then grace takes me to a place

Callum wheels through the air above the Outer Brambles of the Hollowed Grounds, golden falcon's eyes fixed on the ground far below. The Labyrinth stretches out far below, a landmark in the sea of islands dotting the landscape. It's midday, and the sun shines brightly overhead. Even the area he knows is Levinsward, a region constantly bombarded by rain, thunder, and lightning, seems to be sunny today. It's hot, and Cal has been searching for the better part of an hour for somewhere to escape the noon heat.

He spots a copse of trees far below in an area bordering the Glade and begins to descend. Perhaps he can find some shade and wait out the worst of the heat. His flight is lazy, his path meandering. He is very clearly a bird not on the hunt. He lands in one of the trees and shuffles closer to the trunk, where he hopes that the leaves will protect him from the sun.

With quiet words I'll lead you in and out of the dark

Aithne

I can feel the flames on my skin

The bloodlust is strong today. It's almost as strong as the Longheat sun, which beams down on the fyrhund with a vengeance. She pants as she trots through the Outer Brambles, her dark eyes peeled for any sign of life. Unfortunately, it would seem that most living creatures have taken shelter - smart of them, considering the blistering heat. Perhaps when Soren had suggested they hunt, she should have advised waiting. But they had both been on edge, a sure sign that their bloodlust was rising, and so she'd given in readily enough. Besides, a hunt with her best friend was always a fun time for Aithne.

The fyrhund continues, glancing up periodically to find Soren. She trusts that he has her back, and he has a better vantage point than she to search for prey, so she's been taking direction from him. A challenge, given that shifted Ancients don't share the same bond that Attuned do, but one that they'd long since adapted to. She knows him better than she knows herself, after all, and it's always been easy to fall into a rhythm.

So she trots, and she follows, and she waits. If there is prey to be found, Soren will find it.

Crimson-red paint on my lips

Soren

You have got that face that just says

Soren was quick and sharp in this form, and even though they lacked the mental bond the attuned all shared with one another, the young ancient was an excellent communicator. While the two hadn't been ancient that long in regards to their whole lives, being ancients together and hunting together was all they knew.

Soren caught the falcon’s shadow before he saw the bird itself, a sharp cut of movement against the sky. Bloodlust sharpened everything in this form. The wind, the heat under his feathers, the promise of meat all intensified as his heart pounded and he narrowed in on the meal ahead. He banked hard, screeching at Aithne below, closing the distance in a burst of savage speed meant to end lesser hunts outright.

"Baby, I was made to break your heart"

Sitting in the treetops, hidden amongst the branches and leaves, it does not occur to Callum that he might be being stalked. Even the cinderscourge's cry doesn't rouse him from where he rests against the tree trunk. In fact, he doesn't even recognize it for what it is. To him, it's just another bird of prey, one who might have questionable intelligence for being out in the heat of the day, but then again, he's out, isn't he? In any case, he dismisses the call at first.

He's focused on other things. How long he's going to stay in the shade, for one; it is, in fact, cooler among the leaves, and he's not inclined to leave their embrace any time soon. It's not until he hears rustling below that he glances down, intrigued and wary at the sudden sight of a fyrhund. He's never seen one before, though he knows of them - and what he knows is that they don't belong here. So if that's a fyrhund, then what is it doing in the Hollowed Grounds?

With quiet words I'll lead you in and out of the dark

Aithne

I can feel the flames on my skin

Soren banks, screeching, and Aithne follows his line of sight to find a falcon disappearing into a copse of trees up ahead. She picks up the pace, loping easily towards the outcropping, ears pricked for the slightest movement. Chances are, this hunt will be left mostly to Soren, given that she has no way to climb into the branches to reach their prey. But that doesn't mean that she's useless. Instead, she focuses on making as much noise as possible, hoping to draw the falcon's attention down towards her. If she's lucky, maybe she can startle it into the open, where her best friend can take it down.

Heat rolls off her rocky hide in waves, singing the brush as she trots by. If she sets the copse on fire, she supposes that at least it won't be obviously her fault - after all, wildfires have been rather common of late, most of them started simply because everything has been so dry. Besides, Soren can always help to control any blaze that might start to get out of hand.

Aithne pauses beneath the tree that she thinks holds the falcon. Still hoping to serve as a distraction, she reaches up with her paws, scratching her claws against the tree bark as she stretches out her back.

Crimson-red paint on my lips

Soren

You have got that face that just says

While normal cunderscourges might have a lazy side to them, or clever depending on how one looked at it, that reflected Soren's general demeanor, bloodlust wiped all o that clean. He was focused as he banked and surged, following his line of sight to the smaller bird hiding in the solace of the tree's shade. He had no mind even to lift his attention to the way the grass lit around Aithne's paws and trailed off in a snaking line of devious and wild flames. 

As the fyrhund distracted the falcon, Soren shifted his body and snapped back his wings. His talons opened and he honed in his attack, ready and aimed to grab the falcon in his grasp and head back to the sky.

"Baby, I was made to break your heart"

Callum's attention is so focused on the fyrhund that he doesn't realize that the cinderscourge is hunting him until it's too late.

Talons pierce his side as he's yanked forcefully from his branch, a cry of surprise and pain leaving his beak. He struggles in the cinderscourge's grip as they take to the sky, his wings flapping angrily against his attacker's legs - but it's no use. He's well and truly trapped, and every bit of his struggle only serves to sink the cinderscourge's claws deeper into his flesh. He cries out again, and this time, there is a tinge of panic to it, because he cannot fathom a way out of this situation that doesn't end just as poorly. He struggles, the cinderscourge's grip tightens, and the fyrhund is entirely forgotten in the dry grass and trees below.

The only thing he can think to do is to shift, but his only other option is to turn human - and with the rapid blood loss he's experiencing, he isn't sure that he has the ability to shift, then shift again before he hits the ground. Nor does he know if he'll be able to fly off fast enough to escape his attacker.

This is it, he realizes.

This is how he dies.

With quiet words I'll lead you in and out of the dark

Aithne

I can feel the flames on my skin

Aithne watches as the falcon is plucked from the tree like a ripe apple for the taking, and she runs after the two birds as they are whisked by Soren into the sky. She watches as the falcon struggles, scenting its blood in the air as it falls around her. It's not much of a meal, really, and a distant part of her mind recognizes that they will probably need to keep hunting after this kill is complete. But the bloodlust has well and truly taken over now, and all she can think of is tearing into the falcon, wetting her fangs on its blood, tasting the iron flavor as it coats her tongue.

So she follows from below, eager to see the aerial battle come to a close. That logical part of her mind wonders, briefly, how Soren will do it. A quick snap of the neck would be easiest, of course, but where's the fun in that? He could bring the falcon to the ground to share in the kill, which would, potentially, quell the hungry beast that has risen in her chest. But all she can do is wait and see.

Crimson-red paint on my lips

Soren

You have got that face that just says

The moment the falcon hit his talons, joy detonated through Soren like the fire through dry brush below.

It wasn’t clean or quiet. It was gleeful--a wild, breathless thrill that made him scream into the wind, a harsh raptor cry torn loose by triumph. The falcon thrashed, clever to the end, but it was too late, and too slow. Soren’s grip tightened instinctively, talons biting deep, feeling the life there, the heat, the frantic flutter of a heart that knew it had lost, and the blood dripping over his digits.

Hunger roared.

Not the dull ache of need, but the bright, ravenous delight of fulfillment imminent. His wings beat harder just to feel the weight of his prize. This was what the sky was for. This was what he was for. This is what Dygra had given him. Every rule, every restraint burned away beneath the simple, incandescent truth of it: hunt, catch, consume. He climbed higher, higher still, savoring the moment, savoring the victory. Then, when he was high enough and confident the falcon couldn't recover he dropped it.

"Baby, I was made to break your heart"

The talons gripping Callum tighten, squeezing the breath from his lungs as he struggles in vain against the larger bird. He tries and fails to loose a battle cry, his thrashing weakening as he loses more blood and they gain more altitude. Gods, is this really it? After everything, is this the end? He's always hoped that he'd die at an old age, sleeping soundly in his bed - though he knew it would be more likely he'd meet his end violently. But to become prey to a larger bird? To be a meal to a predator who had taken him by surprise?

It's insulting.

But there is nothing he can do as his vision begins to blacken around the edges, as his lungs scream for air -

And then he's falling, tumbling through the air, no longer sure which way is sky and which is ground. He sucks in a breath, tries to catch his fall with his wings, but he's being buffeted this way and that by the thermals coming off the flames down below and by the speed of his fall. But he has to keep trying, has to make an effort. He can't give up, not when there is still a chance -

With quiet words I'll lead you in and out of the dark

Aithne

I can feel the flames on my skin

Aithne runs below, no longer caring about the trail of fire she leaves in her wake. The thrill of the hunt is in her bones, and she yips excitedly as more and more blood drips around her. Overhead, the dying falcon lets out a strangled cry, spurring Aithne on and driving the hunt.

The moment that Soren lets the falcon fall is met with a triumphant snarl. It tumbles through the air, seemingly disoriented. Despite the flailing wings, Aithne leaps to meet the bird midair, clamping her jaws around whatever part of it she can (which happens to be a wing joint). As she lands, paws pounding dirt once more, she shakes her head, salivating at the taste of iron as it floods her mouth. The bird flips around in her grip, and she hears a snap - disappointingly, it's just the wing, and the bird cries out, slashing blindly with talons that scrape harmlessly over her stony hide.

With a broken wing, the falcon isn't going to go far now, and Aithne lets it drop into a heap upon the ground. She howls for Soren to join her, offering him the killing blow, and steps out of the way.

Crimson-red paint on my lips

Soren spiraled down after it, the wind screaming past his ears, the world narrowing to the dark shape tumbling toward Aithne’s waiting jaws. Satisfaction burned bright and hot in his chest as he watched her intercept it, the snap of bone carrying even over the rush of air. Despite it being Aithne that caused it, a rush of thrill and pleasure ran down the cinderscourge's spine.

He landed a heartbeat later in a scatter of ash and heat, wings tucking as his talons bit into scorched earth. The scent of blood was thick, metallic and all-too intoxicating. Aithne’s howl cut through the noise of his bloodlust, and he shifted. From where the cinderscoureg landed now stood the molten tiger, massive and broad and towering over the clearing aflame. He stalked forward, every step deliberate, savoring the way the bird’s struggles weakened.

He struck without hesitation, maw driving down, and snapping closed over the falcon.

soren

Maybe this would be a good time to shift, Callum thinks, dizzy and delirious from the fall and the resulting pain as the fyrhund snaps its jaws closed around him. Maybe a shift would be enough to drive the attacking creatures away. Maybe they would hesitate long enough for him to get away. But no matter how he tries, he can't manage to summon the strength to do it. He's weakening by the second, blood draining away into the barren ground below or lapped up by the fyrhund's waiting tongue.

He's dying, and there's no one to know what has happened to him, no one to wonder where he's gone. He'll simply cease to exist.

And there is nothing he can do about it.

And that is Callum's last thought as his life fades. His heartbeat pulses a beat, two - and then it stops, and he is gone, no more than a shadow on the wind.

With quiet words I'll lead you in and out of the dark

Aithne

I can feel the flames on my skin

Aithne can still taste the hawk's blood on her tongue as its life is taken by Soren.

She can sense the moment its heart beats that last, lingering pulse; and then the creature's life is forfeit. It had been inevitable, from the moment they'd first targeted the bird, that things would end this way. And now that it's over, Aithne is ready to feast.

Not that the falcon offers much in the way of sustenance. It's a relatively small bird. Aithne offers a low, rasping bark. Hurry up, her eyes seem to say, dancing with the life they'd stolen. Hunt with me. She paces a step away, eager to find prey of her own - something that can feed her, once Soren is done, or that can sate both their bloodlust.

Crimson-red paint on my lips