"The way to love anything is to realize that it might be lost." - G.K. Chesterton - On Lying in Bed and Other Essays
To The Victors
It was the deepest cold-season he ever experienced, especially being that this was his first time in many cycles without the ever-present warmth from the two-leg den-fires. Neither he nor Green-Wings arose at all save for a few times to relieve themselves outside their den.
The cold-fluffy-water piled up to his shoulders in places. There were no colors except for the gray of rocks and trunks of trees and the white that stretched out as far as the eye could see. Even on his brief excursions outside the den, he felt his life-warmth drastically chilled from the wind's biting with its sharp teeth. He never even thought of trying for a brief flight to stretch his wings. The rest of the long moon-cycles and sunless-sun-cycles were passed at each other's side in shared warmth, deep in sleep-visions or in the peaceful unknowing of sleep without any visions.
Diving toward the rock-throwing two-leg-trees and grounding them to protect other thrall kin...
A precious two-leg resting under his wing...
Flames extending from horizon to horizon as they both fell...
A small fire warming a pair of dark hatchlings in a two-leg den...
Familiar ranges and a shadow eagerly bounding along after him...
Flashes of sky-light against his flame...
A row of two-legs roaring at his victory...
Long stretches of mountains, trees, and grass...
A flash of green fire...
He peacefully awoke and turned to face her. She was soundly asleep and nestled up against his side. Her eyes were still and her breaths were slow. Her tail still rested across his.
He lay there awake, silently drinking in every sensation of her at his side as the wind whistled outside the den.
Spiraling colors of kin on the wing...
A glimmer of light reflected off ice as nest flew against nest...
A sun falling from the sky...
Familiar ranges and an odd nest...
Precious spheres of black...
A blue Night Fury mourning at the break of dawn...
The empty skies...
He woke with a soft grumble and tried to grasp at the flighty sleep-vision. There was something about it that... But it slipped through his claws and faded into the deeps of memory. He did not even have the time to growl at himself before sleep claimed him again.
The weather changed quickly once the new-life-season arrived. The frozen waters melted, and the trees started putting out their buds. Prey animals started emerging from hiding. Green started gradually returning to the world.
They both arose from their long slumbers at each other's side. The cold-season had taken a toll on both of them as they both lost a lot of weight and felt weary. But they had both survived.
I miss those two-leg cold-season-feasts. So much food and warmth...
They were making their way to one of the best game-trails when she stopped and turned to him with a curious expression.
"How many season-cycles do you have, Was-Grounded?"
He started to answer but paused, not knowing exactly what answer to give. Four cycles, or should he include all the others from before? More was probably better while still being truthful in a twisted way.
"Ten and eight."
"And you never found another dark wing in all those cycles?"
"I was not looking for most of them."
"Why not?"
"I was helping other kin live and take prey from a nest of two-legs."
She gave him a look that betrayed her complete confusion.
"You lived in a two-leg nest once and you helped other kin take prey from a two-leg nest?" she warbled.
"It does sound twisted, but they were very different nests... in a way. One was filled with two-legs that hunted kin and the other with more two-leg kin-friends."
"Is there always something new about your life-story?" she eventually hissed with amusement.
"Only a few more secrets..." he hummed.
"Grr... Two hatchlings from one egg. Maybe that is why you are strange and small."
He stopped in place and turned to her.
"What!" he growled, "I am not small!"
"If you say..." she muttered.
He glared at her and rolled his eyes. However, he knew that she was at least partly correct. He was not yet as large as he would grow to be with only four cycles truly behind him in this life. One more cycle was all it would take and then he would be his old size again, if not larger.
He did have all his head-frills already though. That unmistakable detail let them both know that he was mature enough to be a sire.
They arrived at the prey-trail and waited for a good part of the remaining sun but found nothing there to hunt yet. The next best option was fishing, so she led him to the best stocked pond. A couple of blasts into the water followed, and several stunned fish floated to the surface. They both waded out into the water and ate. The few fish were hardly enough to fully satisfy either of them but the fish were better than nothing.
The next sun though they made the difficult decision to split up in search of prey. It made more sense to cover more ground, but it also pained him to leave her side. He had grown very fond of being around her, of hearing her strong breaths, smelling her wildness, and listening to her voice, her speech now being far more practiced than it had been upon their first meeting. Her warbles and croons also sounded far more warming to him now.
They took flights over opposing mountain ridges and began their search for the prey four-legs. It was on the second sun apart that his search was interrupted by her rapid and eager flight to him. She happily spun a tight loop around him in excitement.
"Follow!" she shouted.
She led him to an amazing sight. Half of a four-leg was lodged high up in a tree. At least it was until she flew up and brought what remained of the carcass down to him.
"You caught it?" he wondered.
"No, several four-leg hunters grounded it. I scared them away, ate, and put the rest up there."
"Where there is one there are probably more. We should look more down this part of the range."
They ate in peace, very glad to finally put food in their bellies after many moon-cycles of eating nothing. They played tail-tag on the way back to the den, which made his liver very warm.
Another amusing thing that he started to notice in the following suns, and with a growing warmth in his liver, was that he frequently saw her glancing his direction when she clearly thought he was not looking. Sometimes he would even wake before her and find their tails entwined though he could not remember ever wrapping their tails so himself.
The next few suns passed much the same as the first few. Now that they found the herd of prey, small though it was, they stuck together while hunting. They were rather successful by having her drive one of them out from hiding only to be struck by his fire from above. They both ate very well and began regaining all the weight that they naturally lost.
Still though he noticed an inevitable problem circling around them both. There was only the one herd of four-legs that they knew about. And that number of prey, already low, seemed to shrink every time they found it even without their own hunting. Only a pawful were left, and the two of them would have to compete with the four-leg hunter-wolves and much-fur-bellowers for those.
"I think the prey-herd will not be after this season. It is a very small herd," he reluctantly observed.
"We will find another," she grumbled, though her uncertainty was evident.
Between the hunts, which took up more and more time for both of them, he had nothing to do except sleep, but even that became old as an unease grew in his liver. The silence of the den whenever she was not there was an almost oppressive sound which forced him forth from the den to rest on the winds.
He frequently found himself perching on the mountain's rocks and staring out with the sun's flight into the barren, grassy plain. There was a stirring in his liver to do something like he once did instead of sit on his belly doing nothing. The routine of surviving, of hunting and sleeping, was not enough now. Several times he caught himself with a single talon extended while pretending to carve his old name into the rock or dirt. It was only mildly frustrating that very few of the individual symbol-sound pairs in his old name flew over into the new name, which again left him unsure how to shape his name in two-leg picture-words.
She came up to him one time when he was busy carving the shapes into the dirt, and she stared at them in evident confusion.
"What are those?"
"Two-leg picture-words."
"Picture-words?"
"This is one way that two-legs can talk," he explained.
"They talk? I do not hear anything. What do these say?"
"These picture-words say my name... in a way, if you know how to listen."
She stared intently at them.
"I see only dirt-scratches. Why do they make these?"
"This way their words will live long after they are said. And these can be carried farther than any voice can shout by making these pictures on tree-skins. The tree-skins can be carried far to other dens and nests."
"Why do you know these talking-picture things?"
"So that I could... talk with my kin-liver two-leg. Nuzzles, licks, and happy-humming are good, but those would not make our livers as warm as giving words."
She rolled her eyes and huffed at him before shaking her head in bewilderment.
Where did she learn that?
"What is it like, having a two-leg?" she asked.
He hummed in thought. It was something he had pondered for many, many suns in the hidden friend-place back on home-nest-island.
"Liver-warming and twisting. Mine was very good as you already know. And he was not heavy."
"Not heavy? Why would that matter?"
"Because he had to fly with me on my back."
"What?" she exclaimed in amazement.
"Did I not say that before?"
"No, you only said that it... he helped you fly again."
"One of my tailfins was... hurt, and I could not use it. He made a two-leg clever-thing that helped the fin work again. But it would only work if he was on my back with me."
"So, you were grounded still without him... flying with you."
"Yes," he nodded.
"That sounds very chilling. What did you think about that?"
He paused a moment and stared out toward the distant grassy horizon.
"I did not like it at first. It twisted my liver to have my life and my skies in the paws of a two-leg, good though he was. Maybe it was because he was small, still one of their fledglings, that I started wanting to protect him. Yes, I did need him to bring me food and to be able to fly, but that was not all..."
"You thought he was like a hatchling of yours?"
He grumbled at the idea.
"He was small enough, but no, a hatchling does not bring the sire food."
She chuckled.
"No, that would be very twisted."
"My suns getting to know him were twisting and warming. I learned that two-legs are not much different from us. They have a language and can feel care for an other, strange as it may seem."
"What about your needing him to fly?" she asked.
"I always had a voice in my liver, whispering to me that it would be most good if I could fly without needing his help. There were some things that I wanted to do that I could not do with him. On the other paw though he was a weak two-leg in body and keeping him close also kept him safe. He also felt very warm and happy in his liver when he touched the clouds with me."
"What about your egg-mate? What did he think of your two-leg?"
He bought himself time by staring out toward the horizon again, seemingly lost in thoughts of the past.
"They were... very like the other."
She lay down at his side and joined him in looking out to the plain.
"That is where you flew from. Over the empty grasses?"
"Yes, I did."
"You feel a chill being far from them."
"A small one, yes. But the winds of my life-flight led me out here, and I am warmed by being here."
"Why is that?" she asked.
"You should be able grasp that answer, Green-Wings."
She hummed in thought.
"Grr... I think I know. It is the large herd of prey that we need to find more up the ridge."
"That would be good," he groaned.
She got up and flew from the ledge. As he watched her fly though he noticed that her wings seemed brighter, a more brilliant green, than they were under past suns.
"What do I have to do with you?" he sighed.
He remained there a while, quite deep in thought. For all the times that she had done something that hinted of interest, like glance at him or lay her tail across his while resting or even hum her happiness to him, she had not yet started any type of ceremony with him.
Am I doing something wrong? Do I need to catch more prey for her? Do a mating-dance? What do those even look like?
He tried to imagine odd contortions of his wings and tail, all done to somehow convince her to accept him. None of it made any sense.
As though twisting my wings and tailfins into shapes makes me a better provider, protector, or show her what is in my liver...
He glanced off in the direction she had flown.
Does she want me to make the first move and jump on her first to claim her? That does not feel like it has lift.
Groan.
If only I had learned those things about life before flying the nest. I never learned any of that from my sire before... the end.
They flew up around the peaks as green began to blossom in full all over the mountains. She thought that there was a chance that some of the prey four-legs might have stayed further up the range than they usually did.
On the third sun since leaving the den, they found a lone many-horned-four-leg grazing in the open. They dove without hesitation. The four-leg brayed and dashed for the trees, darting between rocks to shake the pursuit. She threw herself down in front of it and blocked its path while forcing it to dart to the side to avoid a short burst of flame. It jumped over a fallen log and was tackled. He rolled to his feet and snapped its neck with a single bite. The prey brayed once and went still.
She bounded over with a growl of delight. It was a very large kill, a male in its prime of life, and would fill both their bellies for many suns. He began the work of cutting off the furs while she thrummed her pleasure. He tore several mouthfuls of thick, fatty meat for himself and bit out the liver for her, as he had learned she especially liked to eat. She grabbed it and swiftly swallowed it. Then he stepped back and let her eat her fill.
"I will find water," he said.
She grunted acknowledgment without lifting her head from the carcass. He left and walked into the forest, remembering seeing a stream not far within from above. It was a small stream, but it had clear flowing water that made for good drinking. He drank several mouthfuls while pondering their situation.
It is a good catch, but it is only one. There is no herd here. This does not change anything for the rest of the cycles.
He again thought about their shared range, its harsh beauty, and the lack of prey. It may have been barely sufficient for one Night Fury alone to survive on but was clearly not bountiful enough to support two or more. There was one possibility though. It was something that he had wondered about whether the two of them could do ever since realizing how little prey there was to catch.
Maybe we should think about...
Her roar echoed through the trees. He swung around in alarm as that was not a roar of satisfaction or happiness; rather, it was one of alarm and defiance. He ran, his thoughts filled with chilling images of her surrounded by a pack of four-leg hunter-wolves, or far worse, found by a pack of two-legs out to hunt kin.
He jumped from the treeline and flared his wings. He beheld the threat and pulled up in shock.
A large male Night Fury had appeared and was stalking toward her with a clear look of wild hunger and no appetite for the four-leg-prey remains. It was indeed slightly larger than him, and it was so obsessed with her that it had not noticed him.
He roared in outrage and challenge.
The other male spun around and glared at him as he leaped up to a large rock, his wings held aloft in display and his teeth glistening. She backed away to safety as the other male turned all its attention to him.
It did not speak. It only showed him its mouth-water-covered teeth and bellowed in challenge, flaring its wings to threaten him into backing down, just as any other kin would do when contesting for a mate. His liver was chilled by the prospect of fighting it, of fighting another Night Fury that was bigger and stronger than he was. It was certain to be a much more difficult fight than any of the other fights with kin he had ever been through. But the thought of losing her, of this liver-rotted-false-kin chasing after her and catching her was too painful. He would rather die than suffer that or allow her to suffer that.
He roared back at it without betraying any of his fear, knowing full well that there could only be one survivor of this clash.
The other male snarled and started for him, slowly at first and then breaking into a gallop at the end. He jumped from the boulder himself and flashed his claws as they crashed together and fell to the ground in a snarling, slashing mass.
She watched as the two males fought viciously with tooth and claw. Teeth snapped at necks, claws and talons swung at eyes, and legs kicked at soft underbellies as they rolled head over tail. Their roars and snarls echoed off the forest like sky-rumbles.
The dead-rotten-liver-male had the advantage from size and strength alone. It could take more hits and strike harder. Was-Grounded still had blazing fight in his liver but was being worn down as the fight continued. Even as she watched, he was overturned and tossed into a rock, lost his breath, and struggled to right himself. He managed a powerful kick to the other's chest, but that only brought him a couple wing-beats to recover his breath.
With cold spreading in her liver, she slowly backed away from the clash. She turned away and looked up toward the mountains. It would be easy to vanish into the mountains and trees as she had for several new-life-cycles.
She froze.
Life had been hard, leaving her without a life-mate in a small corner of the world almost without any kin. Flying away now would make the normal way of life win over her again and quench her kindled life-fire through solitude and loss, the same as it had when it took her first hatchling many cycles ago. But it would be safe. The stronger should conquer in a death-fight of males. That was the normal way as it should be.
She hopped into the sky and flew.
.
And hurled herself onto the dead-rotten-liver-male's back, breaking both of its wings with her claws. Her teeth closed around its neck, and she tasted its life-water as she bit down.
The other male howled in surprise and bucked, trying to throw her off its back. Then it screamed with dismay as both of its wings were snapped.
Her intrusion into the fight was completely unexpected and left Was-Grounded momentarily frozen. Then he found his waning life-fire again and lunged despite his pains, closing his jaws around the other male's unprotected throat. It kicked and slashed at his chest, scratching off several scales and spilling his life-water. He twisted and dragged its head to the ground as it screamed in protest and fear. It tried to roll, but she held it in place.
His teeth dug deeper into the soft flesh of its neck while it thrashed and struggled. She shook its neck as well with a furious growl and held it down.
He tore out its throat.
Its screams were silenced and all its struggles ceased.
Neither of them moved or let go until they were certain. Its chest was still, its throat ripped open, and its eyes were empty. Only then did they release the corpse from their clutches. They both stepped back from it and panted to catch their breath as its life-water dripped from their teeth. He tossed away the chunk of neck hanging from his mouth.
"Why?" he groaned in pain.
She narrowed her eyes and scrambled over the corpse to him with a worried growl.
"Are you hurt?" she asked.
He glanced at his wings and tail and saw no injuries worse than lost scales. The worst was the gash dug into his chest at the end of the fight. It was one more hurt-mark to add to his growing collection.
"Not a life-threat."
Without giving him a chance to continue, she knelt in front of him and soothingly licked the injury clean. They both knew that he was perfectly capable of tending to that wound on his own. He hummed his comfort and thanks to her all the same. Once she was finished treating him, they turned away without a backward glance and returned to the four-leg-prey to finish the meat. The carrion birds initially cawed their protest at being disturbed but gradually discovered another, larger feast.
She let him eat his fill of the four-leg while she silently gnawed at marrow. They left nothing behind except for the fur, hooves, and empty bones.
"You wanted to know why," she whispered once he finished.
"Yes."
"I wanted you to live so that you could fly."
"So that I could fly?"
"With me."
She flared her green wings with her eyes narrowed at him in challenge. Then she jumped into the air above him with a roar and started for the mountains. He forgot all his exhaustion and his aches from the fight and followed after her, his life-fire burning with heat. Close over the treetops, up against sheer vertical cliffs, and through narrow valleys cut into the mountainside they flew.
As with the first time they raced, he caught up to her, but this time they danced. Spinning back to back. In close spirals ascending up the thermals. Tagging each other's wingtips and tails. Flying through the other's flame-clouds.
They leveled off at the highest rocky ledge below the tallest peaks. She dove and alighted on the ledge, and he followed her to the ground. Then she spun around to face him with a look of open hunger as the sun's light spilled from her like green fire. He was paralyzed as she stalked toward him and walked along his side under his wing, sliding her nose along the wing-skin. She stepped over his tail, briefly glanced at his broad fins, and then continued along under his other wing.
Satisfied, she tenderly rubbed her cheek against his. Then she rolled onto her back with a beckoning hum. He growled with delight and leaped into her embrace.
He grumbled upon arriving back at their den, his tail dragging behind him as he entered. Another sun-cycle had passed without a catch beyond a single small four-leg not worth sharing. Water was aplenty, but food was terribly lacking. He had even seriously considered trying to chase after the tiny four-leg-long-tail-squeakers. Perhaps the worst sign of all, other than having lost much weight, was that he had tried to flame several suns ago and had not been able to.
He rested until she returned when the moon was high. Her ears were also drooped as she walked inside. She went straight to him and greeted him with a brief nose nuzzle.
"How was your hunt?" he asked.
"Nothing. You?" she answered while laying down at his side.
"One small four-leg-hopper."
She grumbled and rested her head on the ground while staring out the den's entrance. A pair of moon-cycles had passed since they became mates. It was now past the middle of the hot-season and should be the best part of the season-cycle for hunting, but it was not this time. There was almost nothing left to hunt now.
Not much had changed from how life had been before they became mates. They still had to hunt and range separately at times in search of four-legs. More and more of the ponds became emptied of fish as they were forced to turn to the only remaining known source of food available. They even flew out to the two-leg nest together but decided against attacking it when they saw the number of two-legs that were now alert for any attacks. That would only be an option of the most terrible desperation.
"I did not see any large-four-leg-prey in the trees," he grumbled.
"This is a bad season-cycle for food," she lamented with a swish of her tail.
Then she turned her head with a soft growl, briefly glancing at his side.
"You are very thin, my mate."
"And you are not. That is what I want," he answered.
She closed her eyes and moaned.
"I do not know what to do," she whispered.
She never spoke with such despair and defeat.
He had plenty of time to think of a flight over the last cycles. There was only one that seemed to hold any air under its wings, even though it was a flight that would be hard and dangerous at best.
"What pond has the most fish now?"
"The one with the old, dead tree," she answered after a moment of thought.
"We should eat all the fish and drink all the water we can. Then we fly with the sun's flight over the endless grasses to where I ranged from."
She leaned closely against his side as he draped a wing over her and held her close.
"Tell me about it again."
He hummed deeply as he closed his eyes and remembered it.
"From here the flight is a half-moon-cycle. The range is by the ocean. High mountains go around most of the range. You must walk for a full sun-cycle to cross its length. There are trees and grass plains where large herds of many prey graze. The water-shallows have ocean-fish, and the small rivers have clean water to drink. There are several caves to make into dens. Best, there are no two-legs that I know of near the range."
She quietly considered all that he said and then looked around at the den.
"I thought I would always nest here, lay my eggs here if I ever found a mate, and die here. This is all that I know."
"There is not enough food here for both of us or for hatchlings," he softly rumbled.
She sighed with resignation, acknowledging the difficult truth in his words.
"No, there is not."
They emptied the pond of fish and drank all the water they could comfortably keep down throughout the following sun-cycle. Then they perched on the edge of the mountain-range at sun-fall as they prepared for the long flight. She took one last glance back at what had been her range for many season-cycles. Then she turned away with a pained roar and leapt from the ledge. He looked away from the highest peaks, a place which would always hold a special place in his memory-flight, and followed her into the sky.
They followed the sun's red dying light and then used the stars and moon to guide their flight for many sun cycles.
Grass and more grass.
They took turns shielding each other under their wings as they slept under the heat of the sun.
Grass and more grass.
There were no prey-animals to catch or ponds to drink from on the empty plain. Their hunger and, more chillingly, thirst grew more intense with no sources of water available.
She never complained aloud, but he could see the terrible change coming over her. She was flying slower with every sun, and her weight started to fall quickly. Her strength began to fade, and she became more easily confused. They were all the terrible signs of the jaws of a water-lacking-death starting to close.
Then he saw the approaching storm on the horizon and growled in frustration. They landed before the storm line and its winds arrived. She curled up against his side while he sheltered her with a wing.
Why are we not there yet? We should be there by now!
He lowered his chin to her forehead and rumbled comfort, for all the good it would do her. The rotten part of his liver constantly whispered to him that she would not survive much longer.
The wind began to pick up, softly rustling the grasses they lay in. In that moment, he realized something obvious and horrible.
I was flying with the wind last time... Fighting the wind will take longer...
Lift departed from his liver. Bringing her on this flight was going to kill her.
Winds and skies... please help us...
The rain arrived in a heavy downpour which rolled off his back. She weakly moaned and bent to the ground, trying to lap at the little rainwater that collected on the ground before vanishing into the thirsty dirt.
'The storm you meet will be a curse and a gift...'
He stared for a moment before his life-fire, so recently chilled with dread, flared at something wonderful. At the wind that had roared to life under their flailing wings.
"Green-Wings! Get up!"
She groaned heavily and struggled to rise. He stepped to her, angled himself appropriately, and extended a wing to its full length. The pouring rain collected on his wing and flowed down into her open maw in a small but steady stream.
He could almost see her strength and awareness returning to her by the moment as she drank the precious rain off his wing. Once she lay back down with her thirst slaked, he craned his neck around and quenched his own thirst as best as he could. Then he covered her over again, and they waited for the storm to pass. Food they could go without for a while longer, but another sun without water would have been her death.
He glanced up at the billowing, rolling clouds and sky-lights far overhead and hummed his ever-thanks to them.
I will name a hatchling after you...
There was something barely visible on the horizon as soon as the storm passed and the sky cleared.
Mountains and trees.
Nothing hindered their flight from then on. They passed over the mountains and hunted among the trees and slopes. He caught a head-horn-bleater, which they ate down to the hooves, bones, and fur, and then set out over the inland ocean.
They rested in his old hatchling den, as he explained to her it was. This time, with her at his side and their tails entwined, he did not have any bad sleep-visions or imagine hearing any twisted-voices.
Back in the land of forests and rivers again, they felt comfortable flying under the sun instead of only the moon. They started playing more as they flew and their livers warmed. She marveled at the strangeness of the lands; the number and size of the mountains and trees and the flocks of many different types of prey. She narrowed her gaze and growled at every sign of a two-leg-nest, of which there were very few.
He spared a glance off in the direction of where she-who-sees roosted. Those peaks were barely visible on the distant horizon. If it were just himself on the winds, he might have flown there to see if that strange kin was still alive, but getting Green-Wings to their new range and den was more important. And from what he remembered of these ranges the last cycle he was here, they were almost to his own range.
Finally, after nearly a full moon-cycle since leaving her far distant range, they landed on the top of a ridge and looked out over a gleaming vista of green as far as their eyes could see out to the distant blue ocean. The mountains continued on far down the coast in both directions. The visible plain had an entire herd of four-leg-grazers. There were no signs of any two-legs or other kin. All was exactly as it was when he had left it on foot over a full seasons-cycle ago.
He turned to her and nuzzled her neck with a deep thrum.
"This is our range."
He showed her to their den first. She bounded inside and began to investigate the place, breathing in the smells of the cave and looking for the best places to sleep. She clearly seemed impressed. He became impatient though and bounced on his feet in excitement.
"I want to show you something else."
"What?"
"Follow me!"
He eagerly swept out from the den and glided down the plain. With both of them being full from a previous meal, they did not need to hunt, so she roared aloud with delight when she saw up close how large the prey-flock was and how many young-prey there were for future seasons.
Then they arrived at his favorite place on the entire range. The hot-water-bubbling pool. They stepped closer to it with her narrowing her eyes with suspicion at the mist rising from the water.
"What is it?" she nervously asked.
His answer was to growl happily and to leap into the hot water with a great splash. Her reluctance was broken when she saw him swimming and floating while humming with contentment. He protested at the resulting splash that turned him over as she joined him in the hot water.
Once finished with the bubbling waters, he led her on a short flight up to the rolling, flowing plain. There was a large patch of special grass at the edge of the forest. She saw the long-tooth-grass and dashed for it without any encouragement. He watched from a short distance and with mirth dancing in his liver as she leapt wildly and rolled on her back like a youngling at play.
She glanced at him with her tongue dangling from her mouth and beckoned him over. She nipped at his ear with a happy growl while he rumbled in mock dismay and pounced on her in retaliation. They rolled in the grass as the sun fell low in its flight.
Their life-fires spent by the flight and exploration of their range, they finally returned to their new den. She fell in at his side after he briefly flamed the stones for them both.
"What do you think?" he asked.
She closed her eyes with a deep hum.
"I think this den will need a sand-nest soon."