Soaring through the air feels fantastic. Almost-transparent wings formed of the haze of disrupted air twisted with wisps of cloud as their only true outline, carry me over the ground far more safely than the jetpack of fire wings which sent me shooting through the sky. These wings are slower than the fire wings were, but I’m happy to give up speed for control – landing without breaking my collarbone is nice. Of course, I practised a little – I don’t want to make a fool of myself in front of the samurans I’m self-aware enough to admit to myself that I’m trying to impress.

  And a good impression I’m having, if the surprised and awed ripple of clicks I hear expanding from behind me are any indication. I use the Bond to find my target and then pull up in front of her. I can’t resist a slightly-showy landing – closing my wings while still up in the air and letting myself fall lightly to the ground. The benefit of Air-Shaped wings? The fact that even closed, they can offer enough thrust to mean that I drop two metres with the same force as thirty centimetres.

  Windy’s wide eyes and tightly closed mouth are a picture, made even better by the disbelief that rings through the Bond and plays through her spikes. Disbelief turns into annoyance – though I think that that’s mostly because, for a moment, I could tell she was actually impressed. And she is still determined not to be impressed by me – someone she has never truly accepted as one of her kind.

  “Like my wings?” I ask her blithely, pretending I can’t feel her frustration. I extend them out widely, twisting them this way and that, practically preening. I know that, despite their almost-complete transparence, Windy is perfectly capable of detecting them with her own magic.

  To my surprise, the irascible samuran’s irritation dies down into fascination as she examines my wings. The pleasure I was feeling at her annoyance fades as she starts circling me like a predator. The hungry glint in her eyes does nothing to dispel that impression.

  “What are you doing?” I demand, trying to keep my sudden sense of unease to myself.

  The construction of your wings. It is not something I have attempted, she answers absently, then turns to look at the alcaoris hatchling who accompanied me. Bastet steps in her way with a snarl as she moves towards Noir. Windy pauses, twisting her head to look back at me. You have taken inspiration from his wings, have you not?

  I eye her and then give a short nod – there’s no harm in confirming her thoughts. I won’t let on that I actually have a Skill making it all too easy for me – that would detract from the impression I’m trying to leave here. Interesting, Windy comments, turning her attention back to Noir, clearly trying to see whatever details she can about the construction of his wings. The young alcaoris hisses warningly, pressing his wings against his body and signalling his dislike of her measuring gaze.

  I’m about to warn her to back off when I’m distracted by a Shrieks approaching me. The crowd which has formed around us parts easily to let him through.

  Tamer, I must speak with you, he says, an odd feeling in the Bond between us. I frown in confusion, but nod my head.

  “One moment, Shrieks.” I turn to Noir and Bastet. “Do you guys want to stick with me or go to the others? Or even catch up on your sleep?”

  They both indicate that they aren’t tired and want to stay with me, though Bastet comments that she’s hungry and Noir fervently agrees.

  “Alright, let’s go and find some food for you, then,” I say out loud, leading the way to the central area, sending a warning glare Windy’s way when it looks like she might follow us. While we walk, I turn my head to Shrieks. “What do you need to tell me?”

  He looks around us, his eyes searching. I follow his gaze, seeing the bustling village. There are even more samurans than normal – expected since we’ve just absorbed another village, even if it was small. Still, I don’t see too many samurans just hanging around and waiting to be told what to do. It’s surprisingly well-organised considering they only arrived yesterday. In fact, as we approach the central area, covered by a canopy but still lit by the gentle light of the sun diffusing through the myriad crystals studding the branches above our heads, I see multiple samurans already eating, and still more waiting patiently in the wings for a place to be made available for them. I hope that we’ll be able to get a carcass for my companions!

  I am glad that you have surfaced from your trance, Shrieks starts, his mouth clamped shut and his communication solely along a private mental link. We have missed you these last two days.

  Halfway towards the storage hut, I suddenly stop dead and turn my head to look at him, my eyes wide.

  “Two days?!” I exclaim, then, seeing how the samurans around me look up in interest, Iower my voice. “I was…absent for two days?”

  A day and a half, Shrieks grants. This is the second egg-rise since you retreated to your hut to sleep.

  I shake my head in disbelief. How am I not starving? I honestly don’t feel any worse than if I just had a long sleep. But thirty-six hours? Or probably more like forty-two considering the slightly longer days we have here. No wonder things are organised, then – I’ll have to catch up on everything that’s happened and make sure that it’s to my liking.

  I also really need to get going on working with Bares-claws and experimenting with trying to imprint my Skill on a Core – without accidentally putting some of my soul into it. Losing an unexpected day makes me feel the pressure just a little more of setting things up for my departure.

  “Then has anything happened in the last day that I need to know about?” I ask Shrieks even as I take a carcass from the samurans distributing them from the hut. I acknowledge the Unevolved’s lifting of his chin with a closed-mouth smile and nod, then we retreat to find a spot for my companions to dig in.

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

  Yes, Shrieks responds to me heavily. I feel a sinking in my stomach that has nothing to do with the hunger rumbling in it. Pulling out a pile of piping-hot ‘pancakes’ smothered in honey from my Inventory, I dig in, almost moaning at the taste.

  “Alright, hit me with it,” I sigh when my mouth is empty again. Shrieks looks and then again chooses to communicate privately with me.

  Two Warriors are missing.

  I shoot him a look.

  Our Warriors, or the new ones? I ask, choosing to reply with the same means of communication.

  The new ones. My stomach sinks further, my pancakes sitting heavily in them.

  Tell me what happened, I order him seriously.

  We don’t know, he admits. We are not even sure whether they are alive or not, but we have found no bodies. All we know is that they went out with a hunting party and somehow got separated. None of the other Warriors in the hunting party seem to know anything about it, not ours or the new ones. I spoke to the other new additions but none of them indicated any knowledge of it being a premeditated escape. He shrugs with his tail. Of course, besides the ones which you have Bound, we cannot be certain that the others are telling the truth since we have no Bond-determined authority over them. Those ones, at least, truly know nothing.

  And what do you think? I ask, my eyes intent on his, the pancakes all but forgotten. Do you think that they are lying dead somewhere, their bodies consumed or hidden? Or that they have escaped?

  Shrieks hesitates for a long moment.

  The two who have vanished were scouts, and competent ones at that. Not young. If any would be able to navigate the forest’s dangers with such a small group and leave no trace of their passing, it would be them.

  I nod slowly, absently taking another bite of my breakfast.

  And if they did survive, where do you think they would go? Back to their village to call for reinforcements?

  Again, Shrieks hesitates, though this time I get the feeling that it’s more out of not wanting to tell me something than uncertainty about what he’s about to say.

  I doubt that there are many resources to call upon in their village. I know that the village previously led by Flying-blade was bigger than our own, but the number of Warriors thrown at us must have been almost their entire contingent, accompanied by half their Pathwalkers – and the most combat-capable of those besides. I would suspect that their village will be severely weakened by this ill-considered attack. It will take them several Great Cycles for them to recover their numbers, if they can at all. They are not in a position to launch a rescue mission.

  I narrow my eyes at him. He’s stalling.

  Shrieks. Just tell me. If not their own village, where do you think they’re going?

  The big Warrior eyes me carefully, then grunts a sigh.

  To the village that any member of a tribe calls upon when they are under threat from another tribe.

  The lead village of the red tribe, I finish with a sigh of my own. Shrieks flicks his tail in affirmation. I prop my chin on my hand, grimacing when I realise that I absent-mindedly used the hand which has honey smeared all over it. Fortunately, being both a Flesh-Shaper and Water-Shaper, cleaning myself is easy enough. How long do you think we have?

  Two scouts travelling as quickly as they can? Probably seven to ten cycles to get to the red tribe’s lead village unless they exchange all stealth for speed, in which case the risk of attracting the wrong attention is much higher. Then, depending on how many they decide to bring with them, perhaps ten cycles to return, though it could be shorter or longer depending on who they bring with them and whether they delay to gather more reinforcements.

  So, fourteen days at the minimum, but probably longer, depending on how much of a response they prepare, and how quickly they do so. I pause, considering. What do you think are the chances that the red tribe leader decides to cut her losses? We defeated the force of a medium-sized village without losing that many of our own, in the whole scheme of things. And, with the addition of the red villagers, we’re actually higher in numbers than we were before the whole debacle. Though I still find sorrow tugging at my heart for those we lost, it’s worrisomely easy to fall back into looking at them all as numbers – like I used to look at statistics of productivity and absences across the whole workforce as a member of HR.

  We are certainly higher in numbers, Shrieks agrees, though in actual combat potency, I have been disappointed by the new Warriors. Some of them are barely better at fighting than the average of our Unevolved who has taken combat lessons. Their increased speed or strength is their only true advantage. But as for the red tribe leader, he adds, apparently realising that he hasn’t actually answered my question, she will respond. She has to. We are another tribe who has absorbed the fighting strength of one village of their own tribe, and the entirety of another. And more to the point, we have two of her own Pathwalkers captive, one of them a precious healer.

  A more worrisome possibility rises in my mind.

  Then what is the likelihood that instead of coming as quickly as possible, the red tribe leader will instead take more time to build up a significant force which could wipe us off the map?

  Shrieks’ silence isn’t reassuring.

  It’s possible, he admits after a long pause. Possibly even probable. They will not want to risk falling to us in the same way as Flying-blade’s force did.

  I sigh and look up at the canopy above, for a moment wishing I could see the sky. Suddenly, it feels like the walls are closing in around me. Seeing as my companions are done eating, and I feel too nauseous to eat any more breakfast, I push myself to my feet.

  Alright. Looks like we have some planning to do. Shrieks, gather the council. We’ll meet in my den by the time the sun is halfway into the sky. No audience.

  As you command, Tamer, he acknowledges, then hesitates. What do you intend to do until then?

  I’m going to make sure that we have no traitors about to stab us in the back, I say grimly. And in the process find out anything that the other Warriors actually knew anything about these two scouts slipping away.

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