Murkie’s gaze langered down at the blotched and mottled fur of the kit afore him. They twitched at each of the runt’s movements. Each step a mistake, each an instant for jaws to snatch it up. None of them should listen to what this whelp says. Nothing, it doesn't matter who told him what. What use is poison. Murkie knew that there were thousands of the dauver. He had blessed so many hives with poison and still, more. Just an excuse to cull them.  That vile Shaman Valcha must have whispered their weakness to the Dreamer. It was another test, another 

His leg burned. It was pain, but pain excited, it enraged, it burned. The agony brewed from his knee, and the sensation ran from leg to his chest to eyes.  Yes, his eyes saw truth with Enkyall’s venting.

 Murkie walked and he burned in his pain. They all followed Sanshall. There was no doubt in their direction. It seemed as though the colder it got the closer they were. They'd all die up here just like they were meant to. First it would be this weak runt though.

"Yes himm." He slurred

Yagbur turned around. "Are you doing alright there?"

Murkie glared with his fever addled eyes. The runt turned in fear. Won't even lock eyes. He'd die. Wait for the eyes to leave him. They warned him once. He'd listen this time.

Yagbur turned forward again. He began his role. Yes it was the only thing he was good for. A soft voice and a good song.

* * *

The food makes its calls. Hunger makes its demands. Each flap of it's wing is a draw on its reserves. It must eat. The food can sting. But it is not enough to deter it. Feathers were preened and slick with oils to keep this one silent. They would not hear it. There was a weak one. It smelled of sickness and fear. It saw itself lifting and dropping the weak one. It saw itself gorging on its festering meat for days.

Elevate, rise, lift on the thermals. Go high and do not be seen. High above them at the darkest hour. Higher still till the air is thin. But watch. Watch the food. Wings draw close. Fast and pierce the body. Fast and rend with claws. Drop without a sound.

* * *

Yagbur sang the wordless chant of the calm. It was his favorite. In each sylable he felt closer to the world. It became him and him it. He had to let go of his fears and memories of recent events. He was here, he knew he would do what was set for him to do. He did the will of The Dreamer. He knew The First Dreamer's word went out through him and would not return undone. This Yagbur told himself was what must be.

Although the deformed singer repeated this to himself without words. He did not remain calm. His memory still stirred, and Yagbur remained afraid. Perhaps he was weak of mind afterall. Despite his perfect chanting calm did not pass on him. Memories still stirred and he saw in each step and shift in the dark his fears.

"Memories twist with the heart. They are weak and fallible." The old man said eyes wild with the oil induced haze. "I will fix this for you so you do not forget my words." Yagbur heard the last words echo and smoke bellow.

"Forget my words so that you know them and remember everything. You'll all die. All of you. Most likely it will be horrible."

A whistle from the wind lifted the smell of dry leaves from the earth. Cold and dry. Yagbur chanted still. He would not think. He would be calm and become everything around him. His body would know his purpose. Still memories stirred.

"I've seen this, but I know that the world speaks truths and lies." The old man breathed out rings of vapor into Yagbur's face.

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"So we'll be fine? Us dying is a lie?" Yagbur asked in ignorance.

"No runt. You'll definitely die. It will be horrible and gruesome. There is no doubt in my mind."

Yagbur felt the fear. It trembled from his voice. The chanting rose and the wind howled louder in response. He did not notice his party grow unsteady at the eirie sound. He did not notice them growing on edge instead of calm. He did not notice them speaking as if this twisted runt were calling down a curse on them all.

Smoke continued to waft around him. Through him. It was him. The old man's voice continued.

"You'll want to die so badly that you would rather slit your stomach and eat your own entrails to make it happen all the sooner. In your death, we will be made strong.  You will be as a song to us."

The smoke was the fear in him.

His song was him. His song was wind. His song was him and the wind hungered and growled. His song growled and screeched.

"You'll go up to the north. I've given those you'll travel with the path. You'll be useful. Then you'll die a horrible death.  In your death you will be made whole."

* * *

The screeching from Yagbur was beautiful and terrible. He saw from the firmament above his party and their track grow in his vision.

"But don't forget. You're not weak. You're lucky. I should have smothered you, but I didn't."

Yagbur turned around. He knew that something was approaching. There it was, moving fast. He dove to the ground and the Murkie in his fever hazed confusion turned to look at where the runt was looking.

The runts frantic behavior saved Murkie from most of the impact and at the very least the sharp beak. A black shadow crashed into the weakened man. Still somehow, the hunter grabbed the black form; they flew forward, tumbling past the singer.

* * *

Murkie watched as the chanting soothed him. Yagbur was deformed and sang beautifully. It is the only reason why The Dreamer let him live, he was certain.

Wind blew and rang. It was feral and the twisted runt in front of him became feral with it.

The runt turned. Murkie saw the wild eyes. They were wrong and so full of hunger and need. He blinked. The wind screached again and Yagbur's eyes looked not normal, but panicked.

Murkie turned and saw the same panicked fear in the black. It was the useless twisted fool. Yagbur would die for coming at him like that. Murkie twisted. He grabbed even as he was flung back past the twisted runt.

Yagbur was still on him. Talons grazed him, beak bit at him. The runt would die. Ribs broke, his leg burned and wounds opened. It was Murkie's rage. Fast snapping beak came to rip at him, but Murkie would eat this whelp. He bit into the neck. Bitter oil and feathers filled his mouth. He ripped.

BITE!!!

BITE!!!

BITE!!!

Murkie's mouth was full of feathers and blood. It was his own. It was Yagbur's. The runt would die. Murkie drew his fang and cut.

"I killed him!!!" He shouted in exaltation.

"I killed him!!!" Feathers and blood spraying from his mouth in equal generousity.

"I killed Yagbur!!!" He shouted to the confused and terrified faces of the ones in front of him.