Chapter Four: Embers of Night and Ash

Year 203 of the 82nd Era, The Era of the Dying Lands; e82-203

Mid Spring

Savannah of Yellow Flowers; Meadow of Sunshine, west side of the Yellow Petal River

Dark storm clouds drifted overhead the open ground of a vast savanna blooming with thousands of yellow flowers. Past the flowers, a herd of Earthborn Frillhead Hornface Hornbrow Threehorns grazed. Many grey and dull-colored bodies made up the herd, along with a few brighter-scaled mates. It was the Herd of Looming Shadows, led by their patron, Shadowheart.

Currently, the old bull was watching over his herd. His son, his last remaining child, Thornscale, stood beside him. The sixteen-year-old fern-green bull looked just like his late sister. Thornscale had the same colors down to the dim-fern dorsum and pale-fern quills lining his lower back and tail. The only differences were his dusky-peridot eyes Thornscale shared with his father and the brighter frill colors of a male. It had only been a year since Thornscale had developed the brilliant crimson colors in the softer hollows of his frill. He showed them off proudly but had yet to take a mate. Unlike his sister, he was too young and felt he still had much to learn.

Thornscale's heart saddened. He had lost his clutchsister, Leafquill, nearly six moon cycles ago. A hunting troop of crystalborn had killed her, but not before his father took the life of one of the soft-skinned creatures. Still, that didn't help the gaping hole left in the family and herd. Leafquill had left behind her young calf, Duststomp, whom she loved with all her heart. It was hard for the family to explain to Duststomp that he would never see his mother again. The calf still didn't understand that his mother was never coming back. Nonetheless, Thornscale and his parents did what they could to care for Duststomp when the calf's father never stepped into a parenting role, even after Leafquill's death.

The adolescent fern-scaled bull gazed across the landscape, taking in the blooming flowers and the glittering Yellow Petal River in the distance. They had taken the meadow by force when they found it overrun by spiketails. It had taken little to drive them and their crystalborn companions away, and the spiketails had dealt only a few injuries to the herd. It was the most plentiful place the Herd of Looming Shadows could find after a long migration. A migration that had taken longer than usual after they found their previous nesting ground barren.

"The lands are changing, Father," Thornscale muttered.

Shadowheart grunted. "They've been changing for twenty years, Thornscale. Long before you hatched." The large, scarred bull swept his gaze across the meadow, observing his herd graze on the lusher grasses beyond the meadow while some cows watched over their soon-to-be-hatching eggs. "I've noticed it when our watering hole did not fill as full as other years past or when the leaves were not as plentiful among the foliage we grazed upon."

His green eyes flashed as a dark memory passed over his mind. Shadowheart wouldn't bring it to light, but his son spoke, having thought of the same memory.

"Do you remember… do you remember when Leafquill and I were only thirteen-years-old? When there was such a horrible drought that we could barely find enough bark to eat?" A long pause passed over the fern-green adolescent as the memories accumulated. "When a herd of hornfaces killed a pack of sickleclaws during that drought?"

"That surprises you, Son?" Shadowheart continued to watch his herd. "The Herd of Looming Shadows would do the same. I refuse to let us be devoured by sharpteeth. They are monsters that terrorize us."

"How much different are they really from us?"

Shadowheart grunted, eyes narrowing upon memory rather than his herd before him. "They are not hornfaces. They do not speak our language. They were born from bloodshed. All of them are equipped for killing and eating flesh. When do the omnivorous flesh-eaters decide to eat foliage? I bow to kill every last one I see as long as I am still patron. I will always make sure the herd has enough foliage." His eyes narrowed, burning hate flickering within them.

"You do not want to be like the crystalborn, Father?" Thornscale questioned. "It is not the sharpteeth that bother you. It is the omnivorous crystalborn. You've hated them before my egg was even laid."

The larger bull grunted. "For good reason." His horned head swung to face his son. "They killed your clutchsister, they killed your grandmother, they killed your aunt and uncle, and they killed many more of our kind. I wish to be the furthest away possible from those demons."

Thornscale stared at his father. "And at what cost will you take to allow us to feed? Are you thinking of driving out another herd of threehorns for food when we have another food source that we can subsist on for a few moon cycles? Would you even slaughter other frillheads?"

"Hornfaces of different horn arrangements and frill shapes rarely mingle. And do you expect us to be friendly with the smaller frillheads with their simple frills and small horns, who can barely defend themselves? Other hornbrows never mix, let alone beyond that. A herd of spiketails is nothing. It was them or us. And if it must come to driving out another herd of hornfaces or even taking their lives, then so be it."

"And we couldn't share the resources with the spiketails?" Thornscale questioned, stepping closer to his father, who had turned away to gaze upon his large herd again. The young bull had been trying to hide his concern, not wanting to show his father how much he cared for creatures who did not look like him. However, Shadowheart had a way of prying under his scales and wrenching the truth from him. He always did, and that truth kept flowing from Thornscale. "You forced mothers to leave their nests. They lost their entire season of eggs. Who knows how often they have a breeding season."

"Good. There will be fewer of them to worry about. There are always pairs that mate outside the breeding season and produce offspring. They'll survive. Far away from us. Those spiketails would have depleted our resources."

Thornscale sighed.

"Listen, Thornscale. You are my son and the only heir to my direct bloodline of the Herd of Looming Shadows. Sometimes you must make tough choices. Think of only threehorns — only your herd. They matter as they all look up to you as the patron. Keep them alive. The other creatures of the world do not matter, only your survival. Your lineage."

"I must go against other hornfaces then," Thornscale grumbled.

"You must, especially those who do not share the same frills or horn arrangement as us. They are different. They will not help your bloodline or herd survive. They will make it fragile, as the offspring produced between those that do not look like you struggle to survive past hatching — if they hatch at all. Those with different frills and horns are the enemy, they will tarnish you, and you will have to fight them over resources. They are not us and do not belong among our herd." Shadowheart gazed across the meadow at his herd in the distance.

Thornscale stayed silent.

Shadowheart swung his colossal head to face his son once more. "Let us see your uncle's nest. His newest clutch is bound to be hatching soon."

With that, the pair walked toward the herd, heading for one of the high-ranking protector's newest clutch of eggs.

A mated pair of threehorns stood in a sandy hollow. The cow, Ashtear, was grey with a lighter underside and a darker dorsum. Like all hornfaces, she sported quills on her lower back and tail, hers being black. The hollows of her frill were a dull sage-green, and her eyes were shadowed-caramel, nearly black.

She was mated to Emberhorn, the younger brother of the herd patron. Albeit, the name Topps, which he earned in adolescence, was better known among the herd, especially by the cows. He looked nearly identical to his dark-grey brother, other than his darker shadowed-grey, almost black dorsum and shadowed-peridot eyes. His frill hollows were also a brilliant persimmon compared to his older brother's cochineal.

Ashtear and Emberhorn had already produced one other clutch that contained only one egg. Their older daughter, Cindercrush, was a mix of different tones of grey. She sported the silver quills of her father, along with his shadowed-peridot eyes. The youngling lingered around the already hatched eggs, watching with bated breath as the last of the four struggled out of their egg. Three of the four hatched calves were all oddly shades of washed bronze or duller. However, neither parent seemed alarmed about the color of the infants' scales as they waited for the last egg to hatch.

The family drew closer with each crack that spread throughout the fourth and final egg. At last, the calf within broke free of the confines of its shell. She pawed out of her imprisonment until she was free and facing her three clutchsisters. Like her clutchsisters, she was a shade of orange-brown, possessing lovely washed-bronze scales.

"I never thought I'd see one of my calves, let alone four of them, have my grandmother's scales," Ashtear muttered, leaning forward to greet the newest additions to the family.

"A lovely cow," Emberhorn muttered, though a bitterness colored his voice. So far, all his children have been female. He was hoping for at least one male in the clutch of four.

Immediately, the last hatched cow turned on her clutchsisters. With a mighty squeal, she charged them. The four hatchlings ran around their parents, squealing in delight as they played. As they ran around their father, the last hatched bumped into her father's leg while her three sisters hid behind their mother's leg.

The youngest toppled over but quickly righted herself. One of her sisters was not paying much attention and had remained behind, away from the safety of her mother's leg. The youngest charged, headbutting her sister in the rump. Her sister squealed and ran behind her mother's leg, joining her other two clutchsisters.

The three sisters watched as the youngest turned to their mother. She headbutted her mother's grey snout. Not satisfied with the headbutt, she swiped her back feet and headbutted her mother again. Her father approached. Both parents watched their youngest with concern. The other three hadn't been nearly as aggressive.

The youngest sat on the ground and wiggled the toes of her hind feet. She looked at her parents, that same daringness flashing in her jade-green eyes. Once more, she headbutted her mother and turned to her father, and headbutted his snout. However, it seemed she may have taken it too far as she shook her head, a slight tinge of pain in her eyes.

And then, the storm finally broke.

Lightning flashed overhead, followed by a boom of thunder. The youngest squealed in terror and hid under her mother with her clutchsisters.

"So much hostility, but fears storms," Emberhorn grumbled, taking in the four newest additions to his family.

The first two were washed-caramel in color with dusky-caramel dorsums and light-sand undersides. The only difference was that one cow possessed black quills like her mother, and the other possessed bright gold quills. The third was a duller coloration than the first two that had hatched. She was sepia with an ashy-amber underside and sand-colored quills. All three possessed the shadowed-caramel eyes of their mother.

Lastly, was the fourth hatched. She was washed-bronze, the most brilliantly colored of the four hatchlings. Her dorsum was a dusky-bronze, and her underside a light-honey. Her quills were dark-gold, and her eyes jade-green.

"Your father had green eyes like that, didn't he?" Ashtear questioned, noticing her mate staring at the child with eyes unlike her parents' shadowed-caramel or shadowed-peridot eyes.

Emberhorn blinked. "It's been so long since I lost him… But… yes, I believe he had eyes like that shade of green." He smiled to himself. "I'll have to point them out to Shadowheart. He'll be happy to see some of our father in one of our children."

"Oh, you don't have to," Ashtear interjected. "I'm sure he won't remember the color of your father's eyes any better than you do. He might argue that they were a different shade of green." Without waiting for a reply, she turned to her newest clutch of children and smiled. "Looks like this was a colorful clutch this season. We should name them, Emberhorn."

Emberhorn did not heed his mate's previous statement and immediately turned to the four infants. He rattled off names he had decided upon the moment they breached the confines of their eggs. "The first calf will be named Honeyquill, after my deceased niece. The second shall be Ochrescale, and the third—"

"I think I should name them." Ashtear interrupted, sending a fluttering gaze at Emberhorn, a sickly-sweet smile pulling at the corners of her beak. "You were going to let me name at least one of my children this season, weren't you, dear? You named our first child, and I think I should give this clutch my herd's traditional names."

Emberhorn cleared his throat, eyes darting away from his mate's gaze. "Yes. Sorry. Go ahead, dear."

"The first shall be Honeypierce, the second Ochreshatter, the third Forsythiabruise, and the fourth Saffroneviscerate."

"Erm…dear. Those are some strong names… Forsythiabruise? Saffron…eviscerate?"

"You can just call her Cera!" A grey head peaked out from behind Emberhorn's foreleg. "And why don't they have any brow horns?" The youngling pointed her nose horn at the four hatchlings.

Emberhorn narrowed his eyes at the four infants.

"I'm sure they will grow in as they age." Ashtear butted in. "There must be a deficiency in my mother's bloodline. She and her siblings always had small horns. You remember my uncle's small horns when we first met, right Emberhorn?"

The bull blinked, staring at his children before slowly nodding. "Yes... I remember. The horn deficiency is not in my blood, that is for sure. My brother and I have always had the most magnificent horns." He tossed his head, brow horns pointing into the pouring rain.

In the background, a few cows shuffled, trying to get a better look at the head protector of the herd. Many enjoyed ogling his horns, bright persimmon frill hollows, and powerful body. Ashtear noticed some of the other cows staring at her mate in the distance but did nothing to dissuade them. She stepped aside to let them get a better view, internally sneering at them as they took in everything about her arrogant mate.

A soft huff sounded from her nares as Ashtear caught a few words from some of the cows. All too familiar words. "Oh, didn't you sneak off with him one night? How was he?" Giggles followed, along with too-hushed whispers Ashtear couldn't pick up.

Then again, it didn't matter in the long run. The light-grey cow gazed upon her four newest additions to the family, internally smiling at them warmer than she ever smiled at Cindercrush.

Cindercrush raised an eye ridge at her father. "Are you sure about that, Dad? I heard—"

"You heard nothing, Cindercrush."

The youngling obediently lowered her head, grinding a forefoot into the earth.

"Why not we introduce them to the rest of the family?" Ashtear offered.

As Emberhorn was about to say something, he turned back to his eldest daughter, gaze narrowing on her as her attention was drawn away from her family. His gaze followed hers, stopping on a small family of hornfaces, ones with several long horns adorning their frill, no brow horns, and a much longer nose horn than his herd possessed.

"Cindercrush." His voice was stern and cold as he returned her attention to him. The panic flashed in her shadowed-peridot eyes. "Did I see you speaking with that hornnose starcurve bull-calf again? I've told you several times to stay away from him. He's not—"

"One of us," Cindercrush mumbled under her breath. "I know, Dad…." She glanced out of the corner of her eye at the small family of starcurves. A light brown calf around her age slumbered amongst his parents and siblings.

Emberhorn huffed. "I would have never disobeyed my parents when I was your age. See…"

Ashtear zoned out her mate's voice as she tucked her newly hatched children closer to her belly, protecting them from the rain. Emberhorn would go on about how great his herd was and how magnificent their bloodline was. She rested her head between her forefeet and gazed across the landscape past the Herd of Looming Shadows and beyond the hills where she pictured another herd of hornfaces. Their bright colors had made them stand out against the dry earth, and they sported a crown of horns upon their frills, no brow horns, and long nose horns. Much like the resting family in the distance that her daughter had been staring at.

Ashtear sighed and glanced up at Emberhorn, her heart aching.

She wouldn't quite say the two of them were in love. She couldn't. Emberhorn, the youngest child of the Herd of Looming Shadows' previous patron, and she, the second daughter of the patron of her small herd, were arranged to become mates when they were just adolescents. Neither was happy about the arrangement, but nothing else could have been done. The rest of Ashtear's herd merged with the Herd of Looming Shadows shortly after. Their lighter grey scales blended well with the darker grey of the Herd of Looming Shadows. Nonetheless, it was always easy to pick out the direct lineage of the herd's leaders, their scales the darkest of grey.

Ashtear sighed. Even though she couldn't say she loved Emberhorn, she wished he'd stay within his bounds. His most recent actions were distasteful, but, as the patron's brother, he was given no punishment or even scolding words. Gossip whispered through the herd made him more willing than ashamed of his actions. Then again, she was at fault, too, wasn't she? She was just better at keeping the secret. Or maybe her mate didn't care.

The lighter grey cow lovingly nudged her newest additions to their family, each already dozing off after a tiresome hatching.

"I see they have finally hatched," a deep voice rumbled.

Ashtear looked up to see Emberhorn's older brother and patron of the Herd of Looming Shadows, Shadowheart, looking down at her newly hatched children. His dusky-peridot eyes narrowed as he took in the dozing calves. A silent look was passed to his only remaining child and heir to the herd, Thornscale. The dark-fern-green adolescent stared at Ashtear as if asking her if what they were thinking was true, but she kept her gaze even keel.

"Vinestride is looking after Duststomp. She will visit you and the children later," Shadowheart mumbled, speaking of his green-scaled mate. He raised his gaze to meet a pair of approaching family members, two cows. One was his clutchsister, Flamesnap, sporting their mother's grey-amber colors. The other cow was Flamesnap's mate, Paleface, aptly named for her pale-ocher face. The rest of Paleface's body was a dusky-ocher, though her quills were a dusky-olive. Her frill hollows were cinereous.

"What are those colors?" Paleface asked, verdigris eyes narrowing as she gazed upon the newest additions to the family. That sharp gaze met Ashtear, but the grey cow held steady. "I don't see orange scales among my mate's family or your body."

"They are from my grandmother. She was the same color."

"And no brow horns?" Paleface raised an eye ridge.

"My family has a deficiency. My aunt was born without brow horns. I must carry the defect and passed it on to my children." She glanced at her other child. "I'm sure Cindercrush won't have large horns as she grows. You can already tell her horns aren't as big as they should be for her age."

Paleface huffed, staring hard at the oldest child of Emberhorn and Ashtear. It was true that Cindercrush's horns were smaller than they should be, but that meant nothing. She was only eight years old. It wouldn't be for another ten years before true judgment could be placed on her brow horns.

"Don't be so harsh on them, sweetheart." Flamesnap bumped her hip against her mate. "My little brother seems unbothered by the ordeal, and that's all that matters, right?" She smiled, a glint in her shadowed-peridot eyes.

Paleface stayed silent for a long moment, but the cow couldn't hold her tongue. "I wouldn't be surprised to see grey-pomegranate-scaled children running around if Striaeye was still here. Too bad poor Topsy's little crush had to be… well… crushed when he was arranged to be mated with another cow, and Striaeye's herd had to leave." She sighed loudly, "Well, I guess it wouldn't have mattered since she was such a low rank in her herd. Your father would have never allowed it. None of my business, I suppose."

"Paleface!" Flamesnap hissed, giving her mate another hip bump and a flourish of her horns. "What are you doing?"

"Oh, I was just joshing. No foul, Flamesnap." Paleface brushed her nose horn against Flamesnap's grey-amber flank, humming. She smiled at the other cow under hooded lids, a smirk pulling at the corner of her beak.

Flamesnap just shook her head. As the awkwardness lingered around the family, Emberhorn stepped forward and introduced the four calves. Words and nuzzles were exchanged before the family members slowly departed to continue their herd duties. As Flamesnap and Paleface walked away, Paleface stared hard at the already dozing calves, but her mate gave her another hip check. Flamesnap did smile at the newest additions to the family, mouthing their names as she passed them.

Ashtear introduced her calves to many other herd members as the day progressed. It was always exciting when new additions were hatched, especially those of top ranks like Emberhorn. As the day waned, Ashtear found herself alone with her children in the pouring rain, but it took her only a moment to spot her dark-grey mate.

The grey cow sighed, watching as another female approached Emberhorn. Hushed words were spoken between them before they left the nesting hollow. Ashtear couldn't care less. She knew what her mate was doing. She knew of all his infidelities. But even then — even if she didn't love him, it struck something in her heart.

Another sigh gusted from her lungs, and Ashtear pulled her four infants close.

Emberhorn followed the copper-scaled cow to the edge of the Meadow of Sunshine. She stopped beside a small alcove and glanced over her shoulder, checking if he followed. Seeing the dark-grey bull right behind her, the cow leaned down, grunting softly to something before she moved aside.

Within the small alcove sat a calf chewing on a clump of moss. The calf let out a soft squeal at the sight of her mother but was silent the moment her eyes fell onto Emberhorn. The cow-calf froze, pale-verbena-purple eyes wide as she stared at the intimidating bull.

"Come now. Your father is here."

"Father?" Emberhorn echoed, a deep frown pulling at the corners of his beak.

The copper cow slowly turned to him. "I have laid two eggs, Emberhorn." She announced, her apricot-orange gaze cool and collected. "I will raise one daughter, and you will raise the other. You deserve to have at least one offspring from our… escapades." Those apricot eyes narrowed slightly, something flashing and flickering within them.

"Nightwhisper…" Emberhorn trailed, the cow's name bitter in his mouth. Their eyes met again, only for his gaze to draw down to the strange, tiny mark below her right eye — the same mark her daughter shared. He huffed and turned back to the calf, his frown only deepening. Of course, the cow-calf looked like him — dark-grey with a shadowed-grey dorsum, dim-grey underside, and pale-grey quills. However, she had pale-verbena-purple eyes. She had the eyes of Emberhorn's mother and deceased clutchsister. She looked exactly like his clutchsister, making his heart twist like a horn had been stabbed through it.

He hated it.

Emberhorn hated the memories that flooded to the surface. The screams of his clutchsiblings as the crystalborn raided their herd. The sharp tang of blood in the air as they slew threehorn after threehorn. They took so many calves' lives that night. Emberhorn had only been lucky because his mother sacrificed herself.

He squeezed his eyes shut, and the image of his mother, covered in innumerable spears, burned into his memory. His mother collapsed, surrounded by the sound of whooping, thin-skinned crystalborn. Then… the roar. The roar of a monstrous clawhand. Those crystalborn had been working with a sharptooth, and he knew his mother's body had been fed to it that night.

Emberhorn stared at the calf, but those memories kept building. "She's… nice." He turned away, but Nightwhisper stepped in front of him, brandishing her horns. The same strange, almost glowing flicker in her eyes caught the setting sun.

"I have not given her a name. She is as much your child as she is mine. I expect her to be taken care of, even if it is not directly by you. But I will hear what name you will give her before I leave for my herd. And I expect her to be alive and well when I see her again."

Emberhorn stared at the calf, who now gave him a curious look. She had warmed up to him within the first few minutes of meeting him. Maybe she knew he was her father, or maybe she had his family's courage and pushed the fear down. All she reminded him of was his sister.

His shadowed-peridot eyes locked onto the strange flickering apricot gaze of Nightwhisper. "Smokedance. She will be named Smokedance, after my deceased mother, killed by crystalborn." And Smokedance would have been the name he would have given one of his daughters if one of them had been grey and if Ashtear hadn't interjected. He would have preferred a different cow-calf to be named after his mother, but this would have to do.

Something flickered in those apricot eyes, which had narrowed upon Emberhorn's words. But Nightwhisper said nothing other than, "Good." And with that, the copper cow turned away, leaving Emberhorn with his daughter.

The lead protector of the herd stared at his calf, a huff sounding from his chest. He watched Nightwhisper's fading form for some time until he couldn't see it anymore. During that time, Smokedance just sat and stared, munching on the clump of moss from under the alcove. As far as Emberhorn was concerned, he would have nothing to do with the calf.

However, he wasn't heartless.

The bull picked Smokedance up, oh-so-carefully balancing her on his nose horn, and slowly carried her back to his herd. Immediately, a few admiring cows from earlier in the day spotted him. The group of three whispered amongst each other, sneaking glances at him. Their words were quickly cut off as they noticed he was approaching them with Smokedance carefully perched on his snout.

He scrutinized all three of them before speaking. "Would you take care of a calf that isn't yours?"

Two of the three cows backed off. One was already mated to another male and unwilling to take the head protector's child. The other was young and did not want to take responsibility for offspring. However, the third cow stepped forward with a soft smile. She was older and had lost her first mate many years ago, and her second mate left her recently because she never bore offspring.

"I would be delighted to care for your child, Emberhorn." She bowed to him.

Emberhorn took the female in. Her name was Wheatflick, and she was some years older than him. As her name implied, she was light-wheat in color and possessed soft grey eyes. The pair had mated several times during the depths of night, but it seemed she enjoyed admiring his body more than the performance. He rather enjoyed her, though, especially when he was much younger. It was something else, mating with a more experienced cow dissatisfied with her mate. Their escapades had slowed to a near stop after Ashtear's laid her first clutch, but that didn't stop the livelier of the other two cows and several others among the herd.

Wheatflick leaned forward, gently taking Smokedance from him. The calf made little more than a soft whimper as she looked between her father and the strange cow.

"Her name is Smokedance." Emberhorn turned away. "I will monitor her, but I want nothing to do with her. My family is with Ashtear."

"I understand." Wheatflick bowed again, careful of Smokedance on her nose. "And her name is lovely. I remember your mother from when I was a young cow, just taking my first mate. She was wonderful, and it amazed me how she saved you that night."

Emberhorn said nothing as he turned and walked away. He did not walk back toward his family, but along the outskirts of the herd, his gaze focused on the creatures in the distance. His heart twisted, and a burning anger roared deep in his belly. All the events brought back bitter memories he wished to keep buried deep. But it seemed the world wanted to unearth them and see him seethe with hate.

The dark-grey bull stared off into the distance. His shadowed-peridot eyes narrowed upon figures in the distance. The herd of spiketails they had chased off and the crystalborn among them. Then there was the small herd of smallcrest singers with their strange, long-eared crystalborn — crystalborn who weaved a magic he had never seen before. And then there was the family of three longnecks who had stopped at the riverside some nights ago. They, too, had two of those creatures with them.

So many creatures — even frillheads — lived with those disgusting, wretched demons.

The rage roiled in his chest, a low growl rumbling through him, but Emberhorn clamped down on the roar that wanted to burst from him. Still, all those terrible, terrible memories flashed through his head. The screams of his clutchsiblings as two men drove spears into their flanks. The cry of his mother, covered in spears, collapsed to the ground before the earth rose and wrapped around her, crushing her. The hunger in those crystalborn's eyes as they gazed upon his fallen family and herd. The roar of something much bigger with sharper teeth and claws appearing.

That tribe had been working with a sharptooth. They surely devoured the flesh of his mother and siblings as they fed the rest to whatever terrifying beast they hunted with.

A different tribe followed the memory, and yet another hunted and killed one of his family members. Only six moon cycles ago, Emberhorn had lost his niece, Leafquill, to crystalborn. At least Shadowheart had killed one of them before they could get away.

Emberhorn sneered and turned away from the other groups, rage still boiling inside. If he ever saw another crystalborn, he bowed to kill it, just as they had killed his family.