Tooth and Talon (Khida)

[Colt]

59th of Summer It was one of the rarest of summer mornings. It had rained the night before, and the land was shrouded in the chill of dew. All was still, none of the animals that lived on the Sea of Grass quite ready to break the serene silence that was so rare now that summer had reached its peak. If the watery clouds above lasted, the day would bring much-needed shade and relief to the parched earth, and the day promised to be a relaxing one. One animal, however, spurned the calm. Hunger gnawed at his stomach, pulling him from his nest of cloth and into the open air. The walls of the crater trapped the water in the air, and a thin mist cloaked its heart. It was not thick enough to truly obscure sight, but everything was gray and wavering, as if seen through the haze of a dream not quite remembered. The man shook himself once, the last remains of slumber falling from his shoulders as the uncharacteristically cold air washed over his face. He slid into a predatory lope, body lithe and confident, and wove his way to the top of a small hill near the mouth of the cave. He straightened to his full height, something that he did not often due save for this moment, here on the hill, and called the beginning of the day through his home. He did not whistle; he had long ago found that annoying to both himself and whatever else happened to be in listening distance. Instead he uttered a low, harsh chirping, hard enough to be raptor-like but not hard enough to be an alarm call. Ka-ka-ka-ka-ka-ka-ka He waited for five seconds, then did it again. It was not perfect by any means, and though he was attempting to imitate the sound of a peregrine falcon he still had much to learn. It would take a long time yet to polish it, as human voices were not made for bird-speak. Still it was better than whistling, and the unique undertone that would never disappear no matter how hard he tried marked him as a person. No raptor would ever mistake him for one of their own. Still, she would hear it, and she would know it was him. She would come.

[Khida]

The damp, cool morning reminded Khida of her childhood home -- in its winter plumage, months long since past. Even the mist which veiled the crater roused recollections of marine fog, though this provided a thinner cloak by far. While most of the crater's denizens had yet to bestir themselves, the falcon had chosen to take to the air upon awakening, immersing herself in the unseasonably brisk atmosphere. She turned a lazy circle high overhead, a vaguely bird-shaped splotch of shadow against the shapeless gray of cloud cover, watching leaves and grasses flutter below in the morning breeze. Motion against motion -- progress deliberate and rapid, cutting across the patterns of wind-blown foliage; it distracted her from contemplation of the morning air. The falcon turned to keep the man in focus, watching him wind his way through to the rise she thought of as his. She anticipated his purpose, yet continued to hang in the high air, stretching out the lazy dawn by a few more heartbeats. His summons drifted up from below, attenuated by distance, but recognizable to her ears nonetheless. With hunger also a present companion of the falcon, the summons was both expected and welcome -- despite it interrupting her pleasure in this brief break from summer heat. Khida spilled air from beneath her wings, drawing a spiral downwards towards the earth even as the man's second call rose up to meet her. Her flight leveled out just above the crater's walls, the bird turning an unhurried circle with the rise and the man upon it roughly at its center. Kee-kee-kee The falcon greeted him with a brief, rapid sequence of sharp calls, but remained at altitude, waiting for her earthbound partner to begin picking his way through the cleft. With as much faster as her traversal of the same distance would be, she felt no impetus to lead the way -- but neither did Khida feel a need to chivvy him along. They both knew what they were here for.

[Colt]

She descended from the clouds, nothing but her movement separating her blue and white-gray form from the sky. He felt a small twinge of guilt for cutting her early morning flight short, as a morning like this was not bound to come again any time soon, but there was a hunt waiting. It wasn’t even work anymore. Yes, hunting was necessary for the both of them, but nowadays it seemed that they hunted more out of habit and enjoyment than need. Every morning they stalked the plains, and his tracking skills combined with her aerial prowess guaranteed that every morning they would bring home spoils. Oh, they could each manage fine on their own but they complimented each other; he knew how to find prey and she knew how to kill it. Yes, there were hiccups here and there; a false trail, a missed bird, but they were bound to get something the next time they tried. They both ate well every day; he would flush, she would kill, he would wait, she would gorge, he would take the rest back to the crater and eat it throughout the day. If she pestered him, he would feed her. If the day stayed cool then they might even hunt twice; it had moved beyond a chore. They were both natural-born hunters, and no matter how well fed a hunter may be the urge to stalk and kill was always present. They hunted because they wanted to, not because they needed to, not anymore. He saw her bank, loosely hugging the belly of the crater wall in the direction of the crack to the outside world and spurred into a sprint. She was waiting for him in a fashion, coasting just in sight with unhurried confidence as he slipped through the split in the rock. They had developed a feel for each other over… however long they had been hunting together. Sunrises rolled along, one after the other in an endless road, and nowadays he had difficulty remembering any part of the past when she hadn’t been present. They knew each other, and what they didn’t know they were willing to learn. At the beginning they had been clumsy, but now they possessed the most important factor: they wanted to work together. He emerged onto the plains, sure that she saw him and his sprint evened out into a slow run, the kind that could be kept up for a long time. They had hunted this area yesterday, and the grounds for today were a bit farther. He was sure that they had done the area he was planning before, at least once if he remembered correctly, but enough time had passed that it would be fresh.

[Khida]

She watched him run for the passage, watched him slip into the gap between its walls; though her line of sight didn't extend to the crack's interior, Khida had a fair idea of how long it would take him to cross. In the meantime, she loft up over the crater wall, the grasslands stretching out in their vast expanse below. The falcon didn't linger near the crevice, didn't wait on the man's emergence; rather, she let her wings carry her on a long sweep away from the crater, gradually climbing higher with even wingbeats. As she passed over the plains, she ducked her head down and glanced back, checking the man's progress through the grasses; his pace suggested that he intended to go out a ways. That seemed fair to the falcon: it didn't do to hunt the same places too often. She shifted her search pattern to complement his course, shedding some of the altitude she had only just acquired for the speed to strike out ahead and scout for prey. She kept tabs on his motion, prepared to circle back around if he stopped and signaled for attention -- just as he would watch, she knew, for her to signal a target if she found one first. More sensed than seen were the creatures immediately beneath her path -- the ones which glimpsed a dark, sleek shape soaring overhead and made themselves small and quiet, hoping to escape notice. The falcon cast her gaze farther afield, looking for quarry less likely to be inspired to caution. Something at the edge of her vision caught Khida's attention, though she couldn't put words to what if she'd tried -- a flicker of motion, a shape too three-dimensional to be mere foliage. She banked left, a circle slowly spiraling inward as the falcon defined her area of interest. Focused now on this area instead of all she could survey, Khida picked out more details, details which resolved into a covey of pheasants about their own foraging in the brisk morning. A pheasant would be a good kill, just one enough for them to share. The peregrine left off circling and turned towards her partner. She dropped down to cut across his path, just above the level of seed-laden grass stalks, then climbed back upwards into the sky, leading the way towards the covey's position on the ground.

[Colt]

Grass and that which dwelled within it stretched to eternity, touching the horizon to blend with the gray sky that was beginning to grow the faintest hint of purple. The hunter occasionally flick his eyes heavenward to check on the falconess, but for the most part kept his gaze to where he was going. He knew the area around the crater well now, knew the habits of those that lived within and where to go, what to do. Hunting, no, living here was becoming second nature to him, almost like an art. His horse, his home and his partner; he needed nothing more to be happy. A gray streak fell from the sky and cut low above the whispering grass, and the hunter’s gaze glued to the raptor. She ascended into the sky once more and banked away, and he changed course immediately in response. He took note of every adjustment in her flight, so that when he slowed into a silent stalk he knew exactly where to go. Staying under the confines of the foliage he crept forward, scanning the ground efficiently until he caught sight of the imprints in the dirt of multiple sets of feet, small but heavy with plumpness. Pheasants, many of them. He could hear a few stray coos, and slowed even more until he had the covey in his sight as they fluffed their feathers, still groggy from the night. They would be slow. If he was fast, he might be able to catch one with his hands as he sent the rest into the sky. He crouched. He tensed. And he attacked. When he first sprang from the grass the pheasants regarded him with complete shock, as if they couldn’t quite believe that he existed. But when he scooped a hen into his arms they quickly returned to their senses, letting out a great racket as they jumped into the air.

[Khida]

In returning, guiding, Khida was careful not to directly overfly her targets -- even though her earthbound partner was, of necessity, rather slower to cross the distance than the falcon. From an oblique angle, one of the covey might still spot her silhouette, but it was less likely. Even if they did, it wouldn't necessarily alert the pheasants to the land predator who stalked them -- such was the great advantage of her partnership with the man, the dual threat they presented together. But such was the cool, damp morning that even as she circled the covey, their senses and wits remained dulled from recent sleep. As she regained altitude, resumed circling around the pheasants, they noticed neither her profile above nor the human stalking through the grass. Easy prey: her favorite kind of all. Yet it didn't do to be hasty; impatience soured more hunts than bad luck ever did. So she continued to circle, as the man eased himself into position. Continued to circle, as his demeanor indicated he caught sight of the birds themselves. Continued to circle, as he crouched and prepared to charge forward. Continued to circle, frustrated, as the pheasants froze in the face of his rush. The falcon stared intently downwards in that moment, as if to will the fowl into flight... though now as ever, her mental urgings had exactly zero effect upon her prey. Why didn't they flush? Did they all want to die? But at last, however belatedly, the pheasants burst noisily up from the grasses, scattering outwards in the hopes that any other of the covey's number might be taken. Now, now Khida could sight on one, a gray streak plummeting down to meet her ascending quarry, striking it out of the sky. She braked and doubled back as it fell limply towards the earth, coming down after it -- but more slowly. Indeed, as she approached the gently-swaying grass stalks, the falcon abandoned her descent altogether and beat her way back upwards. Something struck her as wrong, but so intent had she been on their prey, Khida's mind didn't quite know what her eyes had glimpsed. Just that she didn't feel right going into the grasses; the idea of so truncating her field of view made her skin shiver. She gained altitude instead, putting a buffer of distance between herself and the shrouding stalks, and surveyed their depths for validation of her apprehension...

[Colt]

The hen squawked and flapped in his face violently, causing the hunter to begin a small wrestle for control. He doubled over and trapped the fowl beneath him, then sank to the ground and pinned it there. With the creature effectively immobilized he was able to adjust his limbs and wrap a grip around her neck, and with a quick snap she was silenced. He stood smoothly, proudly holding his kill in his arms and searched for the corpse he knew would be falling through the air. She too had made a kill, but her pursuit of its descent was hesitant. He tilted his head, and his eyes widened in surprise when she abandoned it completely. Something was off, and he tensed as she returned to the sky, hovering and scanning the plains. Something was very off. He made his way towards her kill to defend it from any scavengers that might decide to show their faces, and a prickle ran down his back as he neared. He looked from side to side, but the grassy curtain shrouded anything out of the ordinary. Nothing moved. Yes, a fleeing covey of pheasants would startle most things, but not even a mouse or insect scurried in the shadows. There was nothing but the wind whispering over the land. Every one of his senses were stretching themselves, trying to detect whatever was wrong, but the silence was too loud for him to receive any inkling of what was happening.

[Khida]

Beneath her searching flight, the grass stalks swayed in their incessant slow dance, thick bulk shielding the earth from view. She was certain there had been something out of place, something neither man nor pheasant, nor so beneath notice as small rodents or passerine birds. The falcon saw no other movement as she pivoted on a wingtip, circling back for another scan. Only her partner, taking up a position near her fallen quarry, standing guard while she was otherwise occupied. The stillness might be attributable to their own presences, to the earlier clamor of pheasants identifying predators for all the plains to know about -- but two hunters, each with a kill already to their name, posed little threat to any other. No, Khida thought this was altogether too still, too quiet, as if the grasslands itself held in an anxious breath. Nothing moved. Nothing called. Only the wind ruffled the grasses -- and as she turned again for another pass, the falcon caught sight of something glinting amidst the nodding brown stalks. Something not fur, nor feather, nor scale; something which, at the right angle, winked bright summer sunlight back towards the sky. Crying alarm to her partner, the falcon banked again, centering the arc of her flight around that glint -- around the predator it heralded. Its ambush spoiled, its presence revealed, the lurker in the grass launched itself forward with a frustrated shriek far louder than any the lesser bird might produce. The glassbeak which barreled down towards the human and the scent of fresh death which accompanied him was not a spectacular exemplar of its kind, though it had been more not so long ago. The straw-colored plumage of its crest was ragged, feathers torn out in great hunks; the half-healed remnants of vicious gashes raked through its scales. The left wing didn't quite fold properly, and a furrow gouged through its right eye rendered the flightless bird blind on one side. Yet these injuries did not by any measure render it harmless. What the beast did embody was sheer, stubborn tenacity. Though defeated, damaged, and abandoned to the mercies of the grasslands, it was not in the slightest prepared to admit surrender and yield unto death.

[Colt]

Sometimes, when the world spoke there was nothing to do but listen. Now the world held its breath, waiting for something. His ears were ringing in the stillness, the agony that dwells in the silence before a storm. He looked up; it seemed that his partner had sensed it as well. Suddenly, her warning pierced the air. She wheeled sharply, angling towards a dark patch in the grass. In an instant the hunter rolled to the balls of his feet and arced his back, guarding his chest, neck and stomach. Something in that dark patch was dangerous, something in it was wrong. Something in it… … no. It was the dark patch. And it was moving. A hulking figure rose from its crouch and let loose a screech that rent the air, angered at its foiled pursuit in the shadows. The glassbeak reared its mangled head, then fell into a thundering charge. A season ago, he would have seized up in terror. But the was little that could frighten someone who had already accepted death, and he swiftly assessed his hunter. He took in the large size, wounded wing and scarred skin, and especially the eye, clawed and swollen shut. The charge was slow, and he regarded the oncoming predator with emotionless calm. When it came near enough to leap for the kill, he dashed sideways. The earth shook as the beast landed. He kept to the rim of the clearing. He couldn’t feel any of his limbs, but they all seemed to work well enough, regardless. Paced the cusp of the grass, knowing that his survival hinged on remaining aware of the glassbeak. Running would invite death. The glassbeak rent the ground in frustration at the sudden disappearance of its quarry, but its wheeling gaze soon found the hunter once more. It bellowed and spun to barrel towards him once more.

[Khida]

The falcon watched as the glassbeak stormed through the grasses towards her partner; watched as he darted to the side, dodging its headlong rush. She felt relief pass through her as might the wind -- there and gone again, because she had no thought to spare for dwelling upon the momentary reprieve. Her pheasant lay abandoned in the grass beyond, while the hunter continued to clutch his close. She wondered briefly -- very briefly -- if he thought to save it, or try to distract the glassbeak with it, or indeed if he thought of it at all. The great predator tore at the earth as it spun about, sending clumps of dirt and grass flying about. Khida climbed higher and angled her flight over closer to the man, unsure whether the glassbeak would deduce his position from hers -- but she had seen the slash over its eye, and thought she could take advantage of that. The beast charged forward again, and the falcon dropped from the sky in silence, swooping down towards its blind side with talons extended. She judged the angle of her attack wrong; at the last, as she fine-tuned her trajectory to rake just so across its scalp, the glassbeak's good eye caught sight of her wingtips, a presence looming just beside its head. It flinched away out of instinctive reflex, and seemed to stumble a bit as it did so -- a suggestion that the obvious wing injury was not the only one to its body or limbs. Nonetheless, her talons didn't connect, and the peregrine hissed in frustration even as the larger bird roared outrage at her interference. Unaccustomed to being harassed by a lesser bird, it only belatedly snapped after her, but Khida hadn't slowed or even attempted to double back; she kept right on going in a straight line, climbing upwards while putting distance between herself and that beak. She would have to regain a good position before trying again.