Rec had several virtues beside his great skills as hunter, some of which he could even still boast about at the end of his life: he kept his promises… But something far more profound was the fact that he hardly ever – if ever – lied. In fact, Tyra had never caught him on a lie herself. He might twist the truth, but he had never outright lied as far as she could tell.
This tiny virtue was something that would put a strain on a friendship both would come to cherish, despite not even having seen the other until now. It would be Cold Times until they'd find an old Longneck-female, wounds covering her body and blood pooling on the ground in what everything would call a twist of fate much like her daughter's. They would share stories of times long past, of grieves barely healed and tear new wounds that would sting like few other things.
Rec found them food, a massive bluish Longneck that had succumbed to Sharpteeth-wounds not a short while beforehand. They even had heard the sound of a youngster, undoubtedly calling out to the dying giant, but being unlikely to receive an answer from the older Flattooth. By the time they reached her, the hatchling had disappeared, abandoning the dead Longneck to whatever fate awaited corpses. This time that fate was to be food…
Cold Times from now, once they learned her name, they would feel guilty. Now they only saw a dead Longneck, a feast to them. A feast that would carry a bad aftertaste long after they'd eaten it.
Rec rarely lied and he would not all those Cold Times in the future when he'd taunt a friend into attacking him in an attempt to protect her from the animosity of a Threehorn he had condemned to pain. "Perhaps I even have time to snack on you. Let's see if you taste like her too."
The stench of his father was still clinging to her, the rain not having washed it away fully yet, but the older male was nowhere to be seen. Rec silently hoped he had died in the Earth-shake. They tore into her, it having been over a week since they had eaten last.
They stayed with the carcass for several days until Tyra's foot had recovered and she could properly walk again. Then they moved out, seeking fresh flesh once more. They never met Rec's father again, though it was only Cold Times later that they'd find out why: he had been killed by hatchlings.
Rec laughed when he learned of that. Though he told no one, not even his own son, why. There was enough pain, enough bad blood without adding that one to it.
Soon enough the time for mating came along again. Neither could quite stop themselves. Their roars echoed in the Mysterious Beyond that night.
But even empty statements can carry terrible truths: The land is not exactly suited for little ones at any rate.
Tyra carried several eggs after the encounter, but a combination of foul gasses rising from the poisoned lakes in the vicinity and desperate Tickly Fuzzies and Egg Eaters meant that only one reached its' time of hatching.
If either of them were hurt by this omen of their dying world, neither said so. Both simply enjoyed the egg they had...
Until they came back from a hunt and found it missing, the scent of Leafeaters surrounding the place where they had left it.
For Rec, this carried terrible parallels with his previous nest. For Tyra, White Star's rage suddenly made far more sense. Who ever had taken their last egg would pay dearly, for neither would ignore this slight upon them.
With the stinking fumes they had intended to cover the egg's smell, it took Rec a while to find the trail of the Leafeaters. But once he did, both moved after it with such fury and determination that small Belly-crawlers and Tickly Fuzzies fled from the fury radiated by the two prime hunters.
Neither spoke, both too intend to spill blood this day.
In front of them loomed the Great Wall, the sole protection of the sanctuary of the Flatteeth, but now both of them could clearly see a gaping wound in the proud mountain-range.
