Drav
Pain woke me—sharp and immediate, not the dull ache of old wounds healing slowly over time.
The torn wing membrane throbbed where I'd tried to heal it overnight through sheer will, which hadn't worked at all.
The tear was too extensive—six inches of membrane split along the primary bone structure, edges ragged and refusing to knit together properly.
Flying was impossible and would be for days, maybe longer if I couldn't keep it immobilized.
Hallie was already awake, sitting beside me with supplies spread out in organized rows. Water. The herbal paste I'd used on her wounds weeks ago. Strips of membrane for bandaging. Everything laid out methodically like she'd been planning this for a while.
"Let me see it," she said without preamble.
I extended the damaged wing slowly, trying not to wince at the pull.
The tear looked worse in daylight—edges ragged where Kethar's claws had caught me, blood dried in dark streaks across the membrane.
If infection set in, I could lose the entire wing structure.
Could be permanently grounded, useless for anything that mattered.
She cleaned the wound carefully, and the water was cold enough to sting. I kept my expression neutral, refusing to let her see how much it hurt.
"This needs to be held together while it heals," she said after examining the tear from multiple angles. "If the edges separate further, it won't close properly. Could leave you with permanent damage."
"I know."
"So we need to immobilize it completely. Keep it folded against your back. No flight for at least a week, maybe longer."
A week grounded felt like an eternity. Vulnerable. Unable to patrol properly. While defending new territory that other males might already be circling. Perfect timing for an injury like this.
"What about you?" I asked, looking at her properly for the first time this morning. She had a deep bruise spreading across her ribs where Vhel must have caught her before she'd led him to the trap, and she was moving carefully, favoring her left side in ways that suggested significant pain.
"Cracked rib. Maybe two." She said it casually, like it was nothing more than a minor inconvenience. "Hurts to breathe deeply but I can function well enough."
"Hallie—"
"I'm fine." She applied the paste to my wing tear, her hands steady and confident despite her own injuries. "We've both been hurt worse than this. This is manageable if we're smart about it."
She was right, but that didn't make it easier. We were both wounded. Both limited in our capabilities. Both vulnerable to attack from males who might see this as their opportunity.
"I'll need to bind this," she said, preparing the membrane strips carefully. "It's going to restrict your range of motion completely. “Extension will be impossible.”"
"Do it."
She worked carefully over the next several minutes, wrapping the membrane strips around my wing in layers, securing the tear and immobilizing the entire structure against my back. When she finished, the wing was completely unusable—folded, bound, dead weight that served no purpose except to heal.
"How long?" I asked, already knowing the answer wouldn't be good.
"Five days minimum. Maybe seven depending on how well you follow instructions.
" She started cleaning her own wounds, the bruised ribs and multiple cuts across her arms. "The breeding will help.
Bonding hormones accelerate healing considerably.
But you need rest too. No fighting. No stress on that membrane whatsoever. "
Five days felt like forever. Five days where I couldn't fly or patrol properly or defend against aerial threats the way I should be able to.
"Other males will notice I'm grounded," I said, stating the obvious.
"I know." She finished bandaging her arm efficiently. "Which is why I'm handling ground defense while you heal. I can do this."
"You're injured too—"
"Not as badly as you are right now." She looked at me directly, no compromise in her expression. "And I can climb. Can set traps. Can defend narrow passages where wings don't help anyway. You taught me how to do all of this."
She was right again, but letting her defend alone while I healed felt wrong on every level. Backward. Against every instinct I had.
"We're partners," she said, reading my expression easily through the bond. "That means when one of us is down, the other covers for them. Right now, you're down. So I cover. Simple as that."
Day eighteen arrived with afternoon heat.
I felt them before I saw them—the change in air pressure that signaled wings nearby, the subtle shift in thermal patterns. Multiple sets of wings circling our territory boundaries in ways that suggested surveillance rather than innocent passage.
I limped to the lookout despite the pain in my bound wing. Looked out over our territory and saw them in the distance. Three males circling, maybe four depending on how you counted overlapping flight patterns. Not approaching directly. Just circling. Testing. Watching for weakness.
Scavengers, all of them. Males who waited for winners to show vulnerability, who calculated odds carefully and attacked only when defenses were at their lowest.
They'd seen the fight yesterday. Knew I was injured. Knew this was potentially the perfect time to challenge for territory.
"How many?" Hallie appeared beside me, following my gaze.
"Three that I can count clearly. Maybe four. Hard to tell at this distance when they're overlapping." I watched them circle in those lazy patterns that suggested patience. "They're testing boundaries. Seeing if we'll defend or if we're too vulnerable."
"Will they attack?"
"Not yet. They're assessing first, looking for weakness. If they think we're too vulnerable to defend properly, they'll coordinate an assault." I tracked the flight patterns, calculating approach vectors. "But they're cautious. Smart enough to be patient."
She was quiet for a moment, thinking. Then: "I need to make them think we're not vulnerable at all."
"How?"
"By defending visibly. Making it clear that even wounded, we're more dangerous than they are together."
Her tactical mind was working, assessing threats.
Day eighteen progressed into evening.
Hallie spent three hours setting up defensive measures throughout the territory while I watched from the entrance, grounded and useless.
Warning systems first—small rock cairns placed at key approach points that would collapse in specific ways if disturbed, alerting us to intrusion. Simple but effective, the kind of thing that didn't require strength, just cleverness.
Then traps came next. Sections of loose stone positioned above narrow passages, ready to be triggered to block routes or create rockfalls on command.
Territorial markers reinforced everywhere with her scent mixed thoroughly with mine, a clear declaration to anyone approaching: claimed, occupied, defended, dangerous.
I stood guard at the cave mouth, hating the bandages that tethered me to the stone while she did the work.
She moved efficiently despite the cracked ribs, despite the bruises spreading across her skin.
She climbed routes I couldn't access without flying, set traps I couldn't reach from the ground, defended ground approaches while I healed.
The circling males noticed her activity—I could see them adjusting their flight patterns, coming closer to test boundaries, to see how she'd react to their presence.
She ignored them completely at first. Just kept working methodically, showing no fear or concern. Confident in ways that suggested she knew exactly what she was doing.
One of them—younger male, maybe twenty-eight seasons based on his size—dove lower in what was clearly a test of aggression response.
Hallie picked up a rock without breaking stride. Threw it.
The throw was perfect, accurate in ways that suggested serious practice. Hit the male's wing membrane hard enough to hurt but not hard enough to damage permanently. Just hard enough to send a clear message: approach at your own risk.
The male pulled up immediately, rejoining the others at a much greater distance.
I watched her return to setting traps like nothing had happened, and pride mixed uncomfortably with frustration in my chest. She was handling defense without me. While I stood here useless.
"Stop watching and rest," she called up without looking in my direction. "You're not helping by hovering like that."
"I'm not hovering."
"You're absolutely hovering. Go breed yourself or something useful." She disappeared into a passage. "I've got this handled."
She did have it handled, which was somehow the worst part. I wasn't needed for this. She was managing defense alone while pregnant and injured, doing my job while I healed.
Partners, she'd said. Right.
Day nineteen arrived with dawn and screaming.
Not Hallie screaming. Male voice, angry and pained in equal measure.
I ran to the entrance as fast as my injuries allowed and found her at the base of the cliff, standing over a male who was tangled thoroughly in vine rope. One wing bent at an angle that made my stomach turn.
"He landed to scout our defenses," Hallie said when she saw me looking down. "Triggered the snare trap I set yesterday. Wing broke when he fell and the rope caught him."
The male was young—maybe twenty-five seasons at most. Wing membranes already showing the first signs of thinning from unbonded sickness in its early stages.
He'd be dead in weeks regardless of this injury.
But the broken wing would ground him permanently, which was effectively a death sentence that would come much faster.
"Please," the male said, looking up at Hallie with desperation clear in his voice. "Just let me go. I wasn't attacking. Just scouting."
"You entered claimed territory," Hallie said, her voice cold in ways I hadn't heard before. "That's aggression regardless of your intentions."
"I was desperate—"