As Nocol finally, after hours and hours of flying with only two stops for the riders to stretch their legs, descended on the Hunter's cluster of canvas dwellings-- "tents" Noiku called them-- Ranshee squinted down at the frenzy of activity. There were dragons everywhere, strange dragons who had not come with the Hunt, and people and more familiar-looking dragons standing beside or over them or scurrying this way and that on incomprehensible errands, and one smaller group of dragons moving out on some mysterious errand of their own. Something had happened here, something big.

::The Hunt,:: Nocol supplied, and his voice was suffused with annoyance and apology again. Ranshee understood: she had missed it. The attack, as it were, had already occurred, and they were arriving, in the dark, to nothing but the aftermath.

Of course, it was not Nocol's fault; he had flown with all the speed at his command. Nor was it really Noiku's fault, for all he had been the one to leave her name off the Hunt lists a second time. It wasn't even Kin or Drakiera's fault, though it was their appearances and voices that had held her tongue and her step when she could have gone forward. Ranshee had no one to blame but herself and her own cowardice for this, for her late arrival, for missing the battle and her chance to win a pack for herself. If she had only spoken, had only stepped out, as if the golden fox wasn't there, as if the horrible mind-voice of Drakiera had not stolen away her courage and distracted her, the long flight would not have been necessary, and she would not be arriving too late.

"Never again," she snarled to herself, under her breath. Never again would she fear, because fear only got in the way.

"What?" Noiku called from where he sat in front of her. The wind was such that, if they wanted to talk, they had to shout.

"Nothing," she growled in his ear, and he wisely didn't press the issue.

Nocol came to the smoothest landing he could, but it was still jarring for both riders. Ranshee, after two such landings, was used to it, and hardly noticed, she was so angry with herself for letting this chance escape her. She was unbuckled after a few fumbles with the straps and on the ground as soon as she could slide down the dragon's obliging forelimb. Sensing her annoyance, Nocol didn't speak to her, but let her fume in silence. Not sensing her annoyance, but probably glad to be rid of her, Noiku clambered down after her and then promptly padded off, abandoning her to do what she would. Let him; she could prowl around by herself, just in case there was anything she could do here for her own cause.

::I will be here,:: Nocol rumbled, settling on the ground as if he had all the time in the world to wait for her. Ranshee gave his paw an absent pat before stalking away into the busy no-longer-battlefield.

Not even five minutes of pacing the camp, and Ranshee knew she really was too late. All the dragons here, with the few exceptions of dragons who had bonded or chosen to leave their pack willingly, were drugged and lethargic. She couldn't even hold a conversation with any of them, much less convince them to start a new life under her leadership. A howl of frustration and fury threatened to tear its way out of her throat, there in the middle of the crowded camp, for the weeks of waiting wasted, and the weeks still ahead of her before the next Hunt.

::What took you so long?::

The feminine voice, unfamiliar and venomous, startled Ranshee out of her anger. She swung her gaze around immediately to find a red dragon with wings that faded through the colors of the sunset, not nearly as large as Nocol'Fita but nearly twice the height Ranshee would be in full chyrith form, staring directly at her with bright fuchsia eyes and a toothy smile. For a moment Ranshee thought about attacking, but the look in the dragon's eyes stopped her. Her mind was open, unshielded, and offered up for investigation-- like any good pack member would offer up their thoughts to prove her intent.

Like any good pack leader, Ranshee took that offering and, in the space of a breath, took the new dragon's measure. Pride, selfishness, manipulation-- power, cunning, charisma. Evraia. A dangerous female, as ready to turn on lesser beings if she thought it would benefit her as to flash an innocent smile that would win over the hardest of hearts, a female who believed she was the best, the most beautiful, the queen-- but who, in her heart of hearts, knew she must have a rule to support or undermine, as she saw fit at any given moment, in order to survive. She had magic and she had charm, she had cleverness and a quick body... but she did not have the strength of will to lead herself. For that, she had seen and turned to Ranshee.

With the simple, instant touch of minds, Evraia accepted Ranshee's leadership and guidance, and Ranshee accepted that Evraia would never be entirely trustworthy, but she would still put her talents to use for the good of the pack, or as her pack leader directed. There would be no love lost between them, but Evraia would have the leader she needed, and Ranshee would have the first member of her pack.

Drawing back, Ranshee answered the dragoness' first question with a question of her own, swinging a fist at the shimmering red shoulder too lightly to actually cause any pain. The cuff of a pack leader to her packmate, bluff and play. "Why did you not fight longer?" she demanded, not really expecting an answer but Evraia's huffing, jaw-gaping laughter.

The answer she got came from a new voice, behind her: ::What's this? She's getting more attention than me?:: A dragon, larger than Evraia and a dark, reflective bronze in color, slunk out of the shadows made by moonlight on a crag of stone against the mountain. ::And I was the one complaining that we needed to fight more!::

Readily, even eagerly, the new dragon opened his thoughts to her demanding gaze. Competence, loyalty, a desperate need for the approval and praise of a superior, and honesty-- a twisted honesty, searching for faults and failings in others, and a craving for the power he knew he would never be able to hold. Azeron. Ranshee was briefly disgusted; one had to be weak indeed when they were forced to parade around the weaknesses of others simply to make one's self look stronger by comparison. In his thoughts, though, were also powers of observation nearly as keen as Ranshee's herself and powers of organization far superior. As long as he had a leader to look up to and plead for attention from, this Azeron would never betray her, though he would certainly betray other members of the pack to her, and perhaps for her, thinking he was doing right in doing so.

::Azeron's the name,:: the bronze dragon with two pairs of black, leathery wings added, ::But you knew that.::

As with Evraia, Ranshee felt Azeron's instant submission to her command. He needed to be led, and she needed to lead. The thought flitted across her mind that Azeron probably would not like Evraia very much, but then was gone as the much more important thought replaced it: this was her pack. After so long, after so many disappointments and betrayals and lonely years, Ranshee finally had a pack. It was small, yes, and it was motley: a pack of misfits, outcastes, and prickly personalities. But it was a pack. And it was hers. Her stomach felt light, and warmth flooded her chest, and she bared her fangs in a vicious smile.

"Heyheyhey!" a piercing, chattering voice piped up. All three dragons glanced at the darting, hovering, bright red and black form of a very small dragon, barely more than two feet long. "I'm Kyverh and you cannot leave without me!"

This dragon's thoughts were quicker and less focused than either Evraia's or Azeron's, and they were not immediately bared for Ranshee's inspection. She had to growl and seize his mind before he let her take her first impression of him, and she was frankly not impressed. Another outcaste, this time a useless one who could barely hunt for himself and who didn't know how to keep quiet. But... this was an outcaste who had a desire to be part of something that resonated with Ranshee's own sense of Pack, a desire so strong that she couldn't turn him down.

Thus, even though she growled at him, this Kyverh knew that he wouldn't be chased away. Even as she turned back towards where Nocol waited, with Evraia and Azeron willingly flanking her, even as she snorted, "Watch me," and walked away, the fluttering little dragon swooped after her. They both knew he was there to stay, as well. Evraia and Azeron knew it, too, but their glances at the final pack member were less than friendly.

"Nuisance," Azeron muttered.

Ranshee ignored him. Even with the bickering that was sure to come, that came in all packs, they would remain. They were Pack.

Chapter Eight

Back