, their master called them back, deciding to spare them that torture today.

No, he would instead subject them to another one of his hour-plus lectures; if one dared fall asleep, or speak, or even look at the master the wrong way, during such a lecture, one received the punishment known as "decimation".

This punishment called for the guilty party(s) to be tied to one of the wooden stakes that sat in front of the office of the training center's commandant. Once tied down, arms and legs splayed, every member of the section, or company if the master deemed it "necessary", would take a turn assaulting each perpetrator, on any part of the body they chose, with the exception of the head, with a staff designed especially for such, no more than twice.

Today's lecture would be on the topic of weapons used by the enemies of the empire, more specifically, firearms. The master called his pupils to the parade square, where he bade them kneel before him on the thousands-year-old sandstone bricks that covered the ground of the parade square, himself sitting bow-legged above them on one the small, circular, raised stone platforms, there for this very reason; his drill instructors kept watch, making sure to identify those worthy of receiving the "decimation". He waved his outstretched arm in a half-circle motion over them, the company instantly going quiet. The aged, battle-hardened warrior began–

" My children, I have released you from your typical regiment, in favor of giving you all some good instruction on the weapons used by our enemies, numerous as they are as they presently. Furthermore, I intend to place an emphasis on those most cowardly weapons known as "firearms"." He paused a moment, motioning for the most senior of his four drill instructors, denoted by his black, leather belt, to approach him. The lad obeyed, bringing with him just such a firearm; on his final approach, bending over some, as not to look the master directly in the face, quickly retreating when he had handed it off.

The master, gun held in his lap, continued, the scene resembling that of Osama Bin Laden caught on video, giving one of his speeches–

"The firearm is the most common, by far, weapon used by our opponents, it being their preferred, their mainstay. Now, these weapons are extremely effective at destroying, defeating an opposing force, and at considerable range, I might add. Often times, one wielding a firearm cannot even clearly make out the face of his or her target, more often than not, being employed at ranges of more than one-hundred yards, this being exactly what makes this weapon so dishonorable! The very idea of killing someone or something, when you cannot even summon the courage to look them in the face!" –he paused a moment-- "I shudder to think–of the many Protoss warriors felled in this most...inhumane fashion, seeking only to expand our empire, share with other species the benefit of our glorious, most enlightened civilization."-- He shook his head, believing every word that he spoke -- "these weapons spread death and destruction like a cancer, to every corner of the battlefield, and quite frequently, to the innocent, civilian populace."

The sixty neophytes arrayed before him did their absolute best to be respectful to their master, none of them wanting to move a muscle, for fear of being decimated. Even those that truly loved their master, that liked nothing more than hearing him disseminate some of his wisdom, had a difficult time, especially when one of the drill isntructors, who were patrolling the rows of kneeling young ones, itching to catch a sleeper, walked by; to say nothing about those that didn't have any particular liking for their master. But somehow they all, usually, managed. No decimations, nor even floggings, would be handed out on account of today's lecture.

"These "firearms" require little or no training, nor even skill to operate, being the polar opposite of the twin energy blades wielded by Templar warriors, which take years of training, practice, to master. As well, our enemies lack any kind of spiritual bond with their weapons, and treat them like worthless pieces of equipment, produced en mass, all of them being one and the same in their eyes. It is a shame, really, that they never get to know their weapons, besides for how to take them apart for cleaning, but that is a far cry from any real bond......."

Them memory began to fade, slowly clouding over, turning grey, finally disappearing.

Although the rifle hadn't really helped her find her enemy, it had evoked a fond memory of her long-distant past, and for that, she was glad. Gently laying it on the ground again, she continued on her quest to find that enemy, leaving the firearm to be claimed by the plants.

Finally, after several hours of searching, she found something. Not much, but something. As she stalked west, now at the water's edge, going after any out-of-place items in the sand, her patience on its final legs, she saw it: a single, burn-orange hair, with a tiny bit of white at the top.

Quietly, speaking to herself, she said–

"What is this?" she stared at it a moment longer, perplexed. Then, realizing what it was that she had just found–

"By Adun! This was left by one of the.....them! Ha ha ha!" She laughed, barely containing her urge to jump up and down with joy.

She had found one of Fox's tail hairs.

She was now very excited, and continued in the direction in which she had found this precious clue, finding another hair , and another, and another, making a clear path to the west! The Protoss now had, more or less, a definitive path to follow. Now brimming with satisfaction, trying to control her giddiness, she followed this broken trail of hair.

Following it to the vicinity of the same shallow spot that Fox and Falco had crossed the previous night, Edullon was forced to deal with yet another fork in the road. She couldn't think of anything taught her that would help, not that didn't require an electronic gadget of some sort, but common sense told her that doing such a thing would be a natural course of action for someone trying to evade a tracker.

She weighed her options: she could ford the river here, thinking it more likely that the "furries" had also done so, although there was nothing by the water's edge to support that theory, or stay on this side of river and scout a mile or two further upriver. She looked to her right, across the river, looked back to the left, upriver, and made her decision: she would carry on this side of the river even though she wasn't sure why she chose to do so.

So she trundled off once again in search of the Cornerians, her burning desire for revenge, or at least reconciliation, keeping her focused.

After only a day and a half on planet, every member of this tiny expedition wanted nothing more than to leave. After having a good laugh, the four men hurriedly started breaking camp, preparing for their move back to the shuttlecraft, still parked up in the hills about a mile to the north. None of them wanted to risk another encounter with the alien again; not in such a small group. They planned, for when they came back, to bring at least six of their number, and perhaps heavier weaponry.

All of them agreed that it was foolish of them to not do that the first time, that they should have waited for Katt and Krystal to return from their errands. As it was, the Great Fox was guarded only by Peppy, Wolf, and Rob. But Rob was a, for all intents and purposes, stationary robot, having not left their ship's bridge in, literally, years, so he didn't really count anyway.

Having forgotten the reason for his staying up all night, Bill informed Fox of his plans to go swimming, grabbed his kit, and headed outside. Stripping down leaving his clothes on the sand several feet from the water, the husky walked to river's edge. He braced himself for the freezing water, and began running, intending to dive headlong into it; these plans were halted the second his foot paw touched the water.

He cried out, realizing just how freezing-cold the river truly was—

"Yeeeoww! Fuck that's cold! Fuck! What was I thinking? Fu.....?" his voice trailed off, seeing something down-river aways, on the opposite bank.

He stood there, buck-naked, starring at it; even from this considerable distance, he could see it was rather tall, perhaps 6'5". It was wearing a suit of yellow armor, no helmet. Besides for that, the only things he could see clearly were that it had dark skin, and its eyes looked to him from this distance like they......glowed?

Truly strange; he had never seen, or even heard of any alien, or even creature, like this. Then, realizing that it was the ferocious alien about which Falco and Slippy had spoken, and he had no clothes on, and in plain view of it, he dashed out of sight, back to his clothes. At least his paws got a good bath.

Throwing his cammies back on, rushing back inside the cave, pausing just inside the door, and told everyone what he had just seen–

"Holy shit! I was out there-- by the river, a-and I saw that-that thing! That thing that chased you two!" he shrieked, motioning to the falcon and the toad.

Fox, ever the cool-headed one, dropped what he was doing, and went over to Bill, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder in an attempt to calm him down, and asked–

"Bill! Bill, calm down, it's o-kay" Bill heeded his captain's advice.

"Okay, so you say you saw it out there?" Fox asked, pausing for a response–

"Yeah, I saw it out there by the river-- it was about half-mile down stream, on the other side."

The husky replied. He was clearly upset, just seeing this thing coming towards him, from quite a distance too.

Even Fox was anxious, about to face this creature for himself, but he didn't let that cloud his judgment. In fact, a part of him had wanted to see this thing. He turned to his comrades, issuing their orders–

"Alright, guys, this is how it's gonna go down: Falco, no–Slippy, yeah, Slippy, you're gonna be on the sniper rifle–" the falcon, now standing by the ammo crate, gave him an incredulous look.

Not giving Falco a chance to argue, Fox said–

"Falco, I know you're the better shot with the sniper rifle, but– I know you, man. You fly off the handle too easy; I don't want you dropping this thing just because you might think it's acting weird...... and because it might have gotten you back there in the woods."

But the bird said nothing in response, just pushed a clip into his rifle's breach, making a loud "clack". Not even moving his head, Fox looked him up and down, then turning back to Slippy.

" Okay, Slip, as I was saying: I want you to, stealthily as possible, take up position on the grassy cliff, that'll give you a good vantage of the whole scene. In fact, it's just above us; it forms the "roof of the cave", you might say." he finished, using his fingers as quotation marks.

Next he turned to Bill and said--

"Bill, you're on shotgun again; now, I want you to–you know that old dead tree, the one on it's side, a few feet away fro the cave entrance?"

Bill nodded.

"I want you to hide behind it."

To which Bill said–

"Sure. Why not?"

And with that, the husky went over to the place he had dropped the weapon earlier, surprised to find it still laying there.

Turning to Falco again, Fox said–

"And, Falco?" the bird was sitting on his rack again, rifle propped up against it; the bird blinked back innocently, cocking his head to the side, asked--

"Pray tell?"

Fox, who had grown used to the bird trying to psych people out by doing things like that, replied–

" I was gonna have you get out the submachine gun, but since your rifle's good to go....

I want you to flank me on the left, behind the rocks, the rocky outcropping"- Again not giving Falco a chance to respond, Fox turned to Slippy, the toad now holding the almost-too-big sniper rifle, barrel pointing up in the air, as if it were an umbrella--

"Slippy, would you care to take a gander outside, to see where our friend is?"

"O-okay," he stuttered back.

Fox waited for Slippy to return before finishing the impromptu briefing.

Going to the cave entrance, the amphibian cautiously peered over/around the rocky outcropping that continued for several feet after the "entrance proper" ended, talking nervously to himself--

"So far, so good. Nothing yet."

It wasn't until he was out in the open a little, the sunlight hitting his lower body, that he saw the alien, still on the other side of the river, perhaps five-hundred feet away, seemingly just milling around. Alarmed at its appearance, he dove back, actually hitting the rock wall, causing a few small stones to tumble down, causing a considerable racket. The frog sat there frozen for several moments, hoping to god that the alien hadn't been alerted by the noise.

Eventually, Slippy built up the courage to look again. Picking himself up off the sand, he peered again over the short rock wall, and once more saw it; still on the opposite shore, but now, it wasdirectly across the river; it could easily have seen a short distance into the very cave they occupied.

Slowly, he started back into the cave, gradually picking up speed. A foot or so outside the entrance, losing his balance, slipping on the sand sprinkled that was over the rock floor.

Thudding down against the ground, he let go of the sniper rifle he had forgotten that he was carrying, and unfortunately for Slippy, unlike when Bill dropped the shotgun earlier, it did go off when it hit the ground, the bullet flying a short way into the cave, hitting the wall.

Slippy, hands still over his ears to protect them from the great blast that came from the barrel of the sniper rifle, looked back across the river, part of him praying the alien hadn't heard it. But of course it had, and was staring back at the now-terrified amphibian, its glowing yellow eyes murderous.

If Edullon'd had a mouth, she would have been smiling like the Cheshire cat as she stared at the Cornerian, now lying on his back just across the river; she had finally found the Cornerians; all her long, tedious work had finally payed off.

It was noontime, the sun sitting high in the sky, and now it was payback time for the Templar.