Prologue
A blanket of fog embraced the sparkling, wintry landscape. Night had fallen like a thief, and resting among the flickering stars was the full eye of the moon, leisurely watching the primitive world from her glittering throne. A white spark flashed across the sky—a tiny streak of light gone unnoticed by the animals below. Several more followed suit, their fiery tails fading quickly into the darkness.
The Earth turned slowly through the final ice age, her body marbled in thick sheets of snow and ice. Despite the summer, Canada, Greenland, and parts of Eurasia lay entombed within its glacial prison, and farther south, nature’s arctic grip gradually receded to unveil the vast plains of North America. In the midst of winter, however, it seemed as though the entire world had frozen in on itself, looking more like an ice-capped moon than a fertile Earth.
Snow-laden conifers dotted the land, their branches bending and drooping from the weight of winter’s gift; in the eerie stillness, mounds of white powder would hit the ground with a hollow thud, creating a sound that echoed through the dark wood like the slow beating of a great heart. High above in the ebony heavens, the constellations shone down to meet the gaze of one of the most fearsome predators of the wild—the saber-toothed cat.
The hunter stood still, her eyes cold and emotionless as she stared back at the graveyard of stars. Her long sabers glinted in the moonlight and her thick, bronze coat sparkled with frost.
A deep sound rumbled in her throat as a dark shadow soared swiftly toward her. She lifted her nose and caught the familiar scent of her follower. With a graceful swoop the bird perched itself upon her shoulders.
“Mistress,” he hooted darkly, for he dared not to announce her true name. He ruffled his black wings and blinked slowly. “You seem unsettled.”
The hunter scowled and looked away. The wise bird always seemed to know just how she felt, easily sensing her thoughts by a mere glance in the eye.
The owl lifted his beak. “Tell me, mistress.”
“Fool,” the hunter growled. “Can you not read minds?”
Because night was drawing near, the great owl looked nothing more than a haunting silhouette. Slightly offended, Penumbra resisted the urge to sink his talons into her fur.
“Knowledge is power,” he began slowly, “but respect may more than often save your life.”
His mistress smirked and looked away, gazing off toward the misty, snowcapped mountains. “Respect,” she muttered scornfully, “belongs to those who deserve it, Penumbra. Those at the top may live without fear, but those with power…live for eternity.”
Penumbra looked on thoughtfully. “And let us not forget the fallen.”
“They had their chance,” his mistress muttered darkly, “and they were lucky to have one.” Her gaze was suddenly lost in memory, remembering the captives all those years ago. For her, it was a price well paid for rebellion. They’d willfully chosen their fates right before her very eyes.
“To see them become the very things they’ve consumed all their lives—prey,” she added slowly. “What a pity…” She raised her head and the light of the moon lit up a thin, hairless scar snaking down from her right eye to the corner of her mouth.
The dark owl ruffled his wings. “I sense a great change coming,” Penumbra finally put in slowly, raising his eyes to the glittering heavens. “It is said when the red star appears in the sky, the great prophecy may finally begin to unfold.”
His mistress was padding down the moonlit slope when she suddenly stopped. Her eyes glittered almost hungrily, reflecting the twinkling sky as she scanned for the tiny flame hiding in the sea of diamonds.
“The prophecy,” she breathed. Her fur prickled at the word.
Prophecies were ancient, nearly as old as time itself, but few were aware of the one Penumbra now possessed. Whispers of countless stories had been circulating for centuries, though true prophecies could only be obtained from tribe healers or from owls. Connection with owls was rare, for only a chosen few could possess the ability to tap into the minds of one of the most hidden and mysterious creatures.
“Do the others know of it?” she asked.
“I’ve searched far and wide,” began Penumbra, “but I’ve found no terga who may be aware of it, your highness,” Penumbra assured her, using the word for his mistress’s race.
“Good,” she growled. A strange pleasure flickered in her eyes, only to turn cold again. “We must find out more. This is what I’ve long been waiting for—what we’ve all been waiting for. Once my power grows stronger, nothing can stop us.”
The owl’s coal-black eyes hardened. “No amount of dark craft can summon all of the prophecy. That is a power of its own, and pieces of it will come to those who are worthy.”
“That’s because you haven’t yet mastered your abilities, Penumbra,” the terga growled. “In time you shall grow more in wisdom until the very universe bows to you—and to me.”
As enticing as her words sounded, Penumbra stiffened. Though he respected his mistress’s tenacity and refusal to give in to weakness, she lacked patience.
The terga’s eyes glittered, wondering of the prophetic words Penumbra had passed down to her. “Snow and fire, wax and wane, for all shall flee from a skora’s reign,” she recited.
“And perhaps the most foreboding verse of all,” added Penumbra.
“A skora’s reign…,” she whispered to herself. “Once I find out what it all means,” she whispered grimly, “only then will I obtain what is rightfully mine. She raised her head, the black of her pupils reflecting the waning moon. “My time will come.”
Penumbra felt her moving again, this time with determination. As they descended down the hill, shadows interlaced the forest, taking on the encroaching midnight hour.
But then, hidden in the vast tangle of conifers miles beyond, a sound came that all too often haunted the bones of the terga race. Both the bird and his leader stiffened suddenly, and for a moment their forms blended perfectly into the still wood.
The solemn howl was faint but strong, rising like mist above the trees to greet the light of the moon.
1
H U N T
Early light filtered through the fissures of a fallen tree den, its rays pouring over the striped, russet coat of a young terga. She blinked open a pair of honey-gold eyes and yawned, baring her long sabers.
“Good morning, Ember,” greeted a soft voice nearby.
“Morning, Lapis,” Ember replied, catching sight of her tribemate. Lapis’s brown striped pelt shined, her body just close enough that Ember could see the gold flecks in her blue eyes.
Muffled voices radiated from outside the den, grabbing Ember’s attention. Curious now, she shook the debris from her fur and padded out, sensing Lapis following close behind.
“I’ll lead the hunting party,” Tundra was saying to a small group in the clearing. He stood tall, his muscular body apparent even when relaxed. His fur was a deep gray tinged with silver and white.
“Of course you will,” came a female’s sarcastic reply. She was large with a rich, honey-gold pelt, but standing next to Tundra, she suddenly looked quite small.
Tundra’s silver-gray eyes flicked to the bold hunter. “Echo, perhaps if you take down a mighty ice-lord with your own teeth and claws like I once did, then you too may have the honor of leading your own hunting party.”
Echo frowned, her amber eyes glinting. “That mammoth was old and lame, Tundra,” she reminded him bluntly. “And you had nearly the entire tribe helping you. With Star tribe’s luck, I shall take one down, too.”
“Don’t be too confident, Echo,” added Tundra, waving his tail. “They can be dangerous, too.”
“That’s right,” a new voice joined in. “Remember what happened to Thorn?”
Realization drew across Echo’s face, and she lowered her head almost shamefully.
Ember glanced at Wind who’d spoken, but he didn’t seem to notice Echo’s anguish for the cub she'd mentored several years before. Thorn’s death was unfortunate; Echo had given all her time and effort into making a well-rounded hunter out of him, but the day he’d gone out to hunt would be his last. He went alone and when he didn’t return, a search party had stumbled upon his broken body deep in the snowy plains.
It looked as if Thorn had been trampled by a herd of mammoths, though unfortunately, Echo had fallen ill and was unable to keep watch over Thorn.
“He was foolish to go alone at such a young age," Tundra put in simply. "But he had a quality valued not only in our tribe, but also among the terga race: bravery." He touched the top of Echo's head with the tip of his nose in an attempt to console her, but she turned away.
“I don’t think I could bear to let myself train another cub,” she mumbled sulkily. “Perhaps I wasn’t good enough.”
“Nonsense, Echo,” Ember finally cut in. Her neck bristled slightly as all eyes turned on her. “You are nothing less than a great mentor, and it wasn’t your fault. You were sick, remember?”
Echo’s guilt-stricken face softened a little. She nodded her head as if she wanted to believe her. Echo's sickness had deterred her from eating and drinking, let alone keep track of Thorn’s plans and whereabouts. Iris, the tribe’s healer, had grown worried she wouldn't make it, but with her wisdom and experience, Echo had slowly improved.
“Besides,” she went on encouragingly, “perhaps one day you’ll hunt down the very beast that took Thorn’s life.”
Echo's eyes lit up and she lifted her chin. "By the will of Zotar," she growled, raising her eyes to the sky, "let it be so."
Murmurs of agreement spread around the huddled group. Zotar was believed by all tergas as the eternal source who created all things, including the stars where their spirit ancestors dwelled since the beginning of time.
“Let us then reach the grasslands before noon high.” Tundra raised the stub of his tail, gesturing to Echo and Wind to follow him toward the open trees. Ember watched as they swiftly padded away. Her stomach growled.
“May I come?” she called after them.
“Of course!” Tundra replied.
Ember turned to face Lapis, who stood quietly beside her. “Would you like to join me?”
Lapis flicked her ears, looking rather shy. “I…” She suddenly shook her head. “It’s alright.”
Disappointed, Ember lowered her eyes but didn’t press her. The distant voices of the hunting party grew fainter, and her paws itched to catch up to them.
“You go ahead without me, Ember,” Lapis said quietly, raising herself. “I’ll wait for you.”
Confused, Ember couldn’t help but to wonder. It was rare for Lapis to refuse an opportunity to hunt. “Are you going to join the morning search then?”
“Perhaps.” Lapis nodded slowly.
“Alright. I’ll see if I can catch something for you before I return.” With that, Ember turned and trotted swiftly across the clearing where Echo, Wind, and Tundra had long disappeared.
The sun steadily rose higher as the group left the pines behind. Daylight poured over their backs as they padded across the flat landscape. Patches of wild grass speckled the dry earth; in the distance, a single tree could be seen standing boldly on its own.
Tundra lowered his head and moved fluidly with his body close to the ground. He was well known for his astounding hunting abilities, for he’d once brought down a musk ox all on his own. It usually took more than several tergas to kill one, who could easily inflict fatal wounds from their thick, heavy horns. But Tundra could often hunt them easily on his own. Much of the tribe depended on him for food that lasted well over a few days—especially during the harsh winters; because of this, he became anointed as Sol’s successor.
Wind was following close behind Tundra, his nose raised high to scent the air.
“Horse,” he growled, licking his jowls. His pupils dilated and a faint rumble rose from his belly.
“And may patience and silence be with you, Wind,” Tundra reminded him. He raised his head to gaze past the waving grasses. There, standing several hundred yards away was a gray stilt-legged horse, its neck and limbs lined with dark stripes. Though it stood quite far away, its snort echoed clearly in the air. But then it suddenly stiffened and turned its narrow head in their direction.
Echo padded along the dusty trail, and realizing she had no cover, stopped. The tense moment passed when the horse finally turned its head away, shaking its mane and snorting.
“There are more,” Wind whispered, scenting the air hungrily. “About two or three. I wouldn’t call it a herd, though.”
“Quiet, Wind,” Echo snarled softly. The tip of her tail was twitching irritably. “If it escapes, I’ll hunt you down before I do anything else. I’m not returning empty-pawed—or with an empty stomach.”
Wind snorted and shot her a strange look. “You would eat me?”
Echo glared at him. “Don’t tempt me.” A rumble rose from her belly, and to her amusement, Wind backed away.
Ember stood beside Tundra, wondering how she would take part in the hunting strategy. As if answering her thoughts, Tundra glanced at her and the rest of the group, his eyes hard.
“Ember and I will cover the outer perimeter in case others end up escaping. Echo and Wind, once you get close enough, take it down by its hindquarters. Avoid the back hooves if you can—a nasty kick will keep any terga in the healer’s den for days."
Echo and Wind acknowledged his plan with curt nods, their muscles rippling. The two drew close together and began slowly sifting through the grass until their forms disappeared from sight.
Ember glanced back at Tundra to see him padding silently eastward, away from the rest of the group. She followed close behind, noticing his shoulder blades rising rhythmically with every step. Ember’s ears folded forward, listening intently for new signs of prey, though she kept her eyes and nose fixed on the horse. She raised her neck just enough to see the creature was still standing firm, swiveling its great long ears.
Tundra’s eyes flitted from Echo and Wind back to the horse, all while maintaining his speed approach. Several times he sped up while hidden within the tangle of grasses, and Ember struggled to keep up with his unexpected bursts. Then he suddenly disappeared, leaving her with nothing but his strong scent in the air.
“Tundra?” she whispered softly, hoping for an answer.
Silence.
“Tundra?” she repeated. Her heart picked up pace, worried now she’d lost track of him. A breeze, birthed from nowhere, suddenly shook the grasses back and forth in a violent dance. Her fur buffeted as the thick, green veil opened up to reveal Tundra’s powerful hind limbs several feet away. He was still now, the stub of his tail twitching with anticipation.
Seizing the opportunity, she raced over to him, keeping her body low. Tundra turned his broad head slightly, seemingly unaware Ember had momentarily lost him.
“We're very close now,” he murmured in a low voice. He lifted his gaze to see the horse was now trotting away.
Ember’s ears flattened. “I think it spotted us.”
Suddenly the horse changed direction, now galloping straight toward them, but Tundra didn’t move.
“Lie low, Ember,” he growled softly.
She did as she was told, wondering when Echo and Wind would begin their chase. The wind grew still until nothing was heard but the echo of distant hooves.
“Are there more?” asked Ember.
“Yes, but only a couple more. Wind is right.” Tundra’s whiskers twitched as the prey’s scent drifted closer. “They usually live in groups much bigger than this. Perhaps they’ve wandered away from the main herd.” He was scenting the air deeply now.
Ember scented too, the aroma now thick on her tongue. Before either of them could utter a word, two streaks of summer gold shot across the dry earth, with one just a few paw lengths behind the other.
The hunters had finally charged.
The ground trembled as the startled horses whinnied and snorted in shock, their hooves rapidly pounding the earth. Clouds of dust flew up from their hooves as they raced away from their attackers.
Ember’s eyes were wide as the group headed straight toward her with furious speed. She crouched amidst the grasses, her strong muscles flexing as she prepared herself. Just as she was about to leap, the horses unexpectedly veered off, their hooves sending waves of dirt into the air.
Without waiting, Ember darted forward as fast as her paws could carry her. Up ahead, she could spot Echo snapping at one of their limbs as Wind prepared to leap onto its back.
A pained shriek rang in the air. One of the horses stumbled as Echo caught one of its hind legs. The small herd had dispersed, and Ember raced forward with Tundra.
“Don’t let go, Echo!” Wind cried as the horse struggled to free itself. The creature’s eyes were glazed over in fear as it pushed forward, its coat now stained with blood.
The golden hunter could only growl in reply, her mouth clamped down firmly on its leg. Echo tried to keep up, but suddenly lost her footing and was dragged almost helplessly across the ground.
Wind rushed forward, determined to help when the horse unexpectedly kicked out with its back hooves. Echo had lost her grip and Wind quickly raced forward until he was side by side with the horse’s right flank. He gave a ferocious roar and leaped onto its back.
Ember’s sides heaved for breath, and the muscles around her belly tightened with exhaustion. As Tundra sped after a new target, Ember changed direction, determined to help Echo.
Determined, she felt a new strength pulse through her veins. When she was finally level with the horse’s pace, she could see Wind was struggling to keep his balance, his claws digging deep into its flesh. His fangs were bared to come down when suddenly the horse turned sharply, nearly throwing him off.
Ember’s ears were filled with the pounding of her own blood and thundering hooves. With a terrible roar, Ember leaped and wrapped her paws around the horse’s throat, forcing her prey to the ground before quickly sinking her sabers deep into its neck.
An agonized shriek shattered the air as the horse stumbled onto the ground in a great heap. Wind stumbled his way over to Ember, who was still holding her prey's neck in her jaws. Crimson gurgled out from the wound and poured over her chest and paws.
“Ember,” Wind huffed. “That was perfect timing.”
Ember’s eyes gleamed with pride. When she was sure it was dead, she gingerly let go of her prey.
“Thanks,” she replied breathlessly. As the dust settled, she could make out Wind's handsome narrow snout and warm, brown eyes. Tufts of thick golden fur had grown out around his neck and chest, and he had an air of strength about him despite his slim build. He was good when it came to speed and attack, though he struggled to properly bring down his prey. He was young and every hunt could only improve his skills.
Ember looked over to see Echo breathing heavily nearby. Her lids were half-shut more out of pain than exhaustion, and one of her paws was lifted tenderly near her chest.
“Are you okay?” Ember asked in alarm. She walked over but Echo gave her a warning growl.
“Don’t get too close,” she panted, “I think I twisted my paw.” She gingerly placed it on the ground to test it, then winced.
“That doesn’t look good,” Wind observed. “I think Iris should take a good look at that.”
“You don’t say,” Echo grumbled sharply. Her pained expression was quickly replaced with embarrassment and anger. “That fool!” Her fur bristled. “‘Take it down from behind’,” she spat, mocking Tundra’s instructions. “When my paw gets better, he’ll be sure to feel it—mark my words.”
Both Ember and Wind started in surprise. Echo was known to be irritable, but something in her voice made Ember’s skin crawl beneath her pelt. She and Wind exchanged a worried glance before catching Tundra moving toward them.
He was treading at a normal pace a few dozen yards away, unaware that one of his tribe mates was wounded. The sun shone directly behind him, lighting up his back while bathing his face and chest in soft shadow. The front and sides of his muzzle were stained with red, and his eyes shone with satisfaction at the dead horse.
As soon as Echo spotted Tundra, her eyes darkened and her lips curled, though Tundra didn’t seem to notice—his gaze was fixed on the carcass. He gazed over it approvingly as though making an internal judgment. “A fine catch,” he beamed, looking up at all three. “And who killed this beast?”
“I did.” Ember stood up to meet Tundra’s pleased expression.
“Well done.” Tundra dipped his head in a small bow. “The tribe shall eat well tonight.”
Ember’s eyes shone, but her concern for Echo had returned. “Echo’s hurt.” She gestured to her tribe mate. “I think she needs to see Iris.”
Tundra turned his attention to Echo. “Let me s—”
"Don't get any closer, Tundra," warned Echo. She shifted her weight onto her back legs and lifted her good paw threateningly in the air. “It’s your fault I've gotten to this point.”
“My fault?” Tundra said in surprise. “You blame this on me?” The fur bristled slightly over his broad shoulders.
“Yes, you,” she growled, baring her sabers. “If you hadn’t told us to attack it from behind, I’d be walking on all fours right now.”
Tundra narrowed his eyes. “I said to attack its hindquarters, not from behind its hooves.”
Echo’s mouth was open as if she was about to defend herself, but no words came. Instead, she shot him a sour look with flattened ears. Beside her, Wind lowered his muzzle to hide his embarrassment for her.
“It was an alpha,” Wind pointed out, trying to support his injured tribe mate. "Surely one of us was bound leave with a twisted paw."
“Which is all the more reason to follow the orders I give,” Tundra growled. His gray eyes were hard, but he sounded regretful. “Wind, take her to Iris as soon as possible, before it gets worse. The last thing we need is one less hunter and one more mouth to feed.”
Ember watched as Wind helped Echo to her paws, allowing her to lean against his shoulder. She was limping slightly as they both made their way back toward the distant pines.
When they were far enough away, Ember turned her attention back to Tundra. For a moment their eyes met, and Ember noticed the sun’s rays lighting up the tips of his fur, and for a moment he seemed to glow.
"You did very well today, Ember,” he praised again. “I cannot name another she-terga who has brought down a herd alpha. I shall report this to Sol the next time I see him.”
Ember couldn't help but feel a wave of pride as he said it. She raised her tail and drew out her chest.
"I’ve got its neck; you take one of its front legs." Tundra lifted the horse's torn throat effortlessly by his teeth.
Ember responded with a flick of her ears, but before she could start, Tundra gripped its throat in his mouth and pulled backward, the powerful muscles across his body flexing until they looked ready to burst. The carcass easily moved with him as Ember watched in amazement. It looked as if he didn’t need help—or anyone’s help for that matter. The sound of gritting dirt filled the air as the catch left a smooth, bloodstained trail behind them.
Noon came to pass. The blue heavens were naked and void of its robe of clouds. Insects buzzed and distant rodents rustled their way around the trees in their effort to gather what food they could find.
“I have to admit, I’ve never felt this full in suns,” a male terga spoke, then let out a painful moan. He was resting among a group near the great pine in the clearing back at camp. The tree’s height was nearly double the average size, its needle-ribbed branches spanned outward like great fans, casting thick, soft shadows over the resting hunters. A few of its ancient roots jutted out slightly over the ground like a frozen snake.
“Eaten more than you could handle, Storm?” Ember joked. She sat across from him with her paws tucked neatly beneath her chest. A couple of her tribe mates, Lapis and Solstice, were nestled close beside her.
Storm didn’t answer at first. Before anyone else could speak, he emitted another low moan.
“Apparently so,” Lapis chuckled softly.
Storm had a long, lithe body with a gray pelt. He was several years older than Lapis, and well known for his courage and tracking abilities.
“I…,” Storm sighed heavily, “can handle anything.”
Lying in the center of the group was the dead horse; much of its flesh had been torn away and nearly every rib had been licked clean.
“If you say so, Storm,” Ember put in, stifling a giggle.
“I’ve never seen a terga eat so much in all my life,” Solstice added. “And I thought Sol was bad.”
“Shh!” Ember hissed at her friend. She was surprised Solstice would speak of the tribe leader like that so freely. “He probably heard you.”
Solstice lowered her head guiltily. She glanced over her shoulder to the great cave den nestled within a steep, rocky hill. Low tree branches stretched over the hollow entrance, overshadowing a patch of fallen pine needles. When nothing stirred or revealed itself from the cave, Solstice exhaled in relief.
“That was close,” she chuckled.
Ember sighed and rolled her eyes.
“So you think,” a new voice joined in.
All three turned their heads abruptly toward the unexpected sound. Another group was settled nearby; some were just finishing their share of the carcass, but the one who'd spoken had her attention on Solstice. Her old eyes were hard, her silver-gray fur ruffled and unkempt, and cupped in her paws was a broken femur.
Ember's group was silent, caught off guard by Ice’s interruption. She was usually quiet, so much that her tribe mates would often forget she was even there. Many considered Ice strange and superstitious. She was nearly as old as Dune, the tribe’s only retired elder, but her strength and zeal hadn’t left her just yet.
Looking closer, it was clear Ice wasn’t in a group, but in a lonely spot close by, as if she was attempting to join in. One of the tergas feeding nearby jumped at her voice, but was too focused on his meal to bother looking up.
“What do you mean, ‘so you think’?” Storm finally asked.
Ice’s pale irises were filled with scorn. “If any of you think he has a clean past…” She lowered her ears and brought her whiskers forward. “You’re wrong.”
“I doubt it,” Storm retorted, shooting a glance at Solstice, but his tribe mate was looking curiously at the old terga.
“Are you saying Sol did something wrong?” Solstice questioned lightly.
“We all have a thread of the past we would rather leave hidden away, even from those we trust,” Ice breathed gravely.
Storm’s blue eyes narrowed. “We’re listening, Ice. Tell us.” His voice was now thick with doubt. He looked up to the great leader who had proven himself countless times over the years, for Sol was known by all of the tribe as protective, honorable and true to his name.
There was a brief silence as all three looked up curiously at the gray terga. Ice’s eyes were half drowned in shadow as the sun slowly descended behind the sky-reaching pines. But to their surprise, she exhaled sharply through her nose and looked away.
“Why speak to a bunch of disbelievers?” she suddenly snorted.
“We’ll listen, Ice,” Lapis spoke gently. Her voice was hopeful but Ice refused to meet her gaze.
“You are not ready,” Ice stated bluntly. “I dare say not a soul in this tribe is ready.” Suddenly her claws sank into the earth and her jowls lifted over her aged, yellow sabers. “Iris was the first to hear of it, and she did nothing but scoff at me. One day you will all learn for yourselves who he truly is,” she spat, her ears flattening.
Storm gave a low growl. “You’re lying,” he snarled. “You won’t tell us because you have nothing to say about Sol. He is a great and noble leader, Ice.” He stood up boldly, his hackles bristling. “All you do is spread gossip for attention.”
Rage burned furiously in Ice’s eyes, but her reply was as smooth and cold as her name. “Gossip?” She rose and took several steps forward.
Lapis and Ember watched as Storm glowered down at her. Ember felt her friend shift awkwardly beside her, and for a moment she wondered whether to leave. Suddenly a call rose unexpectedly in the air.
“They’re about to leave for the evening search, Storm,” Wind announced from across the clearing. “Talon wants you to join him before twilight sets in.”
“It would be my pleasure,” Storm growled darkly, throwing one last glare at Ice.
“He wants you to bring another tribe mate with you, too.” Wind sounded tired, and he sat almost hunch-backed with his neck lowered. It looked as if the earlier hunt had taken a toll on him.
Storm nodded his head before facing Lapis. “Do you want to come?” he asked, but she shook her head.
“I’ve already joined the morning search,” she replied quickly.
“Solstice?” Storm probed.
The young she-terga hesitated.
“Quickly, Storm,” Wind called again. “Talon’s waiting outside the entrance." Then he turned and disappeared into the long, narrow den hidden beneath the ancient fallen tree.
***
The grass was thick and soft beneath Ember’s pads as she followed Talon deep in the forest. After traveling for several miles, the pines had faded to oaks and maples. Flowers budded among the thick vegetation, their petals gleaming softly beneath the dimming sky. Though darkness was beginning to take reign, patches of color across the forest floor seemed to burst forth.
Refusing to be distracted, Ember focused on tracking any signs of danger. Beside her, Storm’s ears were flicking about and his jaws were parted to taste the air.
“Thank you for coming,” he finally murmured.
“No problem.” Ember tried to meet his gaze. “Is everything alright?”
His pace slowed slightly, and he made a noise that sounded like a half sigh and half growl. “Ice thinks she can say whatever she likes about anyone,” he snarled, wrinkling his nose.
“She is much older than us,” Ember advised gently. “She was alive before you were born, and maybe she's seen things...”
“Well, whatever she saw,” muttered Storm, “she would have told us about it, but she didn’t.” He raised his muzzle and growled. “She’s obviously making it up. It baffles me that Sol would keep a superstitious terga in our tribe.”
“Maybe she’s telling the truth,” Ember reckoned.
“What, are you saying you believe her?”
“Storm,” Ember sighed, frustrated, “that’s not my point.”
Talon’s russet ears swiveled toward their voices. "What are you two muttering about over there?" His deep voice echoed freely about the trees, and both Storm and Ember nearly froze in their tracks.
“Nothing, Talon!” Ember replied nonchalantly. She sighed in relief when he turned away. Dark stripes lined across his dusky brown fur, his massive form casting a shadow longer than Ember and Storm’s combined.
“It seems like he could probably touch the stars with his nose if he tried,” Storm joked quietly, changing the subject. “And he’s so serious about everything. It’s hard to believe he’s your brother.”
Ember wanted to nick his ears for making fun of Talon. “You hardly believe in anything anyway,” she shot back, remembering how Storm would wander off during Iris’s stories when they were cubs. He wasn’t quick to believe such things like spirits miraculously coming down from the sky and was always quick to brush off such stories.
Storm’s tone hardened. “I believe.”
“In what?”
Shadows cascaded through the darkening forest. The hunters’ fur glowed softly in the dying twilight. The air was cool and gentle, thick with the scent of hidden rodents and distant moss. A soft, blue light flickered suddenly among the branches. The light was gone in a heartbeat, then flickered back to life farther up in the sky. Ember tried to follow it with her eyes, only to lose sight of it again. In the corner of her eye, several more lights blinked in the darkness.
Storm noticed as well, and he stood still, watching curiously. Talon had long disappeared as he continued his search, leaving the two alone among the wandering lights of blue, gold, and green. Suddenly a deep, vivid blue luminescence drifted close, nearly brushing against Ember’s whiskers. She watched in wonder as the little light released a soft, blue aura.
“In what I see,” whispered Storm.
The firefly hovered about them for a short while, blinking its elysian light before fading back into the darkness.
