Thump-thump

Darkness… Night had fallen, its glow shining faintly through the tunnel…

Thump-thump

Screeching… Dreamer's claws scraped rock, trying to climb over Wanderer and Fleeting while they bulled him inside…

Thump-thump

Those wide, terrified eyes… The approaching Death-Grippers, diving past the entrance to the tunnel…

Thump-thump

This couldn't be real. Just some terrible nightmare. Soon the Death-Grippers would come for him, too, impervious to attack in the way of all nightmares, and then he would wake. Any minute now…

Thump-thump

This wasn't the way things had gone. No. No, he had… fought off Grimmel in that first attack, killed him even, igniting their fire in the way he had in fighting Drago's Bewilderbeast. Yes, that was right. Not this. Anything but this.

Leaper. His little Leaper. Playful, stubborn little Leaper. Jumping from their backs as he found his wings. His fixation on sticks, and fish. His first hunts, so very proud of himself, so very proud of him… An entire life, an immense sea of experiences to live, that just couldn't be so abruptly ended… surely…

Dreamer stiffly turned his head, catching Fleeting's eye. Strong, confident, dominant Fleeting.

Thump… thump…

She sniffled; a single, subdued little breath catching in her throat to break the silence.

It broke him. A long, low keen tore through him like a searing hot knife, forcing every mote of air from his lungs, and Fleeting's piercing, shrieking wail broke him all over again. He clawed at her, holding her to himself to try to comfort her, weathering her shrill grief cutting into his ears because it was simply insignificant compared to the pain they all felt.

He didn't know how long they blindly clung to each other, shrieking their hearts out. He didn't care. Grimmel could walk in at that moment and end him, for all that it mattered.

Was he asleep? Awake? Either way, he was delirious. The world in his paw, but only a grain of sand to the flow of time. What was reality? What was life, or death? This couldn't be it. There had to be some way, some way to avoid this terrible fate.

Death… The very concept of it nagged at him. Was he not a Night Fury, the offspring of lightning and death? The spawn of Thor and Hel? True, Nightstrikers could cheat age and injury, but not death. So what was the point!?

But… he was not simply a Nightstriker.

That wealth of information granted to him by the King was gone, irretrievable. But his memories of thinking about it, remembering it, were not – he leapt at those fragments tucked away in the corners of his mind, what he had been carelessly ignoring all this time, to put together anything and everything he could find.

What he found brought him anything but hope. The true nature of humans, unstoppably consuming everything in their path. Wars, the sheer scale of which were beyond his ability to comprehend. Contraptions, far more advanced than anything he could possibly conceive. A veritable tide of population and expansion. Greed, subjugation, and suffering. This would not end with Grimmel. With the right tools, any frail human could be just as dangerous and lethal. Dreamer already knew all that. But putting it all together, he was forced to confront the bleakness of his future.

This pain, this suffering, would happen again. And again. And again. Until there was nobody left. It wasn't fair. Had he not been through enough? Did he need to be punished for trying to make peace? Was it really such a revolting idea!?

His fangs slid into his dry mouth, and he wearily rose to his paws from where he had been lying on his side, driven by a fire previously unknown to him. The tunnel was silent, other than the steady breathing of his mates; Wanderer stared vacantly back through the tunnel, and the females were curled up together. Night had come and gone, and nearly come again, seeing the way the light shone inside. Stepping around the few corners to reach outside, he squinted out across the bright land, at the blots of stone structures and smoke marring the landscape.

Grimmel was nowhere to be seen. What was it he had said…? Something about being the last to die. That Dreamer would help him in some way to end all this senseless pain. Meaningless nonsense, trying to stall them to trap them inside… except he was highly intelligent and perceptive, always knew exactly what he was doing. Nothing he said or did ever went to waste, taking every advantage from wherever he could get it. He had seen Dreamer do things that most Nightstrikers could not.

It was so obvious, thinking about it when all restraints had been shattered. There really only was one solution, and Grimmel had pushed him towards it, was counting on it. He wanted an end to this war? Fine… Dreamer took a long, deep breath, channelling the maelstrom of grief and rage, then turned to walk back to… what was left of his family. He needed to do some things first, learn things, make preparations. Grimmel never held back, so just like he wanted, he was going to feel the full might of everything Dreamer could possibly throw at him.

And then… one way or another… this long, bitter war would be brought to an end.

Wanderer was numb. He couldn't keen or howl, couldn't do anything. All he could do was watch for danger. Perhaps when the bad hunters returned, the fight would wake him.

How many times had he almost died in his life? So much chance, so much luck. Life was dangerous. He knew that, had lost loved ones before. Watched many nest-kin die. Was he doomed to lose everyone he loved? Fleeting, Reaching, and even… his Dreamer? Again? He would do anything to not feel this pain again… Wanderer, whispered Dreamer's voice in his ear, hazy and distant. I need leave. Like all the others. You need to protect them. He couldn't protect anyone… All he could do was whine, a helpless hatchling not fit to be flying out into the world…

A sudden sense of falling woke him with a start – but he was still lying in the tunnel, dimly lit by the night outside. Just a dream… Some of it, at least. Leaper's scent was absent from the air, and when he glanced back at Fleeting and Reaching, they were huddled together, staring at the ground with sad, vacant eyes. Dreamer was… not there. "Dreamer?" he warbled, voice cracking in his dry throat.

Reaching looked up, then looked away again. Dreamer's scent was only recent, not fresh; he'd been absent much longer than he would need to hunt. Protect them… Had he flown somewhere? Gone ahead, to the Lightstrikers? Perhaps he'd decided it was too dangerous for the rest of them, couldn't bear to lose anyone else… Wanderer stood, muscles stiff and heavy with disuse, and padded out to stand in the entrance to the tunnel.

The land stretched out below, dark and unassuming. Dreamer was nowhere to be seen, already long gone. There would be no following him now, only guessing where he might have flown to.

A small part of the ledge was cracked, flakes of rock sitting loosely on the precipice. One single moment of oversight was all it had taken. Leaper was the slowest, so he had come in to land last. Wanderer hadn't thought about the long metal quills the hunter alpha could throw from the thing they carried around with them. Those two things were all it had taken. He tried not to think about what would have come after, knowing what Death-Grippers did to their prey…

He shook his head and dropped into the air, needing to distract himself. He was not hungry, but he needed to eat, and so did Fleeting and Reaching. He could hunt for them. A very small thing he could do, almost insignificant really, but it was something.

A Long-Paw nest near the base of the mountain caught his eye, and he angled towards it. They were Long-Paws, deserving little of his respect, and Dreamer was not here to argue for them. Their prey would suffice. Although, when he landed in front of a big den that clearly contained prey, he resisted the urge to blast his way through the doors, instead fumbling with the metal thing until it opened.

A cacophony of bleating started up as the door swung open, startling him into action. He grabbed the first one to catch his eye and bit down to silence it, then turned and flew back up into the night, wings labouring with the extra weight. A small prey to share between three, but all he wanted right now. Only three…

He tossed the prey inside the tunnel as he landed in it himself. Lifeless eyes stared back at him from the unmoving corpse.

…

He needed to eat. Then… he'd figure out what to do. Just him, no Dreamer with his brilliant ideas. Wanderer took one last look outside… and paused, seeing a strange light on one of the dens in the Long-Paw nest. A large fire, one he certainly had not started but that hadn't been there before. Was it because he'd taken their prey? But why…

His fangs snapped into his mouth, and he fired at the distant flame, watching the streak of light cross the distance and impact just next to his target. The den collapsed and took the fire with it, the light winking out in a cloud of dust and smoke.

A furious growl tore itself from his mouth. When they stole food, unable to hunt for themselves out of exhaustion, the nest would light a fire, and the hunter alpha would know where to find them. But it wasn't as if they could have landed earlier to take food and continued flying; not only was that a massive waste of energy, but they'd be flying hard on full stomachs.

He was angry with them. He felt backed into a cave with no escape, and he was only just noticing how short and narrow it was. The nests themselves had contributed to Leaper's death. But he was livid with himself. How often had Dreamer said not to take their prey? But Wanderer had just assumed that was fanciful Dreamer thinking. Perhaps it was. And yet, that simple, stupid carelessness had brought the hunters right back to their tails again and again. If he had only listened…

Nausea clawed its way through him, and he turned to drag the prey back inside, trying to take his mind off the guilt. So much luck and chance. Perhaps they were lucky to have made it this far without losing anyone, or everyone. These hunters had apparently killed many, many Nightstrikers. But for some reason, they hunted him and his family more ferociously than they hunted for any other. A brief hunt for Flasher and his mate once every cycle of the seasons. All the Nightstrikers in the rough territories not too far from here, to the northeast. The Lightstrikers. They were not hunted like this.

He dropped the prey by Fleeting and Reaching, and they all stared at it. Everything just felt so… hollow. He didn't feel hungry. But when Reaching shuffled forwards to hold the prey down and tear back its fluffy pelt, he managed to pry a leg free to idly pick the meat off. "This is like… when you lose your friend-mate…?" he asked, more to hear a voice other than the one in his own head.

Reaching sighed and glanced at Fleeting, who was glaring at the prey. "I not know," she said quietly. "Did… Do… you love him like you love Fleeting?" He didn't have an answer for that.

But it did remind him there was more he could still lose. Protect them… Whether that had been a dream or not, he had to protect his mates. "We not should stay here," he rumbled; the hunters hadn't returned, but there was no reason to assume they would not. Although, where could they go? To the Lightstrikers, maybe… They wouldn't catch up to Dreamer, if that was even where he was going, but it was somewhere to go.

"I am going to our territory," Fleeting growled flatly, a dangerous edge to her words, before shuffling forwards to tear a leg from the prey.

That… probably wasn't a good idea. But Wanderer couldn't bring himself to argue. It wasn't far from here, they could make it before the sky-fire kindled, and… he couldn't dissuade himself from some easy prey he could assign some blame to. Throwing himself at the Death-Grippers, wherever they were, was suicide, but he needed to bloody something for taking their son from them. "We not can stay there," he warned, though that didn't seem to concern her. "But yes. We should take our territory again."

The flight to their territory bothered Wanderer in a way he could not quite put to words – the sheer speed and ease with which they flew was a harsh, callous reminder of what they had lost. It emphasised how much of a burden a fledgling could be; that if they'd never had him, he wouldn't have…

Wanderer shook his head and glared down at the Long-Paw nest that had started all this, built at the bottom of a familiar mountain. Perhaps, taking prey from Long-Paws was wrong. They needed to eat too, and put time and energy into providing food for their families, so taking it was like taking the result of a successful hunt. However, Dreamer had tried to talk with them, so that they could try to live nearby without biting or flaming each other, and the Long-Paws had agreed to live peacefully… only to try to tear their throats out while they slept. Still, he resisted the urge to fire down on them… for now.

With the intense pace Fleeting led them with, they quickly approached and crossed the mountain to gaze down over their territory, defiled as it now was. Entire swathes of forest were simply gone, replaced with bare ground and occasional Long-Paw things. A small cluster of dens stood on one side of the lake, and further down, where the river widened, a new lake that had not been there before was teeming with Long-Paws and a pawful of their ships; more ships were drifting down the river, little lights against the dark land.

Fleeting snarled and dropped into a dive, firing once as she descended to obliterate a random den with a fiery explosion. By the time Wanderer had thought to follow and began to descend himself, she was already on the ground and out of sight… although a deep Long-Paw scream indicated the direction of her hunt.

He should stop her. He wanted to join her. The Long-Paws below were only trying to live their lives. This was his territory, he had every right to defend it. Killing Long-Paws because Long-Paws killed Nightstrikers was only an endless circle of death. If someone could not be warned away from biting tails, tear their throat out. He wavered, an insatiable thirst for blood and retribution straining at Dreamer's influence on him.

Whatever the case, he needed to kill something. The Long-Paws below were hurrying back to the mountain, towards some structures built there that probably protected their tunnel. They were already well ahead in fleeing… Good. He felt no desire for such an easy hunt.

The dens caught his eye again, and he fired upon one at random, pulling out of his dive to bank around and climb back into the air. Seeing it splinter and erupt into a cloud of fire and smoke did little to curb his wrath, though it brought him a little satisfaction to instil some fear into the Long-Paws that he would not be killing. Fleeting, however, had not had Dreamer trying to quench her violence for so long. It just hadn't been necessary, at least not until now when she needed to take whatever futile action she could against what had happened.

Wanderer levelled off and dove again, letting his sound-sight echo across his territory to pick out another target and shatter it into oblivion. They were fragile things, and by curbing his rage a little and limiting the size of his shots he would be able to destroy three pawfuls of them, pretty much all the dens other than the ones by the lakes; they would need more work to properly clear away.

One den remained, once he had used all the fire he was willing to use, standing on its own out in the middle of what used to be the forest. Figuring he might as well finish the job, he dove down to it, flared his wings into a rough landing, and… stared listlessly. He could throw his shoulder at the thick tree at the corner. He could claw the boards off one by one until it collapsed. He could use a bit of his remaining air-fire to set it alight and watch it burn.

What was the point? It wouldn't accomplish anything. He turned and walked away from it, unable to bear the sight of it but unable to muster the desire to destroy it.

His paws walked him towards the lake, through a little patch of forest that had been left alone. From the occasional screams, Fleeting was still taking out her fury on unfortunate victims; he wasn't even sure he could stop her. Heavy two-legged pawsteps thudded past him, but he ignored them, apparently already beyond the desire to chase something down and claw at it until it stopped moving.

He no longer felt rage at all. He just felt… dead.

The lake looked normal, from the ground at least. He approached it slowly, feeling heavy and lethargic, to hesitantly sniff its water… It smelled normal too. Only when he put his snout to the surface to lap at it did he realise how long it had been since he'd drunk anything. Come to think of it, he hadn't eaten a lot either. They should hunt, maybe the prey-pack was still around somewhere…

Three. They only needed to hunt for three. That had been true when Fleeting had joined him and Dreamer, but now…

Reaching, who had still been circling overhead, swooped down into a landing nearby to lap at the water as well. Shortly after that, Fleeting emerged from the forest, her tail, wings, and paws dragging over the grass. Wanderer took a few steps towards her as she approached, hesitating, unsure if she was coming to him or the water – she paused, staring at the lake, before shuffling up to him to huddle against his side, nuzzling into his shoulder and keening her grief. She smelled heavily of blood, but he didn't really care, and wrapped a wing around her to hold her close.

"I think they all are in their tunnel now," Reaching said quietly, looking across the lake and along the mountain. "Some went on their floating-things, down river. I can burn their dens, if want."

That was tempting… "We not should stay," Wanderer said reluctantly. "Hunter alpha maybe still is hunting us. Or maybe hunting Dreamer. We should fly to Lightstrikers." Fleeting shuffled under his wing, groaning weary. "Next night," he agreed; he didn't feel like flying either, beyond finding somewhere safe to rest.

"I will hunt," Reaching hummed, standing and spreading her wings, but hesitated. "It not will get better," she said quietly. "You never will forget him. But it does get easier." With that said, she took off and soared out over the trees, quickly disappearing into the night.

Wanderer sighed, shuffling his legs to curl around Fleeting and keeping his ears sharp for danger. Protect them… He wanted to roar at how irresponsible Dreamer was being for flying off, but that wasn't really fair. Dreamer trusted him to look after their mates while he… went off and did a Dreamer thing. He was going to get bitten if that was to try to fight these hunters without them, but that didn't feel right…

There was no telling how long he would be away. Sire and Dam had once wandered for a whole season on their own, while Wanderer was still a fledgling. He remembered being so happy to see them again…

Protecting his mates felt… like something to do. A reason to keep moving. A purpose. He had to protect them until Dreamer could do whatever he needed to do. And the best place to do that felt like the Lightstriker nest. They might even catch up with Dreamer there.

The nights blurred together in a haze of too much flying and not enough sleep, but the flight to the Lightstrikers' nest was no longer the two pawfuls of nights it had previously promised to be.

That wound in their family was still raw and painful. Wanderer vividly remembered Leaper's bright, curious eyes, and he often woke expecting to find his little fledgling under his wing. But it was finally beginning to sink in. He didn't need to keep reminding himself to fly at his own pace, not needing to slow for a fledgling, and Fleeting and Reaching were fit and toned from all the hard flying they had been doing, both easily keeping up.

Fleeting… seemed to be coping in her own ways, which changed often. She might be biting and angry when they woke up, only to whine herself to sleep when they landed and spend the next night staring off into the distance. She didn't speak much, and Wanderer didn't push her to, giving her some distance. Reaching seemed the most adjusted of the three of them, clearly greatly affected but mostly her normal self, likely because she could only have considered Leaper her own son for a pawful of nights; he might never even have called her Dam.

For himself, Wanderer remained vigilant for threats, taking turns with Reaching to keep watch. It was a task that let his thoughts wander, but not so far as to drown him in grief, as he needed to stay alert to protect his family. Every night when they took off again, having seen no sign of the hunters, he felt a conflicting storm of emotion; anger, that they would only now back off from their hunt, and relief, that he did not need to face them again.

When he recognised the land surrounding the Lightstriker nest, he kept flying long after the sky-fire had kindled, Fleeting and Reaching wordlessly trusting him to lead them. There were no Long-Paw nests to see them here, and Lightstrikers were active during the light.

As with last time, he had only some vague sense of being watched, little details at the edge of sight and hearing to alert him to a nearby presence. Weary, agitated, he growled. "We need talk with Rising!"

He heard Reaching growl surprise as a Lightstriker appeared in the air alongside them, a female watching them curiously. He didn't recognise her, but that didn't really mean much. With a tip of her head, she rolled into a short dive to pick up speed, and Wanderer followed with his mates.

The nest was as alive as he remembered, many Lightstrikers flying above it and some sitting on or walking along the jagged edge of the hollow mountain. He glanced back as they approached, seeing Reaching looking around with wide eyes, and Fleeting staring at the nest below with a flat, disinterested expression.

The Lightstriker they were with roared, and Wanderer spotted two Lightstrikers quickly drop down to the highest plateau at the bottom of the nest. Wanderer dove down to meet them, abandoning the escort, and flared his wings into a landing with Reaching; Fleeting seemed to have decided to remain circling above.

"You not look well," Rising said worriedly, swiftly trotting forwards to scent him. "Dreamer?" she asked, looking up.

"That is our mate, Fleeting," Wanderer explained tiredly. "This is Reaching. Dreamer is… flying… somewhere…" He gave his head a shake to clear it. "You seen bad wing-hunters here?" Recently or seasons ago, he needed to know.

Rising's eyes widened, and she took a step back. "Last cold-season," she said quietly, her gaze falling, "something attacked us. We not even really know what…" She glanced up at him, and sighed, undoubtedly seeing the question there. "Two pawfuls died with their mate. Also… Searching not returned, one light before it happened." Sympathy, grief, Wanderer whined, turning his head.

"I will explain," Reaching hummed, walking up beside him and gently lifting his head with her snout. "Rest. You need sleep." Did he? He didn't feel that tired…

"Take my cave," Rising offered, turning to walk back to her mate. "Nobody will follow you there." Her mate – his name wasn't coming to mind – gently nuzzled her.

Wanderer realised he hadn't replied to anyone; perhaps resting was a good idea. Gratitude, weary, he crooned to both Reaching and Rising, then turned and spread his wings to take off again. Somewhere quiet and safe, where he didn't need to worry about bad things hunting him… That did sound like a good idea…

"Wanderer?"

The familiar voice caught Wanderer off-guard, startling him mid-air. He pulled his heavy gaze from the sea below to find a Lightstriker flying beside him, her eyes surprised and worried. "We knew Nightstrikers were with us, but… you? Why you here?"

He didn't really want to do this. He just wanted to fly back to the nest, give Fleeting her meal, and try to keep her from biting anyone until night fell when they could wait anxiously to hear Dreamer's roar. Somehow, the simple act of talking felt like a massive ordeal right now.

But … part of him didn't want to ignore or growl away this particular Lightstriker. "We have been through much," he said wearily. "We… Rrmm, Reaching can explain." Whispering watched him worriedly, but didn't pry for details or ask about Dreamer; he appreciated that. "You are good?"

"Rrr, you not can smell me here," she rumbled, "so you not would know. Many things changed when I returned here. I think females all realised why you left them. Why you invited me to fly with you. They all wanted know what I did. So… I told them. They listened." Wanderer blinked, then turned to look at her, some interest stirring within him; it seemed like the first thing he'd felt all season. "It was… strange… for some time," she said slowly, "males still were stupid. But they learned. Five founds mates already! Me also."

He lifted his head at that, finding he actually wanted to know more about that last little detail she had casually slipped in, but she suddenly dove towards the nest now below them. He growled to himself as he followed, picking up speed in her slipstream to come up beside her, then tossed his head towards the mountain with a bark of invitation and veered around towards Rising and Breaker's cave, which had been generously shared to give them some peace.

Alighting in the dark opening, he quickly located Fleeting near the side of the large cave, furthest from where its owners slept; Rising and Breaker had been nothing but accommodating and understanding. Apologetic, he hummed to Whispering as she landed behind him, then approached his mate. "I know this Lightstriker," he said quietly, though it did nothing to dilate Fleeting's narrow eyes. "Want talk with her. You can join us if you want." She didn't respond, but when he brought up some of the fish he'd hunted, she did lethargically pick them off the ground and gulp them down.

He turned and went back to Whispering, who was standing awkwardly in the entrance, and lay on his paws in the opening to look outside. "Dreamer needed fly somewhere," he said tiredly, and Whispering let out a relieved sigh as she lay next to him. "Fleeting… will feel better when night." Most nights she seemed to enjoy flying with him and Reaching, though sometimes he had to encourage her to her paws… with his teeth.

Whispering's scent caught his attention, and he remembered what he had been curious about. He let his nose drift in her direction, confirming she was in fact mated with a male… and had mated with him recently. She lifted her head proudly and shuffled her paws. "He is good mate, has strong thinking," she hummed warmly. "How Nightstrikers nest sounded nice, but he is enough for me. Not know what would happened if I mated you, but I am very happy."

Everything would have gone very differently, had she mated them. But he didn't feel as if she'd cope with those hunters bearing down on them for so long. Maybe her camouflage could have helped in some way, but it hadn't helped the whole pack when they'd been attacked. It hadn't helped Searching. "Good you are happy," he hummed, trying to focus on that.

"Shining still not found mate. Still courting Striker, other males. I think she just likes them chasing her. Striker is…" She glanced across at him, and her gaze fell. "Hrrr, you probably not care." Indifferent, he rumbled with a shrug; she was right, he didn't care, but it was a distraction from thinking about his apathetic mate, whether Dreamer was going to turn up or not… and…

Whispering nudged his jaw with her snout. "You should tell me," she said softly. "Not because I want know. I could ask Reaching. You should tell me because you will understand better." She must have seen his disbelief, because she huffed and tossed her head towards the light outside, the land stretching out into the distance in the shadows of scattered clouds. "What you see out there? Danger? Somewhere to fly? Someone to play with? Something to hunt? Too much." She gave her head a shake, her short ears lifting as she looked outside again. "I see my nest. I see warm sky-fire-light on smooth rocks. I see where prey live. All those thoughts are hurting you because you not know what to do with them, but talking maybe will help you understand."

Huff. Were this any other Lightstriker, he would have snarled them away. But Whispering reminded him a little of Dreamer, and she had strong thinking. He didn't think it would help like she thought it would, but nor did he want to shy away, as if he was afraid.

So he told her. When they had met Fleeting, how those first seasons had been rough flying, but they'd got through it. And then Leaper… Dear, precious little Leaper. He managed to tell her about his son, if a little shakily at first. Those times had been so wonderful and warm… How Reaching had turned up, scarred and frightened. Then the hunters had come. Everything after that just seemed like a bad nightmare. Fighting for their lives, flying to exhaustion. Thinking about it now, they had spent much more time resting, but it didn't feel like it.

And finally… it took him a long time to find the words to tell her what had happened. So much pain and grief. A final word, spoken while blood dripped from his mouth. The metal quill that had held him there even as it killed him. "Then Leaper… We not could protect him," he said quietly with a whine, laying his head on his paws. He was vaguely aware of a wing on his back, but as expected, he felt as if he'd bitten down on a still-bleeding wound.

Fleeting's paws suddenly and carelessly brushed against him as she stalked outside, throwing herself into the wind and firmly beating her wings to speed off while Lightstrikers hastily cleared the air around her; only mid-afternoon, much earlier than usual. "I should go with her," Wanderer groaned, shrugging the wing off as he stood. "Not know if talking helped… but thank you." Whispering crooned sympathy, appreciation, as he took flight after his mate.

He pushed his sore, protesting muscles into the routine; he knew his body could take it, and would otherwise become even slower and weaker. When he was beginning to catch up to Fleeting, he barked enquiry at her, and she slowed until they were flying beside each other. "I not know where Reaching is," he rumbled, glancing around.

"I want know where Dreamer is," Fleeting growled, and Wanderer hummed agreement. He didn't even know how many lights they'd been here, just that the hot-season was waning. "Not like it here," she then added, though she neglected to give context to her complaint.

"You are feeling better?" he asked hopefully. Her only answer was a huff.

His thoughts wandered as they flew. The memories he had dug up were still fresh in his mind, so much good and happiness and fatigue and pain all mixing and blurring together. Leaper's death was cause to grieve… but did that suffering outweigh all the good he had brought to their lives? Would it be better that they had never given Fleeting an egg? No pain, but also no happiness.

After getting nowhere with that for a while, he considered how he could help his mate. She perhaps only needed time, as Reaching had done; many nights had passed before she had even been able to speak. What more could he do than that? There was what she had said… "We could leave," he offered flatly.

"Leave to where?" she scoffed, turning her narrow, agitated green eyes on him.

"You not want be here," he countered. "So we could leave. Not know where. Maybe… where other Nightstrikers are." They were surviving there, and the hunters seemed to have stopped chasing.

Much time passed while they considered it. If Dreamer wasn't coming here, then the only reason they were here was for safety, and that was certainly not a given. Even if he did want to try to convince the pack to fight, he didn't know where the hunters were, or have any clever plans. Reaching didn't seem to mind it here, but Fleeting was suffering, and Wanderer himself was only avoiding everyone and trudging around in a big circle of routine.

He shared a look with Fleeting and tipped his head back at the nest. Seeing agreement in her gaze, he turned and angled them back, to tell Reaching and thank Rising for sharing her den.

Time passed in fits and starts. Wanderer remembered leaving the Lightstrikers' nest, turning his tail on their safety of numbers in favour of anonymity, where anyone hunting them would not know where to find them. Of course, once they had reached the bleak lands where other Nightstrikers nested and claimed a small part of it for themselves, they did mark it so that Dreamer would recognise them.

The place they had claimed was nothing special. Pawfuls of low hills and a small pond that was clean enough to drink from. There were no forests, and no large prey, but smaller prey was plentiful and usually easy enough to dig up or stun with a small shot. Digging out a den for themselves proved difficult, as only a thin layer of dirt covered tough rock, but claws and fire prevailed to give them some shelter.

A Nightstriker roar brought a brief moment of hope, while Fleeting and Reaching had been hunting, but Wanderer quickly recognised that it wasn't Dreamer. He debated for a long moment whether or not he should answer before stepping out of the den and barking a reply, and the stranger, a male, descended to a landing a respectful distance nearby. "Only one reason anyone would nest here," he rumbled sadly, sympathetically. Wanderer could only rumble agreement. "It not is safe," the male continued, "but safer than anywhere else. I… Someone helped us, when we flew here. I want give that also." The advice was short, delivered stiffly and awkwardly, but when the male turned to fly away, Wanderer barked appreciation after him.

As they had expected, this barren land offered few places to lie and hide in ambush, but there were ways they could further improve on that. The three of them spent a whole night clearing low shrubs and reeds away from the pond, clawing and flaming away any sort of cover the hunters might try to use. Next, they dug out pawfuls of extra dens to sleep in, never staying in the same place two lights in a row. Anyone hunting for them would need to search, giving them more time to notice and react. When the first rain came, Wanderer and Reaching took on the unpleasant task of clawing out the bottom and sides of the pond, enlarging it a little but also kicking up all the muck in it to be swept away; when the sky cleared, they had much cleaner water to drink.

They didn't see the male again, and didn't go looking for him, but it had been very nice of him to offer such advice. It had also given them something to do, something to distract themselves – after they finished digging a den into the last low hill, Wanderer found himself gliding or lying around, with nothing to distract him or focus on. Mostly he just tried to help Reaching hunt and make Fleeting comfortable.

She didn't seem to be getting better – if anything, it was even more often that she needed chasing out of the den to get moving. For a long time, his own apathy encouraged him to just leave her be, but as time went on, he began to get frustrated. He was happy to provide for and help his mate, but such a person had to be his mate, which wouldn't be the case if she couldn't pull herself out of this depression.

Just chasing her into the air was not enough. One night, after swiping her flanks and biting her tail until she reluctantly trudged out of the den, he didn't relent, trotting after her and swiping at her hindleg. She stumbled, growling warning at him, and he growled right back at her. When she made to take off, he leapt at her and tangled her wings to send her stumbling back to the ground. "What!?" she snarled at him.

"I remember my mate," he growled. "She was vicious. Strong. Independent. Annoying, sometimes. I needed her so I could fight. You not even can walk out of our den." She swiped at him, but he easily deflected her. "I not remember you being this gentle before," he said scathingly, and she lunged at him with her teeth bared.

By the time he actually managed to pin her, he had lost much of his confidence. She was a bit faster and stronger than he'd expected, but it made him realise how much slower he felt himself; something new to work towards. "I will fight you every night," he growled, lifting his paw from her head and stepping back, and she groaned wearily as she rose. "I will," he warned, "because I know you want to claw those hunters apart. Kill their alpha slowly, painfully." Her eyes narrowed on him. "You need remember how to fight. Practice. So we are ready."

"Good," she growled, then leapt into the air, her wingbeats stronger and firmer than usual.

Reaching padded up to Wanderer, staring after her. "That was harsh," she said bluntly. "But she maybe needs that. She is very stubborn."

"We know where Leaper got it from," Wanderer growled, following into the air.

More time passed. The hot-season had become the cooling-season, the wind no longer warm and stuffy. Wanderer was beginning to feel back to his old fighting prowess, though both Fleeting and Reaching fighting together were now too much for him to handle alone. He huffed, blowing up a puff of dust from the ground under his nose, then groaned as weight lifted from his back and teeth were removed from his neck and tail.

Reaching had said something at some point, that their pain would not get better… but it would get easier. He understood that now. He was still determined to claw those hunters apart for what they had done… but he was also starting to feel tempted by Reaching subtly nudging him towards being more active with her in other ways. Fleeting was clearly not ready for that yet, but she was starting to look much more like her old self. "How you feel?" Wanderer asked her as he stretched.

"Feel?" she scoffed. "I am thinking much, these nights. When we were flying… I did everything I could. I played with him, taught him, hunted with him. You were fighting. I was Dam. Now… I not am Dam. I will kill that alpha, but… not know what I am now…"

Wanderer was glad he wasn't underneath those claws anymore, with how they were digging into the tough ground. He didn't know what to say to that; he wasn't Dreamer, wasn't good with words. Encouragement, Reaching crooned, nuzzling her, "You just are you. All you need to be."

Unconvinced, Reaching huffed, so very stubborn… Wanderer didn't say anything, but he lightly nudged her jaw with his snout, then lifted his wings and pranced around her, lightly hopping over her tail.

She watched him as he circled around her, turning her head to follow him… Her eyes, always so harsh and angry, finally dilated, just a little, and her tense ears and frills gradually relaxed. She stood as he passed around in front of her again, following him as he followed her, lightly bouncing off their paws with their wings stretched high while they danced around each other.

He stepped into her as they slowed, affectionately rubbing against her shoulders and neck. "You are my mate," he said quietly, flaring a wing to invite Reaching who joined the embrace without hesitation. "Our mate," he added with a purr.

"You maybe need remind me later," she said quietly as she nipped his ear.

Reaching huffed, stepping back and flicking out her wings. "We should fly, then all remind each other later." Agreement, Fleeting barked as they took off.

Wanderer groaned to himself as he followed. Hopefully Dreamer wouldn't be too long returning to them.