Hunter had been discovered. Reacting in a flash, he pushed the archer against the wall with the bow and put the edge of the knife against the still half asleep cheetah's neck.

"Don't move." He whispered. He watched the eyes of the other cheetah expand, his eyes wide with fright. He felt the cold steel of the knife against the skin of his neck, and he made the wise choice not to speak. Hunter stared him in the eyes, saying calmly and quietly, "Let go of the bow."

He felt the archer's paw loosen its grip, but it did not come off. Hunter sneered, and said icily, "Now."

The young cheetah let go of the bow. Hunter smiled.

"Good boy." Now it was his turn to be mocking toward the young cheetah. He still remembered the "old man" comment from their encounter at the river. It felt good to get a little payback, but that was not what he came here for. Keeping the knife where it was, he placed the bow onto his back with his left hand. He leaned close in until their faces were almost touching. Fear was evident on the young one's face. He spoke, quietly and clearly.

"I'm going to take what belongs to me, now. If you leave me alone I will not harm you." He jumped back, bringing his knife up, holding it in a fighting stance as he backed away. His gaze moved around the room, searching for the quiver of arrows. It took him a moment to realize that the quiver was beside the chair. He took a cautious step forward…

But the archer did something unexpected. He whipped his hand down, grabbing the leather strap of the quiver. Hunter had little time to react as he swung the quiver at the hand which held the knife.

He felt the sharp pain as it collided with his knuckles, knocking his hand aside. The quiver bashed into the wall, sending the arrows all over the wooden floor. With a loud yell, he swung it again at Hunter's head. The older cheetah ducked down, feeling the whoosh of air ruffle the fur of his neck. Seeing that his attacker was open, Hunter sprang forward, bringing the pommel of the knife crashing down onto the archer's skull.

The young cheetah saw stars, the force of the blow sending him reeling. Before he could do anything further, Hunter's fist slammed into his jaw.

Hunter watched as the archer crumpled to the floor, his eyes rolling back into his head, and the leather strap of the quiver sliding from his grasp. Hunter acted quickly, stooping down to pick up the quiver of arrows. He noticed that several arrows had been knocked out of the cylinder, and he picked them up on by one, careful not to prick his fingers on the sharp, iron tips. As he did this, he looked over to the unconscious heap on the floorboards. He whispered to himself, "He'll be fine."

Yet, as he donned his hood and slung the quiver onto his back, he found himself looking back at the unconscious heap that lay next to the table, and he felt guilty just leaving him there. For all he knew, the cheetah could have suffered severe head trauma. He had hit him very hard, after all.

Even so, another part of him protested. He'll be fine, damn it. Just leave him there. He'll wake up feeling like a rose.

For a moment, he almost gave in. But something deep within told him it was not right to leave him here like this. He stood in the doorway, deciding…

He walked back into the house, shutting the door behind him.

…

The wind blew over the tall grass of the field beneath Spyro and Cynder, appearing like a green ocean. The sky was clear, save for the few passing clouds. His purple scales consumed the sunlight, giving him a steady supply of pure energy. He turned to look at Cynder, who was flying right beside him. He smiled.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" she asked him, almost absentmindedly. He nodded.

"Yes, it is. But it's still no comparison to you, Cynder." He grinned. She blushed, obviously enjoying the comment.

In the distance, on a hilltop near the beautiful blue surface of the water, was a line of black dots, surrounded by a thin, light brown line. He knew exactly what this landmark was.

"The Cheetah Village," he uttered in a low whisper. He shifted the position of his outstretched wings until they were on course to land nearby the village. He turned his head to Cynder, asking, "How about we make a little visit to the Cheetah Village, Cynder?"

"Sure. It would be nice to see them again." She agreed, changing course as well.

As they got closer, Spyro noticed something odd. He could distinctly see thin wisps of smoke rising from the structures. Feeling a knot in the pit of his stomach, he asked Cynder, without looking at her.

"Do you see that?" He asked, fear evident on his tone of voice. Strangely, she didn't reply, but kept looking straight forward. He furled his brow.

"Cynder?"

Again, there was no response. She didn't even seem to hear him. There was a blank expression on her face, her emerald eyes devoid of any reality. Spyro felt worried, not knowing if something was wrong or not.

They landed right outside of the village, the smell of smoke lingering in the air. Cynder landed alongside him. Anxious to figure out what happened here, Spyro ran around the fence of the village, noticing the burn marks all over it. He ran into the village…

Charred buildings, the thatch and wood of the little houses burned to ashes, were all that remained of the village. The fence on the east side of the village had been completely knocked and burned down. The smell of smoke mingled with another smell…

The sickly sweet odor of dead bodies.

The glazed eyes of dozens of Avalarians stared at Spyro, their bodies hewn over the landscape, the heads, legs, and arms of the massacred villagers scattered over the dirt. Pools of blood dyed the soil crimson, its metallic smell mixing with all of the other foul odors in the atmosphere. Spyro gasped, choking on the foul air, shock plastered on his features. Tears flowed down his face like rivers, the tone of his voice rising to a shriek.

"No! No!"

He collapsed, unable to fathom the destruction before him. He glanced at Cynder, infuriated as she continued looking straight ahead, not even noticing the carnage around her. Spyro screamed at the top of his lungs.

"Damn it, Cynder! Wake up!" Tears blurred his vision.

He watched as a black drop of liquid fell off of her. In seconds, it was followed by several more. Her body began to lose its shape, melting away into the ground, forming a pool of black fluid that dribbled down the hill. Spyro could only look in horror, sobs racking his entire body.

The smoke began to change color rapidly, transforming from white back to dark black. He had no idea what was going on until flames materialized out of the wreckage, racing across the bloody terrain. He tried to run, but the wall of inferno surrounded him, closing in on him. Desperate to escape, he flapped his wings, hovering straight upwards, feeling the unbearable heat of the fire sear his purple scales. Finally, the flames began to lick at his body, baking him alive. He cried out, completely devoured by the fire.

"Spyro, wake up! Spyro!"

Spyro's eyes came unglued, a scream tearing itself from his throat. His eyes darted left and right, his body shivering uncontrollably. Cynder's hands shook him soundly, her voice breaking through the cloud of Spyro's terror that was almost tangible in the confines of the bedroom. She flipped him over, seeing the panicked fear in his eyes. She smacked him across the face once, shouting, "Spyro, get a hold of yourself!"

Her hands held his head steady, stopping the shaking. She lowered her face until their noses were touching. Whispering, she felt his breathing start to slow down, although his pulse was still audible.

"It's going to be okay, Spyro. I'm here. I'm here," she repeated over and over again. "I'm here."

He blinked slowly. His eyes bore into hers, seeing the life that lay behind them. He was truly awake, finally free from the nightmare which held his mind captive. Finally, he understood what was going on. His breath tickled her snout, but she held fast, ignoring the slight discomfort. After laying there for quite some time, his spoke.

"C-Cynder? Are you okay?"

This question thoroughly worried Cynder. She shot back, exasperated, "Am I okay? You just had a seizure!"

Spyro looked confused. Cynder sighed. "Did you have another nightmare?"

The purple dragon nodded, his nose rubbing against hers. She got off of him, letting his head go. She sat back, waiting for her lover to get up. He rolled over, his wings flopping over haphazardly. He pushed himself up, feeling the floor underneath his forelegs. The blanket lay nearby, wrinkled and pushed away. He saw Cynder sitting there, and asked, "What happened?"

"You were yelling out in your sleep. I heard my name mentioned a few times. Then, you started rolling around in the bed. Your wing slapped me in the face. That's what really woke me up," she explained to him. "Then, you pulled the blanket off of me and rolled out of the bed. I went after you and tried to wake you up. It took me forever to get you out of whatever you were in." She looked very worried, and understandably so. Spyro looked back at her, mixed emotions washing over him. He felt bad that he had put her through all of that. It must have been very frightening. He looked at the ground.

"I did all of that?" He asked her tiredly. She nodded, relived that the whole episode seemed to be behind them. Nonetheless, she still wanted to get to the bottom of what happened. She began to question him, remaining calm.

"What were you dreaming about? Tell me about it." Her complexion looked normal, although there was a pleading tone in her voice. She leaned closer to him.

Spyro considered this, but just then, images of the village flashed in his vision, reminding him of the scene he had just witnessed. He vigorously shook his head. "Please, Cyn… no…"

This time, however, Cynder wouldn't take no for an answer. Her tail blade scratched into the cold, stone floor, etching a mark. She adopted a no-nonsense tone as she replied back.

"So are you saying that you don't want to tell me anything?" She cocked her head. Spyro heard the question and wasted no time in answering, his mind on the alert.

"No, no, not at all," he cringed. Fortunately, she heard the sincerity in his words, her tone becoming more sympathetic.

"Then why won't you tell me? Is something bothering you?" She made a move forward, placing her head underneath his chin, closing her eyes. "Does it have anything to do with me? Be honest."

"No."

"Good. I'm glad to hear it." Cynder rubbed her head up and down the length of his neck gently. "You know, nightmares happen because of stress or worry, most of the time."

Spyro listened to Cynder, half of him glad that she cared so much about him, and the other half wanting her to just leave him alone. He didn't want to share what he had dreamed about with her, or anybody for that matter. Yet still, he felt bad that he had caused her so much worry. In fact, the more he thought about it, the worse he felt about the whole thing. She had even wondered if something she did was the reason for his troubles.

He sat there, thinking while her head massaged his tensed neck muscles lovingly, as if trying to make up for something she did to hurt him. Finally, he made his decision.

"Um…Cynder?" He rested his head on hers, halting her movements. Her eyes opened.

"Yeah, Spyro?"

"I'll tell you."

Cynder looked pleased. She removed herself from his neck, scooting back, waiting expectantly. Spyro began to relay his dream to her, keeping his emotions under control.

"We were flying over a shallow valley. You and I were talking." He watched her as she nodded her head, listening. "I saw the Cheetah Village on the ground. I asked if you wanted to go there, and you said yes."

"Okay. Keep going." She encouraged him. He continued.

"We landed next to the village. I smelt smoke. I asked you if you smelled it too, but you didn't respond. You didn't even seem to hear me."

"I walked into the village. Everything... all of the buildings… it was all burned down. Somebody had destroyed the village. And there were dead bodies everywhere. Oh, ancestors, the dead villagers were everywhere!" He felt queasy as he recalled the sight. Cynder watched him, his head turned away from her. "There was so much blood, limbs scattered around the village like sticks! It was awful!"

Cynder noticed his pained expression, his teeth gritted together hard. Now she knew why he didn't want to talk about it. She tried to comfort him by placing her wing around him.

"I'm so sorry."

They stood like this for awhile, with Cynder's wing draped over his back. Spyro made no sound at all. A minute turned into ten minutes. After a long period of time, Cynder heard Spyro's voice.

"I'm sorry too, Cynder. I'm sorry for worrying you so much. I guess I just overreacted. I'm so sorry." He walked out from under her wing, looking her in the eyes.

"Don't worry about it," she replied. "Let's just forget you ever had this nightmare and go back to sleep."

He agreed with her wholeheartedly. "Good idea." He said, exhausted. He grabbed the blanket with his jaws, tossing it lackadaisically onto the mattress. He hopped on, waiting for Cynder to get in bed before pulling it over him. She surprised him, though, by leaping over the edge of the mattress and him, and landing like a cat on her side of the bed. Spyro flinched, chuckling as she plopped down next to him, pulling the corner of the blanket over herself.

"Good night, Spyro." The black dragoness didn't look back at him, yawning. Spyro chortled.

"Good night."

They fell asleep, Spyro's nightmare temporarily forgotten.

…

The archer lay in the same place as before, his head propped up by Hunter's cloak, which served as a makeshift pillow. Hunter sat in the chair he had pulled up next to the fireplace, turning a spit over the flames while occasionally glancing down at the still knocked out figure at his feet. He had checked the young one's pulse and breathing the night before, as well as inspected his head to make sure he hadn't been badly hurt. The pommel of Hunter's boot knife had left a mark on the top of the archer's head, but it wasn't too bad. Now, a lump the size of a golf ball resided where the knife had hit him. Hunter guessed that it would recede with time.

Hunter could smell the quail as it was cooking, roasting over the fireplace. Hunter had plucked the feathers from the bird the previous night to use it for breakfast for the two of them this morning. He hoped the archer wouldn't be too upset.

The sight of sunlight coming through the thin glass window was a welcome one. The sound of bluebirds and finches chirping to greet the new morning set Hunter at a state of peace. He slouched in the chair, waiting for the unconscious archer to finally awake from his slumber.

Another hour passed by until there was any sign of movement from the cheetah. Hunter couldn't be sure, but he thought he had seen the cheetah's eyes flicker open for a moment, and then close again. He stared, watching to see if it would happen again. Sure enough, his eyelids fluttered briefly, again, and again, and again…

His eyes opened.

He saw Hunter's face, framed in his field of vision. He sat on a small chair, his cloak no longer wrapped around his body.

Right away, he remembered what had happened. He bared his sharp teeth. Hunter smiled.

"Nice to see you're finally awake." He turned the spit using the wooden crank lever on the left side, noticing the juices as they dripped out onto the logs that fueled the fire. "Did you sleep well?"

Furious, the cheetah tried to sit up. However, his efforts were met by a dull pain that racked his head. He groaned loudly, falling back onto Hunter's cloak and placing his hand over his forehead. Hunter's voice penetrated into his aching head.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you. You're gonna be sore for awhile yet." He watched the pained creature with amusement. The archer shot him a frosty glare from behind his hand.

"I don't need you to tell me what to do." He closed his eyes again, fighting the pain in his head. Hunter shook his head.

"You know, if you hadn't stolen my things and attacked me last night, you wouldn't be feeling like this right now," he stated. The archer growled.

"I wasn't stealing from you. You were trespassing."

Hunter shook his head a second time. "No, I was not. There is no way this tiny cabin in the woods could own that much land, and even if it could, there was nothing to define the limits of your property." He stopped, taking out his canteen as he licked his dry lips. As he drank, the archer sulked.

"Why were you tracking me, huh?" He changed the subject, not wanting to admit that his enemy was right. Hunter didn't comment on this fact, but instead answered his question.

"I saw you the night of the attack. You were the one who saved me from that ogre. I noticed that you weren't a part of the attack party. The next day, I tracked you to this forest. I was just curious to find out who you were. And besides, you did save my life, after all," he added in.

The archer did not make any reply. Awkward silence ensued. Hunter tried to keep the conversation alive by asking, "What's your name?"

"Huh. Like I'd tell you that. What business is that of yours?"

Hunter sighed. It was very hard to get through this young rebel's thick skull. Trying again, he stated simply, "I was only asking for your name. There's no need to get worked up over it. My name's Hunter. What's yours?" He sounded as friendly as he could manage.

But the archer wasn't backing down. He spat on the floor next to him, looking upon Hunter with the most disdainful look he could manage.

"I forget."

Hunter balled up his hand into a fist, trying to keep his temper under control. This cheetah was quite a fighter.

He tried a different tactic this time. Taking a hand carved wooden plate from off of the table, he retorted, flustered, "Fine, fine. You know what? I was going to save some of this juicy bird for you, too, but now, I think I'll just keep it all for myself."

Five minutes later, Hunter was picking apart the plump, roasted quail, enjoying the taste. He talked to the archer between mouthfuls.

"Mmm. This is a pretty good bird you shot. It's real plump and juicy. You know, you could be having some of it, too. All you gotta do is tell me your name."

Nothing but an icy stare. Hunter kept eating, juices dribbling down is chin.

"Fine. Suit yourself."

A third of the bird already passed into Hunter's belly. The truth was, he wouldn't mind too much if the archer didn't tell him his name. That way, he could have the rest of the quail. He was starving.

"Korrow."

Hunter heard the young cheetah's voice ring out over the sound of his chewing.

"What was that? I couldn't hear you."

"I said my name is Korrow."

Almost disappointed that he couldn't eat the rest, he passed the plate over to Korrow, who took it eagerly. The injured teen was also very hungry.

"Korrow, eh? That's a nice name," he said. "Nice to meet you, Korrow."

He held out his paw. The young archer kept on eating what was left of the bird, ignoring the paw in front of his nose. Hunter harrumphed.

"Alright, then." He pulled his paw back. "I'm just trying to be friendly."

"Well, stop trying and get the hell out of my house. I don't want, nor do I need you here." The insolent cheetah wiped the fat and juice from his hands on Hunter's cloak.

This time, the Avalarian could no longer hold his anger at bay. He slammed his right hand down on the table.

Whump!

The impact shocked Korrow, causing his plate of quail to fall over onto the floor. He shouted, his bared fangs reflecting his frustration.

"That's it. I've had it with you!" He reached down, ripping the cloak out from underneath Korrow's head. His head fell with an audible thump onto the wooden floorboard. Korrow's mean hearted expression was discarded immediately for one of pain. He grabbed his forehead, groaning. But Hunter was far from sympathetic. He wiped the fat from the leather of his cloak, and began to put it on.

"Look, I'm sorry about tracking you. I'm sorry that I called you a child. I'm even sorry that I clobbered you last night. But you have no right to be as angry as you are!" His face screwed up into a look of disgust. "You're the one who threatened to kill me yesterday, stole my bow and arrows, and attacked me last night when I was about to leave in peace! And you have the nerve to act like this when you are the one who is the wrong?" He took a step back, biting his lip in rage. "And about tracking you, excuse me for trying to find the guy who saved my life! As a matter of fact, thank you for saving me. If it hadn't been for you, I wouldn't be here right now."

For the first time that morning, Korrow had nothing to say. Hunter still wasn't done, inhaling deeply before going on.

"Of course, you would probably prefer it that way." He grabbed a cloth that had been lying on the table and threw it at Korrow with a flick of his wrist. It landed on his chest. "All I wanted to do was thank you for what you did for me, and maybe, just maybe get to know you a little bit. But I guess I set my hopes to high. How foolish of me."

He flicked the hood of his cloak over his head and turned his back to the prone figure on the ground. Korrow's mouth was open, but he had no intention of talking back. Hunter gave him a farewell.

"Goodbye, Korrow. And again, thank you."

He stepped through the doorway, not looking back.

He had only taken two steps out the door before he heard Korrow's voice echo out behind him.

"Hey... wait..." He sounded different, somehow. The arrogant whine was no longer there.

Hunter stopped dead in his tracks. He looked over his shoulder, back at the little wooden cabin, his mind racing. At first, he considered leaving anyway, but from the sound of his voice, he wasn't looking for a fight.

Then again, he could be trying to pull some kind of trick...

Hunter turned around, approaching the cabin and going back through the doorway. There Korrow lay, in the same spot as before, dumbfounded as Hunter walked back into the little dining room. He didn't think he could have heard him, but it seemed that his sense of hearing was very acute.

"What is it?" He crossed his arms over his chest, watching Korrow closely. He did not quite expect what happened next.

"I'm sorry." He blurted out. He tried to sit up gradually, letting his light body weight rest on his arms. His head was still swimming, but he ignored it. "I'm sorry for stealing your bow."

It was a little while before Korrow continued, seeing Hunter's left eyebrow raise, a gesture for him to keep going. "And for insulting you... and..."

He would have continued, but Hunter stopped him, raising his hand. "Thank you. I accept your apology."

He made a motion for the door, but stopped when Korrow called out, "Wait."

The archer's face looked very different from when he had woken up. Gone was any sign of aggression. Instead, it was replaced with lonliness. To be honest with himself, he had been wanting somebody to talk to for years, and here he was, turning away his only opportunity. He had an unlikely change of heart.

"Don't leave just yet."

Hunter stood there, looking at Korrow for a moment before making his way toward the other side of the table. He picked up a bucket, holding it in front of him so Korrow could see.

"I don't know about you, but I am parched. How about I go get us some water," he said, smiling good-naturedly. Korrow returned the smile.

Hunter walked out, pail in hand, heading towards the river.

...

The sun made it's journey across the sky, beating down on the grublin army below. A cheetah stood in front of the rest, leading the force over the meadow. Desraa scanned the horizon, seeing the mountain range thin out not too far ahead. Directly ahead of him, he knew, was the old campsite, the site of the Avalarian attack. All he had to do was move around the edge of the last mountain and keep going straight, and his army would make ruins of the Cheetah Village.

Yet, as he knew from the last attack, The Avalarians had been prepared. Of course, ambushing a force of this size would be suicide, but he knew they would have more than enough time to flee the village before his forces got there if he was seen. Tracking them down would be a hassle, and even worse, they might be able to escape.

Calling to his men, he pointed in the direction of the nearest mountainside, a heavily forested one. He started towards it, and the rest of his army followed blindly, only smart enough to follow their leader's orders.

They were heading straight for Korrow's cabin.

...

Author's Note: Another cliffhanger? That's three in a row! :P

I am proud to say that I didn't update this chapter slowly. And what's more, it's my longest chapter yet(although I'll have to spend twice as much time to get it anywhere near the length of the chapters in Tears of an Oracle).

Just a random note, I'm trying not to use words like "men" or "people" in my story, because there aren't any men or people in the Spyro universe. It's a bit of an inconvenience, but whatever. :#

So, what will happen next? Tune in next time to find out. :D