Tin’lo and Tu’lar finished loading up meat and supplies into packs, having spent the night smoking and preparing the meat for the journey home. Tin’lo glanced to the tree that had held the hanging centaur and then to the ground where he could clearly make out hoof prints.

“You think he got back to his clan yet?” Tin’lo stretched, taking some time to enjoy the morning air.

“That or he got lost in the forest.” Tu’lar smiled and heaved several bags over his shoulders. They brought everything over to the camp, leaving anything they couldn’t bring with them in the trees.

“There, we split up the meat evenly, or as evenly as we could.” Tin’lo and Tu’lar set the bags down near the remnants of the fire and took a look around to assess what their travel conditions would be: though it was early morning, the light remained weak because the sun hadn’t yet risen. Instead, there were three moons in its place casting a dim grey light upon the world. Tin’lo searched the sky and horizon for any hint of the red sun Hargrithe, but failed to find anything.

Looks like Hargrithe is taking a day off. Spirits, what a dreadful color.

“Seems we travel by Niedhawk!” Tu’lar, ever pleasant, patted Tin’lo on the shoulder and gestured around them at the greyness that bathed the area. Tin’lo rolled his eyes before stepping forwards towards the red smoldering remains of the fire, the only thing that bore any color. The Niedhawk was always dull and dreary, or even dangerous with some phenomena, but he knew that Tu’lar wanted him to try and be more positive. He considered what could be even considered positive about the situation until he settled on something.

“...It might be easier to hide.” Even as the words left his lips he could point out:

Many predators will detect our motion; color is only one part of a hunter’s skillset; we’ll have a harder time tracking our environment; we aren’t even sure if apex use color in their vision; we’re going to have to deal with the arghuls if we aren’t careful; and, of course, everything is uglier without color. Everything.

I can't even …

He took a deep breath. He could feel Tu’lar smiling and looking at him and was certain that he knew what he was thinking somehow. Instead of saying anything, though, Tu’lar only gave him a thumbs up. Tin’lo couldn’t help but smile a little bit and could practically hear Tu’lar reminding him, “little steps.”

Tu’lar followed Tin’lo back to the camp, where they received thanks for preparing food for the journey. As they took another glance around to ensure they’d erased all signs of their presence as much as possible, Tu’lar’s gaze caught on Trat’catha; even wearing patchwork animal leather, he still carried himself like a noble of the courts from back in the old days.

He’s still a noble at heart. He always was confident, it’s good to see he hasn’t crumbled without the court to support him.

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

“Let’s get moving. Once we are clear of the centaur’s territory and into the thicker forests we’ll have less to worry about from their hunting parties.” Trat’catha climbed into the canopy above, with Thu’lain already making his way higher. The others followed suit and, within a minute, they were darting through the grey limbs of the trees. Thu’lain took the first scouting shift. Tin’lo took up the rear behind Tu’lar and Anar’dea, leaping smoothly from branch to branch. They traveled this way for several hours while keeping alert, though Tin’lo was beyond bored.

He swapped to the scouting position ahead of the others and eagerly sought out any interesting sights to keep him occupied for at least a moment.

Something moved ahead of them and off to the side; it was on ground level, but Tin’lo stopped moving to be able to get a better idea of what it was. He narrowed his gaze between two trees to make sense of what he was seeing. There was something that appeared to be bobbing up and down, though it was very difficult to make out any details. Tin’lo held a hand up and gestured to the others to stay put before jumping over to a better vantage point and pressing up against a tree to reduce his silhouette, just in case.

He saw a corpse on the ground that belonged to a horned and hoofed beast with a great mane: a gentle herbivore. Jaws stretched and tore the flesh from the corpse, the popping and tearing sound reached Tin’lo easily. The creature tossed its head back and let the bloody mess slide down its gullet. It stood at nearly twelve feet high and didn’t look like any predator he’d ever heard of, which made it one of the apex. He studied the creature’s features as it ate: its head was symmetrical top and bottom with two pairs of glowing amber eyes; its two arms ended in massive shear-like claws that could mince flesh easily; backward-kneed legs were packed with muscle and had shovel-like claws that would give it tremendous traction; the apex was easily twenty-five feet long, but likely longer. Tin’lo slunk back behind the tree and snuck back to the others, who now gathered on closer branches. Tin’lo glanced back to make sure the apex was still occupied before reporting what he’d seen.

“It’s an apex, and it’s a pretty big one. Some kind of reptile, four eyes, biped. It’s not too armored, but it’ll probably be fast.” Tin’lo kept his voice very low and checked to make sure the thing was still where he left it every now and again.

“Which way should we go around it?” Tin’lo was already looking for the best way to go while trying to keep downwind.

“Through it. Not around.” Thu’lain smiled. Tin’lo stared at Thu’lain for a moment, trying to process what he’d just said.

“What’s the plan?” Anar’dea focused on Thu’lain, seeming equal parts excited and amused.

“I’ll hear you out, but if I don’t like it I’m out.” Raj’ken looked between Tu’lar and Tin’lo, noting that they seemed to agree with her, while Anar’dea and Trat’catha didn’t seem concerned and, in fact, Trat’catha looked at Thu’lain expectantly and without reservation. Tin’lo couldn’t help but wonder.

Does he know Thu’lain?

Tin’lo had only heard of Thu’lain once or twice in quick reference to an event or some group, but he couldn’t remember any details. He looked to Tu’lar and could see that he was equally confused.

“I’ll circle around the back, you each will be in the canopy, Anar’dea will be lower in the branches, but within reach of the apex to lure it close…” Thu’lain began detailing his plan. He spoke to them and sounded certain of his tactics, of his plan. Tin’lo stopped hearing the loner who used as few words as possible, and started to hear a honed hunter. The longer Thu’lain spoke, the more apparent it was that the Thu’lain he had spent the day with, and ate with was no more than a mask: the true Thu’lain lived for the hunt.

“...When I take its legs out from under it, hail arrows from above. Don’t worry about hitting me…” Thu’lain’s plans kept going forward, and Tin’lo found himself drawn into them, listening closely for what his role would be. He could tell that the plan was all about close margins-for Thu’lain and Anar’dea at least. That made him either incredibly skilled, or incredibly mad. Which one it was, Tin’lo couldn’t even tell.

This could go wrong in so many ways: Thu’lain could miss his strike, not cut as deep as he needs to; Anar’dea could flinch and give it away; the apex could even get lucky and sniff us all out if the wind blows the wrong way; that’s before we get into firing at the beast while Thu’lain is underfoot. Has he considered any of this?

“You know if we miss, even a little bit, you could be skewered, right?” Tin’lo had to point out the obvious, since everyone else seemed to be content with silence. Thu’lain looked at Tin’lo, still smiling.

He shrugged and continued explaining his plan.

What was that supposed to mean?