My body has become so used to high-velocity plummets that all I feel is a giddythrillas the world rushes toward us. As Clode snatches my loose hair, like she’s trying to yank it from my scalp.
I bare my teeth, body tight and poised for impact.
Just when it seems we’re about to smash headfirst into the ground, Líri flicks out her wings, extends her talons.
We strike with bludgeoning force.
Our thunderous collision almost masks the sound of the bhar’s skull popping beneath Líri’s paw. A death so swift I doubt it felt a thing.
Nearby birds scatter from the grass, flocking for cover as I heave breath, my body tingling from the echoing rush of our descent.
Líri lifts her bloody paw and prowls back off the kill, head dropping to sniff her prey. Checking for signs of life while I salivate, eagerly anticipating our meal.
I toss my leg over her back and slide down, evaluating the bhar, barely able to see over its bulging belly. The creature is large enough to feed us both for many cycles, with plenty left for small predators to pick at.
Líri nudges it. The softest push that flops the carcass, spilling more blood on the snow, tainting the air with the smell of fresh meat. Something that’ll hopefully lure more plump predators to the area.
Despite Líri’s strong urge to fly south, I’m less inclined to leave these lush and bountiful mountains.
The male I love is nearby.
My desire to be close is unshakable, as are my instinctual urges to scout the surrounding peaks, ensuring there’s nothing coming to hunt or cause him harm.
Totakehim from me.
Líri stabs her claw into the beast’s fluffy abdomen, puncturing it in place. She widens her maw, strings of saliva stretching between her pointedsabers before she sinks them into its hind andrips, tearing off a flap of skin and meat she flicks at me.
It slaps onto the snow at my feet, bloody and steaming.
I release a throaty rumble of gratitude.
She huffs and sinks her teeth into the bhar’s gut, then whips her head to the side, snapping its ribs and making a messy hole. She pushes her entire snout into its cavity and roots around for the liver.
Her favorite part.
I drop a knee, grab the strip of meat, and rip into the flesh—finding it so tender it falls apart in my mouth with barely any resistance. Meaning the beast died fast and without stress.
I tear off another bite, masticating the gamey mouthful. Recalling our first hunt. My first bite of raw, still-warm meat.
I’d winced. Screwed up my face. Was still clinging to soft shreds of my old self. But the more we flew, the more weightless I became. The less I craved the taste of cooked meat.
The more I cravedthis.
The feel of blood dribbling down my chin. Of tendons ripping apart between my teeth and the soft weight of something freshly slain moving into my empty belly. The freedom of slumbering above the clouds with the noise so far beneath; no need to speak or feel or worry beyond the source of our next meal and scouting the perimeter. Keeping threats at bay.
Líri releases a low warning rumble. Through the ebb and flow of our bond, I feel her senses prickle. Sure sign we’re being watched from a distance. Not that she seemstooworried.
Neither am I, given the speed in which we can get into the sky and be defensively poised. But it does pique my curiosity—primitively aware we’re sharing this meadow with another.
With a male ripe with the hardy scent of strength and dominance.
Mine.
I stuff another bite of meat in my mouth as I cut my gaze around, through a thicket of small trees that offers little shelter, breath stilling when I hear—
Song.
A deep baritone that lifts the hairs on my arms and across the back of my neck.
