"Some say that someone who is incapable of cruelty is a higher moral being than someone who is capable of cruelty. I would say that that's incorrect, and it's dangerously incorrect, because if you are not capable of cruelty, you are absolutely a victim to anyone who is."

"That doesn't mean that being cruel is better than not being cruel. What it means is that being able to be cruel, and then not being cruel, is better than not being able to be cruel. In the first case you're nothing but weak and naive, and in the second case you're dangerous, but you have it under control."

- Jordan Peterson, mild paraphrase

Chapter 10

The Arrival

Years prior ...

Doc watched as a teenaged Littlefoot pattered in circles, his tail skimming the sandy soil carpeted the cave floor. His form had improved greatly, and he'd reached a whopping five spirals before the effect unceremoniously destabilised - something The Lone Dinosaur himself couldn't accomplish. However, after two years of trying? It wasn't the kind of progress that turned the tides of battles.

Six spirals.

Doc's eyes widened.

Then it all collapsed even as Littlefoot kept going. It took the youngster a moment to wind down, panting as his weary eyes surveyed the fruit of his failure.

"I almost had it!" Littlefoot exclaimed.

Doc yawned as he glanced at the cave's entrance, softly illuminated by The Night Circle at its fullest. "Almost had it before."

Littlefoot's face fell. "Yes ... but ..."

"At this rate, you'll reach ten spins by the time you're fully grown, but it breaks too easily. You can't fight while doin' it, can't build it up to the point where it's useful. There're better ways to do the same thing on a less ambitious level. So far, all you've managed is a perdy dance."

Littlefoot's eyes snapped to his mentor. ~Did he just use the word 'perdy'?~

Doc briefly stilled. ~Did I just use the word 'perdy'? That's it. Time to turn in.~ "Alright, it's late. Sleep on it. Might be better Secret Ways to spend time learning. Time is life."

"Yes, Sir," Littlefoot conceded.

His leg wobbled. Clearly, they both needed some rest.

...

Of course, it was one thing to have a need. Fulfilling it was a whole different story. Rest was the last thing on Littlefoot's mind. He should have been making his way home. Instead, he stood on an open plain halfway there, staring hard at his tail drawn before him.

~What am I doing wrong?~ he thought. ~Years of practice and I have nothing to show for it. What if it's a waste of time? Maybe it's impossible.~

With a sigh, he gazed up at The Night Circle, absent-mindedly contemplating how different it was from its daytime sibling. Unlike The Bright Circle, it didn't hurt his eyes to look at it. He could see grey blemishes marring its pallid face. What was it even made of? Was The Bright Circle made of the same thing? The latter's light was so intense that he could never make out any features, but ... maybe? It could have been a different type of the same thing. What were they, anyway? How did they stay up there without wings? Sometimes, The Night Circle wasn't even a circle. Other times, it failed to make an appearance altogether. Petrie had an interesting explanation for that.

...

"Unlike Bright Circle, Night Circle not always bright," Petrie explained. "It can be so dark that you no see ... I mean ... don't see it."

"How do you know?" asked Littlefoot.

Petrie puffed his chest proudly. "Flyers can always see it, even when it dim. Our eyes are special."

"How does it get dim?" asked Littlefoot.

Petrie deflated. "Me not- I don't know."

"Have you ever tried to fly up there and find out?" asked Littlefoot.

Petrie fidgeted. "Lot of flyers try that. It never goes well."

"Why?"

"We get high up and start feeling bad. It get hard to breathe, we become dizzy and tired. Next thing you know, you might pass out. Possible to not wake up before hitting ground. It ... it happen to some before."

Littlefoot took a moment to digest that ominous bit of knowledge. "What could be up there to cause that?"

Petrie hesitated. "I think it more about ... what not up there."

"Like what?"

Petrie looked uncomfortable "... Air ..."

"... Air ...?" Littlefoot mimicked.

The flyer nodded darkly. "Less air, higher and higher you go."

Littlefoot blinked. "But ... air is everywhere!"

Petrie nodded. "Me know."

Littlefoot gazed at the sky with newfound dread. "Then, up there is ...?"

Petrie slowly shook his head as he stared Littlefoot in the eyes. "Me ... not ... know ..."

...

Littlefoot shuddered at the thought. ~Perhaps we'll never know. If no flyer's ever reached them, finding out might be impossible, just like my trick.~

His eyes lit up as luminous streaks raced across the heavens.

~But then ... if stars can fall ...~

He traced their paths towards the horizon. Flaming stones of orange sprang skywards to meet them, trails crossing in a rare and brilliant marvel.

~... and rocks can fly ...~

His eyes fell on the burning crest of a mountain from which those stones had been spewed, beyond The Great Wall.

~... and mountains catch on fire ...~

A waft of wind tickled past his feet, snatching loose leaves from the floor. He squinted at the sight as they briefly swirled through the air before coming to rest. Then he turned his eyes upon his tail, scrutinising it long and hard.

The spark of realisation twinkled in his eyes.

...

Littlefoot scampered up to a pair of longnecks in slumber, necks draped across each other.

"DOC! DOC! DOC!" he gushed.

Doc raised his head and regarded Littlefoot with curious, perhaps slightly irked eyes. The old longneck was a light sleeper. Considering how quickly he found his bearings, it was difficult to tell whether or not he truly was asleep. That ability had saved his life many times in a Mysterious Beyond where every sharptooth wanted him dead. His partner did not share this gift.

Dara perked awake. "Doc, it doesn't matter if the treestar knows your name. Just pluck it off the branch and ... wait ..."

Her drowsy gaze shifted between Doc and Littlefoot, who had stopped vibrating in excitement to stare back. At a loss as to how to handle a half-awake grownup, Littlefoot had crouched into the grass, hoping she wouldn't pay too much attention to him. Well, more attention than she already had, anyway.

~Did she just call me a treestar?~ he wondered.

"Am ... am I sleeping?" Dara slurred.

"Something like that," replied Doc.

"Oh ... hee hee ..." she giggled as she lay down once again. "You could still eat it ... though."

With that, she began to snore.

Doc put a tail to his lips, requesting Littlefoot's silence before following the youngster away from his nest.

"What is it?" Doc asked once they were beyond earshot.

Littlefoot beamed. "I figured it out."

...

Upon reaching the cave, Doc frowned at the sight of two nibblers apparently sleeping in the corner. They nearly jumped out of their skins when his tail lashed down beside them. Panicked and peeved, they tumbled over themselves to flee the cave with much chittering.

"So, what changed since we last spoke?" asked Doc.

"I realised it was impossible!" Littlefoot blurted. "Or at least, halfway impossible!"

Doc cocked his head a little. "And?"

"It doesn't have to be possible! It just has to look possible!" Littlefoot explained.

"Hm," Doc grunted with tentative interest. "Alright. Show me."

Littlefoot whirled into action. The dance started the same as it always was. Then it changed.

Doc's eyes began to widen. In his long life, he had seen a great many wonders: bolts of sky fire thrashing through the billowing breath of burning mountains; waters that raised up and raced across the lands, laying waste to all in their paths; colours that danced through the sky in a realm where the cold time never ended. Wonderful things, dreadful things, they that practically cried for names more grand and unique than the simplistic titles he could bestow. He'd seen it all, heard it all, but at the end of the day, there was nothing new under The Bright Circle. His thirst for wonder had waned, and The Mysterious Beyond's promises of something new grew empty and stale. However, as he witnessed the little longneck's imagination manifest before his eyes, a small smile crept across his face.

Maybe, just maybe, this was something new.

The Present ...

A horrified whine met Arrtafiss' ears. He realised that it had escaped from his jaws. Such a sound was shameful for the higher ranks, but for a Clever Claw alpha? It was unthinkable ... but that was the problem. For one, long moment, he couldn't think. He could only feel. Fear bore down on him like a landslide. His heart pounded like stampeding food folk while his body refused to move atop weakening knees.

This was too much.

After the food folk took the love of his life? After Murfy made the land quake? He wanted to curl up in a corner and scream at this accursed world until The Great Guardians' cold flames burnt it away and built paradise in its place. From raging seas to frozen wastes; dancing sky lights to roaring sky fire, the world was theirs. None but them could command its elements ...

...so ...

... then ...

... what was he witnessing ...?

Whirling wind wreathed the longneck as his massive form forced it to join his dance. A vicious veil of soil and powdered crawler nests obscured his bulk. Only his head and upper neck loomed above it while his tail lashed in and out of view. Inexplicable peels of thunder accentuated his movements.

The despairing yowls of packmates snapped Arrtafiss out of the haze. Some even lowered themselves in submission, repenting of their transgressions and begging the Great Guardian before them to have mercy. How could they have known they were fighting two such beings?

Shock jolted Arrtafiss' mind into action. Did they ... think that this FOOD FOLK was a GREAT GUARDIAN?

Arrtafiss silenced their pleads with a snarl: Littlefoot was NOT a Great Guardian! Neither him nor the rockback who shook the valley! At most, they were empowered by a False Guardian! The pack had seen Littlefoot's battle-weariness and even damaged his stone scales! They'd watched him crumple under the force of their strikes to his pressure points! He was mere flesh and blood, nothing more!

Then how would they fight these Great Gua- False Guardian-empowered creatures, asked a theta?

Arrtafiss drew a blank. He realised his clueless stare lingered on the theta for too long. His eyes snapped to the long-necked whirlwind as its fringes passed over a hollow log, scarcely rattling it. Any leafeater trick could be devoured by sharptooth wit.

Wait, that was it!

Arrtafiss nearly chirped as he turned to address his biters. It was only a trick, he proclaimed! The longneck's whirlwind hardly shifted the hollow log! That meant it mostly wasn't real wind! His tail merely swept dirt spirals into the air while his body stirred just enough wind to make it look real! As for the thunder? It could be a combination of tail cracks and the booming calls of the longneck's Old Tongue!

But how would they get close to him, asked a zeta? Real or not, that whirling dirt would blind them!

Arrtafiss trilled in newfound confidence: The answer was simple. They would wait until he wore himself out. Even now, his trick was getting away from him as he haphazardly drifted towards those boulders. He would soon wreck his feet against them or collapse in a dizzy heap en route. All they had to do was-!

Arrtafiss felt a chill as the lower ranks' gazes fix on something behind him. They scattered. He looked back.

His eyes popped.

The alpha dove. He felt the waft of something massive miss his tail. The crack of splitting wood met his ears as he rolled to his feet. Time was precious in battle. He shouldn't have spared a moment to stare, but he did. The boulder that could have claimed his life sat amidst a shattered trunk.

He tore his eyes away from the sight, back to the longneck. All he saw was another flying boulder eclipsing his view as it grew bigger.

Arrtafiss sprang aside. Pain exploded through his thigh. The leap spun out of control. A chorus of crashes receded into the distance as the boulder tore a path through greenery. His leg stung. He was lucky to be alive, but speed hadn't spared him the nick of a rock hurtling at abominable speeds. Ssavi ... would have been fast enough. The pain in his leg paled in comparison to that which welled within his heart. He had to focus, for the sake of the living.

Arrtafiss ordered a retreat into the jungle. His biters were all too happy to comply. He monitored the longneck as they withdrew to the treeline. It was impossible to predict precisely how and when Littlefoot would sling a rock, until it emerged from the false duststorm. Nothing happened, until he turned to the jungle. Littlefoot's timing was fiendishly perfect. Arrtafiss didn't see it coming so much as he felt it. There was no time to confirm his gut instinct. So, he ran, like there was no tomorrow. The heart-stopping sound of stone crunching foliage was on his heels. He banked left and the boulder barrelled by. Woe to the hapless greenery caught in its path.

The shelter of the jungle eased Arrtafiss' nerves. Retreat by no means meant surrender. The longneck had dominated the open field. Maybe it was time to pay his friends a visit. Their screams would bait the longneck into more vulnerable positions.

Unfortunately, his biters began to scream first.

It started as a sudden 'thwack'. That was before anyone knew to shriek. Then came a desperate shriek. It ended abruptly with the second 'thwack'.

Arrtafiss squawked a demand: status update!

A biter's 'help me' cries rang out. Based on the sound of branches breaking, he surmised that she'd abandoned all stealth and made a mad dash. He heard something massive give chase. A thud, then a yelp. He could only assume she had fallen. The telltale impact followed in short order.

Silence.

STATUS UPDATE, ROARED ARRTAFISS!

"You hurt Ducky?" whispered a voice that he never expected to hear.

It came from right behind him.

Arrtafiss didn't dare turn around. He swallowed hard.

"N-no," the alpha lied.

Its deathly declaration left no room for argument. "You. Hurt. Ducky."

He glimpsed the spikes.

Reflexes took over. It was too late for a clean getaway, but that didn't mean it was over. This wasn't the first time he'd been struck by a spiketail. If clearing the tip was impossible, he knew how to dodge into the swing and hit more tail than spike. A feather's difference and he might have been skewered. When it struck, it didn't feel like a tail. It felt like wrath made manifest. The jungle shadows fled. He barely realised he was hurtling into the open until his skin skimmed earth in a painful splash of reality. As fate would have it, his scale-grinding slide ended beneath the last shadow he wanted to see. A monumental foot pressed him to the ground.

"Call off the pack," Littlefoot commanded in a tone as unshakeable as his foot.

Arrtafiss thrashed and slashed as best he could. The longneck didn't flinch. Attacking the underside of a stone-scaled paw was pointless, but his status, his pride, demanded that he do something. Arrtafiss craned his neck to bare teeth at the longneck. Sharpteeth weren't meant to cower before food folk. However, in that moment, he didn't feel like a sharptooth, and the longneck? ... Those were not the eyes of food folk. Towering above him, the longneck's face was silhouetted by The Bright Circle, a ravening glint in his reddish brown eyes as they crushed the alpha beneath their unyielding glare. He'd seen that look in the gaze of sharptooth rogues, but in food folk? It was the height of wrongness. It was horror.

"Please, call off the pack," Littlefoot repeated, almost quietly.

The amicability was in his words, but it was not in his voice. Arrtafiss almost wished he had shouted. Behind that voice was the thinly veiled force of a longneck whose patience perched at the edge of its breaking point. Loud fury was obvious. Silent fury was unpredictable.

In spite of his plight, Arrtafiss forced a ragged cackle. "You ... say 'please' ... like you care ... but you are just like me. No ... you arre worsse!" he hissed. "I was ... made to hunt! You were made to be hunted! Your actions ... go against your very soul! You knew Ssavi was a mother, and you SSTRUCK HER!"

"Ssavi was being unwise," Littlefoot calmly asserted. "She didn't back down, even when-"

"She didn't 'GIVE UP'!" Arrtafiss corrected with a fresh burst of writhing. "She NEVER gives up! She was my EVERYTHING! We were making a FAMILY, and you TOOK that, ALL OF THAT! You are NOT a hero! You are not special ... and you are not good."

"You are like the hatchling who bites a stone and cries when it hurts his teeth," Littlefoot hissed back, leaning closer.

Arrtafiss felt something wet on his muzzle. He recognised the salty scent. The longneck was crying? He was hurting him? Good. He eagerly licked up the tear. Littlefoot stiffened. Visibly relishing the longnecks tears would make it harder to pull more out of him, but Arrtafiss couldn't help it. Rather, he wouldn't help it. What was the point of hurting Littlefoot if it wasn't savoured?

"You think crying makes you better, you pathetic excuse for a grown-up?" Arrtafiss throbbed, chuckling. "Then cry some more. I'm thirsty."

(~Arrival in 3 minutes~)

Arrtafiss realised just how careful Littlefoot had been. The longneck increased the pressure, ever so slightly, but Arrtafiss could feel the weight to crush two dozen biters behind it. Breathing became a small battle in itself. A fresh wave of terror chorused through him, but he fought hard to deny it. This longneck did not deserve his fear. He cried for Ssavi, yet contributed to her end all the same. He was nothing more than a weakling monster.

"Pathetic ... and petty!" Arrtafiss cackled.

"We're almost out of time!" Littlefoot hissed. "You need to leave us alone and find cover! NOW!"

Arrtafiss stared at him. "You ... know about 'The Arrival'?"

The longneck lurched off of him.

Arrtafiss drew a much-needed breath. He grinned at the sight of biters bedecking Littlefoot's flank and swarming his ankles, attacking any and all pressure points that presented themselves. They'd come all at once, a flood of claws and teeth.

Delta Shrrood stepped forward, bracing Arrtafiss to his feet while commanding the biters as though they were his own jaws. The longneck made clumsy attempts to defend himself, but they were too organised. The element of surprise was theirs.

Arrtafiss warbled a song of brotherly love towards the theta.

Now was not the time, Shrrood replied ... but he warbled back.

After this, Arrtafiss assured, he would make his brother beta. Maybe even alpha. Arrtafiss had failed them ...

Shrrood shot him a glance and gave a chastising chuff. Alphas weren't supposed to talk like that. Besides, Shrrood had no desire for those positions.

Which was why he was perfect, Arrtafiss insisted. If not, then head sigma.

The briefest of chuckles throbbed in Shrrood's throat: Head sigma was practically the same thing, but they'd talk about that la-

Something shot past them with a sharp crack.

Shock was in Shrrood's eyes. He slumped against Arrtafiss. The alpha could feel him test his other leg. The joint didn't bend, but it buckled all the same. Panic spiked through Arrtafiss as he glanced back at the thing that hit the theta's hip: a small boulder, wedged deep in the soil. At that speed, it could have squished Shrrood. Instead, it clipped him. Dark realisation dawned upon the alpha. Littlefoot was never going for direct shots when slinging stones. He aimed to maim, not take lives. That was the only reason why Arrtafiss had avoided fatal injuries. Even now, the longneck was exercising his malicious 'mercy'. It was by far the cruelest thing Arrtafiss had ever seen. Unable to hunt or fight, a crippled biter's life was over. Doomed to watch the world move on without them, they were a burden to any pack that cared enough to keep them alive. After The Arrival? Only the strongest would make it to the next age. Littlefoot had denied his brother of that.

This longneck was evil.

Stunned by the fate of their beloved theta, the packs' attacks fell apart. That was all the longneck needed. Soon, he had again shrouded himself in wind and dust that blinded dozens within range. Biters flew from the swirling cloud as Littlefoot's tail flicked them off his hide like buzzers.

They never stood a chance.

Shrrood snarled for Arrtafiss to run, finish the hunt! They still had one play left! When the alpha hesitated, he bit and shoved him. Too much was at stake, Shrrood reminded! Arrtafiss needed to survive! To win!

Choking back a whine, Arrtafiss ran as best he could.

Earth-shaking footfalls pounded after him. He couldn't help but look back. What remained of the dust storm parted around the longneck's colossal form as he thundered forth. The scariest part? He was running. Among the biggest of all food folk, his kind wasn't supposed to be able to run. They were simply too heavy. The only known exceptions were The Lone Dinosaur, Littlefoot and the green menace known as Mighty who actually hunted sharpteeth. Regardless, weight challenged even them. Littlefoot's gait was like a cross between a swift walk and a gallop. It almost looked slow. Had he been the size of a grown biter, even a hatchling would outrun him. However, he was a giant. Every footstep devoured daunting distances. It was like watching a storm roll in from the horizon, gradual, but inevitable, while knowing that there was no way to escape it. Ordinarily, Arrtafiss could outrun the longneck nonetheless, but with a battered leg? Well, he had to try.

Shrrood ordered more attacks. They were sloppy. The biters' fighting spirits were dying. Littlefoot easily swept them away, left and right. The orders stopped when he reached Shrrood. A light tail smack flicked aside the theta as if he were nothing. Just like that, the biters' spirits broke completely. Many scattered. Some mewled in hopelessly. Others milled about in a haze.

Arrtafiss blinked away the tears that threatened his vision. What if he hadn't distracted Shrrood? The sharptooth language was made for speed, which allowed the brothers to chat between moments. It was hardly even a distraction. Maybe it wouldn't have made a difference, but would Shrrood still be in the fight if they hadn't spoken? His little brother didn't deserve this. The pack didn't deserve this. They had tried so hard. He bit back the thoughts.

It wasn't over yet.

Arrtafiss neared the riverbed wherein lay Cera. Luckily, the biters stationed around it hadn't budged. He glanced up the cliff to his right. Remarkably, the stoneback's catastrophic earthshake hadn't damaged it much. He clicked a command to the biters at the top. They began to push.

Trees snapped and crushed as the longneck burst into the open Upon spotting the unconscious, mostly dehorned Cera, he froze for the briefest of moments. Then he surged along the cliff's side towards her. Just as he approached the perfect position ...

"Stop or we blind her!" Arrtafiss snapped.

Littlefoot lurched to a halt. His brownish crimson eyes seared into the alpha.

Arrtafiss cleared his throat, taking his sweet time, but not too much. "I see I have your attention. Let us make a deal. I do not want to lose more biters."

That was only partially true. Of course, Arrtafiss had no interest in compromise, but Littlefoot wouldn't know that. The longneck was an optimistic fool who- NO! Why was he looking up?

It seemed Littlefoot had seen through the trap, but it was already too late. The boulder plummeted towards him.

Relief flooded Arrtafiss' soul. He couldn't help but grin savagely. Littlefoot would fall to the same instrument of justice that had been misused against Sharptooth. The longneck didn't move, not that there was time to escape. Frozen in fear! Arrtafiss would have cackled at the sight, but something wasn't right. Littlefoot's gaze was fixated on the boulder the same way a hunter watched prey for the perfect ambush. At the last moment, his tail was ablur.

*KR-KOOOM!*

The boulder shattered.

Arrtafiss could only stare. H-how? HOW!? A hit like that should have snapped his tail and accomplished nothing! To do otherwise would mean identifying the boulder's weak spot and striking at the perfect time, in the perfect way! It would require staggering luck, or Sharp Mind akin to the most legendary hunters. No food folk could possibly ...!

... No ... food folk ... what exactly was this longneck?

Littlefoot gritted his teeth. Arrtafiss quickly noticed the limpness of his badly bruised tail. It was broken! He was mortal, just like everyone else, and he was doomed!

Sensing weakness, packmates emerged from the jungle with jubilant cries. At the alpha's command, they raced forth to claim their prize. Littlefoot lashed out, but his tail strikes had lost their bite, and Arrtafiss' careful biters were too swift for his stomps. They still weren't making much headway. Getting close without being trodden upon was difficult.

Arrtafiss ordered those around Cera to begin their feast, right in front of her friend!

The horror on Littlefoot's face was delicious! He abandoned all defense and rushed towards Cera. Arrtafiss gave a new command. The biters converged on Littlefoot's legs. Finally, his body betrayed him. He fell with a mighty crash. In no time, he was up to his neck in biters. Littlefoot kept his head out of their reach as he fought to regain his footing. Slowly, they stole the strength of his great neck, working their way up the pressure points as the muscles gave out at a gruelingly gradual speed.

Littlefoot's chin hit the ground. He would not stop struggling, but the pack was adamant: this longneck would never rise again. Tears streamed from his eyes as he watched eager biters leaping into Cera's riverbed.

Sardonic claws stroked the side of his muzzle.

Littlefoot attempted to fling them away, but the biters kept his neck firmly grounded with their weight, teeth and perpetual assault on pressure points.

The stroker stepped forward, lightly running a talon along Littlefoot's snout until they stood in front of him: Arrtafiss. If the alpha's grin grew any wider, his face would split in two. He placed a triumphant foot upon the longneck's muzzle.

The pack erupted with elated cries at the sight of their alpha's show of dominance.

Littlefoot couldn't care less. He stared straight through Arrtafiss, attempting to get a look at the riverbed.

Arrtafiss leant forward. "Hey. Eyes on me."

Littlefoot seemed to suddenly notice the alpha, looking up at him. How Arrtafiss enjoyed this. It would never replace Ssavi, but he had to take what he could.

Triumphant cries sounded nearby.

"Looks like we got Spike too," the alpha stated. "That makes all of you."

The longneck only stared. Was this some kind of plea, Arrtafiss wondered? He decided to believe that it was. However, the way those eyes seemed to search his very soul made him uncomfortable. For the briefest of moments, he saw himself within them.

"Have you nothing to say, monster?" purred Arrtafiss. "Did I break you?"

Littlefoot's voice was small: "I'm sorry."

The alpha blinked before faking a wince. "Ooh, it's a little late for that, I'm afraid. Out of pure curiosity, what are you sorry for? After everything you've done, the list of possibilities is obscenely long."

Littlefoot's gaze lowered to the ground. "Ssavi ... your family. I'm ... I'm sorry ..."

Arrtafiss stilled. His grin vanished. For one long moment, he simply stood there. Then, he calmly sauntered to the side of Littlefoot's head and looked him in the eye.

A flash of claws.

A shock of pain.

The cheers of the pack grew louder.

Littlefoot felt the alpha's talons as he climbed his temple ... not that he could see him anymore. Soon, the biter sprawled across his head and peered down at his other eye.

"Do you have any other stupid things to say?" Arrtafiss asked.

Littlefoot's eye grew glassy as it stared through tears at nothing in particular.

Arrtafiss continued to stroke him. "Come now, don't be like that. You haven't heard my deal yet. See, when you gravely hurt someone and don't finish the job, you doom them to a life of misery. Surely, this has been an ... eye-opening experience for you." Arrtafiss snickered. "But I digress. Nonetheless, there's always the chance they'll track you down and share their misery, even if they have to crawl. I don't peg you for the vengeful type. You seem content to simply lie around and cry your eye out ... but just in case, I shall relieve you of that possibility. So, here's my deal: I'll end your misery, plain and easy."

Littlefoot seemed to have withdrawn into silent despair. How boring.

"But! I am a merciful sharptooth," Arrtafiss suddenly declared. "Everyone you ever loved, or even liked, will join you and your mother sooner than later! It will be a slow process that the entire valley will be forced to watch, but food folk must learn that there are consequences for defying The Circle of Life. This, I promise you. We promise you, is that right, everyone?"

Jeering cackles broke out throughout the biters.

(~Arrival in 5 seconds~)

Littlefoot's face alit with horror anew.

Arrtafiss took notice.

(~4~)

The longneck's eye was on the sky.

The alpha followed his gaze.

(~3~)

It looked like a star, hurtling down through the clouds. Arrtafiss beamed. It was happening sooner than expected.

(~2~)

His smile vanished. Why were there two stars? The Arrival was supposed to be bigger and farther. These 'stars' were heading directly towards them.

(~1~)

Panic struck the alpha. He screeched: EVERYONE, RUN! FALSE GUARDIA-!

(~0~)

That was the last thing Littlefoot heard before cold fire consumed everything in sight. He wept, his voice lost amidst the flames that roared, that howled, that sang. There were so many things he could have done differently. There was a point when Ssavi was listening to him. He could see it on her face. If he'd just used the right words, she could have turned, and helped deescalate everything. Maybe he'd gone about it all wrong, learning to win fights instead of hearts. No one had to die. Now, everyone would ...

... Was ... this what dying felt like? At first, an otherworldly cold washed over him, almost too much to endure. Strange: he shouldn't have felt it for so long. Cold fire with the power to melt mountains should have brought about a swift end. Now, he felt nothing, but he still felt. Did the dead feel things?

Again, something stroked his muzzle.

Littlefoot reeled to his feet with a startled gasp. Hold on, since when was he in any shape to reel? He'd also opened his eyes ... 'eyes', not 'eye' ... another peculiarity. Little Valley appeared the same as it had before, except without the biters. Cera looked ... fine. Perfectly fine, horns and all. His logical mind chocked on the impossibilities.

"My, my ... all things considered, you're a little far beyond the comfort of home, but then again, so are we."

Littlefoot flinched at the voice. He gazed down at the spot where his muzzle used to be. There, just before it, waved two creatures he never expected to see.

The Rainbow Faces.

It's about time.

Although space and sci-fi were always going to play a part in this story, conversations with Gutza1 on Reddit and Discord have inspired me to take it farther in some ways. For instance, Petrie's acknowledgement of the vacuum, or Cygnet's leaflet and its telescopic abilities. Hope you're enjoying the ride, because things are about to get crazy.