dragonshoard,

all welcome!

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To the upper reaches the matriarch had now stolen away. For days on end, the woman had sought the perfect place in which to bear her young. She would start in some place, only to abandon it—not good enough. But finally, the inkladen she-wolf found a spot that remained more than sufficient; beneath a felled tree, that had stood upon the most elevated portion of this decently sized area she had found where rains and flooding would not interfere.

Snow spotted the dirt near the entrance, the temperature at this altitude cooler; it would make the remaining summer and early fall far more tolerable. There was a nearby stream, so shallow and sluggish in its movements that she need not fear her young being carried off by it even at a meager weight. Or drown. 

And should one of her cubs drown in this, well, they would not have been long for the world in any event. 

But as she pressed her calloused paw into the chilled waters, she did not think it would be an issue; here, at this juncture where it curled, it hardly stood above her nails blunted by mountainstone. It was something to lap at, to keep hydrated. With a shake of her furs, the matriarch drifted away from the whelping den to investigate once again the surroundings nearby, and chase out any lingering pests that might rear their head.

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The eagle had been travelling, and had not come back to the mountain with no name for some time. He returned with great swoops over his mountain base.

He, himself, had been hunting for a mate.

When he had found no one to pair with, he reacted in anger to his weeks of searching in isolation. He mobbed a murder of crows. He tormented the song birds by swooping near their nests, though he had no intention of robbing them. Finally, upon his return home, he stole a young rabbit from a falcon. The sight would have been glorious to see, for they had spun about madly in a reckless spiral until at last, the falcon gave up her kill to the far larger predator.

Flying over the top of the mountain, he found the great queen meandering. Flying in low, he made no noise as he dropped the rabbit within her vicinity from a few metres, then landed rather aggressively on a cedar tree within her view. He stared at her.

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It had been a while since she had seen her winged companion, though she thought little of it; he still had his own life, independent of her, and she was content to let him live it. When the path she traversed grew too quiet, the matriarch grew still herself, sniffing at the wind. No bears, no cougars—not where she could note, and they could be downwind. Or—

Blood, from above, which had been her next guess; she saw the prey fall to the earth, first, certainly surprised by the drop in indicated only by the lifting of her hackles, and her own sharp gaze found her wayward beast (her own furs smoothing out, then) find his perch while her peripherals did not miss the way the rabbit rebounded against a jutting stone. She huffed her appreciation before moving toward it, hunger an ever constant thing at this stage. For now, she settled onto her hindquarters and pulled the morsel toward her. 

But suddenly... a thought occurred. 

In the days to come, she would bring new life... life that, up to a certain point, could also make for a decent meal for him. For others, too. “Soon, I will bring children into this world. For a time, they will be small. As easy to carry and steal away as this rabbit,” she drawled, placing a broad paw upon the limp thing. “These children of ours you may not eat. But,” she drawled, “there will be plenty that seek to do so. And I invite you to make a meal out of them,” she hummed, ears twitching. “No doubt they will think you a threat only to the things they hunt. Imagine their surprise, to be wrong,” she thrilled at the thought of it; she hoped The Eagle might get some joy from this, too. 

“And between us, let us see who can make the most kills against those that seek to harm them,” she challenged playfully. None that threatened her ilk, especially her defenseless young, would live to tell the tale. By talon or by tooth, the price to pay would be their life. She observed him, looking for any indication that he agreed or else approved. Perhaps even both.

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The black leader of the mountain hesitated, and at this the bird tilted his head, fascinated by this pause. He, being rather uninterested in most parts of the wolf world, had not noticed her pregnancy. He had not the nose designed for sensing hormones, nor closeup views of her belly, for he usually saw her from above and afar.

Hydra announced it to the eagle then. He seemed to half pay attention, turning his head to stare at the trees as he listened, nibbling at his talons to remove a spare bit of fur from the rabbit. She spoke something of "can'ts" to him, though she should have known well by then that he did not take direct orders. She provided an alternative to this dastardly behaviour, though to him, they seemed one and the same. What was the problem with weeding out the spare that was sure to come with whatever brood she lay? He, after all, had done plenty of hunting for her. It seemed that she should return the favour with a select choice.

The eagle did not respond immediately. Instead, he turned back to face her and pulled again at something on his foot, then preened his feathers for a while. Finally.
“Reward?” The question was simple, but loaded. Did he want a reward for winning her challenge? Did he want a reward for not eating her young? None were wise to his code.

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“Double the meals, surely, worth more than something made of mostly milk fat,” the matriarch hummed, believing as much. From coyotes to foxes, all would have more meat on their bones than the cubs. That, and none had ever thought to hunt the hunter—on his end, she imagined it would be a sure kill. But for the reward, well, “I will leave my own kills when dealing with such things for your consumption as well,” the Ostrega offered. There would be plenty... there always was. Even more food for him, then. 

Hydra did not think to command him in any one thing. He was a creature who had his own will, and who would act on it—but this was one thing she would ask in such a way that it felt as much, more for her value of him than anything else. Even her own life, with it. The Eagle was a formidable opponent to any, her included—even with her masteries, Hydra was daunted by the idea of moving against him. Better to keep the peace. 

“There are mothers who care less. I care not what you do to any abandoned cub beyond our borders. What I ask is only for my own,” she hummed. Cruel, perhaps, but that was the way of the wild. He had the world at his wings; Hydra only sought to protect her family upon Empyrean.

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He sat idly, perched and eyeballing her while she went on to explain the benefits without offering anything special, save for perhaps the food she might leave behind should the mountain queen find such puppy-harming vermin. At this, the eagle stretched his wings and flapped them a bit, feeling rather peckish thinking about such piles of free meals.

Hydra added that she, of course, did not care if he preyed on the weak elsewhere. How he would manage to tell her young apart from the hundreds of others was its own question, but he supposed they would probably end up looking like her or her agouti companion. The eagle did not fully understand. Weeding out the poorest of her brood surely should be a priority for her, such that the best would survive.

“Even the broken ones?” The question stemmed from his knowledge that not all eggs in a brood would hatch into healthy chicks. Some would not hatch at all, and still others would emerge pathetic and incapable. Normally, these were the ones pushed out of the nest by their siblings, but he doubted that wolves had such measures.

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His question did not need thought. “You may have the broken ones,” she drawled, licking her chops. She would have devoured them in any event, knowing they were not long for the world if they breathed at all, “if there are any.” Hydra had the good fortune of bearing several healthy young, and while this year she imagined it would be the same she could not deny the differences in this particular pregnancy. She felt overcrowded within in comparison to the previous two years, but there was enough movement in there where Hydra attributed it to perhaps more than she was used to. 

Or, they were being well fed. That was certainly possible; The Nameless Mountain was bountiful. 

Shifting her weight, she drawled, “they will be on the doorstep a day or so after they are conceived,” she determined. Best to be sure the weak were weak, but any obvious ones—with strange looking limbs, or missing ones—he would find sooner than that. Hydra could not help but imagine that the life she hosted within her were both strong and capable, though should any for whatever reason not be... well, The Eagle could have them.

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The eagle shuffled on his perch, perhaps in excitement, at the "okay" to eat those that would not make it otherwise. It was the tender and new that were the finest. Though she doubted their existence, he knew well that it was rare a brood survived fully. If one was straggling, perhaps he might ease its suffering and act as a one man recycling centre.

The eagle did not acknowledge her thought process, but stared and listened. She would have known by now that he did not respond to things that did not absolutely require a response to them. She might also have known that whether he would keep the agreement to not devour her children was a gamble.

The eagle chirruped to her, apparently bored of the conversation. He fluffed his wings and spread them to leave her, so as to continue his rampage.

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As he made to leave, the matriarch watched him go in thoughtful silence. In time she would see what his decision ultimately was, but her eyes would be upon the skies regardless. He was not the only bird of prey to contend with, but she hoped he would get rid of that lot. They would be irksome to him in any event when it came to other hunting here, the matriarch imagined. And then she was on her own way, resuming her own prior activity.

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