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Prologue

Clouds draped over the sky like a blanket as the last rays of sun fell over the horizon, yielding to dusk over sparsely shrubbed plains, home to many tribes of nomadic foragers and the keystone hunters which followed them in predation.  Such is the nature of life -- eat quickly and remain alert, lest you be eaten yourself.  Naturally, the injured go down first, pride be damned, for when you are looking for a meal you can't afford to take the unnecessary risks associated with targetting the alpha pair.

But tonight's was no ordinary hunt as three barren, withered, shadowy figures stalked quietly through the brush, aided in part by a headwind that blew their foul scent away from that which they were stalking.

"This is useless," a whisper emanated from one of the trio to another.  "We've never been able to capture these feathered fiends before.  We should spend our time and energy on easier quarry --"

"Silence," commanded the leader as they approached.  "Do not forget our marks are quite skilled of hearing.  They may be ill-equipped for scenting us, but we have to act fast."

The leader carefully raised his head above the brush level, just high enough to survey the area, and slowly enough to avoid making unnecessary motion.  The small pack of hunters lazed about a rock for protection, two of them apparently sleeping soundly, another pair relaxing but awake, and a fifth sitting upright and catching the twilight's breeze in her beak.

"There are five of them.  Three females, two male.  We have a chance...."

"Good ... what is our plan...?"

"We surround them.  Their rear is unguarded, I will pounce upon the lookout.  That will be the signal to dive in and subdue them by any means necessary.  If we can Claim even one of the females, Mother will reward us greatly."

"It will never work...," one of the hunters doubted.  "Nobody has ever been able to Claim these fiends before.  They are fast, swift beasts, and their talons strike lethal blows...."

"I am aware of their skills," the hunter countered.  "But ignore the males.  Mother is getting old and sloppy, and her old wounds still do not heal.  It is only a matter of time before she is challenged and defeated.  And that's assuming she isn't hunted down and killed herself...."

"You are speaking nonsense," came the contrary answer.  "Mother is invincible.  There is nothing in this world that can penetrate her armor...."

"Yes there is.  Do you not recall what happened during Mother's last assault?  A single pair of wings, one of blackest night and death itself descended upon one of our behemoths -- killed him in a single stroke.  Word is it wasn't even their strongest warrior.  We killed many of their strongest -- only to watch our behemoths's lives be severed by one lone flying demon."

A moment of acquiescent silence answered; they all knew this tale to be true.

"And don't forget, Mother herself was helpless against a mere flock of its lesser brethren.  Her mighty teeth bore to naught against empty mist as they attempted to pluck out her eyes.  Nearly succeeded, too ... haven't you noticed she is blind on one side now?  Mother herself is useless against the creatures of the air.  She knows it, we know it, everyone does.  And that is not even considering their accursed onces ... those scentless assassins could be anywhere."

"You don't suppose...?"  The third inquired.

"Impossible," the lead answered.

"Enough," the second silenced.  "The wind is becalming; if this hunt is to work we cannot risk them hearing us."

"...Agreed," the leader nodded.  "Take your marks and fan out...."

"...close in slowly, and wait for their alarm."  The third agreed as they split up amidst the thick grasses of the plain.

The five-pack of alce slept quietly, with the lookout scanning the surroundings.  Though quite skilled of hearing, their night vision was relatively weak, and their noses similarly.  The beast yawned, not noticing the subtle disturbances in the wind-blown grass that a night-born hunter would immediately recognize as the sign of predator movement, nor paying any attention to what distant whispers were drowned out by prevailing winds.

Time passed slowly and uneasily for both hunter and prey as the group of three reached opposing positions around the rock and silently crept closer, each step slower than the last, watching the alce for any sign of notice or alarm.  The lead hunter crept forward from upwind, his scent blocked and filtered only by the waves of grass surrounding him, while the other two lay in wait near the grass's edge, motionless as the lookout's eyes scanned across them without contact.

The lead hunter crept closer, hunching his body down as he approached one leg at a time from behind, carefully and slowly peeling the stalks aside from his steps, a small unnatural ripple in an otherwise undisturbed field that the lookout failed to notice.  At least so far, all was going according to plan.  A little closer, and they could strike any time....

Another minute of waiting passed as the lead hunter reached the upwind side of the large boulder upon which the pack of alce rest, only slightly obscured by a layer of reeds separating them, but through which he had a clear view of the lookout on its haunches, with its forked tailfeathers being the closest thing within reach.  Alce were not flying creatures, but fast and agile climbers, and this pack was unlucky enough to have no trees nearby for protection; their only route of escape would be through the grasses, amidst which the hunter's two counterparts were already lying in wait.

The sound of rustling grass caught the lookout's attention, but the hunter was upon her even as she let out a loud shriek in alarm.

And with the expected signal given, the pair of lesser hunters sprang out of hiding as the pack of alce rose in a panic.  The two already-upright beasts easily leapt over the hunters and scattered their paths crosswind, while one of the sleeping pair easily woke up and escaped the chaos somehow; but the lookout was already in claw-to-claw contact with its opponent and the other seemed too heavy a sleeper to have a fast escape ready.

Almost as quickly as it the ambush had begun it was over, with the three hunters wrestling their two struggling prey to the ground, the lead hunter pressing the lookout to the ground underneath his equal weight.

"Fate smiles upon us tonight," the lead hunter addressed as he maintained tight grip on his squirming quarry, careful not to actually harm her in the process.  "Mother will be very proud to hear this."

The other two hunters looked at each other as if trying to decide who had the right to claim their prize, the male alce.  The lead hunter, on the other hand, had already decided.  He lowered his head against the beast's feathered face, looking the terrified creature in the eye for a moment.

"Don't you worry," he consoled the beast in an empty gesture.  "We are not going to eat your flesh...."

The hunter placed his left paw on the beast's shoulder as a gap in the clouds revealed the dim light of a half-moon angled above.  It seemed like a pile of black flesh was melting off of the hunter's foreleg onto his quarry.

"Why are you deciding on that one?"  One of the lesser hunters inquired of the leader as the formless black shape slowly flowed off of the hunter and up the feathers of the prey.  "You should pick another; that child is too weak to Claim such a quarry."

"Silence!"  The leader commanded respect as the black shape collected into a distinct glob and carefully slank its way to the prey's head, with an impression of two brown eyes leading the way.  "My prey, my catch, my right to decide who gets it.  The fact she even still lives is a sign."

"You are wasting a perfectly good female quarry on one who is too weak to Claim her!  If she dies this entire hunt will have come to naught ... what will you tell Mother then?"

"If that happens, you will merely show her the perfectly healthy male you have Claimed.  Think of what we can make of such an agile beast...."

The lead hunter released his left paw, now a bony and withered sort of limb bearing only a shred of dry, rough bare semblance of natural pelage, with the black muscle fibers clearly visible underneath the worn and tattered skin.  A layer of living black flesh soon poured down the length of this limb to enjoy the extra vacancy as well as shield it from the elements.

The lesser hunters finally decided, and a dislodged glob of liquid form landed on the shoulder of their male quarry as it looked back upon them in fear.

"Stop struggling!" One of the hunters commanded of it as they wrestled to keep its side flat on the ground.  "This will all be over soon enough."

The lead hunter watched over his own catch as the formless shape of black flesh looked back at him inquisitively through a childlike face of such ill definition that only their own kind recognized it for what it was.

"It is okay," he answered the young lifeform.  "Nothing will go wrong this time.  She is yours now."

The small black form nodded in response. then proceeded to smother the prey about her face.  The female alce gasped in pain as the black shape enveloped her, encroaching between her feathers and forcing its acidic touch in through every available entrance route.  It had blocked out both her vision and smell, and now was choking the beast ... from the inside out.

The male alce shrieked in horror as its counterpart struggled and squirmed violently in a futile attempt to free itself from the invader that was now violating and desecrating it, but with a throat and lungs already occluded by the invader's own small form, and unable to draw upon the air around it to sustain itself, the alce's body came to an unnatural halt, its limbs frozen in awkward position as it succumbed to a fatal unconsciousness.

The male alce cried out again, trying to free itself from the grip of the lesser hunters as it saw its female counterpart lying dead in front of it, the lead hunter finally releasing it from his grip and walking over.  The quarry knew it was the next to die.

The black, shapeless invader crept onto the male's face like a shroud, its foul smell filling the beast's nostrils as the alce forced its eyes shut in a panic.

"Do not fear," the hunter calmly asserted, not out of any actual emotion for the prey but more like how a cat would address the mouse it has caught by the neck prior to devouring it whole.  "We will take good care of your body...."

The male alce clamped its beak shut as the young, slightly acidic shape wrapped around its head and face, trying to force its way in.

A very uncomfortable minute followed, with the quarry holding its breath against the inevitable; it would have to take another breath soon, but with a black, shapeless flesh filling its lungs instead of air.

"What is taking so long...?"  The lead hunter mused.

"He's trying to wait us out," the second answered.  "The beast would rather die than allow us to Claim him...."

"Squeeze the air out of him like a serpent if you have to," the leader responded.  "We have not achieved the impossible only to lose it at the last second...."

The third pressed itself down upon the prey's chest, and after a moment the alce coughed out what may very well be its last breath.

Another minute of silence followed, and by now the lead hunter was pacing in circles about the prey.  What was taking so long?  The beast's vitality was quickly draining, the leader reassured himself, but it seemed something was amiss.

"I... I can't...?"  Came a surprised voice as the black invader collected itself about the alce's forehead, looking back at the hunters through what seemed like a pair of red eyes.

"What is the problem, child?"  The second hunter addressed the small black shape before it.

"This body ... its flesh will not dissolve...."

"What?"  The lead hunter objected as he faced the small lifeform upon their prey, the offspring of their species.  "Try again!"

"But I am!" the young shape defended.  "It is not working!  The beast's flesh will not permit me...."

"That's impossible," the third hunter addressed the group.  "No species can deny our right to Claim their souls for our own."

"No species at all," the second agreed.

"...Except one," answered an unfamiliar voice, as they all realized the horrifying explanation of this paradox:

Their own.

The male alce gazed back at the black shape standing powerless atop of it.  "...You have no power over this body...."

"...I-impossible...?"  The hunters released their grip on the prey and each took a step back as the alce stretched its four legs.

"...because you cannot even touch my soul!"

"It cannot be... you are one of THEM!?"

The alce quickly sprang to its four feet and effortlessly shook the black young flesh off of it before pinning the young offspring to the ground underneath its kind's deadly sharp talons as the shapeless form tried, to no avail, to squirm itself free of the alce's tight grasp.

"Assassin!"  Cried the lead hunter.

"Take me if you can!"  Shouted the alce back as he fatally crushed the offspring in his grasp, the black flesh bursting from between his claws in an explosion impossible for the young child to recover from.

A savage fight ensued as the three hunters pounced upon the alce.  Claws flew, teeth clamped against empty feathers, talons carved deep scars across their bodies and shrieks of pain erupted and echoed throughout the plains.  Bits and shreds of black flesh flew in all directions as it became clear who was superior:  One by one the three hunters found themselves tossed aside by their opponent, low moans and growls escaping the black flesh that dripped and covered their barren true forms.

Now it was the alce's turn to attack, as it leapt an imposingly high distance into the air with such agility that, even though this was a leap of no extraordinary height, it seemed as if the beast was descending upon them out of the very moonlit heavens themselves.  Landing square upon the neck of one opponent proved fatal as the hunting party's second collapsed in a paralyzed heap, and the alce sprang upon the leader with such force to smash at least two of its legs clean off against the rock.

"...Damn ... you...," the lead hunter cursed as the alce raised its left arm to strike, with glints of moonlight visible on its sharp talons, and a similar glint of life clearly visible in its yellow eyes.

The alce seemed to be smiling, already knowing well how both sides referred to the other as equally damned, then smashed the lead hunter's brittle neck against the rock, his ears confirming the blow's shattering, fatal impact.

The remaining hunter cowered back as the loose black flesh of its fallen comrades, in fact the discrete bodies of a dozen or so offspring, melted away and scattered from the hunters, revealing true forms in such disrepair that in the low light of the moon their bodies could easily be described as mere living skeletons, thin bags of flesh containing bare bone, teeth and claws, with naught but connecting muscles and tissue.  Their only semblance to any normal mammal was provided by the formless, liqueous shapes of their own offspring, without which they were naked and vulnerable to even the slightest of injuries.

The alce stood proudly above the carnage as the masses of offspring struggled to flee, their slashed and injured bodies impeding their own movements as they collected about the legs of the remaining hunter, who looked upon the alce with deadly scorn.

The hunter knew this was a standstill:  The alce's sharp talons could rip the offspring's flesh straight off him and break what bones held his body together; there was no sense in continuing such a meeting.  But at the same time, to give such a report to Mother would almost certainly result in execution....

"This ... this isn't over!"  The hunter shouted as he backed up, allowing the assorted collection of offspring to climb upon him, adding their bulk to his, before turning around and fleeing into the night.

Victorious but alone, the alce turned to assess the outcome of this incursion:  Three of his family members were long safely evacuated, and would no doubt be waiting for him near one of their dens.  But the remaining female....

He sniffed the unmoving body of the one female alce the hunters had successfully lay their Claim upon, noting the mass that still blacked out her eyes, the acidic smell of the invader, her beak being perhaps the only area on her face that was still undefiled.  He lay his head against her body, noting the lack of breathing and the fading throbs that pulsed to a stop, and a very unsettling feeling of unnatural movement flowing through her veins.

The alce rubbed his forehead against hers.  Though unrelated by birth, the two of them were like family, brother and sister even, only to be separated by such a divide.

He knew, deep down, that she was one of them now.

Because ... he already was one himself.

Despite the inherent truth of these words, the alce failed to grasp how such a fundamental revelation could arrive to him only tonight.  How was it possible to live for so long among his family without knowing such an inherent fact about himself?  Somehow ... it was almost as if the arrival of these hunters tonight had specifically triggered it.  Had they not set upon him, he would have continued to live the same warm hunting life that he had long since come to enjoy.

"Farewell, my sister," he bade with a frown as he began walking away from this scene of such violation and death.  Hers was not the only life ended that night ... but his was the only one that continued.

Chapter 1:  A Simple Patrol

My name is Skiro.  And this is my family.

He awoke to the warmth of a morning sun peering over the low-lying hills to the east, piercing the fog that had descended upon them overnight.  The weather would be clear again today, so it seemed.  He raised one arm and flexed his four talonned claws in the sunlight, then carefully checked his position as he shifted off his side onto his four legs, instinctively mindful of the height at which he was fond of sleeping -- nothing beats a good tree for catching a peaceful night's sleep.

Skiro yawned and reared his body back, bristling the striped white feathers along his back as he stretched out his arms against the tree's limb.  He then leaned forwards, giving his rear legs a stretch, and shook the fog off of him from head to forked tail.  An aftertaste of yesterday's meal still lingered about his beaked mouth, the juices long having dried out, with only a slightly salty sensation lingering within.  A catch like that could probably last him two days, depending on activity.

He surveyed the surroundings upon which he called home.  How long had it been now -- weeks?  Months?  He sat upright, carefully balancing himself on the fork of two branches, as he began combing his beak through the soft, warm feathers about his sides, ensuring that the long pinions decorating his shoulders were still straight and clean, splaying out in their fan-like arrangement of spikes as such things should be.  He then checked over his tail, curling the short stub around him while the long forks of tail pinions swept around to match.  He sighed at their differing lengths; it would be several more weeks, possibly an entire season, before the feathers on that side grew back to match their counterparts on the other.  But, a few lost feathers was a price was long since paid:  One cannot afford to have their tail snagged during battles of life and death.

Skiro's pointed ears twitched as they picked up a slight rustling sound below him.  Food?  No, it was too heavy for that -- it had to be a creature almost his equal in size.  A pointed black noze on a white triangular muzzle led the way as a white-headed kitse, with reddish ears and body from the shoulders down tracked into view, sniffing the ground diligently.  When the trail of scent stopped abruptly at the tree, the kitse immediately turned his head upwards and identified Skiro above.  He sat down and swirled his three red tails about his haunches in a single gesture, and smiled.

"Ah, Elder Kitan," Skiro addressed.

"There you are," Kitan nodded with a glance to the side.  He never liked being addressed as an Elder, even though he was second in age only to Rava.  But with everyone calling him that day in and day out for months on end, he finally started to at least tolerate, if not accept, the label.

"Do you never sleep on the ground?"

Skiro shook his head.  "No, I don't like the ground ... but then, I suppose there's no fooling your nose, is there?"  After all, Kitan was their best tracker, able to scent individuals for miles even in heavy rain; like the other two elders he commanded respect with every step on the ground, silence with every word he chose to speak.  But he was not as quiet as Rava, nor as large and strong as Velaar; yet he was certainly swift, and it was by the virtue of those very four fast feet that he was even still alive these days at all.

Kitan took a moment to comb his tongue through one of his tails.  "Anyway, Rava sent me to fetch you.  I think he has a request for you today...."

"Alright," Skiro nodded.  "Where is elder Rava?"

"The usual spot."

"I see."  Skiro hunched over the side of the limb and then carefully sprang down, a good distance of ten feet as it was but he touched down lightly, using his four legs to soften and absorb the impact like a cat.  He nodded to Kitan, his head currently at about the same height as the elder sitting upright.  "As for you?  ...If I may...."

"I have to arrange another patrol after this. One of the children is missing today.  We don't think they're very far, but with so many we'll need a good nose."

Skiro took a few steps past Kitan.  "Elder ...."

Kitan rolled his eyes as he stood up and swept his trifurcated tails behind himself.  "You aren't going to start that again?  I do not have three tails!"

Skiro shook his head with a smile, then began to trot off.

It wasn't a long distance to the avians' communal dens, just a short trip through well-trodden paths between the shrubs, a dash out in the open, followed by a quick climb up a nearby tree that was faster than the roundabout path, and even more so than scaling the rocks directly.  Besides, Skiro had the agility to spare, and he reached the top of this tall mossy outcrop rather easily.  Like the avians themselves, Skiro much enjoyed this rock shelf above ground level for its ability to see the surrounding lands for miles, which made them the first watch for any sign of approaching danger.

Skiro walked carefully along the paths among the aerie, avoiding the pits and crags the avians preferred to employ as areas for refuse, walking around several stick-and-branch nests which seated singles, and sometimes pairs, of their flying members.  A single tree stood near the center of this large room, with less of a nest than a shrubby top upon which a large black raptor, shorter in height than Skiro but with a wingspan of nearly equal length as Skiro's body from head to tail, calmly reclined upon, his jet-black feathers accented with tufts and tips of silver and slate.  Through one open eye he watched Skiro's approach, then raised his head from his deeply plumed body and gave something resembling a smile from his gray beak as he nodded in greeting.

"Elder Rava," Skiro greeted.  "You sent for me?"

"Yes, thank you," Rava nodded again.  "I hope Kitan did not wake you?"

"No, the morning light did," Skiro answered.  "So what is it?"

"If it is not a bother, I would like you to find Hiran.  He did not check in with any of our patrols last night.  That is highly unusual for him..."

"Yes," Skiro nodded.  Hiran was large and powerful enough to easily fend for himself (even though the title of strongest clan warrior belonged instead to a female called Surai), and surprisingly subtle and stealthy relative to his size, and jaws lethal enough to reduce living bone to powder.  But above all else, Hiran was nothing if not punctual.  "You don't suppose he found trouble?"

"I will not speculate," Rava ceded.  "It is possible he was injured, but more likely he found something worth detouring from his normal path.  I want you to follow his route today and look for anything unusual.  Anything that might take him off of the usual trails...."

Skiro shrugged.  "But we both know I am only an average tracker at best.  Someone like Kitan, maybe even Naram would be more qualified for this...."

"I know," Rava added.  "But Hiran is ...."

"...He is a Natiif, right," Skiro cringed, embarrassed to have missed so obvious an implication.  "Takes one Natiif to track another.  That's why you asked for me...."

Rava nodded.  Natiif -- the 'sacred ones', as they called them.  A highly coveted, but rarely achieved, status which renders the individual indiscernable to normal scenting and tracking methods, unidentifiable and anonymous compared to other beasts of their kind.  Skiro had heard the term as a child, from Rava himself no less, although in those days it was merely a word from spoken legends, something often told and repeated but never personally experienced.

"And if Hiran was unlikely enough to encounter some trouble, I would rather not have our scouts leaving clear trails they can follow back to us with."

"Am I the only Natiif we have available to send?"  Skiro sat down.

Rava nodded once more.  "That is correct.  But you will not be travelling alone."  Rava looked around the den and called out with a wave of one wing.  "Astri?"

The avians' den was not large enough to produce an echo, but the sound of the Elder's voice calling aloud the attention of many eye pairs nonetheless.  Finally, one responded as a red-eyed raptor of slate color and brown stripes stood up from its nest and then flapped over.  "You call, elder?"

"Thank you.  I want you to tail Skiro from the air today."

"I see.  I hope it is not the canyon he is searching?"

"No, Hiran's route runs near the river to the west."

Rava cast a glance to Skiro, implying that he should be listening to this -- and he was.

The raptor sighed in relief.  "Good; there is too little defense to be had in open space."

Strange words coming from a diurnal avian, perhaps, but the glance he gave back to Skiro indicated that such a phobia was not without strong reason.

"We can set out immediately, then?"

"Almost,"  Astri replied.  He leapt down to the ground next to Skiro, then took a moment to excuse himself as something not unusual splat on the ground behind his feet.

There was no need for anyone to mention the subject.

"Okay, now I can fly."  He spread his wings wide and high, then vaulted himself up onto Skiro's back.  "You lead the way...."

And with that the two of them took off.

Astri rode on Skiro's back a short distance, but only until they reached the official edge of their territory; a spot marked by a poignant, commingled scent near the trail which their scouts upkept through repeated marking.  Skiro took the western trail, keeping his beak close to the ground as he inhaled deep breaths from ground level, taking care to exhale them back out through his nostrils -- his nose wasn't particularly keen at detecting scents, but there was at least one scent he knew well, and he could at least identify that one, a smell from Hiran's spotted fur, among the mixture.  It was a relatively fresh scent, couldn't be even a few days old, although a more skilled tracker would be able to more precisely date it.

"I've got it," Skiro nodded, and Astri took flight off his back as Skiro began pacing ahead along the trail, stopping about every fifty paces to double-check his trail while the raptor soared overhead, adeptly veering between limb and trunk of nearby trees, and taking a moment to land on one every now and then when Skiro took his mark.  This was the fastest tracking method Skiro had at his disposal, given the occluded brush and scrub through which their path carved and his relatively limited sense of smell.

The trail continued for some distance in the morning rays, the sun slowly creeping higher and brighter into the sky as they travelled.  They had no need of keeping time as Skiro continued to follow this trail with Astri keeping watch above him.  After some more tracking they reached the banks of a river, where nearby a brush Skiro happened upon the smell of blood from some small animal, no doubt caught and eaten warm as a meal.  This was further reinforced by a small brown pile of a putrid but vaguely familiar odor hidden nearby a bush.  However unpleasant such an insect-attracting sight was, it at least continued to verify which direction they should look.

"Hiran veered off here," Skiro addressed Astri, motioning to the small pile of refuse he had found.  Nearby this embankment stood a large array of rocks and stones which widened, but shallowed and slowed the river to the point where it was quite easy to cross.  Skiro spotted a few other areas on the riverbank, but with the scent running dry (the river's own fresh smell surely not contributing here), he deduced that Hiran had either turned back or crossed the river, one of which was easier to verify than the other.  Astri flapped and flew ahead of him as he waded across the rocks, splashing through elbow-deep current, his feathery pelt doing its best to repel the water around him and avoid soaking through.

With a quick shake of his body on the other side of the water's edge he checked again, and within a radius of ten paces found a tree which Hiran had no doubt deliberately marked, judging by the familiarly ammoniatic scent it bore.  Scouts were always careful when choosing a location to relieve themselves; in this case, the discovery of some soiled sand was not merely because nature had called -- it was a specific code, with its number one interpretation being "turn and head south along the river".

That they did.  After fifty paces Skiro took another mark, then another after the same distance again, with beak close to the ground as he slowly inhaled for scents each time.  The third time failed him, however, and he began walking around in widening circles as he combed the bank.  If he had lost Hiran's scent, he would have to retrace his steps -- one of the risks he had accepted with this particular choice of tracking method.

"He must have veered off again," Astri observed from above as Skiro began walking north, this time taking marks every ten paces to re-establish the trail.

"Here we are," Skiro nodded as he found a second mark left by Hiran, code to venture away from the bank and through a roughly-carved path between patches of dead brambles.  There was no need to take any marks here; the broken stems and leaves were obvious enough a trail to follow as is.  Astri carefully wove above him as he forged ahead.

"We have movement!"  Astri called out as the brambles slowly gave way to a small clearing long torn out of the forest's canopy by a dead old snag.  Skiro could sense a strange odor in the air, knowing well that it was only faint to his own weak nose, and had to be several times stronger in reality.  Astri landed on a nearby branch and affixed his gaze near the partially-uprooted stump of the old tree.  "There!"

Skiro began walking over, the loose moss and ferns softening the steps of his talons on ground, listening for sounds as he approached the base of the tree.  It was entirely possible something was expecting him....

A loud hiss assaulted his ears as Skiro leapt a step back and confronted the source:  Right around the corner stood a peculiar individual, a creature of about Kitan's medium size, bearing black fur tufted in white markings, with a black stripe down its otherwise white spine, and a long tail held defiantly high behind itself.

Was this a friend or foe?  They stood facing each other at a distance of about six paces, watching each other silently.  Skiro could sense a familiar element in the small beast's scent; it was no ordinary creature, but one of their kind.  But with a snarling reaction like that, it obviously did not know the same about Skiro's own unfamiliar scent.

Skiro relaxed his posture, standing upright, but the other animal continued to snarl and hiss, making no movements fore or away from him.  Skiro was about to issue a greeting when another, and quite familiar, voice interrupted him:

"Sakan!  Stand down; this is a friend."

"Hiran?"

The small creature clenched his mouth shut as Hiran's larger, grey-spotted body appeared behind him.  Hiran sat down on his haunches aside this black creature, who finally relaxed and crouched down as well.  "...He is like you?"

"Yes, this is Skiro," Hiran nodded.  "He is one of our family's hunters."

"Elder Rava sent me," Skiro answered.  "Who is this?"

"I am Sakan," the black creature nodded in response.  "Forgive me if I threatened you, you have no scent I could identify."

"He knows," Hiran nodded to Sakan.  "That is the price of being a Natiif...."

"Shall I return home and inform the elder, then?"  Astri asked from his perch above.

"Yes, do that please," Skiro answered, and with a nod Astri flapped and flew off.

"I am sorry if I worried our elders," Hiran bowed his head.  "I could have returned by this morning, but we had a bit of an incident last night...."

"What kind?"  Skiro asked.

Sakan shook his head, and Skiro noticed the peculiar odor wafting from upwind; specifically, from Hiran.  It was not Hiran's usual smell -- far from it, and even with Skiro's dulled nose it was a foul, malodorous vapor.  Hiran seemed embarrassed about the smell, himself.

"Can I help it I thought he was hunting me?"  Sakan asked rhetorically?  "If I knew he was harmless, I wouldn't have sprayed him."

"You're lucky to have such a weak nose," Hiran chuckled before coughing.  "This stench is ... overpowering.  I can't smell anything at all today...."

"Is that what that is?"  Skiro asked.

"I really am sorry for that," Sakan answered, looking to Hiran for a moment before turning back to face Skiro.  "My smell never washes out of anything.  It keeps me safe from harm.  I nailed a Depraved with it just last week.  Square in the eyes, even."

"You might've even killed it...," Hiran joked.

"Not really," Sakan shook his black head.  "My smell is not that powerful...."

"But it's strong enough," Hiran coughed again, trying not to gag on the odor as he rubbed his muzzle against the ground again as if to get the foul odor off of him by any means possible.

"Anyway, should we head back?"  Skiro asked.

"By all means," Hiran replied.  "Sakan here is far out of his territory.  We should bring him to the elders."

"Elders?"  Sakan inquired, with specific emphasis on the plurality.  "You have more than one?"

"Three, actually," Hiran nodded.

"Really more like two and a half," Skiro chuckled.  "Shall I lead the way back, then?"

"Just don't leave me behind," Sakan requested.  "I spent the last of my smell on Hiran here -- sorry about that -- so I don't have much left to defend myself at the moment."

Description
Prologue

Clouds draped over the sky like a blanket as the last rays of sun fell over the horizon, yielding to dusk over sparsely shrubbed plains, home to many tribes of nomadic foragers and the keystone hunters which followed them in predation.  Such is the nature of life -- eat quickly and remain alert, lest you be eaten yourself.  Naturally, the injured go down first, pride be damned, for when you are looking for a meal you can't afford to take the unnecessary risks associated with targetting the alpha pair.

But tonight's was no ordinary hunt as three barren, withered, shadowy figures stalked quietly through the brush, aided in part by a headwind that blew their foul scent away from that which they were stalking.

"This is useless," a whisper emanated from one of the trio to another.  "We've never been able to capture these feathered fiends before.  We should spend our time and energy on easier quarry --"

"Silence," commanded the leader as they approached.  "Do not forget our marks are quite skilled of hearing.  They may be ill-equipped for scenting us, but we have to act fast."

The leader carefully raised his head above the brush level, just high enough to survey the area, and slowly enough to avoid making unnecessary motion.  The small pack of hunters lazed about a rock for protection, two of them apparently sleeping soundly, another pair relaxing but awake, and a fifth sitting upright and catching the twilight's breeze in her beak.

"There are five of them.  Three females, two male.  We have a chance...."

"Good ... what is our plan...?"

"We surround them.  Their rear is unguarded, I will pounce upon the lookout.  That will be the signal to dive in and subdue them by any means necessary.  If we can Claim even one of the females, Mother will reward us greatly."

"It will never work...," one of the hunters doubted.  "Nobody has ever been able to Claim these fiends before.  They are fast, swift beasts, and their talons strike lethal blows...."

"I am aware of their skills," the hunter countered.  "But ignore the males.  Mother is getting old and sloppy, and her old wounds still do not heal.  It is only a matter of time before she is challenged and defeated.  And that's assuming she isn't hunted down and killed herself...."

"You are speaking nonsense," came the contrary answer.  "Mother is invincible.  There is nothing in this world that can penetrate her armor...."

"Yes there is.  Do you not recall what happened during Mother's last assault?  A single pair of wings, one of blackest night and death itself descended upon one of our behemoths -- killed him in a single stroke.  Word is it wasn't even their strongest warrior.  We killed many of their strongest -- only to watch our behemoths's lives be severed by one lone flying demon."

A moment of acquiescent silence answered; they all knew this tale to be true.

"And don't forget, Mother herself was helpless against a mere flock of its lesser brethren.  Her mighty teeth bore to naught against empty mist as they attempted to pluck out her eyes.  Nearly succeeded, too ... haven't you noticed she is blind on one side now?  Mother herself is useless against the creatures of the air.  She knows it, we know it, everyone does.  And that is not even considering their accursed onces ... those scentless assassins could be anywhere."

"You don't suppose...?"  The third inquired.

"Impossible," the lead answered.

"Enough," the second silenced.  "The wind is becalming; if this hunt is to work we cannot risk them hearing us."

"...Agreed," the leader nodded.  "Take your marks and fan out...."

"...close in slowly, and wait for their alarm."  The third agreed as they split up amidst the thick grasses of the plain.

The five-pack of alce slept quietly, with the lookout scanning the surroundings.  Though quite skilled of hearing, their night vision was relatively weak, and their noses similarly.  The beast yawned, not noticing the subtle disturbances in the wind-blown grass that a night-born hunter would immediately recognize as the sign of predator movement, nor paying any attention to what distant whispers were drowned out by prevailing winds.

Time passed slowly and uneasily for both hunter and prey as the group of three reached opposing positions around the rock and silently crept closer, each step slower than the last, watching the alce for any sign of notice or alarm.  The lead hunter crept forward from upwind, his scent blocked and filtered only by the waves of grass surrounding him, while the other two lay in wait near the grass's edge, motionless as the lookout's eyes scanned across them without contact.

The lead hunter crept closer, hunching his body down as he approached one leg at a time from behind, carefully and slowly peeling the stalks aside from his steps, a small unnatural ripple in an otherwise undisturbed field that the lookout failed to notice.  At least so far, all was going according to plan.  A little closer, and they could strike any time....

Another minute of waiting passed as the lead hunter reached the upwind side of the large boulder upon which the pack of alce rest, only slightly obscured by a layer of reeds separating them, but through which he had a clear view of the lookout on its haunches, with its forked tailfeathers being the closest thing within reach.  Alce were not flying creatures, but fast and agile climbers, and this pack was unlucky enough to have no trees nearby for protection; their only route of escape would be through the grasses, amidst which the hunter's two counterparts were already lying in wait.

The sound of rustling grass caught the lookout's attention, but the hunter was upon her even as she let out a loud shriek in alarm.

And with the expected signal given, the pair of lesser hunters sprang out of hiding as the pack of alce rose in a panic.  The two already-upright beasts easily leapt over the hunters and scattered their paths crosswind, while one of the sleeping pair easily woke up and escaped the chaos somehow; but the lookout was already in claw-to-claw contact with its opponent and the other seemed too heavy a sleeper to have a fast escape ready.

Almost as quickly as it the ambush had begun it was over, with the three hunters wrestling their two struggling prey to the ground, the lead hunter pressing the lookout to the ground underneath his equal weight.

"Fate smiles upon us tonight," the lead hunter addressed as he maintained tight grip on his squirming quarry, careful not to actually harm her in the process.  "Mother will be very proud to hear this."

The other two hunters looked at each other as if trying to decide who had the right to claim their prize, the male alce.  The lead hunter, on the other hand, had already decided.  He lowered his head against the beast's feathered face, looking the terrified creature in the eye for a moment.

"Don't you worry," he consoled the beast in an empty gesture.  "We are not going to eat your flesh...."

The hunter placed his left paw on the beast's shoulder as a gap in the clouds revealed the dim light of a half-moon angled above.  It seemed like a pile of black flesh was melting off of the hunter's foreleg onto his quarry.

"Why are you deciding on that one?"  One of the lesser hunters inquired of the leader as the formless black shape slowly flowed off of the hunter and up the feathers of the prey.  "You should pick another; that child is too weak to Claim such a quarry."

"Silence!"  The leader commanded respect as the black shape collected into a distinct glob and carefully slank its way to the prey's head, with an impression of two brown eyes leading the way.  "My prey, my catch, my right to decide who gets it.  The fact she even still lives is a sign."

"You are wasting a perfectly good female quarry on one who is too weak to Claim her!  If she dies this entire hunt will have come to naught ... what will you tell Mother then?"

"If that happens, you will merely show her the perfectly healthy male you have Claimed.  Think of what we can make of such an agile beast...."

The lead hunter released his left paw, now a bony and withered sort of limb bearing only a shred of dry, rough bare semblance of natural pelage, with the black muscle fibers clearly visible underneath the worn and tattered skin.  A layer of living black flesh soon poured down the length of this limb to enjoy the extra vacancy as well as shield it from the elements.

The lesser hunters finally decided, and a dislodged glob of liquid form landed on the shoulder of their male quarry as it looked back upon them in fear.

"Stop struggling!" One of the hunters commanded of it as they wrestled to keep its side flat on the ground.  "This will all be over soon enough."

The lead hunter watched over his own catch as the formless shape of black flesh looked back at him inquisitively through a childlike face of such ill definition that only their own kind recognized it for what it was.

"It is okay," he answered the young lifeform.  "Nothing will go wrong this time.  She is yours now."

The small black form nodded in response. then proceeded to smother the prey about her face.  The female alce gasped in pain as the black shape enveloped her, encroaching between her feathers and forcing its acidic touch in through every available entrance route.  It had blocked out both her vision and smell, and now was choking the beast ... from the inside out.

The male alce shrieked in horror as its counterpart struggled and squirmed violently in a futile attempt to free itself from the invader that was now violating and desecrating it, but with a throat and lungs already occluded by the invader's own small form, and unable to draw upon the air around it to sustain itself, the alce's body came to an unnatural halt, its limbs frozen in awkward position as it succumbed to a fatal unconsciousness.

The male alce cried out again, trying to free itself from the grip of the lesser hunters as it saw its female counterpart lying dead in front of it, the lead hunter finally releasing it from his grip and walking over.  The quarry knew it was the next to die.

The black, shapeless invader crept onto the male's face like a shroud, its foul smell filling the beast's nostrils as the alce forced its eyes shut in a panic.

"Do not fear," the hunter calmly asserted, not out of any actual emotion for the prey but more like how a cat would address the mouse it has caught by the neck prior to devouring it whole.  "We will take good care of your body...."

The male alce clamped its beak shut as the young, slightly acidic shape wrapped around its head and face, trying to force its way in.

A very uncomfortable minute followed, with the quarry holding its breath against the inevitable; it would have to take another breath soon, but with a black, shapeless flesh filling its lungs instead of air.

"What is taking so long...?"  The lead hunter mused.

"He's trying to wait us out," the second answered.  "The beast would rather die than allow us to Claim him...."

"Squeeze the air out of him like a serpent if you have to," the leader responded.  "We have not achieved the impossible only to lose it at the last second...."

The third pressed itself down upon the prey's chest, and after a moment the alce coughed out what may very well be its last breath.

Another minute of silence followed, and by now the lead hunter was pacing in circles about the prey.  What was taking so long?  The beast's vitality was quickly draining, the leader reassured himself, but it seemed something was amiss.

"I... I can't...?"  Came a surprised voice as the black invader collected itself about the alce's forehead, looking back at the hunters through what seemed like a pair of red eyes.

"What is the problem, child?"  The second hunter addressed the small black shape before it.

"This body ... its flesh will not dissolve...."

"What?"  The lead hunter objected as he faced the small lifeform upon their prey, the offspring of their species.  "Try again!"

"But I am!" the young shape defended.  "It is not working!  The beast's flesh will not permit me...."

"That's impossible," the third hunter addressed the group.  "No species can deny our right to Claim their souls for our own."

"No species at all," the second agreed.

"...Except one," answered an unfamiliar voice, as they all realized the horrifying explanation of this paradox:

Their own.

The male alce gazed back at the black shape standing powerless atop of it.  "...You have no power over this body...."

"...I-impossible...?"  The hunters released their grip on the prey and each took a step back as the alce stretched its four legs.

"...because you cannot even touch my soul!"

"It cannot be... you are one of THEM!?"

The alce quickly sprang to its four feet and effortlessly shook the black young flesh off of it before pinning the young offspring to the ground underneath its kind's deadly sharp talons as the shapeless form tried, to no avail, to squirm itself free of the alce's tight grasp.

"Assassin!"  Cried the lead hunter.

"Take me if you can!"  Shouted the alce back as he fatally crushed the offspring in his grasp, the black flesh bursting from between his claws in an explosion impossible for the young child to recover from.

A savage fight ensued as the three hunters pounced upon the alce.  Claws flew, teeth clamped against empty feathers, talons carved deep scars across their bodies and shrieks of pain erupted and echoed throughout the plains.  Bits and shreds of black flesh flew in all directions as it became clear who was superior:  One by one the three hunters found themselves tossed aside by their opponent, low moans and growls escaping the black flesh that dripped and covered their barren true forms.

Now it was the alce's turn to attack, as it leapt an imposingly high distance into the air with such agility that, even though this was a leap of no extraordinary height, it seemed as if the beast was descending upon them out of the very moonlit heavens themselves.  Landing square upon the neck of one opponent proved fatal as the hunting party's second collapsed in a paralyzed heap, and the alce sprang upon the leader with such force to smash at least two of its legs clean off against the rock.

"...Damn ... you...," the lead hunter cursed as the alce raised its left arm to strike, with glints of moonlight visible on its sharp talons, and a similar glint of life clearly visible in its yellow eyes.

The alce seemed to be smiling, already knowing well how both sides referred to the other as equally damned, then smashed the lead hunter's brittle neck against the rock, his ears confirming the blow's shattering, fatal impact.

The remaining hunter cowered back as the loose black flesh of its fallen comrades, in fact the discrete bodies of a dozen or so offspring, melted away and scattered from the hunters, revealing true forms in such disrepair that in the low light of the moon their bodies could easily be described as mere living skeletons, thin bags of flesh containing bare bone, teeth and claws, with naught but connecting muscles and tissue.  Their only semblance to any normal mammal was provided by the formless, liqueous shapes of their own offspring, without which they were naked and vulnerable to even the slightest of injuries.

The alce stood proudly above the carnage as the masses of offspring struggled to flee, their slashed and injured bodies impeding their own movements as they collected about the legs of the remaining hunter, who looked upon the alce with deadly scorn.

The hunter knew this was a standstill:  The alce's sharp talons could rip the offspring's flesh straight off him and break what bones held his body together; there was no sense in continuing such a meeting.  But at the same time, to give such a report to Mother would almost certainly result in execution....

"This ... this isn't over!"  The hunter shouted as he backed up, allowing the assorted collection of offspring to climb upon him, adding their bulk to his, before turning around and fleeing into the night.

Victorious but alone, the alce turned to assess the outcome of this incursion:  Three of his family members were long safely evacuated, and would no doubt be waiting for him near one of their dens.  But the remaining female....

He sniffed the unmoving body of the one female alce the hunters had successfully lay their Claim upon, noting the mass that still blacked out her eyes, the acidic smell of the invader, her beak being perhaps the only area on her face that was still undefiled.  He lay his head against her body, noting the lack of breathing and the fading throbs that pulsed to a stop, and a very unsettling feeling of unnatural movement flowing through her veins.

The alce rubbed his forehead against hers.  Though unrelated by birth, the two of them were like family, brother and sister even, only to be separated by such a divide.

He knew, deep down, that she was one of them now.

Because ... he already was one himself.

Despite the inherent truth of these words, the alce failed to grasp how such a fundamental revelation could arrive to him only tonight.  How was it possible to live for so long among his family without knowing such an inherent fact about himself?  Somehow ... it was almost as if the arrival of these hunters tonight had specifically triggered it.  Had they not set upon him, he would have continued to live the same warm hunting life that he had long since come to enjoy.

"Farewell, my sister," he bade with a frown as he began walking away from this scene of such violation and death.  Hers was not the only life ended that night ... but his was the only one that continued.

Chapter 1:  A Simple Patrol

My name is Skiro.  And this is my family.

He awoke to the warmth of a morning sun peering over the low-lying hills to the east, piercing the fog that had descended upon them overnight.  The weather would be clear again today, so it seemed.  He raised one arm and flexed his four talonned claws in the sunlight, then carefully checked his position as he shifted off his side onto his four legs, instinctively mindful of the height at which he was fond of sleeping -- nothing beats a good tree for catching a peaceful night's sleep.

Skiro yawned and reared his body back, bristling the striped white feathers along his back as he stretched out his arms against the tree's limb.  He then leaned forwards, giving his rear legs a stretch, and shook the fog off of him from head to forked tail.  An aftertaste of yesterday's meal still lingered about his beaked mouth, the juices long having dried out, with only a slightly salty sensation lingering within.  A catch like that could probably last him two days, depending on activity.

He surveyed the surroundings upon which he called home.  How long had it been now -- weeks?  Months?  He sat upright, carefully balancing himself on the fork of two branches, as he began combing his beak through the soft, warm feathers about his sides, ensuring that the long pinions decorating his shoulders were still straight and clean, splaying out in their fan-like arrangement of spikes as such things should be.  He then checked over his tail, curling the short stub around him while the long forks of tail pinions swept around to match.  He sighed at their differing lengths; it would be several more weeks, possibly an entire season, before the feathers on that side grew back to match their counterparts on the other.  But, a few lost feathers was a price was long since paid:  One cannot afford to have their tail snagged during battles of life and death.

Skiro's pointed ears twitched as they picked up a slight rustling sound below him.  Food?  No, it was too heavy for that -- it had to be a creature almost his equal in size.  A pointed black noze on a white triangular muzzle led the way as a white-headed kitse, with reddish ears and body from the shoulders down tracked into view, sniffing the ground diligently.  When the trail of scent stopped abruptly at the tree, the kitse immediately turned his head upwards and identified Skiro above.  He sat down and swirled his three red tails about his haunches in a single gesture, and smiled.

"Ah, Elder Kitan," Skiro addressed.

"There you are," Kitan nodded with a glance to the side.  He never liked being addressed as an Elder, even though he was second in age only to Rava.  But with everyone calling him that day in and day out for months on end, he finally started to at least tolerate, if not accept, the label.

"Do you never sleep on the ground?"

Skiro shook his head.  "No, I don't like the ground ... but then, I suppose there's no fooling your nose, is there?"  After all, Kitan was their best tracker, able to scent individuals for miles even in heavy rain; like the other two elders he commanded respect with every step on the ground, silence with every word he chose to speak.  But he was not as quiet as Rava, nor as large and strong as Velaar; yet he was certainly swift, and it was by the virtue of those very four fast feet that he was even still alive these days at all.

Kitan took a moment to comb his tongue through one of his tails.  "Anyway, Rava sent me to fetch you.  I think he has a request for you today...."

"Alright," Skiro nodded.  "Where is elder Rava?"

"The usual spot."

"I see."  Skiro hunched over the side of the limb and then carefully sprang down, a good distance of ten feet as it was but he touched down lightly, using his four legs to soften and absorb the impact like a cat.  He nodded to Kitan, his head currently at about the same height as the elder sitting upright.  "As for you?  ...If I may...."

"I have to arrange another patrol after this. One of the children is missing today.  We don't think they're very far, but with so many we'll need a good nose."

Skiro took a few steps past Kitan.  "Elder ...."

Kitan rolled his eyes as he stood up and swept his trifurcated tails behind himself.  "You aren't going to start that again?  I do not have three tails!"

Skiro shook his head with a smile, then began to trot off.

It wasn't a long distance to the avians' communal dens, just a short trip through well-trodden paths between the shrubs, a dash out in the open, followed by a quick climb up a nearby tree that was faster than the roundabout path, and even more so than scaling the rocks directly.  Besides, Skiro had the agility to spare, and he reached the top of this tall mossy outcrop rather easily.  Like the avians themselves, Skiro much enjoyed this rock shelf above ground level for its ability to see the surrounding lands for miles, which made them the first watch for any sign of approaching danger.

Skiro walked carefully along the paths among the aerie, avoiding the pits and crags the avians preferred to employ as areas for refuse, walking around several stick-and-branch nests which seated singles, and sometimes pairs, of their flying members.  A single tree stood near the center of this large room, with less of a nest than a shrubby top upon which a large black raptor, shorter in height than Skiro but with a wingspan of nearly equal length as Skiro's body from head to tail, calmly reclined upon, his jet-black feathers accented with tufts and tips of silver and slate.  Through one open eye he watched Skiro's approach, then raised his head from his deeply plumed body and gave something resembling a smile from his gray beak as he nodded in greeting.

"Elder Rava," Skiro greeted.  "You sent for me?"

"Yes, thank you," Rava nodded again.  "I hope Kitan did not wake you?"

"No, the morning light did," Skiro answered.  "So what is it?"

"If it is not a bother, I would like you to find Hiran.  He did not check in with any of our patrols last night.  That is highly unusual for him..."

"Yes," Skiro nodded.  Hiran was large and powerful enough to easily fend for himself (even though the title of strongest clan warrior belonged instead to a female called Surai), and surprisingly subtle and stealthy relative to his size, and jaws lethal enough to reduce living bone to powder.  But above all else, Hiran was nothing if not punctual.  "You don't suppose he found trouble?"

"I will not speculate," Rava ceded.  "It is possible he was injured, but more likely he found something worth detouring from his normal path.  I want you to follow his route today and look for anything unusual.  Anything that might take him off of the usual trails...."

Skiro shrugged.  "But we both know I am only an average tracker at best.  Someone like Kitan, maybe even Naram would be more qualified for this...."

"I know," Rava added.  "But Hiran is ...."

"...He is a Natiif, right," Skiro cringed, embarrassed to have missed so obvious an implication.  "Takes one Natiif to track another.  That's why you asked for me...."

Rava nodded.  Natiif -- the 'sacred ones', as they called them.  A highly coveted, but rarely achieved, status which renders the individual indiscernable to normal scenting and tracking methods, unidentifiable and anonymous compared to other beasts of their kind.  Skiro had heard the term as a child, from Rava himself no less, although in those days it was merely a word from spoken legends, something often told and repeated but never personally experienced.

"And if Hiran was unlikely enough to encounter some trouble, I would rather not have our scouts leaving clear trails they can follow back to us with."

"Am I the only Natiif we have available to send?"  Skiro sat down.

Rava nodded once more.  "That is correct.  But you will not be travelling alone."  Rava looked around the den and called out with a wave of one wing.  "Astri?"

The avians' den was not large enough to produce an echo, but the sound of the Elder's voice calling aloud the attention of many eye pairs nonetheless.  Finally, one responded as a red-eyed raptor of slate color and brown stripes stood up from its nest and then flapped over.  "You call, elder?"

"Thank you.  I want you to tail Skiro from the air today."

"I see.  I hope it is not the canyon he is searching?"

"No, Hiran's route runs near the river to the west."

Rava cast a glance to Skiro, implying that he should be listening to this -- and he was.

The raptor sighed in relief.  "Good; there is too little defense to be had in open space."

Strange words coming from a diurnal avian, perhaps, but the glance he gave back to Skiro indicated that such a phobia was not without strong reason.

"We can set out immediately, then?"

"Almost,"  Astri replied.  He leapt down to the ground next to Skiro, then took a moment to excuse himself as something not unusual splat on the ground behind his feet.

There was no need for anyone to mention the subject.

"Okay, now I can fly."  He spread his wings wide and high, then vaulted himself up onto Skiro's back.  "You lead the way...."

And with that the two of them took off.

Astri rode on Skiro's back a short distance, but only until they reached the official edge of their territory; a spot marked by a poignant, commingled scent near the trail which their scouts upkept through repeated marking.  Skiro took the western trail, keeping his beak close to the ground as he inhaled deep breaths from ground level, taking care to exhale them back out through his nostrils -- his nose wasn't particularly keen at detecting scents, but there was at least one scent he knew well, and he could at least identify that one, a smell from Hiran's spotted fur, among the mixture.  It was a relatively fresh scent, couldn't be even a few days old, although a more skilled tracker would be able to more precisely date it.

"I've got it," Skiro nodded, and Astri took flight off his back as Skiro began pacing ahead along the trail, stopping about every fifty paces to double-check his trail while the raptor soared overhead, adeptly veering between limb and trunk of nearby trees, and taking a moment to land on one every now and then when Skiro took his mark.  This was the fastest tracking method Skiro had at his disposal, given the occluded brush and scrub through which their path carved and his relatively limited sense of smell.

The trail continued for some distance in the morning rays, the sun slowly creeping higher and brighter into the sky as they travelled.  They had no need of keeping time as Skiro continued to follow this trail with Astri keeping watch above him.  After some more tracking they reached the banks of a river, where nearby a brush Skiro happened upon the smell of blood from some small animal, no doubt caught and eaten warm as a meal.  This was further reinforced by a small brown pile of a putrid but vaguely familiar odor hidden nearby a bush.  However unpleasant such an insect-attracting sight was, it at least continued to verify which direction they should look.

"Hiran veered off here," Skiro addressed Astri, motioning to the small pile of refuse he had found.  Nearby this embankment stood a large array of rocks and stones which widened, but shallowed and slowed the river to the point where it was quite easy to cross.  Skiro spotted a few other areas on the riverbank, but with the scent running dry (the river's own fresh smell surely not contributing here), he deduced that Hiran had either turned back or crossed the river, one of which was easier to verify than the other.  Astri flapped and flew ahead of him as he waded across the rocks, splashing through elbow-deep current, his feathery pelt doing its best to repel the water around him and avoid soaking through.

With a quick shake of his body on the other side of the water's edge he checked again, and within a radius of ten paces found a tree which Hiran had no doubt deliberately marked, judging by the familiarly ammoniatic scent it bore.  Scouts were always careful when choosing a location to relieve themselves; in this case, the discovery of some soiled sand was not merely because nature had called -- it was a specific code, with its number one interpretation being "turn and head south along the river".

That they did.  After fifty paces Skiro took another mark, then another after the same distance again, with beak close to the ground as he slowly inhaled for scents each time.  The third time failed him, however, and he began walking around in widening circles as he combed the bank.  If he had lost Hiran's scent, he would have to retrace his steps -- one of the risks he had accepted with this particular choice of tracking method.

"He must have veered off again," Astri observed from above as Skiro began walking north, this time taking marks every ten paces to re-establish the trail.

"Here we are," Skiro nodded as he found a second mark left by Hiran, code to venture away from the bank and through a roughly-carved path between patches of dead brambles.  There was no need to take any marks here; the broken stems and leaves were obvious enough a trail to follow as is.  Astri carefully wove above him as he forged ahead.

"We have movement!"  Astri called out as the brambles slowly gave way to a small clearing long torn out of the forest's canopy by a dead old snag.  Skiro could sense a strange odor in the air, knowing well that it was only faint to his own weak nose, and had to be several times stronger in reality.  Astri landed on a nearby branch and affixed his gaze near the partially-uprooted stump of the old tree.  "There!"

Skiro began walking over, the loose moss and ferns softening the steps of his talons on ground, listening for sounds as he approached the base of the tree.  It was entirely possible something was expecting him....

A loud hiss assaulted his ears as Skiro leapt a step back and confronted the source:  Right around the corner stood a peculiar individual, a creature of about Kitan's medium size, bearing black fur tufted in white markings, with a black stripe down its otherwise white spine, and a long tail held defiantly high behind itself.

Was this a friend or foe?  They stood facing each other at a distance of about six paces, watching each other silently.  Skiro could sense a familiar element in the small beast's scent; it was no ordinary creature, but one of their kind.  But with a snarling reaction like that, it obviously did not know the same about Skiro's own unfamiliar scent.

Skiro relaxed his posture, standing upright, but the other animal continued to snarl and hiss, making no movements fore or away from him.  Skiro was about to issue a greeting when another, and quite familiar, voice interrupted him:

"Sakan!  Stand down; this is a friend."

"Hiran?"

The small creature clenched his mouth shut as Hiran's larger, grey-spotted body appeared behind him.  Hiran sat down on his haunches aside this black creature, who finally relaxed and crouched down as well.  "...He is like you?"

"Yes, this is Skiro," Hiran nodded.  "He is one of our family's hunters."

"Elder Rava sent me," Skiro answered.  "Who is this?"

"I am Sakan," the black creature nodded in response.  "Forgive me if I threatened you, you have no scent I could identify."

"He knows," Hiran nodded to Sakan.  "That is the price of being a Natiif...."

"Shall I return home and inform the elder, then?"  Astri asked from his perch above.

"Yes, do that please," Skiro answered, and with a nod Astri flapped and flew off.

"I am sorry if I worried our elders," Hiran bowed his head.  "I could have returned by this morning, but we had a bit of an incident last night...."

"What kind?"  Skiro asked.

Sakan shook his head, and Skiro noticed the peculiar odor wafting from upwind; specifically, from Hiran.  It was not Hiran's usual smell -- far from it, and even with Skiro's dulled nose it was a foul, malodorous vapor.  Hiran seemed embarrassed about the smell, himself.

"Can I help it I thought he was hunting me?"  Sakan asked rhetorically?  "If I knew he was harmless, I wouldn't have sprayed him."

"You're lucky to have such a weak nose," Hiran chuckled before coughing.  "This stench is ... overpowering.  I can't smell anything at all today...."

"Is that what that is?"  Skiro asked.

"I really am sorry for that," Sakan answered, looking to Hiran for a moment before turning back to face Skiro.  "My smell never washes out of anything.  It keeps me safe from harm.  I nailed a Depraved with it just last week.  Square in the eyes, even."

"You might've even killed it...," Hiran joked.

"Not really," Sakan shook his black head.  "My smell is not that powerful...."

"But it's strong enough," Hiran coughed again, trying not to gag on the odor as he rubbed his muzzle against the ground again as if to get the foul odor off of him by any means possible.

"Anyway, should we head back?"  Skiro asked.

"By all means," Hiran replied.  "Sakan here is far out of his territory.  We should bring him to the elders."

"Elders?"  Sakan inquired, with specific emphasis on the plurality.  "You have more than one?"

"Three, actually," Hiran nodded.

"Really more like two and a half," Skiro chuckled.  "Shall I lead the way back, then?"

"Just don't leave me behind," Sakan requested.  "I spent the last of my smell on Hiran here -- sorry about that -- so I don't have much left to defend myself at the moment."