Mender's Tale

by The Rhombus

Based upon a roleplay with Historian1912 and set in the Seven Hunters continuity. Mender has the reputation as being the best healer in the Mysterious Beyond, helping all who require it, but that was not always the case. Follow Mender as she recalls how a lowly fastbiter eventually found her place in life once she met a most unusual pack. This is Mender's Tale.

43. Chapter 35: Aftershocks

-v-

Chapter 35: Aftershocks

"What doesn't kill you makes you stronger" is a fine statement until one breaks it down. A better thought-out statement would be "what doesn't kill you, and which does not cause sepsis, rhabdomyolysis, bone fracture, renal failure, nerve inflammation, irreparable bowel damage, permanent hearing loss, coma, heart arrhythmias, and psychological trauma, makes you stronger". Remember, children, that when looking at a situation for what it actually is it is best to rely on critical analysis and not the inane utterances of philosophers or poets.

That being said, for this day you are to study the poetry of the flyers from Volant. So try to keep this tidbit of wisdom to yourselves and be well behaved!"

~Lesson Plan for Week 3, Day 2 of our diplomatic mission - carved into the wall of the rainbowface cave

---

Great Valley:

"Ah, there you are, nephew."

Topps' voice was lowered slightly with a hint of familiarity, but still contained a harsh edge. It was the typical intonation of a male threehorn politely greeting another. A tone that conveyed neither weakness, nor threat.

I guess we're doing this a bit early, Castor thought as he moved to join his uncle on the hilltop.

Topps was silent as he waited for Castor to arrive on the crest of the hill. This simple observation led Castor to realize something else as well: his uncle knew it was him despite having never turned in Castor's direction. It was at that point, as he glanced at his uncle more closely, that he noticed a flyer taking off from Topps' back.

"See, you don't get to lecture me on turning a back on a potential threat. I briefly had an extra pair of eyes," Topps teased before finally glancing in Castor's direction and giving him a 'come here' gesture with his head.

Castor wasn't too surprised to see that Topps was watching a rather familiar brown threehorn.

"I never thought when Tria and I adopted Goro that he would end up being the least troublesome of my children. After all, Whitehorn had quite the reputation before he got his horns," Topps noted with a sad smile, "Today he is practicing standing in formation."

"Just without the formation," Castor said. Ahead of him Goro was just standing in position by himself, while a few curious young flyers examined the threehorn's odd behavior from a distance. He's actually doing a good job for his age.

"I told him that by the time I was his age I could stand on my feet for an entire day without tiring." Topps noted with a bit of pride.

"Is that true?" Castor asked.

"Of course!" Topps said with a bit of force as if offended, but then he quickly rolled his eyes, "Except for the tiring part. I couldn't feel my legs until the next morning." He continued to watch Goro's actions for several more moments as one of the curious flyers began chattering something at one of the others. "I think one of those flyers is about to learn a lesson about accepting challenges."

That's not a good idea, silly flyer, Castor thought as the flyer landed on Goro's head. The threehorn promptly hurled him into the air with a toss of his head.

"Ahhhhh!"

"Hahahaha!"

Castor shook his head at the idiocy of the young flyers, but his eyes quickly caught sight of something else: Besides the shake of his head Goro had not moved out of position. He was a natural at this.

"Hmph!" Topps noted with pride. "Goes to show you that a little pressure can make people do stupid things or good things. Even though sometimes it is hard to tell which is which in the moment."

"Can't argue with that," Castor said. Working with Wrok was a bad idea from the start, and now it's downright disastrous. "It's not always easy to fix things after you do something stupid, though."

Topps did not speak immediately. When he did it was with a faraway voice. "The first step to fixing a mistake is to admit to yourself that a mistake was made." Topps sighed before giving Castor a look, "Well, how is the herd today?"

"Put simply, it's been an average morning," Castor replied.

"That bad?" Topps deadpanned.

"I think I had to settle something with every member of the herd today, and the day's not even half over. "

"Anything more bruised than a few egos?" Topps asked.

"A couple of youngsters really let each other have it over I don't know what, but otherwise nothing to worry about." Except that I'll probably have to deal with a few of them again tomorrow, Castor meentally added.

Topps nodded. "They will work it out. It is the same thing every Warm Time. Hot times bring hot heads in those youngsters who are fighting for rank. I am not looking forward to when Tricia goes through that stage." As he said this Topps gestured to his side and proceeded to walk down the hill. "I would have gone through it with Cera, but she ended up having an entirely different problem."

"She and her friends seem to find themselves in the middle of a lot of problems," Castor said. And I'm not sure what side they're on except their own. Even if they weren't sharpteeth now that wouldn't make them very good allies.

Topps did not immediately reply as the duo continued to walk down the hill in the opposite direction from Goro's silent vigil. Instead, Castor realized they were heading towards the section of the valley that was occupied by the swimmers and domeheads.

I wonder why we're going this way? Castor thought, not particularly thrilled to be heading towards domehead territory, I hope there's not another problem. Numo didn't mention anything new, but he missed our last meeting, so something could be up. Except for Numo, the domeheads seem to all lack honor. What were they thinking, killing that stout snout? That was no better than the sharpteeth we're trying to get away from. Worse, actually. I think they did the impossible; they made that pack of former leafeaters seem to make sense compared to them. One moment they're helping keep the valley safe; the next they're killing a valley resident. At least when Cera and her friends decided to betray us by helping our enemies they did so outside the valley. We can guard against outside threats like that. But how does one deal with inside threats? Even if we manage to break the alliance, the domeheads will still be a problem. But if I tell anyone, that will create more chaos. How am I supposed to fix this? Everything seemed so simple when this all started...

"You seem lost in thought."

"Yeah, well, I have a lot to think about," Castor admitted, hoping Topps would leave it at that.

Topps nodded at this as his voice again took on an odd faraway tone. "Thinking is good. Just as long as the thinking is not full of regrets. Best to learn from those and to move on."

"And if there's no way to do that?" Castor asked.

"There is always a way." Topps' eyes appeared to look at something far away as they walked through the wooded area. "My pride cost me my first family; only Cera was spared. Yet, I knew that I owed it to them and the herd to carry on. Even if carrying on meant putting up with beak-faces, big mouths, and longnecks," he spat the final word with only the required amount of disdain, "I never forget; I owe them that. But I also owed it to them to honor their names and to do what was best."

"And how did you figure that out?" Castor asked, curious.

"Through hard, difficult experience. You were too young to remember the Joining of the Herds, but our herd came closer to our doom than anyone will admit."

"I never realized..." Castor trailed off. I'm starting to think Topps might be right about some things, even if he doesn't know it. Hopefully he won't ever know, at least not all of it. I've made a lot of mistakes while trying to keep the valley safe. The domeheads don't seem to care about the valley; you don't protect the valley by killing those living there. Topps definitely cares. Maybe…

Castor barely navigated around a tree as he was distracted by his own thoughts. As soon as he did so he shook his head. No. If I even hint at anything he'll find out. I either tell him or I don't. I should probably talk to Numo before considering that. There's got to be a way to fix all of this. First, I need to stop making the same mistakes. Now I just need to figure out how to do that.

Topps appeared to be oblivious to Castor's internal torment as he continued to plod along through the dimly-lit wooded area. Instead of the sounds of voices the background noise turned into the steady thumping of their respective footsteps. Seeming only slightly less oblivious, Castor hardly reacted when a flyer glided down and landed on Topps's back.

"It's clear, Topps."

Topps merely nodded. "Good. I can handle this from here, Cloud."

Castor gave Topps an odd look but didn't comment. What is he talking about?

Topps waited for the flyer to safely fly out of the way before he continued his forward trek. "I have a bit of a herd report of my own, Castor. But I wanted to tell you before anyone else."

Topps then stopped as he watched Cloud circle something in the distance. "In a pit then… what cowards."

"Huh?" Topps, you're acting stranger than the rainbowfaces right now, Castor thought. "What's going on?"

It was only now that Topps again looked at Castor, and when he did so the elder's face conveyed a confusing combination of emotions. His expression was kind, almost mournful. But his eyes… there was fire in those eyes.

"We found your friend, Castor. Numo, or what is left of him, is over there."

For the moment not caring what Topps would think, Castor rushed ahead, only slowing down when he approached where the flyer was circling. Had he looked up he would have noticed the flyer break off his silent circling as Castor reached a break in the treeline. Instead, all that he was aware of was a slight increase in elevation as he stepped onto a small ridge and began a brief climb. Each step felt like a fresh blow to his chest. He had heard Topps' words but he refused to believe them. Surely Numo was merely here waiting for his meeting? Maybe he had warned Topps beforehand? Maybe…

That was when he looked over the ridge and saw what lay in the narrow depression below. His mind refused to process what he was seeing for several slow seconds until the sudden stench of blood slapped his perceptions to return to the moment. Then, despite having stared at the scene for several moments, he only truly began to see what lay before him. The crushed body of a domehead and the exploded pile of gore that at one point had been a head. It was only then that it hit him: Numo was dead.

Castor suppressed a roar of rage, his body shaking with the effort. They are going to pay for this, one way or another.

---

Topps watched the scene from a distance for several moments, not daring to break the silent vigil until his nephew had time to see the handiwork of his 'allies'. A more untrained eye might have assumed that the lack of an angry roar was a sign of nonchalance, but Topps could clearly see his shaking shoulders. In the end, he waited several moments before he began his slow trek up the ridge.

"Nephew. I think that we need to talk."

---

If only I had considered that sooner, Castor thought, Numo is dead because I was careless. Numo and I both knew the others were willing to kill, so why weren't we more careful? I can't help Numo now, but maybe I can avenge him. He forced himself to take a deep breath and bring himself back under control. "I have to agree, Uncle."

He could hear Topps walk over to be beside him, but his uncle was silent. It was an invitation to speak.

"I haven't been entirely honest with you, uncle," Castor said. How do I explain this?

"I figured," Topps began. There was an obvious hint of anger to his voice, but also something else. "But we are threehorns, and we settle things in the open, without secrecy or betrayal…"

Topps gestured with his head towards the dead domehead. "This is why."

"I, uh..."

Topps interrupted. "Let's start here: did you ever betray the herd?"

Castor looked at him sharply. "Never."

Topps nodded. "But the valley..?"

"Some might see it that way," Castor admitted.

Topps paused for a few moments as he took on an appraising expression. "And you do not?"

"I didn't when this started. Now..." Castor shook his head in frustration.

The elder threehorn nodded at this, as if confirming a suspicion. "The start would be a good beginning. How did you get involved in this?"

"Numo, actually," Castor said, "Initially we were just talking about issues concerning the valley. Then he introduced me to the other domeheads. Before too long I was in the middle of it all.. And then..."

"And then...?" Topps prompted.

"And then I saw some of the domeheads talking with a hidden runner and learned they were cooperating with Wrok," Castor said before seeing the look in his uncle's eyes and quickly continuing, "I knew at the time that was a bad idea, but I thought that maybe, just maybe, there was a way to make everything work. But Wrok wasn't the one I should have been worried about."

"So Wrok did not order this?" Topps asked, though it was not a question.

"No, or at least I doubt it. It wouldn't make sense," Castor said, "The domeheads... they've killed before just because someone overheard something. And Numo and I haven't been seeing eye to eye with the others lately."

Topps nodded at this. "So the domeheads were removing potential risks to their plot?"

"It would seem so," Castor said, "Unless Numo was about to say something, and I doubt he would've without telling me first, this would be the exact opposite of what Wrok would have wanted us to do. So they must have seen Numo as a threat to themselves rather than the plan we agreed on." And I'm feeling more and more foolish for allying with them in the first place.

There was silence for several moments. But then, with a soft voice, Topps finally spoke. "And what was the plan, exactly?"

"Put simply, the idea was to push the valley back into being neutral in all of this. No more alliance," Castor explained, "There was talk of causing trouble that would look like it was done by sharpteeth or hidden runners, but there was a lot of disagreement on that." And now they're getting rid of that dissent.

"And you did not warn any of us?!" Topps suddenly growled with anger, with more than a hint of rage in his tone.

"There was nothing even resembling agreement, so nothing was going to happen," Castor replied defensively, "At least I didn't think anything was going to happen. Of course I didn't think anyone was going to start killing fellow valley residents, either." And now I've lost my friend for thinking only sharpteeth were killers.

"But, yet, here we are," Topps said coldly, "Two residents are dead, including your friend and accomplice. Was it worth it?"

"No, it wasn't," Castor replied bluntly.

Topps nodded at this coldly, but his angry response did not extend to his eyes. It was then that Castor remembered what Topps had said earlier.

"Thinking is good. Just as long as the thinking is not full of regrets. Best to learn from those and to move on."

"So… your friend is dead. Your secret is out, and your previous allies now appear to be mad with power," Topps noted with an odd aire of detachment, "What do you want to do now?"

"Do? What is there to do?" Castor looked at his uncle with a blank expression. "My life is all but over now."

"It isn't over until you take your last breath. If Pterano can earn a pardon, then what makes you think you cannot? Are you willing to bear exile for your crime?"

"Yes," Castor replied with a sad nod. Unless Numo's murderers are still in the valley. That I will not abide.

"Are you willing to atone for your mistake?"

"By any means necessary."

"Are you willing to help us to make this right?"

Castor growled as he stared at his friend's flattened corpse, "Absolutely!"

It was only now that Topps nodded. "Well, then, nephew. Let's get to work."

Whatever it takes to protect the valley. "What do you have in mind?"

Topps took a deep breath. "Perhaps we can make your 'allies' think you are going along with their plan."

"That might take a bit of convincing for them to believe it, but I should be able to manage it. Assuming that works, what do we do next?"

Topps's face appeared to soften then for the slightest of moments, before suddenly going back to its previous stoic form. "I will explain on the way. Can you pretend to be angry at a longneck?"

I almost can't believe I'm doing this, Castor thought, I'm about to lose everything. No, not everything. I haven't entirely lost my honor yet. That can still be saved. I can still protect the valley, though it's from a threat I helped create. I started out trying to save the valley from itself, and that's how I'll end it.

Castor took a deep breath and closed his eyes, but before he had exhaled he had made up his mind.

"Arguing with a longneck… That shouldn't be too hard."

---

"How dare you! Sauria is not a bad influence!" Bron angrily replied to the obstinate threehorn.

"Oh?" Castor retorted, "Then how do you explain her leading Tricia on another of her damn adventures?"

Bron tried to keep his retort at bay, but he couldn't help himself. "Perhaps Tricia is a follower… of longnecks."

By the Great Egg… this won't work if you two kill one another, a flyer thought to himself as he watched the spectacle from a nearby perch.

"You take that back!" Castor demanded, sounding rather frustrated.

The flyer quickly grew bored with the spectacle as he turned his focus to the growing crowd, which was what was the intended audience for this charade. Though the fact that the fabricated argument had turned into a real one only highlighted its effect.

"It was my idea, actually…" the flyer could hear a small swimmer protest with a huff.

"Quiet, dear! That would make the threehorn even more angry," the swimmer's mother cautioned. Thankfully neither of the swimmers noticed the flyer struggling to refrain from laughing.

Bron fixed Castor with a harsh glare. "You know full well that Tricia has led the group on adventures as well, so let's be reasonable here…"

"Reasonable? Don't talk to me about 'reasonable' when we both know Sauria's the one coming up with the least reasonable ideas.".

The flyer continued to watch as the crowd of valley residents grew. Though, much to his surprise, several of them proceeded to head in the general direction of the Meeting Circle. Though whether this was to complain about the antics of the two valley elders or because they were conditioned to the fact that the valley's children were the cause of every other meeting was up to interpretation.

"What is going on here?"

And… here we go, Pterano flippantly noted. The voice of the domehead stood out only in tone against the chattering of the crowd and the bickering of the threehorn and longneck. Bickering that they both now seemed to have lost themselves within.

"If your daughter would not instigate this…"

"Oh, here you go! Blaming this all on the longneck. Is Tricia not capable of making up her own mind?"

Mirroring several other adults, the approaching group of domeheads watched the argument in confusion. The nearest sighed in frustration when he realized what the argument was about.

Pterano landed in front of the domehead hesitantly, making sure to stay out of the way of any land-walkers who might not look at where they were stepping. "Sigh… you know how it is… when one of the children goes out of the valley, the others are bound to follow. I do hope that we can avoid another tedious valley meeting on this recurring problem. I'm sure there is something more pressing than this to deal with."

One of the domeheads looked away as Pterano finished speaking, but the others nodded in agreement with the flyer.

That was when Pterano nodded at Cloud's silhouette in the nearby tree, which in turn caused him to nod at someone else in the distance. The alert call for a meeting followed right on cue.

A good number of the gathered crowd grumbled at the near escape from having to attend a meeting being lost, several of the domeheads sounding especially irritated.

The groan of the lead domehead was music to Pterano's ears. Now it is time to make this stick.

"Surely this meeting could be limited to the herd leaders that have actual concerns here? I think the rest of the valley can be spared details of whichever hole the children fell into today," Pterano soothed before looking at Bron expectedly.

"It was a mountain, actually!"

"Shut up, Malka!"

Ignoring the antics of the children as they were pushed away by an obviously annoyed elder swimmer, Bron met Pterano's expression and gave it a thoughtful appraisal.

"Yes… this only concerns the longnecks, threehorns, swimmers, flyers… and the spiketails as the kids went through their nesting grounds… maybe we can limit this to their leaders and deputies?"

Castor rolled his eyes. "Good by me. The less jabbering I hear from the longnecks the better. This one is more than enough."

The domehead leader, looking exaggeratedly relieved, guided his group away from the meeting. Since it didn't sound like the meeting concerned them at all, they had no intention of staying.

Pterano watched as the four domeheads made their retreat from the sea of curious onlookers. Their movements indicated something akin to relief as they barely spared the proceedings another glance. It was Nepha's brief glance in the direction where Nomo's body was found, however, that communicated more than words ever could. You are not as clever as you think, domehead.

The flyer looked up at the crowd as it began to filter out. A second call, this time for leaders and deputies only, all but confirmed the crowd's collective actions to the newcomers who were appearing in the distance. Pterano could almost imagine the newcomers rolling their eyes and turning around at the sudden retraction of the valley meeting call. This was not an uncommon occurrence and the smarter residents would always take their time arriving at a meeting just for instances such as this. Within a few moments the crowd has almost completely cleared out.

A visibly annoyed spiketail stalked up to Bron and glared at the longneck. "So what's this all about?"

Pterano clasped his wings together as he gave Bron a look. "Perhaps…. We should move this meeting into the Meeting Circle? This is going to be a long meeting."

---

Wrok's Pack:

"Keep to the hunting paths, everyone! I know the stream edge is easier, but we don't want to feed the bellydraggers, do we?"

Wrok tried to keep his voice jocular as he patted his hands together a few times. He was somewhat relieved to see the hidden runners that did look his way appear to be in good spirits at their current predicament. Considering they had just undertaken a tactical retreat, this was a promising sign.

Your father's caution is paying off now, Wrok. Your pack knows much about the long battle.

Wrok turned back towards the front and ignored the voice in his head. He was not his father. Ultimately his tactics would have to win on their own merits, or fail utterly. They were too far for anything other than absolute victory or total destruction now. Within moments he had arrived back to the front of his entourage as several of his guards moved in behind him with obvious relief.

Penol glanced at Wrok and tried her best to give him a subtle smile. The nearby deputy pretended not to notice.

And this, my dear, is why you fascinate me. Is that a happy smile or a scheming smile? I suspect it is both. Wrok allowed himself to briefly consider that Penol was the most unsubtle subtle person that he knew as he moved back to his usual position between her and the deputy assigned the front.

"The other groups are following on the other trails. How is the situation here?" Wrok queried the deputy before he offered Penol a slight smile of his own.

"Everyone's moving at a good pace, and so far no one has gotten lost or fallen behind," the deputy reported.

Wrok nodded at this report. "Excellent. Are Azar and Drask still scouting ahead?"

"They should be," the deputy replied, "I haven't heard back from them yet."

Wrok suppressed a sigh at that. "We don't want to have too much forward action lest we attract unwanted attention. But if they are not back soon I will send another advance party."

"They shouldn't have run into any trouble, right?" Penol asked, sounding concerned.

"Getting lost is not out of the question with some of these routes," Wrok noted as he and Penol ducked their heads under a low branch, "I think that is more likely than something violent. But we must be cautious here. If Questor catches wind of our plans, then violence is not out of the question."

"He's our ally. Why would..." Penol trailed off. Looking alarmed she glanced back towards the deputies trailing behind them, noting with relief that they were some distance away. "I guess there really is a difference between 'ally' and 'friend'."

Wrok studied her for a moment with a slight smile. Your surprise is almost believable. "Are you surprised by this? Or by the timing?"

"Both, actually," Penol admitted, "And I'm kinda confused about the timing. Don't we already have enough problems?"

"Like the pissed off fastbiters wanting to rip us to pieces somewhere in the field behind the swamps? And Questor's inevitable betrayal now that we have outlived our usefulness and are challengers to his ascent to the Great Scrape? Yes… those are both problems…" Wrok gave her a teasing smile.

"And Ignis," Penol added, "I don't think she'd even talk to me if I tried."

Wrok removed the smile from his face. I don't blame you, but you need to think beyond the past here. There is no going back to what once was. "To be ruthless is the necessity of any Great Leader. I have no doubt that Ignis would do what is necessary to secure her rule. This is why we must be one step ahead."

"And we're going to do that how, exactly?" Penol asked, frustration creeping into her voice, "Ignis will likely never agree to stop fighting until we've lost entirely, our ally isn't much of an ally, and most of the fastbiters coming after us probably are going to want us all dead."

Well, we are unquestionably 'us' at this point. So that is an improvement. Wrok smiled before remembering an old idiom his grandfather had once said. "A threehorn with three legs is both strong and weak. It just depends on where you are standing."

"Huh?" Penol gave Wrok an incredibly confused look.

"It is an old saying, and to be honest I am not sure I want to know what inspired it, but it has a simple meaning. It means that a weakened enemy is at its most dangerous, but it is also at its most vulnerable. One needs to be careful to make sure they are well-placed for the finishing blow," Wrok noted in a voice that almost made him sound like one of Penol's instructors, "And to be in a good position to run if all else fails" he added almost like an afterthought.

"It feels like we're running right now," Penol said, "I honestly don't see a way to success from here, at least not the success you were going for."

"Try to look at things from the viewpoint of a flyer, Penol. A flyer, if they could see through these trees, would see us running away, right?"

"I can see that from the ground just fine," Penol said.

Wrok nodded. "And trying to get past Questor's pack. Do you think the fastbiters will mind killing his people instead of mine? Do you think those biters would even notice?"

"I think they'd notice, but since Questor is technically our ally, I think they want to kill him just as much as us," Penol repliled.

Wrok shrugged. "In either case, that is one threat done. Which leaves us with two. A murderous fastbiter pack which is not used to hunting in the swamps and quite likely will begin to hurt some of Ignis's own… and a weakened Ignis whose alliance is certainly not doing well right now, with the valley situation."

Penol frowned. "Even if the alliance fails, and I don't remember hearing a single problem about it before I left, how does that help us? The fastbiters want to kill us, and Ignis wants to kill us, or at least some of us. I don't see how this helps us when they have a common enemy."

"When Ignis is seen to have allowed predators into her lands in order to slaughter her own people, rebels or not, who do you think the Outsider Packs will favor?" Wrok said in an almost prophetic voice. One that invited further thought by his female companion.

"In their place, I'd just get out of the way," Penol said after thinking for a moment, "There's no point for them to favor us if it looks like we're losing anyway. Last I checked I'm the only hidden runner I know that chose to do something almost expecting to die." She suddenly froze, nearly tripping when she started moving again. "Wait a moment. That's not entirely true. What happened to the pack that stalled the fastbiters?"

Wrok smirked. "Well, a little flyer tells me that a certain hidden runner had a stick covered in a two-footer's blood to send back to his pack. His father would be proud."

"How many made it back?" Penol asked.

Wrok's smile faded a bit. She obviously cared about them all, not just that fellow she had been talking to. "Sadly, it looks like around half of them fell. Though Karifon planned his end."

"Half a pack lost just to slow down a pursuit?" Penol asked, visibly horrified.

"Half of a group of willing volunteers. Such is their way." Wrok frowned. "Better that a good successor proves himself and takes over at the expense of a few than a weak ruler be permitted to take power. Karifon knew he was weakening, he knew his pack's ways, and he knew which child was the worthy successor. Varon's fellow fighters will now be rewarded with rank, the fallen will be rewarded with honor for them and their families, and his idiot brother will be rewarded with a spear in the back."

"Well, good for them, then," Penol said, not entirely convinced, "How does that help us now?"

Wrok could only sigh at this as he briefly inspected the groups of hidden runners well behind them. Though each group only had a few packmates visible he could mentally count out all of their names. With feathers as green as verdant foliage it was easy to see them as the leaves that gave his pack life. And, like a tree, the leaves could only survive for a brief time before being replaced by another. But the tree remained.

"A leader must look beyond now. This pack existed long before me, and, hopefully, it will last long after I am buzzer food. Part of that requires having allies. Real allies. I could not rely on the Outside Packs to do something underhanded as they eat honor and shit dignity. But Questor could certainly help me with the unsavory necessities of our cause. Now, however, we must make good connections with those who would give us protection if things go poorly or… if they see Ignis's willingness to have the fastbiters in her lands as dishonorable…" He allowed the thought to drag for Penol's benefit.

"Enough to actually beat said fastbiters?" Penol asked, "If half of what I've heard is true, the fastbiters could beat us by themselves."

Wrok leaned in towards her and whispered. "Most certainly. I am not stupid, my dear. They could beat us in a fair fight. I do not plan on fighting fair."

"I don't think that's going to make much of a difference," Penol muttered to herself.

"How much time do you think Ignis has before this situation causes misgivings over her rule? How about this Seeker? Do you think his band of younglings, ankle-biters, and vengeance-seekers will handle this battle forever? The young fighters expect the battle to end eventually and for them to get their names and join packs of their own. All we need to do is outlast the others and to let their positions get weaker and weaker. Then, and only then, do we strike for the killing blow."

Wrok put a hand on her shoulder. "As long as you are with me Ignis knows her rule is not secure. Remember what I said about a three-legged threehorn? Let's wait for as many of our enemies to be trampled as possible, and then we go for a decisive victory."

"It's the 'outlasting' part I'm worried about," Penol said, "And even if everything you said works out perfectly, what's going to be left?

"Enough to start again. Enough to make for a rule where the Northern Packs can finally choose their own destiny." Wrok then put up five digits to represent the number of hidden runners that had fallen on this day. "But sometimes for a new future the past has to die. Sometimes the few must fall for the sake of the many."

I just hope the few don't happen to be us.

"And the Northern Packs are going to choose their own destiny by seizing control of the destiny of the other packs," Penol said, now looking outright skeptical, "I guess I know what my descendents will be dealing with a few generations from now."

This made Wrok stop suddenly before looking at Penol with a serious look. Though the glare was not meant at her, but at the implication. As soon as he opened his beak, however, he found that the words did not come. You have seen much more than I gave you credit for.

"Perhaps," Wrok acknowledged after a pause, "Or perhaps the Southern Packs will take the hint and allow the north to rule itself and the grand river. Unlike your cousin I do not wish to rule all the packs through matings, threats, and alliances. Let the southern packs be the new Outsiders for all I care."

You're such a poor liar, Wrok. You know they would have to be ruled, lest they try to depose you. Penol has a point. Again, Wrok ignored the voice, at least outwardly.

"If that's all you wanted, there might actually be a way to end all this with most of us still alive," Penol said in a whisper, her tone betraying her doubt.

"And my father and I would have considered it, if it wasn't for what happened to our ancestors who proposed the same thing. Your family did not come to power through diplomacy and compromise, Penol; it came to power by crushing anyone who disagreed." Wrok took a deep breath in an attempt to control the anger rising in his throat. "And I do not plan on being defeathered and beaten to death like Alkus, the One Who Wanted Peace."

"So you're just going to do the exact same thing?" Penol asked.

"Propose peace and then be slaughtered by Ignis? No. That is the point. Better to be on the giving side of the claws and the receiving end."

"And this makes you any better than the ones that mistreated your family how, exactly?"

Wrok looked back to make sure the guards and his deputy were not listening in to this conversation and was relieved to see that they had made themselves scarce, keeping a clear distance so that the two could converse. Only then did he look towards her and raised a finger. "It makes me better because as Great Leader I can undo this great wrong! And, if the southern packs want to rule themselves, then unlike the ancient usurper I will permit that. But my people will no longer tolerate rule at the expense of our dignity."

"I apologize for questioning your motives," Penol said, her sincere tone catching Wrok by surprise,"but I'm not sure you're not ignoring the present for the sake of the past. What parts of Ignis's rule were insulting your dignity?"

Wrok blinked for a few moments as he searched for words. "Do you know what it is like exchanging hostages, but with you being forced to exchange your best for the sake of their worst? Where every show of respect is made with an obvious show of power? Even if your cousin doesn't recognize her actions as such, she carries on the tradition of her ancestors. The only thing I will give her is that she didn't attempt to select a mate for me or any other pack leader - the ultimate imposition. Unlike you southerners, we northerners prefer to pick our own mates, if possible."

"So you consider my being here an insult?" Penol asked, tone even, "I'm still wondering who people are talking about when they say 'high-hatched'."

Wrok studied her for a moment. "You are no insult, Penol; you are a Gift from Fate. And one that might make for a better future for us all." He looked at the deputy who was now well away from them. "We should get back to the group."

Penol nodded in agreement.

"So, what do you mean about not understanding what 'high hatched' means? You started low and went high, so surely you noticed the difference?" Wrok pried carefully as they advanced back to the front of the group.

"Not for me," Penol replied, "I went from a place where I was hoping everyone forgot I was there to a place where I was hoping almost everyone would forget I was there."

Wrok tilted his head in genuine confusion at this, which was such an off-putting reaction coming from him that it nearly made Penol snort with laughter.

"What? Did you think that being related to Ignis suddenly made people be nice to me?" Penol asked, "As far as I could tell, it just made everything worse."

"In what way?" Wrok said with obvious confusion.

"Ignis made me first assistant the day she recognized me as her cousin," Penol said, "Do you know how many of Ignis's relatives would've killed to have one of their kids in my spot?"

"So you had eyes on your back that felt like claws?" Wrok deduced.

"Pretty much. I'm almost convinced Ignis was the only one that was happy I was there. I still don't know why I was there," Penol said, "Had I not been considered an embarrassment just for existing, I would've preferred being low-hatched. There's a lot less pressure involved."

"Such is the burden of being held high; there is always someone wanting to bring you down. And before you ask, Penol, I do get the irony of me saying that." Wrok noted bluntly, "But I can answer one question that you did not have the answer to."

"And that is?"

Wrok gave her a sympathetic look. "Ignis most certainly made you First Assistant for two reasons. She had to have seen the potential in you, as I have…"

Penol looked away, embarrassed.

"...and, no doubt, she would realize that a low-hatched who owed her rank to the Great Leader would be supremely loyal to the Great Leader. That is one less hand to check for a spear."

Penol looked down, suddenly ashamed.

"In fact, the only reason you are with me is due to a scheme from a certain Left Claw. A scheme that makes me think that she should have checked for a spear a bit closer than even the First Assistant."

"I hope that wasn't supposed to make me feel better," Penol muttered.

Wrok lowered his head for a moment before gently touching her beak with his hand. "It was meant to be honest as you have just been honest with me. But tell me this, Penol, do you see any easy way out for either of us?"

"I can see a few ways, but you'd call them naive. And a little desperate."

Wrok nodded as he gestured for her to follow. "Well, if you see one that would benefit our pack, then let me know. Because Fate has been anything but honest lately. But, for now, we have a former ally to lead to our enemies's teeth, and a brave front to show to the others." He then gave her a genuine sympathetic smile. Let's save the desperation for later, if we have to be desperate at all.

"I can definitely do that last one," Penol said, trying to sound confident.

"That's the spirit!" Wrok affirmed with a nod.

As they rejoined their entourage at the front of the line he could see the curious turns in their direction, which both he and Penol merely answered with assured smiles. Ever so slightly, Wrok could notice his deputy and the others begin to appear slightly more at ease. It made him think of an adage that he was sure that Ignis was well aware of.

Sometimes appearances are more important than reality, especially when others are watching. Appearances often become reality.

---

Ignis's Domain:

Go in. Give the message. Get out. Nothing else, the messenger thought, following the guard ahead of him towards the cave. Behind him, two other guards followed, neither looking very friendly.

He was reminded of their presence when he felt his right leg being forcefully shoved.

"Get a move on! Don't keep the real Great Leader waiting!"

The messenger glared but did move a bit faster. No sense dying for nothing.

As he rushed along, barely avoiding crashing into the guard in front of him, he could see the terrain begin to change ahead. The bushes and occasional tree gave way to a large expanse of flat grass. Then, just ahead, he could see the long shadow of an obvious mound in the earth. He had arrived at the caverns of the Great Leader. Or, at least, the current pretender to that title.

Well, I've made it this far. Now I just have to deliver the soon-to-be Great Leader's message to the imposter without dying, the messenger thought. "Um, so where do I go from here?" Do they expect me to know the way or something?

He did not immediately get an answer as the two guards behind him stepped aside. Then, stiffly coming to attention, they faced another hidden runner and his entourage.

"Well, well… has Questor decided to beg for mercy? We would have permitted him to come in person if that is his idea."

The messenger kept up a confident posture, but he couldn't help but feel a bit disconcerted when he looked at the stern-sounding hidden runner. Something seemed off about him.

For the other hidden runner's part he did not force the matter. Instead he merely kept the messenger fixed with a bemused sneer. "You don't say much. Wise."

Dravos took a step closer and stared directly into the messenger's eyes.

"You are to follow me and stop when I direct you to stop. If you advance any further, then you will be dead before you hit the ground. Do you understand?"

The messenger was transfixed by the Left Claw's expression, because there was no doubt now that this was the hidden runner who stood before him. His directives were clear enough, but his desires were another thing entirely. For all of the Left Claw's insistence on not doing anything rash, his eyes indicated amusement at the proceedings. It was as if he hoped the messenger would do something stupid so that Dravos could kill him himself.

"Understood," he finally responded.

Dravos smiled. "Good. Then follow."

The messenger carefully followed Dravos, trying to balance not getting too close with not falling behind. I am not giving you the satisfaction of killing me. I'd almost rather be delivering a message to the fastbiters than stay near the Left Claw. Good thing he'll be gone when Questor takes over.

The messenger couldn't help but glance from side to see that he had quite the audience almost hidden in the shadows. As the cavern widened, it became harder to watch them and Dravos at the same time. Before he could decide if that was a problem he found something else to focus on, a decently sized rock with a hidden runner sitting on it.

Strange. I thought the scrape would be bigger, the messenger thought.

It was then that Dravos came to a complete stop, which made the messenger freeze on the spot.

"Great Leader! The messenger from Questor has arrived. Do you wish to receive him?"

The shadowy figure atop the rock barely stirred, as if she were sizing up the new arrival. When she did finally move she raised one hand in a beckoning gesture.

"What I wish and what duty demands are two different things, Left Claw. The messenger may approach and speak."

Dravos paused at her response and gave her a slight bow. Then with a gesture that was equal parts a gesture and a nudge, he gestured for the messenger to approach the recipient of his message. There was no going back now.

Though he knew he was looking at the enemy, the messenger couldn't help but be awed at the sight. Ignis gave off an air of authority and confidence that he couldn't help but respect. A formidable adversary. One could not rise to the scrape and not be so.

The messenger bowed respectfully before beginning his message. "I bring tidings from Questor, the true Great Leader of our people."

This earned several guffaws and angry retorts from the audience, which the female on the scrape appeared to dismiss with a wave of her hand. "Has your 'leader' not invented a new insult since last time? At least Wrok has found three different ways to call me a murderess in the last season."

The messenger shrugged. "I guess he has more important things to think about."

"Hmmm…" Ignis responded with a mixture of annoyance and bemusement. "Well then, messenger, perhaps you should get on with your message. For I, the true leader of our glorious people, too, have more important matters to consider. What is your patron's message?"

"I'm here to declare that you will soon be defeated," the messenger said, "Yes, I know you've heard that before. But now we have more than words on our side."

The Great Leader did not stir. "Continue."

"Your allies in the valley have chosen to abandon you. Your failure to end the fighting has led to our sacred lands being desecrated by your so-called allies, the blood-soaked fastbiters, and your own First Assistant is in Wrok's claws, probably being ravished as we speak," the messenger declared. He paused to let his words sink in.

The Great Leader's eyes gleamed as if they were consumed by fire. All the while her claws dug into the rock as she glared at her tormentor. Though the messenger could not see behind him, he could easily imagine guards were at the ready to impale him with spears. The crowd, meanwhile, had grown deathly silent.

"You have failed to defend your people. You have failed to appease your valley allies… and now, now even that last remnant of your sad alliance is doomed. For I am sure that the True Leader now has advisors who will put yours to shame..."

The messenger watched for any sign that the Great Leader was aware of what he was implying, but her face was as cold as could be. So, in the end, he merely said his message.

"We have, how do I put this, welcomed the rainbowfaces to our cause."

Ignis's face did not change its cold expression, but the messenger could tell from the gasps of shock that his words had been heard.

"It is truly a blessing of Fate that it has brought them into our hands. With their support the true leader will soon be in his rightful place..."

"Halt!"

The messenger froze, assuming the order was for him, eyes focused on Ignis. What's she getting up for? A sudden commotion caused him to look behind him. He was startled to see that one of the guards had tackled another hidden runner and even more alarmed at how close that hidden runner had gotten.

"Frightening to have people wanting to attack you from behind, isn't it?" a cruel feminine voice suddenly called to him from nearby. He was shocked to see the Great Leader no more than five body-lengths from him, a spear in hand.

A guard rose to intervene between her and the messenger. "Ma'am, there is no need; we…"

Ignis waved him off. "It's alright, guard. I do not fear this messenger. No, I will send Questor a message of my own."

The messenger gulped. Well, at least I got to see where Questor will eventually sit before I died.

"Look at me, messenger. Or do you lack your leader's convictions?"

The messenger turned to look at Ignis. He was greeted by Ignis's cold stare and somewhat surprisingly her spear had not moved from its ready position. Instead she was within a torso-length of his face.

"You are right about one thing,1 messenger, I will give you that. We have a duty to our allies. I rose to my place at the point of a spear, if necessary I will secure my place the same way. Now you go tell your dear Questor this, and get out of my sight."

The messenger nodded in understanding and, in obedience to Ignis's command, promptly fled as if his life depended on it. The last thing he heard before he bolted back into the daylight outside of the cavern was Ignis's shouted command.

"Convene my deputies! The time for half-measures is over!"

No one present noticed the Left Claw look upon the proceedings with a pleased smile. "All according to plan."

---

Great Valley:

"There's no way all of that can be true," a swimmer objected.

"Can we go over this again?" a thicknose asked, "I got lost on who did what."

Topps finally couldn't take it anymore. "We have explained this three times! I know that you are thicknose, but you shouldn't be this thick!"

Bron sucked in a deep breath. Grandpa Longneck, I have no idea how you were able to put up with this.

"Let's all step back for a moment and take a look at the bigger picture." Bron began hesitantly, making sure that the thicknose and Topps did not come to blows. "Right now we have a herd dispute between the hidden runners, from whom we exchange healing plants, over which of them will lead their people. It seems that Wrok and Questor have attacked some of my son's friends, which lead to the fastbiters getting involved. Then, Wrok was responsible for the attack on Mender outside of our own valley!" Bron allowed his voice to rise at that point, lest anyone dare ask why they should care. "An attack that came because she thought that we asked for aid."

"Another lie that we have Wrok to thank for," Castor added, awkwardly. "As soon as that happened I should have come clean. But I thought that would be the end of it."

"Now," Topps added, "Not only do we have the testimony from the flyers, who have been spying on the domeheads in this conspiracy, but we also have several deaths which show the danger of this group. They were obviously trying to silence potential talkers."

"Considering what they've done, shouldn't we call the valley to pass judgement?" one of the spiketail herd leaders asked.

"Why not just crush them now before they have a chance to do anything else?" Somni asked.

Bron looked at Somni with a bemused expression. "By the Great Egg, Somni, then we would have to answer for our actions."

"And considering it has taken us three times to explain it to everyone here, ostensibly the most level-headed of us all, how many times do you think it would take to explain this to the rest of the valley?" Pterano finally interjected after a long period of silence, "We know enough to be sure of their guilt, but we need something overt if we are to remove them for good and ensure that their plot dies with them."

"And what they've done so far isn't proof enough?" the spiketail leader asked.

Volant quickly answered from nearby. "What they have done so far has not been in front of the naysayers. This entire situation with this alliance, and the supposed troubles it has brought the valley, has put us herd leaders in a difficult spot. We were the ones who pushed for the alliance, so if we murder or exile others who were against the alliance, then what would the unconvinced among the valley think?" She then looked pointedly at the spiketail, "And you know the testimony of us 'beak-faces' would not go far with some of your herd."

The spiketail leader grumbled but nodded nonetheless.

"So somehow we need to flush these traitors out. Castor is willing to testify, as are the beak... flyers. But somehow we need something that will end any doubt." Topps affirmed.

"The question is what that something is?" Bron added.

This caused the group to grow silent for several moments. Topps and Castor stood imperiously in front of the Meeting Circle, each hiding their own misgivings in true threehorn fashion. All the while Somni and Bron, representing the longnecks, towered over the proceedings in silence. This left the herd leaders of the swimmers, spiketails, and thicknoses to think in silence.

"Well… if we are going to catch the domeheads in the act then we need to know who is in on this. Is this all of the herd? Or just some of them?" The swimmer herd leader inquired.

Castor stepped forward. "Besides those messenger flyers, I only saw the domeheads I was with discussing this plot. I think the rest of their herd is blameless."

"So this needs to be convincing to the rest of their herd as well," one of the spiketails noted.

"And they need to be convinced without alerting the conspirators," Bron added.

This caused the silence to return. How could they have the domeheads show their true colors in a way that would be seen by their herdmates and the possible naysayers in the valley?

The swimmer sighed. "It's like trying to catch a faster sibling in the stream. Unless they're distracted you don't have a chance."

Volant made everyone jump when she let out an excited screech. "That's it! We know Wrok has messenger flyers, but they don't know which ones are the real ones. So perhaps one of us could play that role?"

Castor nodded slowly as the scheme became clear. "So an imposter messenger could set up a trap?"

"Don't tell me you're not liking trickery now," the spiketail leader said.

Topps quickly stepped in front of his nephew before he had a chance to challenge the spiketail.

Castor glared at the spiketail. "If trickery is what it takes to fix this then I will do it, but that doesn't mean I have to like it!"

The spiketail met the threehorn's glare for several moments before backing down slightly.

"Maybe we could act like there's some other problem so they'll think they can do something," the swimmer suggested, "You know, confuse them."

This merely earned the swimmer some bemused looks.

"Huh?" Somni helpfully added.

"I, um..." the swimmer shrugged and stepped back into the edge of the meeting circle. "I'm not actually sure how we'd do that. Does anyone else have an idea?"

"Well… whatever we do needs to seem like it would come from Wrok. So what would be the best way, in his mind, of making the valley distrusting of everyone else?" Pterano offered.

This made the thicknose snort. "Probably what they are doing so far. Make everyone think that hidden runners or sharpteeth are killing people in the valley."

Volant put a wing to her beak in concentration. "So maybe we could give them a specific target and set up a hidden audience…"

"How are we supposed to do that?" Topps wondered aloud, "The only thing we regularly meet over is whatever the kids have gotten into this time."

It was then that the herd leaders of the spiketails, swimmers, and thicknoses shared a look before turning their attention back to Bron and Topps. Neither of them liked their expressions.

Topps narrowed his eyes. "What?"

One of the spiketails smirked. "Why, that is actually a good idea, Mr. Threehorn. Remember that time you got stuck in the Hidden Caverns trying to track down Tricia?"

Topps growled, "Why you!"

"No, wait! I get what he is saying!" Somni quickly interjected, "We could have some of the smaller residents listen in while the domeheads do what they do."

Pterano put a wing to his beak in contemplation. "So have a messenger flyer, who is actually one of our loyal flyers, coax them to admit their desires in a solitary cave… only to have each and every word carry to the ears of the disbelieving. Yes, yes, I do believe that might work."

Bron nodded at this. Yes, this would work indeed. "But who do you have in mind to play the traitor?"

Pterano nodded. "I have someone in mind."

---

Why did I agree to this?

Cloud did not get an answer to his unspoken question. It has only been a few moments since he had been given this mission from the herd leaders of the valley and already he felt the full weight of his burden. The fact that he could already see a domehead below him did little to appease his nerves.

Okay… how to make this believable? We have no idea how the previous flyer showed that he was legitimate. So how am I, the "new flyer" supposed to show that?

Cloud landed on a tall branch so that he could see a wide view of the domehead nesting grounds. As expected, there was the sight of several nests with female domeheads and their respective broods, but his focus was on the other domeheads at the periphery. The occasional male strutting around arrogantly to discourage any other male from getting too close. The occasional domehead who was pulling off leaves from a tree, presumably for his young. The heated argument in the background…

He did a double-take.

Three of the domeheads that he recognized from the previous meetings were again engaged in some kind of conspiratorial discussion. He knew this not only because they were looking around constantly, as if to search for spies, but also because of the two domeheads keeping their watchful eyes firmly on the skies.

Cloud's eyes narrowed. Okay… I am not flying any closer to them. He allowed his eyes to move their gaze several longneck-lengths away from the mysterious domehead discussion. Here he was greeted by the sight of another domehead who was hesitantly watching the skies. However, this one was moving to the east, right towards the Eastern Caverns.

The perfect place for a rendezvous with a messenger flyer, and this guy looks unsure. A newcomer will ask fewer questions.

Cloud took off once more. This time he made sure to avoid flying over the domehead nesting grounds as he followed the valley wall towards the Eastern Caverns.

The domehead looked around from left to right but rarely looked up. It was as if he were more worried about non-flyers approaching than flyers.

The domehead nearly screamed when he heard the resounding thud of a flyer landing on the bluff above him.

"Wrok apologizes for the prolonged silence. The battle has occupied his full attention." Cloud spoke with his uncle's confidence, "Are you the new message relay?"

"Yes. Yes, I am," the domehead replied.

Cloud nodded before gesturing at himself with a wing. "There has been a problem with the previous messenger flyer, so Wrok has called upon his support within the valley. If anyone sees us make this look like a dispute over that sweet bubble bush." He then gestured at a nearby bush which still had a few ripe berries.

"Understood," the domehead replied, his face turning serious, "What is your message?"

Cloud suppressed the bitter taste of adrenaline in his beak as he collected his thoughts. To anyone watching it would look like a flyer remembering a long message as opposed to Cloud trying to hold off a panic attack.

"The battle continues, and victory will eventually come to my pack. However, there has been a complication… your previous messenger flyer did not return..." Because we killed him, Cloud did not say verbally, "...and it might be possible that our secret arrangement could have been exposed by his captors."

The domehead tried to subtly glance around at his surroundings, his expression making obvious his fear.

Cloud quickly continued, "Fortunately, Fate was on our side, and my other helpers have discovered who might have done this. Though since I, Wrok, am currently indisposed in the swamps of my people, the task of eliminating these possible witnesses will fall upon you. Thus, all of my helpers in the valley, including this valley flyer, are at your disposal to end this threat. He will arrange a meeting for all of you to discuss how to find the captors and to eliminate these possible witnesses. I wish you all the best of luck. May Fate be on your side!"

Cloud took in a shallow breath. Please tell me that he bought it.

"I've got to tell the others." The domehead started to move away then suddenly stopped. "Um, who were the witnesses?"

Cloud suppressed a smile. Success! "There are whispers from the other flyers that my cousins heard something very interesting after dealing with a suspected egg-stealer flyer. Now, you know, no one believes a bunch of flyers… not in the valley anyway." Not people like you. "But it seems that they have been talking, and you know how rumors can travel."

The domehead nodded.

Cloud swept to his side as he gestured towards the entrance to the Caverns, "We cannot meet in the next few days… There are eyes watching all of you." Cloud again suppressed a smile as the domehead looked around in fear. "But if nothing suspicious happens in a few days then there might be an opening for a meeting. When the time is right I will tell you, and we will meet in the Caverns. Then we can decide how to deal with my cousins."

"Understood," the domehead said, nodding. He took off, not waiting for a reply, undoubtedly to tell his leader what the flyer had said.

It was only then that Cloud allowed himself to take in a deep breath as he put his beak into his wings. Within a few days this bloody business would finally be finished. He only hoped that the blood in question was not his own.

---

Sheer Cliff Bluffs:

"Are you sure that you don't need a second pair of eyes, Mender? Surely, Seeker only needs Cynnil in the meeting."

The fastrunner looked at the nest with a gaze that was careful not to focus on the eggs for too long. It was just enough for Orchid to show Mender that he wanted to be helpful, but without looking like a creepy would-be egg stealer.

"I'm sure," Mender said, "There's more than enough fastbiters watching... I guess you could call it our territory at the moment. I just have to make sure no one bothers the eggs, and I can do that on my own."

Orchid sighed and put his hands up in defeat. "Well, so much for getting out of the meeting."

Mender laughed. "Oh, so you weren't asking just to be nice?" she asked jokingly.

Orchid smiled apologetically. "Well, being nice was part of it. The last time I attended a meeting my feet fell asleep. For being fastbiters they are slow-deciders."

"Don't let my mate here you talk like that, brother!" Ruby's voice suddenly called from nearby as she let out another meeting call for the deputies.

Orchid groaned. "Great… we'll fill you in on what they have decided, Mender." And with that he walked slowly in the general direction of the meeting area, as if wishing to live up to the name of slow-runner.

Come on, Orchid, Mender thought, It's not that bad. To you, it's just boring. I still get nervous at some of these things. Maybe I should have told him that. It might have helped him be more positive about having to just be there. It's a lot worse when everyone wants you in on the discussion.

Mender walked over to the nest and checked to make sure all the leaves were still in place. I'm glad I don't have to warm the eggs myself, she thought, I'd be terrified I'd crush them even if they were fastbiter eggs. And this way my legs don't go to sleep on me. She examined the nest again. Is that really enough? She looked around for more material to add. Oh, wait... this'll work nicely, Mender thought upon spotting several of Orchid's shed feathers. She hurriedly gathered them and added the feathers and some additional leaves to the nest.

It was then that she heard it. A distinct click.

Mender looked down at the nest. When she didn't hear anything for a moment she shrugged, thinking she was hearing things.

Then she heard it again. A distinct sound, barely perceptible underneath the thick canopy of leaves and discarded feathers, but it was there all the same. And it was followed by another sound that made Mender freeze.

Chirp!

Uh, oh. I know what that means. Mender started looking around for help before realizing none of her packmates would be nearby. I just had to tell Orchid to go to the meeting, didn't I? What do I do? I've never dealt with actually hatching hatchlings before. She looked around again. Seeing only a few fastbiters in the far distance, she realized she was entirely on her own.

Bending down to the nest, Mender started removing leaves and feathers until she could see the eggs. Their bright white color stood out against the decaying leaves and discarded leaves like little Bright Circles, which would have instantly made them the center of attention even if she wasn't looking for the eggs themselves. This effect was all the more pronounced once she saw a little green head sticking out of one of the white orbs, staring right back at her.

Chirp!

The verdant head was as alien as it was unmistakable. Gigantic black eyes stared back with the same lack of luminance as a midnight sky, proportioned around a gigantic green beak that dwarfed everything else on the small body that was now emerging from his embryonic prison. All the while this small creature alternated between freeing more of his body from the egg and opening his gaping mouth at the only witness to his escape. It was a sight so alien and stark that no fastbiter would connect this featherless being with notions of maternal care.

But Mender was not just any other fastbiter. My child.

She felt a chill go up her spine. She was now directly responsible for someone else. Okay, so now what do I do? Mender thought, I guess food would be a good start. But what exactly do I feed...? She bent down and carefully sniffed the hatchling. Okay, so this one's a male. So what do I feed him? Cynnil and Buse eat a lot of stuff, but can hatchlings eat that? I guess I should just start finding stuff and try to figure out what to do from there. She looked over at the other two eggs. Much to her alarm, they were moving a bit. Okay, so I better figure this out quickly.

Mender started looking around for possible food. Meat's not an option. There's nothing to hunt. Leafeater food might work, but... Oh, what did Cynnil say? Something about having to chew it for them. Great... This again.

It was then that she focused her gaze at the half-eaten pile of leaves and shoots on the ground. For once Buse's lack of cleaning up after himself proved useful. Well… at least eating plants will help with the bringing it back up part. Urgh… how did Mom do this?

Mender looked at the leaves again and shook her head. Hm... What would Mom do? Her memories of her childhood were blurrier than she'd like to admit, but Mender could recall that not everything she was given was hunted.

"Mom, I'm hungry!"

"Me, too!"

Violet watched as her siblings called for food, though she didn't bother joining in. She'd learned in this one case that it didn't help. Besides, Dodger would help her if she got cut off. He always helped her.

The elder female merely gave her children a placative tail-smile as she sniffed at some branches curiously. "We still have awhile before we can hunt, kids. So you have to be patient."

She was greeted by a chorus of 'awwws' but Dodger appeared to detect something in Mom's voice as he looked at her intently.

"But… I think I know something that will tide you over until then…" She then proceeded to pull off a half-dead branch from a nearby bush to reveal a dried branch and several blood-red sweet bubbles. She then proceeded to shake the branch dumping its contents onto her children.

"You may not remember it, but you used to eat these as hatchlings. It is not as good as meat, but in a pinch it can get rid of hunger. Assuming the leaf-munchers leave you any."

Why would we want to eat baby food? Violet thought, looking at the berry suspiciously. She reluctantly took a bite and brightened almost immediately. What was I thinking? This stuff is great!

Mender blinked at the memory. Where had that come from? She seldom had memories of her mother, but ever since she recovered from the Orange Death…

She shook her head to clear her thoughts. Right now she was about to have three hungry mouths to feed.

Berries might work. I could eat berries, and I know leafeaters can eat berries, so they should be safe for halfteeth. But where would I find them? Mender looked up upon hearing wings flapping.

Before she knew what she was doing, she began waving furiously at the flyer in the sky. No doubt assuming there was an emergency on the ground, the flyer circled and then swooped down for a landing.

"Yes, Mender?" the sharptooth flyer asked with some concern.

"I know this might seem weird for an emergency, but do you know where to find any berries?" Mender asked hurriedly.

The flyer stared at her for several moments, as if the words that had left her mouth were as abstract as the motion of the stars, but eventually he nodded. "Yes, Mender. There are some to the north. I take it this is for... supplies?"

Mender couldn't help but notice the flyer's befuddlement. "Yep, it's for supplies," she said. Well, a new kind of supplies, she mentally added.

The flyer took off with a nod.

Mender turned her attention back to the nest. I guess you were in a hurry to get out, she thought upon noticing the first hatchling had pretty much extracted himself from his egg. The little green hatchling was halfway out of the egg now and seemed to be pecking the white orb out of spite. It was then that she took notice that his scales were still drenched in the fluid from the egg, and he was shivering slightly. The poor thing would freeze if this did not change!

"Let's get you cleaned up," Mender said to herself, sitting down next to the hatchling. She gave him a careful lick.

The little hidden runner was so surprised by the touch that he rolled out of the egg, head over rump, until he ended up looking up at the purple fastbiter with a curious head tilt. Then, as if tickled by the sensation, he let out a coo at Mender. The same kind of coo a child would give its mother.

I'm not going to let anything happen to you, she promised.

---

"So, when we get through this what kind of pack do you think we will end up in?"

"Huh?"

"Well, I mean, I bet the greys over there will either end up in a mountain pack, or be very confused in a normal pack. Seeker's pack is full at the moment. So what do you think? Try to impress that pack of females up north and not get disemboweled? See about joining one of the packs in the barrens and be thirsty and tired all the time? I always took you more for a mountain pack sort of guy myself..."

Bloodsnout dodged the playful swipe as if he knew it was coming.

"See? I'm sure they will love your spirit!"

White Eye stared at the empty spot beside him, as the crowd of fastbiters around him seemed to know to grant him some space. In the bare grass he could almost imagine his friend there, making some sarcastic remarks about the meeting itself, or how White Eye's glare would wilt the grass. But, no, his friend was silent.

For his friend lay dead in the field where he had fallen.

Reluctantly, he redirected his gaze to the leaders who were assembling in front of them. Seeker and the deputies had managed to eke out a victory here, but he was seeking only one face in that crowd. It did not take long for him to find it.

Grimace.

White Eye glared in Grimace's direction. He couldn't stand that the older fastbiter was still in charge after the near-disaster he had led his group into. Worse, it had cost White Eye his friend for nothing.

Despite his anger, White Eye forced himself not to do anything too foolish. Stay calm. Keep your mouth shut. I'd be telling Bloodsnout that if he were this angry. And he'd probably tell me the same thing right now while mocking me not following my own advice. Okay... I can be calm. No sense getting myself killed. Someone still needs to remember Bloodsnout.

"Pack!"

White Eye's focus snapped in Littlefoot's direction.

Littlefoot stepped forward from the assembled deputies. His blood-red crest made him stand out even without his formal entrance. White Eye did his best to keep his attention on his leader and not the hated deputy who had led his friend to his doom.

"Today, you have won a hard-fought victory for our cause. It was not pretty… it was not easy… and it came at great cost. But you and your comrades have shed blood for one another, and have shown the world that you have the hearts of true warriors!"

The younger fastbiters exploded in a cacophony of roars and foot stomping. Even White Eye joined in, though his heart really wasn't in it. Still, Littlefoot's declaration was still worth celebrating. It took quite a while for them to settle down again.

"Later there will of course be time to look at what worked…" Littlefoot spared Grimace the slightest of glances, that did not escape White Eye's notice, "..and what did not. But that will be for us to examine. For now, pack, enjoy the spoils of victory. The meat is of course yours."

Maybe I'm not the only one that thought Grimace failed, White Eye thought. He ignored the reactions of those around him. His packmates were mostly focused on the mention of food. The non-fastbiters had much less pleasant reactions as they looked around awkwardly. Orchid took the opportunity to move closer to Ruby.

Littlefoot raised his hand, which made everyone calm down. "Before that there is something that we must attend to. Something that both our loyalty and honor demands. For this battle did not come without a heavy cost."

Without warning Littlefoot stepped into the crowd, making the young fastbiters move out of the way and follow him with their curious gazes. It took White Eye several moments to realize that Littlefoot was heading in his direction.

Littlefoot stepped in front of the curious gap in the crowd, within striking distance of White Eye himself. It was only then that the younger fastbiter could notice the reactions of his comrades. They all too wore expressions of mourning, no doubt from their absent comrade.

I can't believe I didn't even notice that, White Eye thought, It's not like I was Bloodsnout's only friend.

It was then that Littlefoot gave a low bow at the empty space before slowly rising and looking up at the others. "Who here was a friend of Bloodsnout?"

White Eye stood frozen for a moment in shock before slowly raising his hand. Several others soon followed suit.

The brown fastbiter stood imperiously as he took note of the hands slowly rising among the crowd. "Many of you have made sacrifices in this battle, but none more so than the one who is no longer with us. The very least we owe him is to sing his song with his earned name. All of you who called him a friend, accompany me to his naming ceremony."

With that the elder fastbiter, acting with careful movements that stunned the young ones, bowed again at the empty space before walking briskly in the direction where their friend had fallen. In his wake the fastbiters and other allies parted to form a path.

White Eye gazed upon the scene in confusion for a few moments before taking a hesitant step forward. This was followed by another, and yet another, as the rest of Bloodsnout's friends followed in a silent procession behind him. He tried to ignore the sudden wetness in his eyes.

You will earn your name today, Bloodsnout. I hope that you enjoy your song.

---

"That… was something else."

Orchid's words were allowed to echo in silence for several moments as Cynnil and Buse walked closely behind. Bloodsnout had finally been given the parting he deserved, but now it was time for everyone to deal with their respective tasks. The deputies to discuss strategy… the healers to check on the patients… and the young fastbiters to devour the numerous corpses the battle had left behind.

Orchid rubbed his crest awkwardly at that thought, and quickly decided to turn his focus on his packmate. "How are you holding up, Buse?"

Buse did not answer immediately, which made Orchid regret asking the question for a brief moment. But in a few moments Buse looked in his direction with a contemplative look. "You know, that is the first time that I have ever seen a fastbiter naming ceremony." He then sighed softly as the trio continued their forward progress through the trampled grass. "I just wish we had gotten there sooner. Then he could have earned his pack name in life."

"You did everything you could, Buse," Cynnil said.

"That's right." Orchid quickly affirmed before Buse could protest. "You did all that you could and, well, Fate made its choice."

This made Buse look at him with the slightest of glares. "Trying to use beliefs that are not your own?"

Orchid cringed. "No! I mean…"

He was jolted out of his protests by a slap on the shoulder.

"It's alright, Orchid. You may not believe in Fate as hidden runners do, but I do," Buse affirmed with a nod, "But do you want to know a little secret?"

Orchid was momentarily stunned but then nodded in affirmation.

"Sometimes Fate can be a real jerk," was all that Buse said.

"Everything can't always go our way, unfortunately," Cynnil said, "Though we might be able to do something about next time."

Orchid nodded at this, despite his mind casting its own doubts. If we ever get to Wrok's main pack then there will only be so much that we can do. Especially if someone screws up again.

"What do you have in mind, Cynnil?" Buse asked.

"We'll be going into the Wetlands soon, in case either of you missed that, so we're going to be around our people... other hidden runners again. So it's going to be hard to know who's friendly until they start trying to kill us," Cynnil said, "Any ideas for how to fix that problem?"

"I suppose 'hiding behind the rampaging fastbiters and healing them as they need it' isn't an option?" Orchid quipped.

"He has a point. I mean, you and I would probably look quite stabbable to fastbiters in the middle of a battle," Buse admitted.

"Orchid might be okay... maybe," Cynnil said, "but it's definitely going to be a problem."

"Do you think Seeker and the deputies will come up with something?" Orchid inquired.

"They might, but we should probably try to figure something out ourselves just in case," Cynill said.

"So another meeting?" Buse asked, as a glimmer of his usual humor showed in his beak, "I'm sure Mender will be thrilled to know she can go through a meeting, after all."

Orchid snorted in amusement at Buse's joke. That is the old Buse. Though I wonder how the eggs will like hearing another one of our meetings. The poor little things might be hatched bored.

Orchid tuned out some of the banter between Buse and Cynnil as they went into the usual exchange of subtle verbal barbs. It may have been a good long while since Mender had trained him, but part of his training echoed in his mind now: pay attention to your surroundings. Especially if your friends are a bit distracted.

Looking ahead the fastrunner could see several of the young fastbiters wandering about, with a few distinctly moving around the edge of the trampled grass with spears out and ready. The obvious scouts were in good spirits, however, a sign of their victory. Besides the scattered fastbiters, however, there was a noticeable sense of ease in the shadow of the Sheer Cliff Bluffs. As such it did not take his eyes long to find the little impression in the distance where Mender and the makeshift nest were.

"Hey, what's going on?" Cynnil asked, suddenly looking upwards.

Orchid looked at Cynnil curiously for a moment before following her gaze upward. That was when he noticed a flyer circling around where Mender should be.

Hmmm… it is not sending out an alert call or anything. I wonder what could…

It was at exactly that moment Orchid stepped on a stick, sending out a resounding crack into the air.

Cynnil grabbed Orchid's shoulder and held him back. "Look at the ground, Orchid." She gestured ahead at the scattered sticks in front of them.

Orchid stared at the broken ring of sticks for several moments before it dawned on him. This was one of the techniques they had all been taught in order to get advanced warning of predators. But there were no predators here besides, well, the predators who were on their side, so this new ring of noise-making debris could only come from one source. The sudden appearance of a purple head peeking above the nearby depression was the final clue.

Orchid quickly raised his hands placatively. "It's just us, Mender."

"We're not a threat," Cynnil emphasized.

Orchid's eyes went wide. Threat? Why would she think that we are a threat?

"Okay, just stay where you are right now," Mender said before standing up carefully, "We've got something we need to talk about."

It was finally then that Orchid's mind put the pieces together. Twigs and sticks to alert if newcomers arrive… a flyer helping to watch out for threats… and Mender definitely not moving from the spot where the nest was.

"They hatched," Orchid deduced, though his voice was a low whisper. He then gave Buse a knowing look as they both stepped backwards for several body lengths.

"Thank you," Mender said, "Yeah, um, all three are hatched now."

Orchid meanwhile rubbed his arm feathers awkwardly as he and Buse both looked at Cynnil expectantly. They certainly were not going to put the focus of Mender upon themselves while she was in full-on mother mode.

"Have you fed them anything?" Cynnil asked.

Well, I guess that is one way to be helpful here. What do little hidden runners eat, anyway? Are they like big hidden runners and eat basically anything? Orchid thought nervously.

"A few berries," Mender replied, "It was the only thing I could think of that was safe. I could use a little help, actually."

"Seeds should also work," Buse mentioned softly.

"And I could find some buzzers," Orchid added, "I mean, if the young ones eat that."

"Um, I think we should probably wait on that," Cynnil said, "Well, maybe just wiggly buzzers until they can walk.".

"And how are we going to keep them safe until then?" Buse whispered under his breath.

"That… is a good question," Cynill replied. She stared at Mender for a moment, watching as she carefully nuzzled one of the hatchlings, which gave her a soft coo in response. "But together we'll figure it out. Somehow."

---

Later, at the meeting between deputies:

None of the fastbiters present said a word as Littlefoot and Ruby walked back towards the makeshift meeting circle, which now was free of the assembled young ones. In its place stood the seven deputies of the pack and Taunt who stood awkwardly as if unsure of his place. He had commanded Littlefoot's group while he was down, but was he still entitled to be in this meeting? However, as far as awkwardness was concerned, Taunt's issues were minor.

How could I have not seen it? The enemy played me for a fool!

Littlefoot gave his mate a polite nuzzle as she took her place outside of the meeting circle. Then he walked between the unreadable form of Verant and a visibly annoyed Cera. A quick point from her sent Taunt sitting by her side, finally resolving the unspoken dilemma of where he should sit.

It was then that Littlefoot sat down as well. "Resolute has heard his final song."

Those words from Littlefoot sat in the aether for several moments as the deputies took that in. The fallen Bloodsnout had his pack name. Though each word seemed to pound at Grimace's skull. A reminder of his failure.

"May he look upon our eventual victory with pride," Grimace said solemnly.

The others gave affirmative grunts at this. Though none of them met Grimace's eyes.

"How are our injured?" Loosejaw inquired after an acceptable pause.

"Recovering." Ponder noted before entering the meeting circle, "I think Fiona is out of the battle for good, but Stubtail has been recruited by our healers."

"It is a shame about Fiona," Howler noted, "But there is always use in an extra pair of eyes. I will see about putting her in the rear-guard."

"Stubtail informed me of his choice earlier, and that is for the best," Cera noted with a slight twitch of her tail, "He was not handling being in formation well."

"Not everyone can," Verant said, "If there weren't so many enemies, I'd prefer a looser one myself."

"Yes," Valiant agreed, "I do think we should consider something a bit more staggered in the future. That would ease some of our biters into formation while allowing for some flexibility."

And maybe that would have made keeping track of my entire group easier and given us a better chance to react, Grimace thought, Why didn't I think of that? "It might also be time for a change in leadership," he said.

This made everyone turn towards him as Cera rose suddenly before Taunt put a calming hand on her shoulder. Littlefoot, meanwhile, looked at him solemnly, as if he knew what was coming.

"I have lost much if not all of my pack's confidence in me. I cannot expect them to follow me anymore. Therefore, I would like to resign as your deputy."

A deafening silence enveloped the meeting circle after Grimace uttered his words. Where once the sound of the occasional buzzer could be heard, now even they seemed to retreat from the scene. In its place were the stunned expressions of his comrades and the contemplative gaze of his pack leader.

Littlefoot hesitated for a moment before slowly rising. "How many people have you lost under your command, Grimace? Not with me, but with Scar Neck."

"None in battle," Grimace replied.

Littlefoot nodded. "So Resolute was your first."

"That was likely due to my own error," Grimace said.

"How many do you think were lost in the Battle for the Valley, Grimace? Though Taunt here..." He gestured towards the orange fastbiter who rose. "...was nearly lost and so was Spotter; my pack itself was lucky due to the rainbowfaces being present. But many, many others that fought beside us fell in that battle. How many pack leaders would there be if each of them stepped aside due to a loss in a battle or a hunt?"

"Too many, most likely," Grimace admitted.

Littlefoot nodded. "I will not mince words, Grimace. You messed up back there, and Resolute paid with his life, but it was not just your error that led to this tragedy. It was also my error in not establishing better communications, like a flyer signal to tell you to retreat. We planned on our existing way of communicating working during a large battle, and we planned wrong."

"It's also hard to predict that your enemy can manage to not only cause a stampede but have it directed at you," Verant added.

"The enemy is crafty, and we will need to avoid underestimating them in the future," Littlefoot agreed before turning his attention again to Grimace, staring him directly in the eyes. "Your request is rejected, Grimace. Please return to your place."

Grimace nodded and headed back to his spot between Howler and Vigilant. I will need to be a much better leader from now on.

Littlefoot took a deep breath. "Alright, now for the next issue at hand… how to enter the Wetlands without being decimated. Taunt, you mentioned that you and Spotter were discussing the issue."

Taunt stepped forward. "Spotter mentioned two possibilities: we could either rush in until we got to Ignis's lands and then enlist the help of her people to navigate through the Wetlands. But if our speed is not enough, then we would take heavy losses. Path in particular was not keen on the idea."

"I can see why," Verant muttered.

"Nah, he put it as 'I do not envy being the world's biggest target for every hidden bastard in the woods'."

"I think we get the point, dear," Cera interrupted with a roll of the eyes, "I hope the other option is better."

Taunt hesitated for a moment. "Well, better for most of us. Spotter mentioned that one of the bellydraggers in the river is one that we have talked to before. So, maybe if we made a deal with the bellydraggers and used the two-footers as insurance against them biting us in the back… we could take the 'wet route' into the Wetlands."

"And be fed on by every blood-sucker within sight?" Valiant inquired.

"Sounds better than being hit by every sharp stick in sight," Howler countered.

"And if the hidden runners pursued us then the bellydraggers would have a lot of free food… all while moving much faster than Wrok could anticipate." Littlefoot pondered this for a moment, "But who wants to take the risk of being the one to negotiate with bellydraggers on their home ground?"

"Home water, you mean." Taunt corrected.

"Thanks, Taunt," Littlefoot answered with a roll of the eyes, "Who was it that talked with this bellydragger in the past anyway? And who is it?"

It was then that Petrie spoke as he landed behind the meeting place, "You remember Grievance? The guy who Path threaten the last time we go see Ignis?"

'That doesn't sound very promising," Grimace said.

"Spotter agree, but he actually talked back to me. He wants to speak to us."

It was then that every eye turned to Littlefoot once more. Though this time his calm exterior was replaced with more than a passing hint of apprehension. Finally, however, he forced himself back into the unreadable expression that he wore during making hard decisions. "That sounds like our best option, then… I will try to talk them to our side."

"Dear…" Ruby protested as she walked to his side.

Littlefoot put up a placative hand. "But have Path stand behind me. "If Grievance tries to make a meal out of me, then Path will get a free meal."

Petrie nodded. "And if he refuses this arrangement…"

"Don't tell him. If he backs out when a two-footer is nearby, then he obviously lacked resolve anyway," Littlefoot finished for his flyer.

Grimace stepped forward before he realized what he was doing. "I can go, sir."

Littlefoot froze and turned towards Grimace. For his part, Grimace ignored the surprised stares of the others.

"I can go, sir. This way they can see through our courage that we are willing to negotiate with them without any attempt of attacking them for a free meal," Grimace finished.

Littlefoot studied the grey fastbiter for several long moments, not saying a word. But then, with a nod to Petrie, he gestured at Grimace. With that, Petrie took off, presumably to tell the bellydragger that a representative of the united packs was on the way.

I just agreed to be a snack if this doesn't go well, didn't I? Grimace thought.

Littlefoot sighed. "You are taking a huge risk for the sake of your packmates' confidence."

"No less of a risk than you were willing to take, and you are more important for this fight," Grimace retorted.

Littlefoot reluctantly nodded. "Verant?"

"Sir?" Verant said.

"Assemble Grimace's group to face the river in a show of force. Then you and I will walk him to the edge. We must show that he represents us all."

"Yes, sir," Verant acknowledged, then hurried off to find Grimace's packmates.

Littlefoot and Grimace both stared towards the distant river. Though it was Taunt that spoke next, his words spoke for them all.

"Well, let's hope this meeting goes well… Good luck!"

---

Another swamp, many miles away:

"Did you have to knock him out?" a rather disheveled hidden runner complained, "He's heavy.

"Maybe we would have been better off if you had chased him in this direction?" another hidden runner, a female, pondered as she forced the rainbowface's shoulder over her own.

"Oh, shut up! This is bad enough without hearing you two bellyache. You know the leader wants this one safe and sound. Are any of us worthy of questioning him?"

The female rolled her eyes. "No, but that doesn't mean that I have to enjoy my orders!" But she did not provide any further protests against her orders.

Chronos suddenly jerked as recognition reached his mind. I'm… being carried?

"He's awake," one of the hidden runners said, noticing Chronos's movement.

"Oh, sure. He wakes up now," the female hidden runner added, "Should we drop him?".

Chronos suppressed a groan as the words echoed in his mind. He… now… drop… It took a herculean effort, but he finally deduced that stretching his feet and reaching out with his arms would be a good idea. The wisdom of this deduction was confirmed a moment later when his hands touched the ground a brief moment before his beak did the same.

"Urgh…" he involuntarily gasped as his body rebelled at the sudden shock.

"Told you he was heavy," one of the hidden runners muttered.

"Well… well… it is Chronos, is it not?"

The rainbowface's blood grew cold as his eyes opened out of shock at the mention of his name. The voice asking the question was as clear as it was cold. The hidden runner knew exactly who he was.

Chronos looked up to see a slender looking hidden runner walking towards him with all of the nimbleness of a fastbiter pursuing its prey. The only sign of life were in his eyes, which radiated with hidden intelligence.

"It is," Chronos affirmed, "And you are?"

The hidden runner's beak erupted into a smile. "Ah… I am sure you can deduce that as well, oh wise one. The more interesting question is: why are you here, and why are you still alive?"

The rainbowface could only look up in horror as the hidden runner, with no sense of fear, placed his beak next to Chronos's ear. "And how do you keep your mate alive?"

Chronos's eyes grew dark as Questor astutely backed away. "You wouldn't dare! You have no idea where she is!"

Questor merely shrugged. "Do I? Well, that is a mystery, isn't it? How much do you want to wager on that?"

Chronos spat with anger as his eyes narrowed. "If anything happens to her..."

"You will do what? Lecture me to death?" Questor retorted with a satisfied smile, "Now, now, dear Chronos. I don't know whether you are a unique rainbowface or, like my dear flyer believes, a Star Person…"

Chronos froze.

"...but in any case you are not impressing me with your great wisdom at this moment. Why, one might almost think that you have a soft spot for the layer of your eggs… though I suppose even a great mind can be enslaved by the manifestations of the body."

Chronos clicked his beak in a mixture of anger and fear. "What do you want, you fiend?"

Questor smiled. "Ah, that is more likely. Transactional again. Well, perhaps you can live up to your reputation after all."

Questor walked back to the rainbowface and again put a beak to his ear.

"If you help me take my rightful place on the scrape, then I can swear that your family will have a place in the New Order, otherwise…" he let the words draw on, the threat being unsaid.

Chronos clinched his beak in rage. "What do you want?!"

Now the hidden runner beamed. "Well, that will change as time goes on. But a good starting point would be to explain your floating logs. Those would be most useful for my plans."

Chronos clinched his eyes shut. Logos, please be safe out there! Otherwise all is lost.

---

Thanks for the reviews, everyone!

graystripe: Well, I suppose that is true. Much like in such games it will be necessary to maximize their use of the healers while keeping them protected at the same time.

gordhanx: Thank you for the review. :) Whether a review is short or long doesn't matter much to us, just as long as readers are enjoying the story. You are quite right in your review, however, in that things are taking a more uncertain direction at this point. Now that true battle has taken place it is obvious how things are going to end - with one side or the other being battled into submission. Time will only tell how things will turn out.

Keijo6: Thank you for the detailed review. Indeed, with the previous chapter the stakes are certainly increading. There are few things messier than a war with multiple participants, each with different motivations and desired objectives. It is against this backdrop that Orchid is having a trial by fire and learning his worth (and limitations) as a healer. His journey in many ways matches the brutal trial that the fastbiters are going through right now.

Chronos, on the other hand, now has an idea of what Questor has in mind for him. Further, as he does not know what has befallen his mate, he has every motivation to play along, at least for now. This adds another complication to the already complex playing field of intrigue.

Anagnos: Thank you very much for the detailed and in-depth review. Several of the threads in the last chapter will be built upon in the chapters to come as the fastbiter pack (and their enemies) adapt to the changing situation around them. With regards to the changing perspectives, I certainly see your point on that, and I understand how it can be confusing at times. Though if we didn't do that there quite simply wouldn't be multiple perspectives of the same events or will keep an eye on that in the future, however, and try to make such shifts in perspective to be as intuiative as possible.