Get up.
Orsur groaned as he shifted in place. The young, reddish-brown Sailbeak was perched atop a flat rock, his sail turned towards the Bright Circle. The night before had been a cold one, and despite his best efforts to warm himself up, he was still shivering.
He'd never liked the cold. When Cold Times came, he would usually find his parents and keep them close, curling up in his warm nest rather than exposing himself to the biting air. They understood. All the Sailbeaks understood. They never liked the chill in the air either.
But even as the memories surfaced, he felt a pang of sorrow pierce his gut. If he had been standing, he would have staggered, but all he could do was grimace as his hollow stomach cried out to him. He would never curl up in the nest beside his warm mother or father again. If the nest still existed at all, he had no doubt it belonged to someone else now, and as for his parents...
Orsur shivered, watching as the Bright Circle started its long climb. Soon it would crest the horizon, and then perhaps he could take some sort of artificial solace from its own warm touch.
----------------
"Dad?"
"Yes, Orsur?"
"Who are they?"
The two Sailbeaks stood side by side at the edge of their nesting ground, their eyes thoroughly trained on a large gaggle of hunched, plodding forms that trailed dust high into the sky behind them. They were far away, and so neither of the two was able to make out just what sort of dinosaurs were moving towards them. What they both noticed immediately, however, was the silence.
Orsur and his family lived in a communal nesting ground, a place set right in the middle of a grassy plain where other families of Sailbeaks hatched and raised their own children. These lands were theirs to do with as they pleased; to graze, to drink, to live, and to love. And, in the case of the youngest of the Sailbeaks, to frolic. They were welcoming to all who passed through their lands, often even hospitable to the point that those who passed through found it difficult to leave at times. And yet as Orsur set his eyes upon the approaching dinosaurs, he couldn't help but feel uneasy. Something felt wrong. Very wrong.
"I don't know who they are," his father answered, not taking his eyes off of the herd of dark green leaf eaters, "but whoever they are, there are a lot of them, don't you think?"
Orsur nodded.
"There's not a lot in this world that makes a herd that size get up and start traveling. If I had to guess, I'd say something bad happened."
"Something bad?" Orsur piped up, his bright eyes wide with fear as he stared up at his father. For the first time since sighting the distant herd, his father managed to break his gaze away and give his son a reassuring smile.
"I wouldn't worry too much about it, Orsur. Whatever happened, it happened a while ago, and far away from here. We're safe."
Orsur breathed a sigh of relief, but he found that despite his father's comforting words, he was still trembling. There were so many of them, so many broken, dissheveled-looking adults plodding towards them. He saw very few children amid their ranks; this too helped to fuel his sense of doubt.
"Are we safe from them, though?" he asked, nodding towards the herd.
His father seemed caught off guard by this question.
"What sort of a question is that, Orsur? Mind your manners. We have always let others pass through our lands. This is no different."
Orsur turned back towards the herd, still unable to shake his growing feeling of unease. Even if his father seemed satisfied with the answer he had given, he was not.
----------------
The young Sailbeak stumbled down a shallow, sandy slope, pausing only at the bottom to chew absently on the tough, dry branch of a low-growing bush. The taste of the leaves was bitter, biting his tongue, but it served its purpose well enough: quelling the incessant growling of his stomach. As he pulled away from the branch, still chewing, a shimmer caught his eye. He'd learned that these shimmers were often nothing to get excited about, but this one seemed different, more natural than those caused by the Bright Circle's heat.
Water. had to be.
Orsur surged forward on shaking legs, hoping his suspicions were true, and as he drew closer, he felt his heart soar as he realized that it was indeed water he was coming up on. But almost as soon as grew excited, his mood shifted. There were two other dinosaurs there already- children like him, lapping greedily at the water of a pond, barely larger than a puddle. Orsur crouched low, hiding himself behind a stand of tall, dry grass. Neither of them had noticed him.
And both were significantly smaller than he was.
----------------
"Orsur, I don't understand. Why do you fear these outsiders?"
The young Sailbeak shrugged. "I don't know. I just don't like them. They look at us funny, not like the others did."
"Well, they're from far away. You must remember that."
Orsur sighed. "I know."
The two Sailbeaks were sitting together at the far end of the nesting grounds, drinking in the majesty of the night sky. Behind them, the nesting grounds were packed with slumbering dinosaurs- Spikethumbs, every last one of them, and all from a place they called the "Big Water." Evidently some massive wave had wiped out most of their home, and now they were on the move, looking for new lands. There were more on the way, they said, and despite his trepidation, Orsur couldn't help but gawk at the sheer amount of them. They vastly outnumbered their own kind, and with more on the way... it was a terrifying and simultaneously awe-inspiring thought.
"Look up, Orsur. Up at the stars."
Orsur did as his father told, following his gaze up into the starry heavens. Once, when he had been much younger, he had sworn that he would count everyone. A little older now, he was beginning to realize that such a feat was impossible.
"Look closely at them. No two stars look exactly the same, do they?"
Orsur had to squint to see his father's point, but the older Sailbeak was right. They were different, albeit in very subtle ways.
"I guess so," he replied.
"And yet they reside up there in perfect harmony, side by side."
Orsur was beginning to see where his father was going with this, but remained silent as he continued.
"Imagine what would happen if the stars could not live among one another. Imagine all the night sky, descended into chaos. If the stars could not live among one another, there would be no beauty in the night sky, would there?"
Orsur shook his head.
"We are like those stars, Orsur," his father went on. "We must strive to live with that same measure of harmony among one another. If we don't- if we cannot treat each other with respect and show some hospitality, then we scatter ourselves just like the falling stars we see every night."
As if to punctuate his point, one such star crossed the sky just above the horizon, fading elegantly from view.
The young Sailbeak sighed. "I guess."
Orsur's father chuckled. "Don't worry about it too much, son. Soon the Spikethumbs will be on their way, and the nesting grounds will be just the way they always were."
"Promise?" Orsur looked up at his father, almost pleading.
"Promise."
----------------
The two young Brightbills by the waterside never saw Orsur coming.
With a fierce bellow, the older dinosaur came charging out of the grass towards them. Neither young one knew what to think, but the fire in the Sailbeak's eyes was unmistakable. He meant them harm. With squeaks and yelps of fear, they scrambled from the waterside, fleeing as fast as their legs could carry them. Orsur deviated to pursue them, and as he did so, one fell, tripping over its own feet. Orsur charged forward regardless, bearing down on the young one as if to trample him, and just as it seemed he might go through with it, the young one got to his feet and bolted, scampering off in the direction of his rapidly-disappearing friend, brother, or whatever his companion was. Orsur shot a scowl in their direction, and then turned back to the water. The thought that the young dinosaurs might be wanderers like himself never once crossed his mind. That this water might have saved them from dying of thirst was equally unimportant.
What mattered most was that now it belonged to him. And with it, he could survive one more day, just one more of many before...
----------------
"Please understand. We do not mean to insult you. Our lands simply cannot support a much larger herd than-"
"Whether they can or cannot, they must. The rest of us cannot be left to wander and die."
"And I have no wish to see that happen! But surely there are other locations-"
"Perhaps, but we know of only this one. This is the most fertile stretch of land for days in any direction. You cannot expect us to simply go away. Our homes no longer exist."
From a safe distance, Orsur watched as his father and the leader of the Spikethumbs exchanged words. Word had come in that the rest of the Spikethumb herd was on its way, and with very little room left in the nesting grounds, his father had taken upon himself to finally inform the leader that they could take no more. The leader seemed none too pleased.
"Your plight speaks to me," his father said, pacing from side to side, "make no doubt about that. However I must look to my herd's well being before anyone else's. Surely you understand that."
The Spikethumb nodded solemnly. "Yes, I understand."
And in that moment Orsur saw something, a brief but clear indicator that something was very wrong. A pointed, white shape which stood at the ready by the Spikethumb's foot: it's famous jabbing claw.
"So you'll forgive me if I do the same."
And before Orsur's father could react, the Spikethumb was on top of him, driving the nearly-defenseless Sailbeak into the ground with blow after blow from his powerful tail and front feet. Orsur stood rooted, unable to believe what he was seeing, but even as his father's choked gasps reached his ears, Spikethumbs all over the nesting area rose up against their peaceful hosts.
"I thought-" he heard his father gasp before the booming sound of one of the Spikethumb leader's foot-blows silenced him.
"You knew this was coming."
He saw the glint again, a spurt of crimson, and then Orsur saw no more as he turned and ran. All around him, the nesting area descended into chaos. Mothers wailed and fought back with their lives as their nests were trampled. Children fled screaming, and fathers rushed to defend their families only to be cut down by the much stronger Spikethumbs. On that afternoon, the nesting grounds were full of falling stars.
But one star fled the night sky, never to return.
----------------
Orsur lapped at the water, savoring its refreshing touch in spite of the sandy grit within. Ideally, this water would be just enough to get him to the next source, wherever that may be. And as long as he could continue this rhythm every day, perhaps one day...
Perhaps one day he could exact the same terribly fury the Spikethumbs had brought to his home. He would return to the nesting grounds, and if his kind had reclaimed them by then, he would ignore them and press on to the "Big Water." Once there, he would trample their nests, cut down their adults, and drive the children out. He would plunge their own night sky into chaos, and he would bring the stars themselves down on top of them.
But to do that, he had to find water, and find food.
One day at a time, he reminded himself. The two Brightbills from before were watching him from a distance. He shot them a withering glare, and soon they ducked away.
One day at a time.
