Winter Season, 15th – 16th Day, 513 A.V.
The young Kelvic let out a quiet hiss, his naked body involuntarily tensing as it greeted the chilled wind of winter. Already, his pack was readied, the rough fabric rubbing against his skin abrasively from its position around his neck. The weight was uncomfortable in this form, but the man understood that the slight annoyance now would mean nothing later so he ignored it, shrugging off the raw feeling and stepping closer to the edge of his aerie. Mentally running through the items in his pack one last time, the man, now satisfied, stepped off the cliff face.
What an experience it was for that single moment that Wingard felt his heart leap into his throat in fear of dying. His limps, so fragile and uncoordinated in the air flailed uselessly as he fell, his body tensing automatically in hopes that the basic action would defend it from the impact below. Letting out an elated laugh that soon transformed into a shrill scream, the Kelvic shouted in delight as his no longer chilled body welcomed the catch of the wind. Expanding his wings in order to stop gravity, the air slipped through his feathers, creating the needed heavier pressure beneath his wings to provide his lift off. With another scream of delight, and a couple well executed, if not incredibly enthusiastic flaps, Wingard was airborne.
Catching a swift thermal, the eagle easily gained altitude, saying a brief goodbye to the land below. It was elating to be back in the air, feeling the crisp wind enter and escape his lungs in biting gasps that were just as welcomed as the frigid wind that threatened to frost on the tips of his wings. The last couple days had been torture for the young hunter, the storm that had covered his home too aggressive for daily flights. He had felt jumpy and agitated because of it; the sensation of being grounded never an appealing one to the Kelvic. All around him, he felt the uneasiness of not only his colony, but the Endals as well as they fretted over the lost hunting days. He understood their plight; Wind Reach’s seasonal food stocks were far from where they should have been at this time of year.
Where the people had gone wrong in stock-piling supplies, Wingard was not quite sure, but all he knew was that he was determined to not be hindered by a self-ingesting stomach if he did not have to be. Thus, he had taken to the air to perform his duty as a hunter and only hoped that today would bear fruit – or meat, preferably.
Soaring over open land, the young eagle stopped thinking troubling thoughts altogether and focused his intention solely on the hunt. In this form, as the sky was his highway, Wingard found forgetting his human stresses easy. Up here, all that mattered was the air he travelled and the potential food down below. It was easier and neater in this lifestyle, allowing the overbearing thinker a needed break from the constant skepticism he was diseased with. His instincts took over and suddenly everything he thought was important prior to meant nothing.
Descending slightly closer to the land, the rapture began the laborious aspect of a hunt: tracking. One of the few positive aspects of the winter season was the capability of sighting animal tracks in the fresh powder of winter. Oftentimes, those imprints were the first thing that caught the eagle’s attention enough to draw him closer for a more thorough investigation. Craning his head from side to side to scan the landscape below, endless amounts of expansive land and trees slipping past him as he continued flying, the young bird utilized his patience in order to stay focused. He knew that this journey would not be a quick or efficient one because of the storm, the snow and temperature enough to send many animals into hibernation. That sudden drop in food sources would always be an unwelcome hindrance but like Wingard’s need to fly after such long, grounded days, the eagle knew that many animals would be taking advantage of the temporary calm to regroup and escape their shelters. This evidence of recently disturbed grounds was what the Wind Eagle was hoping to spot.
Having set out as soon as he could, the hunter hoped that it would give him a needed advantage in catching his prey unaware. It also gave him a higher likelihood of running into prey as well as they would be leaving their hovels quickly in order to escape back into them just as fast. The more time he would have taken to leave, would have resulted in less opportunity to see a meal. So, continuing to soar low in order to save his endurance for the flight home, Wingard studied the unyielding snow and trees critically. Abruptly, he snapped his head to the right, quickly rising higher into the air in order to circle and reassess the scene that had caught his eye. Returning once again, the eagle inwardly rejoiced at his first sign of animal movement. A tall evergreen’s branches had recently been disturbed, the bare, spiny branches indicating the knocked off snow that had previously been coating them. Sure enough, shadowed below the pine-needled branches and lumpy snow lay a scattering of footfalls. Tiny feet, he noted to himself, continuing to circle, his keen vision allowing him to observe closely from the air. Slight indentations and claw position hinted at the possibility of a rodent animal, but the snow was too disturbed for any obvious identification.
Seeing slight disturbances further to the north, the eagle quickly exited from its tight turn, heading in that direction. As he moved, he noted slight indentations in the snow and foliage, using those disturbances as an indication for the prey’s location. Slowly though, he watched as another creature’s tracks came into view, their size much larger as they indented deeply into the snow. Annoyed, the animal balked as he already hypothesized what the conclusion would be up ahead. Like an out-of-world experience, the eagle studied each step and indication that told the story of his prey and the new predator. The animal must have been downwind at the time as it was obvious that the pret did not realize it was being stalked. It seemed to have stopped at areas beneath multiple trees to forage before moving on again until abruptly the snow scattered and specks of blood decorated the otherwise pristine setting.
Screeching in anger, the Wind Eagle once again took to the sky, turning his back on the red scene below, the drag marks of his wishful prey branded into his mind like a hot iron letter. It was only obvious to him that he had lost out on the hunt and having quickly scanned ahead, he knew that the predator was long gone into whatever godforsaken cave it had crawled out of first.
Wingard was not happy to have been beaten to the punch – losing was never a good feeling. However, his pride was unimportant to an empty stomach so with the beginnings of frustration brimming, the young eagle took to the skies once more. After all, arrogance does not fill empty bellies.
