Drav
The destroyed den was a declaration of war.
I stood in the wreckage of what we'd built, cataloging the damage with the kind of cold assessment that came from seasons of survival.
Every territorial marker I'd placed—destroyed.
Every fur Hallie had nested in—shredded deliberately.
The carefully prepared food stores—scattered, contaminated with sand and debris in ways that meant they couldn't be salvaged.
This wasn't random destruction. This was deliberate, calculated. Kethar wanted us to know: he could reach us anytime. Could destroy what we'd built. Could take what was mine.
Hallie stood at the cave entrance, staring at the message carved deep into the obsidian:
SHE'S WASTED ON YOU. SURRENDER HER.
"He did this while we were trapped," she said, voice tight with rage. "Waited until the storm grounded us. Coward."
"Tactically sound," I corrected, not defending him—just acknowledging reality. "He used the weather as cover. Minimized risk to himself. That's what makes him dangerous."
She turned to face me, hands clenched into fists. "So what do we do?"
I looked at the destroyed den. Then back at her. An idea forming.
"We use it."
"Use what?"
"This." I gestured at the wreckage. "Kethar thinks he's won. Thinks we're demoralized, vulnerable. He'll attack again soon—probably tonight or tomorrow night, expecting us to be here, unprepared."
Her eyes narrowed as understanding clicked into place. "But we won't be here."
"No. We'll be at The Warren. Safe. Defended." I relocated to the opening, studying the approach routes with fresh perspective. "But we'll make this look occupied. Make him think we're still using it. Let him commit to an attack on an empty den."
"And then?"
"Then we ambush him. He comes here expecting easy prey—" I smiled, showing teeth. "—instead he gets a trap."
We set up the deception.
Left enough supplies to suggest occupancy but nothing valuable. Arranged furs to look like someone sleeping in the dim light. Created the appearance of recent activity—disturbed ash from a fire, water in containers, food partially eaten and left as if we'd been interrupted.
Hallie worked with focused intensity. This was what she was good at—problem-solving, planning, creating solutions from limited resources.
"There." She pointed to an overhang above the cave entrance. "Unstable. I could rig a rockfall. Anyone coming through that entrance—"
"Would be trapped." I flew up to examine it more closely. She was right—the stone was fractured, held in place by friction and old settling. Wouldn't take much to bring it down.
"How do we trigger it?"
She was already climbing up, examining the structure with the kind of expert assessment that came from years of working with vertical spaces.
"Rope. Or—wait." She pulled a piece of vine from her pack.
"This. Stretch it across the entrance at ankle height.
When someone crosses it, pulls this support stone—" She indicated a key piece that was bearing most of the load. "—and the whole thing comes down."
Smart female.
We spent two hours rigging the trap, working together in ways that felt natural now. When we finished, the overhang looked stable to casual inspection. But a single misstep would bring tons of rock down on whoever entered the cave.
"What about the approach?" Hallie asked. "They'll come from the air. Land outside, then enter on foot."
"I'll handle the aerial approach." I had my own plans for that. "You need to be positioned where you can trigger the trap if they somehow avoid it. And where you can defend yourself if they split up."
She nodded, already thinking through the terrain. "The ridge. Thirty feet up, good sight lines, defensible position. I can reach it without being seen from the air."
"Show me."
She led me to the position she'd identified. It was perfect—high ground that negated numbers advantage, narrow approach that meant they'd have to come at her one at a time, multiple escape routes if things went wrong. And from here, she had clear line of sight to the cave entrance and the trap.
"You'll stay here," I said. "If they come, wait for my signal. When I engage Kethar in the air, that's when you trigger the rockfall on whoever enters the cave."
"And if more than one enters?"
"Then you adapt. Use terrain." I pulled the obsidian knife from my pack—the one I'd been sharpening for days.
"You're a climber—this is your advantage.
They have wings, but wings don't help in narrow passages and vertical spaces.
" I handed her the knife. "If it comes to close combat, go for the wing membranes. Disable their flight."
She took the knife, tested the weight, confident. Ready.
"When do we move to The Warren?" she asked.
"Now. We set the trap, establish our real nest there, then return here before dark to wait."
The Warren was exactly as we'd left it. Protected. Defensible. We moved our remaining supplies there—everything worth keeping. Established the deepest chamber as our nest, arranged everything for quick access if we needed to defend this position too.
"This is home now," I said, marking the entrance with my scent. "Until we're sure Kethar is dealt with."
Hallie arranged the furs, checking sight lines even here, planning defensive positions in every space she occupied. Always thinking tactically. Always preparing.
"What if he doesn't attack tonight?" she asked.
"Then we wait. But he will." I could feel it—the desperation in the air, the way predators moved when they were running out of time. "The unbonded sickness is killing him. He's running out of time. He'll attack soon."
We flew back to the destroyed den as the sun set.
The hours until sunset were consumed by waiting on the ridge in darkness.
Hallie crouched in her chosen position, perfectly still, nearly invisible against the rock. I perched higher, watching the sky, waiting for wings.
The three moons rose. Orange sky darkened to rust. Still nothing.
Then I heard it—wings cutting through air, multiple sets. Coming from the east.
I tapped the rock twice—our signal. Hallie's hand moved slightly in acknowledgment.
Three shapes appeared against the moons. Kethar in the lead, two others flanking him. They circled the destroyed den once, checking for threats from above. Then they dropped toward the entrance.
I launched silently.
Caught the updraft, gaining altitude without the telltale sound of wing beats. They hadn't seen me yet—focused on the den below, on the prize they thought waited inside.
Kethar landed first. Folded his wings. Moved toward the entrance with the confidence of someone who thought he'd already won.
The two others landed behind him.
That's when I dove.
I hit the first ally at full speed, slammed against the obsidian wall, shaking dust loose. He went down hard, stunned but not dead yet.
Kethar spun, wings flaring in surprise. "Drav—"
I was already moving. Caught the second ally before he could take flight, raked my claws across his wing membrane—four parallel tears that would ground him for weeks if he survived the night.
He screamed. Stumbled toward the cave entrance for cover, for darkness where wings wouldn't matter.
Hit the tripwire.
The overhang came down.
Tons of rock crashing, thunderous. The ally disappeared under the debris. His scream cut off instantly.
Kethar was airborne. I followed.
We fought in the air—claws, teeth, wings straining. He was fast, desperate, fighting for his life. A decade my junior. Stronger in some ways because the sickness hadn't progressed as far. But I had experience, had fought territorial battles before he was even born.
I drove it higher, away from the ground, away from Hallie. Forced him into a position where he had to commit energy to staying airborne instead of attacking.
He twisted mid-air, raked claws across my chest. Four parallel gashes that weren't deep but painful. Blood sprayed.
I grabbed his injured wing—the one I'd damaged in our last encounter—and tore.
He roared. The membrane ripped further, not enough to ground him completely but enough to unbalance his flight, make every movement cost more energy than it should.
Below us: sounds of combat. Hallie fighting the first ally who'd recovered from my initial strike.
I wanted to drop, wanted to help her. But if I disengaged from Kethar, he'd go straight for her. Pregnant female. Easier target. Leverage.
So I kept him occupied.
We circled each other at high altitude, both bleeding, both exhausted. Looking for openings that might not exist.
"You can't win this," I said. "Even if you kill me, my mate will kill you. You saw what she did to the wyrm's remains when she thought I was hurt. She'll do worse to you."
He lunged instead of answering, claws extended.
I folded my wings and dropped.
Faster than flight. Just falling with purpose, using gravity.
I caught him thirty feet above the ridge, all four hands gripping his body. We hit the cliff face together, rolled, separated.
Hallie was standing over an unconscious male—the first ally. She'd won her fight using the terrain, the narrow spaces, exactly as I'd taught her.
Kethar saw the unconscious male, saw me blocking his path to Hallie, calculated his odds.
And fled.
Launched himself off the ridge, damaged wing screaming protest, but functional enough to get him airborne. He flew erratically—losing altitude, struggling to maintain control—but he was escaping.
I started to follow.
"Let him go," Hallie said.
I stopped. Turned. "What?"
"He's injured. Wing torn badly. He won't get far." She moved to check the unconscious ally, assessing threat level. "And we have a prisoner. We can get information. Learn his plans."
She was right. Tactically sound.
But letting Kethar escape meant he'd attack again. Meant the threat wasn't eliminated, just postponed. Meant we'd have to fight him again when we were exhausted, wounded, vulnerable.
"He'll come back," I said.
"I know. But next time we'll be ready." She looked at the prisoner. "And next time we'll know exactly what he's planning."
I watched Kethar's shape disappear into the darkness, becoming smaller against the orange sky. My instincts screamed to chase, to finish it, to eliminate the threat completely while I had the chance.
But Hallie was right. Information was more valuable than one injured male's death right now. If we questioned the prisoner properly, we'd learn Kethar's backup plans, his remaining allies, his next move.
"Bind him," I said, moving toward the unconscious ally. "We take him to The Warren. Question him. Find out everything he knows."
Hallie pulled vine from her pack. We bound the prisoner securely—wrists, ankles, wings folded and tied so he couldn't attempt flight even if he woke. He was young, maybe twenty-five seasons. Wing membranes just starting to thin from the sickness.
"Can you carry him?" she asked.
"Yes." I lifted the unconscious male easily, his weight nothing compared to the cliff wyrm I'd fought days ago. "Stay close. If Kethar doubles back—"
"I'll be ready."
We flew to The Warren through darkness, me carrying the prisoner, Hallie climbing the route we'd taken earlier. Both of us wounded. Both of us victorious but aware the war wasn't over.
One ally dead in the rockfall. One ally captured. Kethar escaped, injured but alive.
We had information Kethar didn't know we had. We had defensive positions he couldn't predict. And we had three days to prepare for whatever came next.