Nanaki wondered if they realized what they were doing by allowing him near chocobos. Obviously, his intelligence and talking had made them forget his true nature, that he was far from human.

The birds' smells were thick in the air. Hay, greens, the birds' own particular odor, droppings and other such smells. And though it managed to make a repulsive mix to most insensitive humans, Nanaki drank in the stronger smell with delight.

To him, it was the scent of a good hunt, of a challenging chase and a tasty reward. Of old memories that had been carved into his skin.

He'd never told them the role his race gave chocobos. They preferred thinking that he saw them as convenient animals, just like humans. It might be better, that, or else they would never allow him near the birds or on the ship when Cloud brought one of his beasts along.

Speaking of which, Cloud was pulling his favored black by its halter, guiding it out of the ranch to the awaiting Highwind close by. The bird was a feisty thing, with a bounce in its step and a wilderness in its proud, golden eyes that would never be tamed. Nanaki would have loved to chase after that bird, knew it would be the kind to turn when cornered and fight for its survival, selling its life at the highest price. It was a shame to see it haltered.

The wind in his mane. His paws moving so fast that they floated over the beaten turf. Before him, riding the wind, the smell of his prey, enticing, pushing him on and on and on.

His limbs ached. Muscles protested, but he went on, feeling his prey weaken and tire. He roared, snarled, edging it into panic. It would not; black feathers were crested up in a proudly defying gesture, bobbing in the wind, the sunset painting them copper.

He could feel victory on his tongue, smelt it in the air. His prey stopped, winded, realizing that even its amazing stamina and speed would not lose this predator when it had every other. It rounded on him, all anger and hostility. He saw those talons first, a flurry of movement like death itself.

Blurs. Black, red, fur, feathers. Pain received, pain inflicted. Warks and growls ripped through the air, tributes to the battle. He felt himself weakening, but so did his prey. Blood rain thick in his throat and down his chops, the alluring taste driving him beyond his limits.

Time did not matter. Nothing did, except dodging those talons and surviving. Rain ripped the sky. Pain ripped through his right eye. Anger ripped his control, ripped through his prey's last defenses. Fangs ripped open a throat. Ripped a life to shreds.

The frenzy of battle cooled with the body beneath his paws. He felt again, first the pain and next the exhaustion. Raising his head to the new moon, he howled his victory, and blood dripped freely from his gouged eye to mix with the rainwater splattering his mane over the wound.

He brought back feathers. He brought back injuries, a blind eye. He brought back his victory and his right to his species' guardian status. He had won over his prey, won the right to be a warrior, won his tattoos.

He was finally whole.

Nanaki walked beside the chocobo as Cloud led it to the airship. It fretted, fluffing its feathers in nervous agitation, but it was a nicely tamed animal, and it did not panic because its master's hand still held the halter rope.

It had instincts, however, and Nanaki could see it in its eyes. They looked down at the predator, proud and challenging.

I'll fight to the death, they said, and Nanaki paid respect to that. It was such a shame that humans could not see it, ignored the true quality of the beasts they were taming and riding shamelessly.

Likewise, his own good eye replied. Yes, he would have loved hunting that powerful bird. It would have been another tattoo branded in his fur, another feather in his mane. But who would be there to make it for him?

He was alone now.