Surprise! The chapter is ready early, as I had some spare time.
Caustizer
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Part II: The Good and the Bad
Prince Tyrus was in a bad mood... not that he ever wasn't. It seemed like more and more these days events were conspiring against him, and that there was some other mysterious force blocking him from achieving his ambitions. As usual, the sharptooth took out his frustrations on his helpless prey - this time opting to break the neck of the swimmer he had caught and watch it bleed to death while he stood fuming in his thoughts. As the swimmer tossed and turned about, bellowing in fear and pain as much as it could, Tyrus noted the strange satisfaction it gave him to torture such inferior animals. It was his right to take life whenever and wherever he chose, and this pathetic empire of his father's creation went against that fact of nature. Why should he rely on the works of 'trained' hunters and the scavengers who killed the weekly levy of each valley in Tyron's control when he was perfectly capable of feeding himself, without the need for others? He was young, strong, and ready to take on any stubborn beast that got in his way... but recently that had only been his cowardly uncle Tharon, and through him his father. Someday, he made up his mind, he was going to kill them both and take over the empire for himself... and when he did he would purge all the weaklings that had been picking off the great corpse. Yes, if he was in charge everything would be different.
The sharptooth prince was hunting in the Coidal Springs, finding the locale to be both desirable for hunting unsuspecting dinosaurs as well as being highly unsettling to his temper. Geysers and hot pools lurked everywhere, and although he had been lucky enough to pluck the now dying swimmer from a plot of sinking sand the next victim could very well be him. Not only that, but the old burns on his face were starting to scar and every time one of the strange fountains burst he felt a fresh pang of anger and bloodlust. Finally, he tired of the swimmer's moans and executed it swiftly with a slash to the already broken neck. Within moments he begun to consume his prey and sate his hunger.
Very recently Tharon and his pack, along with Tyrus who had chosen to follow from a distance in his own fashion, had been ordered to move out to the Feral Forest under the Tyrant King's command. Apparently, the wingtails were about to become a serious problem for the sharptooth and his domain and they needed to be dealt with quickly and brutally. Tyrus had, through the royal grape vine, heard that the vile birds actually had some sort of 'weapon' apart from their teeth and claws that his father was worried about. This had caught the prince's interest very keenly, and nearly four nights ago he had a meeting with a wingtail almost as vicious as himself, and the encounter had been anything but jolly...
...
Tharon and his pack of nearly forty lesser sharpteeth had nearly finished their scouting of the Feral Forest, and were accessing its viability as one of Tyron's new domains. From a sharptooth perspective 'assessing' meant to look around for prey that could be bullied into meek surrender, which certainly wasn't the case here. The forest was almost completely dominated by the wingtails – massive flyers that could challenge a fast biter one on one – and they lived up in the trees far out of reach of any conventional attack. Not only that but they were quite intelligent and the field scouts were reporting that they themselves were being watched by a specific group of wingtails, which seemed to be based on top of a hill in the upper part of the forest. Any attempts to enter this place were met by shocking force, and even the preternaturally strong Stalkers had to humiliatingly run for their lives.
The Feral Forest was a puzzle unlike anything had Tharon had ever faced before, so he opted on the side of caution and instructed those under him to watch and wait, and to prey on any wingtails they could while they waited for a vulnerability to exploit. Tyrus had grown tired of the senseless siege, and trekked down to the lake to get a drink. Nobody dared follow him, as the last fastbiter Tharon had assigned to do so had met a bloody, violent death on the end of the prince's clawed foot.
"One would question your loyalty and devotion to the cause," commented the annoying sharpbeak Macaw as he swirled overhead, just out of reach of Tyrus' jaws.
"You mock me?" snarled Tyrus with more then a hint of rage.
"Of course not my prince," the flyer corrected slyly, "but one of any intelligence would see that you don't approve of your father's demands."
Tyrus growled in displeasure as he continued to make his way down to the Abyss Lake.
"Possibly, but what's it to you hatchling slasher?"
Macaw cringed at the insult. Sharpbeaks were sometimes called 'hatchling slashers' to reflect the fact that their ideal prey was eggs and small babies. They were almost universally hated for this, and apart from the few like him that served Tyron they were outcasts.
"Let's just say that whatever you are planning young prince, you can count on my assistance."
Tyrus flicked his nostrils in surprise. He could see what was going on here.
"Well, when you go back to my father and tell him everything you hear you can tell him to execute and consume every last one of you sharpbeaks for your deception."
"No," Macaw squawked in fear, "I trying to get in favor with the next in line for the throne, which is you. I am thinking about my future as well as your own."
Tyrus stopped walking and turned to face the sharpbeak.
"You know something I don't?" the prince inquired, but it was more of a 'tell me or else' statement.
"Your father is sick my prince... he is dying."
The sharptooth prince experienced a burst of excitement from the news... a feeling he hadn't felt for a long time. Perhaps his time as a servant was finally nearing its end.
"Wingtails," squawked Macaw in alarm, "on the lake!"
Tyrus put the thought aside momentarily and turned towards the water which was a short distance away. Wingtails only hunted at two times during the day from Tharon's information, and that was early in the morning and mid-afternoon just after the great circle peaked in the sky. It was almost night time now, so seeing one hunting was quite unusual.
"Only one..." corrected Tyrus as the solo wingtail landed on the shore with his freshly caught water swimmer, "easy prey."
Without another word the massive sharptooth stomped forward towards the shore, charging his attack. Macaw followed nervously behind, as wingtails were one of the few creatures that actually scared him on account of their dominance of the sky. Should he be attacked by more then one of them, there would be nowhere to run.
Tyrus made no attempt to conceal himself as he thundered towards the wingtail, who calmly picked away at his catch. As the sharptooth got no less than twenty metres away, the large flyer stood up to his full height and glared at him. As a seasoned hunter, Tyrus could tell that there was no fear in those eyes… this wingtail that was less then a tenth his size was going to put up a strong fight. The sharptooth liked a challenge, and with a vicious roar he charged and struck at the rocks with his teeth. Unsurprisingly, the wingtail took to the air and screeched at him, circling low above. Tyrus knew this would happen and leaped into the air, snapping at the white wingtail with his jaws. The flyer dropped down swiftly to meet him, and went directly for his eyes… slashing just above his cheek. It stung, and as Tyrus landed on his feet again with a boom he glanced up at the wingtail in rage. The vile bird was still circling above, and looked to be coming in for another attack. This wingtail was certainly a stubborn creature, and the fact that he couldn’t reach it to attack was getting on his nerves. With a snarl, he leaped up into the air again and the fight continued.
Eybron and Tyrus fought in upwards of ten minutes, neither one willing to give an inch. It was a complete stalemate, with the white wingtail barely able to hurt the massive sharptooth while the prince continued to miss as he tried to place the killing blow. Eventually Eybron settled into a tree, panting hard as he caught his breath. In the clearing by the lake below, Tyrus was equally tired and hunched over slightly as his nostrils thundered with incoming and outgoing air.
“Slasher,” snarled Tyrus, “get down here and speak for me!”
The sharpbeak obeyed.
“You fight like a sharptooth wingtail,” commented Tyrus, “you are indeed a worthy opponent.”
“I make sure to train,” breathed Eybron, “so when I finally meet a sharptooth, I can kill him.”
“Hah, you and your puny ilk don’t stand a change against the might of my father, Tyron.”
Eybron brought his hands together and tapped the ends of his fingers in rapid succession, as if he had struck a glorious note.
“Ah if it isn’t little Prince Tyrus… you’ve grown up quite a bit since we last met.”
Tyrus’ eyes narrowed slightly.
“How do you know me wingtail… when have we ever…”
“I’m sure you remember who I am… unless you had forgotten this…”
Eybron slipped a small object out from underneath his wing and held it up towards the moonlight. Tyrus could make out its shape, and he was indeed familiar with it… it was the Occular!
“You’re the thief,” snarled Tyrus, “the one who stole it from me and my father!”
“One and the same,” confirmed Eybron with a sly smile, “I see you inherited your father’s intelligence.”
“When I get to you, you’ll eat those words wingtail.”
The white wingtail frowned, and slipped the Occular back into his wing.
“Let’s not be so hasty… though we have our differences, I believe we can ultimately serve one another.”
“Serve?” repeated Tyrus, “your squawking is not making any sense.”
“Simple,” replied Eybron as be began to casually inspect his nails, “we both need something the other possesses, and should we come to a deal we would both benefit.”
Tyrus bared his front teeth slightly.
“Explain.”
“I’ve been watching you young prince,” started Eybron, “and I can see that you intend to rule for yourself… no sharptooth of such status could remain subordinated for long. I also see what a certain wingtail has done to your complexion, which is a wound that runs far deeper then anything I have ever done.”
The sharptooth prince growled slightly and looked away towards the lake, where he could see his own reflection and how it had changed. Perhaps this wingtail spoke some truth.
“So, what are you implying flyer?”
Eybron stopped inspecting his fingers, and turned towards the sharptooth with a dominating expression on his face. In any other situation, Tyrus would have taken it as a challenge and attacked.
“I have the means to do two things for you… on first wing, I can stamp out the one ëSky’ who is responsible for your… tragedy… and on the second I can remove your father and family to make way for the next generation.”
It was devious, but quite appealing to Tyrus at that moment. After all, that was two out of his three major goals solved. There had to be a catch.
“And in return?” snarled the sharptooth prince.
“You will forfeit your claim over the Occular,” answered Eybron with authority, “and provide me with Sky’s current location so I might enact our ëpunishment’.”
“What makes you think I know where he is wingtail?”
“I happen to know that either you or the agents of your father are tracking him at the moment, and I’m sure all it would take is a word for you to get your claws on that information.”
It was true, admitted Tyrus grudgingly to himself. With but a word, he could check up amongst the sharpbeak messengers on Redgar’s location. The fastbiter had been tracking Sky as part of something his father was doing, but the prince had never asked what. All that mattered to him was that his command of the pack was terminated, and that infuriated him. Now, he could strike back through an unlikely ally.
“Alright flyer,” agreed Tyrus with a bit of spite, “we have a deal.”
Eybron smiled gloweringly… it was a face of intellectual victory. The sharptooth prince knew enough about sharptooth politics (or whatever primitive form passed for it) to see it was an untrustworthy expression.
“Tell me, how do you plan to kill my father? You are but a single flyer against the might of an army.”
“When dawn breaks,” answered the wingtail ominously as he spread his wings to take flight, “it will come from the sky.”
Tyrus had no idea what that meant, nor did he care. If all went well, soon he would be on top of the world and nobody would be able to deny him his rightful place as ruler of the land.
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The bubbling moan of a dead land covered the landscape and echoed amongst the molten rock and superheated mud that slowly cooled in the glow of a blackened sun. Everywhere ran the ominous, choking smell of volcanic ash and sulfur and apart from the flowing wind there was no warmth or comfort to be found here. The rocky wasteland of the Steppes had been irreversibly changed into a toxic charnel of death and despair, not unlike the Valley of the Mists the group passed through so long ago. The sky was a mixture of blackish-grey clouds and a fiery red glow as dawn broke. The conical spire in which the gang had taken refuge had been melted down to nearly half its previous size by the pyroclastic current, and no life stirred here at all apart from one tiny disturbance.
A rock on the side of the spire facing away from the volcano bulged slightly and then fell from its place, tumbling down the cliffside briefly before coming to a halt down below. Out of the now empty rock face emerged the head and body of a sooty and tired spiketail.
“Look, Spike made us a way out,” proclaimed Ducky, “he did, he did.”
One by one the entire group pushed their way through the small opening and into the outside. First was Spike, followed by Ducky, Ali, Littlefoot with Petrie on his back, and finally Sky. Every one of them looked dirty and bruised especially Petrie who was cradling one of his wings, which appeared to be broken. Sky was so covered in black, dusty ash that he could have been mistaken for Glide in different circumstances. Once the children had all gotten out of the way, the blue wingtail flapped his wings and shook vigorously to get all the dirt off his feathers.
“Well, that was certainly an adventure,” stated Sky with a bit of amusement, “albight one I do not wish to repeat.”
Littlefoot turned and shot him a dirty look, before glancing with concern at the flyer on his back.
“Petrie, are you alright?”
“Ooo… me hurting so much,” the flyer replied, holding his broken wing tightly.
“It’s okay… we’re going home now,” the longneck said, “come on guys… let’s go.”
“But Littlefoot, we do not know the way, no no no,” said Ducky sadly, “the sky fire changed everything.”
“We will find a way,” replied Littlefoot defiantly, “just like we always have…”
Sky opened his mouth to speak.
“…without you!”
A dark cloud came over the group like a shadow of things to come. Dissent was in the air.
“We are far from home, farther then we ever ever have been,” mentioned Ducky, “Sky knows the way, he can show us.”
Spike nodded his head in agreement.
“Fine,” shot Littlefoot in anger, “then you can stay here and die with him!”
Ducky gasped, and Spike growled. This was so unlike Littlefoot, their best friend, to talk to them this way. Sky looked sad at the confrontation, but did not say a word.
“Come on Ali, it’s time to go home,” asserted Littlefoot, but with a note of caring.
Ali stopped licking the dirt of her skin, and glanced sorrowfully back and forth between Sky and Littlefoot. She had a choice to make.
“Okay,” she said in submission, and she made to follow her friend.
Without another word, the two longnecks left. Having no choice but to stay on Littlefoot’s back for fear of further damaging his wing, Petrie could do nothing but simply go along for the ride. He wanted to believe that Sky was working for the best of them, but everything that had happened recently had really hurt his impression of the great flyer. He had suffered the same way once, back when his uncle had done bad things and gotten in trouble with the adults, and from the looks of things it had happened again. Why were the other flyers so mean? The answer he did not know… maybe Littlefoot and the others were meant to be his only true friends.
Nobody said anything until Littlefoot, Ali and Petrie were out of earshot. The atmosphere was so gloomy it was like the unspoken pact between all of them had died along with everything else in this desolate land. Sky sighed and sat down on a rock, resting his head on one of his hands in depressed thought. He had started the journey with eight children under his care, and now he had failed six of them - only two remained. He had tried so hard to keep them safe, and to keep at bay the sharpteeth that had been hounding them the entire journey but in the end none of it had worked. He didn’t deserve to be the guardian of these children, and he certainly didn’t deserve to be a father. Perhaps the children and even his beloved Star would be better off if he was just a set of bones on the ground, stripped of all burdens and significance. Maybe his hatchlings would grow up away from his mistakes, and make a better life of their own – it was the least he could do.
Spike trotted up to Sky, and hummed at him in inquiry. Sky wasn’t in the mood to answer, though the sweeping motion of his tail betrayed his feelings of sadness and regret. Much to the blue wingtail’s surprise, Spike nuzzled his hand and licked one of his fingers.
“Do not be sad,” said Ducky with assurance, “Littlefoot is very hurted inside… he has suffered very much more then any of us. Once he calms down and turns nice again, he will realize how much he needs you… how much we all need-did you.”
It was a shockingly mature thing to say for one so small, but Sky wasn’t convinced.
“What does it matter… you children would have been much better off if you never met me at all…”
Ducky jumped up on a rock directly in front of where Sky was sitting, and standing on it she was almost as tall as he was a few feet away.
“Oh no… remember when you save-ed us in the Land of the Mists?”
“That was pure chance,” answered Sky, “if it hadn’t made such a loud noise, then…”
“What about when you pulled Petrie out of the nasty bush… he talks about it so much.”
“It was nothing you kids couldn’t have done on your own,” insisted Sky with embarrassment.
Ducky was nearly yelling now, and demonstrating her points with wide sweeps of her arms.
“And then the sharptooth… if you hadn’t stopped him he would have eat-ed us for sure!”
“I got lucky,” countered Sky, though he looked a bit better, “if that shooting water hadn’t gone off when it did…”
“You rescued my friends from the sharpteeth in the forest, and even saved-did that mean wingtail who kept trying to hurted us!”
“Well… maybe… I…” stammered Sky.
The swimmer was right… he had done many mighty things. Perhaps, he was more of a hero then he thought he was. Spike started rubbing the wingtail’s hand with his nose, and Sky scratched briefly under his chin. It was enough to make the teacher smile.
“Spike likes you, and he is a good friend knower… he is,” added Ducky.
“Alright,” proclaimed Sky as he stood up, “thank you for your help Ducky… from here on I swear that I will get all of you children back together again, and return you home to the valley you belong.”
Ducky beamed at the announcement.
“But first, we will need to catch up with Littlefoot and the others,” stated the blue wingtail.
“Yay, we’re going home to the Great Valley!” Ducky shouted, and Spike looked equally excited.
“Let’s not be too hasty,” lectured Sky with a wag of his finger, “there are many dangers here in this burning wasteland, so we will need to hurry.”
Driven by the wind of inspiration, the wingtail, swimmer and the spiketail set out at last on their quest to make things right, and turn around all the misfortunes that had fallen their way. Their time was now, and nothing short of another volcano could slow them down.
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Littlefoot and Ali walked for nearly fifteen minutes, neither one of them bothering to say a word. With Sky and the sharpteeth out of the way, the environment was their greatest enemy now and it seemed to drag them down wherever they stepped. There was burning ash and lava everywhere, and one false move could result in severe burns and even losing a limb. The two longnecks trudged forward at a breakneck pace, and Ali was starting to fall behind.
“Wait up Littlefoot,” she said desperately as she tried to catch her breath.
The longneck ahead of her stopped, and after a minute or two she had caught up.
“I’m so tired,” she complained, “it’s so hot… and I’m thirsty.”
But Littlefoot wasn’t listening, as he was busy watching an unmoving dark shape on the ground ahead of them.
“What is it?” asked Ali with concern.
“I think it’s a sharptooth,” stated Littlefoot with uncertainty.
Petrie started shaking, and slipped off his friend’s back onto the ground.
“We stay away… very far away,” the flyer insisted in fear.
The fast biter was almost completely black, his skin almost completely burned away by the searing heat. Redgar had been lucky, as he was just quick enough to reach the small gully to be shielded from the worst of the pyroclastic cloud. As for where the rest of his pack was, there was no trace… the heat must have incinerated them. Soon it wouldn’t matter though, because he was dying and he knew it. A fresh, new scent hit his nostrils and he opened his eyes just in time to see two young longnecks only a short distance away. He tried to get up and give chase, but his body wasn’t responding… all he felt was pain.
“He looks really hurt,” commented Ali with concern, “maybe we should help him?”
The injured sharptooth growled at them and showed his teeth.
“Alright,” answered Littlefoot, and the longneck carefully stepped forward, “we’ll give him all the help he deserves.”
Suddenly and completely unexpectedly Littlefoot roared at the sharptooth and dashed forward, connecting his foot with the side of Redgar’s head. The fastbiter snarled weakly, before giving up trying to fight back altogether.
“You think you can hunt us down and get away with it?” shouted Littlefoot as he drove his foot into Redgar’s neck again, “…you killed my mother!"
The longneck beat on the fastbiter relentlessly, so much that Ali couldn’t watch.
“… You killed my father!”
Redgar bleeding now from the freshly opened wounds.
“You are responsible for every bad thing that has ever happened to me… EVERYTHING!”
The episode was so dramatic, and so brutal that Ali started to cry. It was just too much to bear. Petrie just stared, like he was seeing his friend in a way he had never seen him before. Littlefoot was acting like a sharptooth himself.
At last the longneck decided to finish it and reared up, driving both of his front feet onto Redgar’s skull. It wasn’t enough to break it, but it knocked him out cold on the spot. He would never wake up.
“There,” said Littlefoot as he turned back to his friends and wiped the blood off his feet on the rocky ground, “we put him out of his misery.”
Ali was crying openly now, hanging her head low.
“What?” asked Littlefoot harshly, “he deserved it!”
“…Nothing deserved that,” whispered Ali.
All at once, the male longneck realized what he had done. He rushed forward and rubbed the side of her head affectionately. He expected her to back away, but she didn’t.
“I’m so sorry Ali,” he whispered.
The two of them embraced for what seemed like a whole minute, before they finally parted. Ali sat down and wiped away the water from her eyes. For the first time Littlefoot turned to address Petrie, who had born witness to the whole thing.
“Sorry about that Petrie, I just don’t know… what came over me.”
Petrie frowned, and rubbed his sore wing nervously.
“Me think… me want to go home.”
“Yeah,” said Littlefoot with a bit of guilt, “me too.”
Before they continued onward, the longneck took one last look up at the sky where the great circle should have been. Instead, there was a blackish-grey ball illuminating the brackish sky with a fog-like haze of light. For the rest of his life he wouldn’t forget it… nor what he forget what happened here. It was the day that, for a single moment, he had gone from the good to the bad and killed another living being. He knew that if she was still alive, his mother would never forgive him.
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