Birds of Prey
Two beings inhabit The Dome.
They are Barciro and The Wikler.
Time Will Tell
The chattering of a lone squirrel attracts the witch doctor to the rocky shores of the Minelands. He strikes silently and true, opening a vacancy within a rogue nest of the rank squirrelhorde. The channel opens narrow, though it is stretched a great distance.
‘How did it go?’ sends The Vultress, her eyelids heavy with sleep. Sending thought over a distance is easy work when the air is clear as it is tonight, but the day was long and the Vultress is nodding.
‘He knows what he must know,’ returns Lúaloch as he plucks the useless tail from his kill. Perhaps he’ll leave it next to his pellet in the gardens so a giant may craft a hat. ‘The decision is his to make, High Vultress. You know as well as I we musn’t interfere with the movements of the mortals. If they’re to learn, they must fail and do it themselves.’
‘I do indeed, High Lúaloch, but I fear for my flock. We cannot flee from Monksville, another turkey vulture flock populates the lowlands and we’ve nowhere else to go. With the cycle’s end on the horizon we would not survive the flight, let alone the upcoming winter. The famine is always worse in the wintertime…’
‘I know it well, High Vultress.’ The owl rips the head from the squirrel and tosses it casually to the branch to be enjoyed as dessert, or maybe just to be left there. ‘Though you may have no cause to worry.’
Vultress sends silence embedded with sad laughter. ‘You have faith in our Lord of The Sticks?’
Lúaloch pauses for a moment, his beak open at the cusp of the squirrel’s sealed belly. He can feel the ganked landwalker’s fading heat. It makes his stomach growl. ‘I wouldn’t send that. His decision may not matter, High Vultress; the tides churn as they will, regardless of what floats in the waters. The keep of Monksville is wide and offers many places to roost.’
‘My flock will not leave The Sticks, Lúaloch.’
With the rich taste of rodent blood warming his heart, Lúaloch sends, ‘Time will tell if you send true. Now sleep, High Vultress, and flap wing through the place of dreams, for our work with the osprey is done and I have many lifecycles to complete.’
Deep in the bowels of The Sticks, The Vultress grants herself a small smile. ‘Hunt well then, High Lúaloch. May Mother Monksville provide you many morsels before the great shine rises come morn’.’
‘Aye,’ Lúaloch sends. As he tears off the squirrel’s first leg, the channel quietly shuts, and The Vultress falls into slumber.
This has been the fifteenth subchapter of the second chapter of The Monksville Chronicles. Here is everything you need to know about it:
I’ve written a few other books, too. Click here to see the list.
The Hillside Commons has a Facebook page. Here’s that.
If you’re there, hypothetical reader, thank you for being there. From this day on, we move forever forward~