Moonspear prey to none

Treepie woke to a dusting of snow on the ground, with more drifting softly from the white sky. She enjoyed the peace and quiet as she fetched herself some breakfast and carried it toward a cluster of lodgepole pines on one of the mountain’s lower plateaus. At the foot of a fragrant evergreen, she savored her meal.

Afterward, she indulged in the luxury of a good bath. She was good and damp afterward, though she felt much fresher for it. Keen to avoid a chill, she hopped onto all fours and broke into a hasty trot. Pie headed in no direction in particular, though she spotted Wyvern wheeling in the sky overhead and yipped to her before heading to a large clearing.

The nightjar swooped out of the sky, her wings throwing up a sparkling cloud of snowflakes as she landed a few yards in front of the wolf. Tiuttuk’s tail waved as she regarded the bird. They didn’t spend much time together these days, each busy with her own affairs, but the morning stretched wide open before them.

Race you, Pie said, crouching suddenly.

She gave Wyvern a beat to process that, then took off across the snowy ground. The wind whistling in her ears muted the sound of the raptor taking wing, though she glanced over her shoulder and let out a little squeal when she saw that Wyvern was airborne and quickly catching up to her.

Pie faced forward, then gasped as she realized she was about to collide right into:

Kira woke to the snow and her tail flicked with excitement. She yawned and stretched and stood up, ready for the day. The wolf was still tired, and wanted to find a way to wake herself up more. 

The feel of fresh snow under her feet was helping. But not enough. She took off running, weaving her way around the area she had come to know. The snow flew up around her and her heart raced from the exercise.

It was exhilarating, until she couldn’t quite stop herself from crashing into Treepie.

He'd been looking for her, so it was no shock to find her. Treepie looked as striking against the snow as he'd expected, though very little from this distance. He headed down the slopes to reach her, not yet calling out. He thought he might sneak up on her — and then he ended up losing sight of her instead.

The flap of bird wings drew his attention. Kindle looked up even as he trotted onward, across a snow drift, down another slope —

He heard them a moment before he saw them. The incongruous sound of collision and confusion, and then the even more confusing tangle of limbs, which were approaching him at high-speed. Because he'd stepped on a patch of ice and was skidding rapidly toward them.

Kindle scrabbled for purchase with his paws, but he ended up landing among them with a quiet whumph! and added to the tangle of bodies.

She saw a flash of familiar ochre and tawny and thought, Don’t touch her! But it was utterly unavoidable. They met in a tangle of limbs that sent Tiuttuk crashing to the ground, seemingly every bone in her body rattling. None were broken, she only just had enough time to deduce before a third body came skidding into the melee, an errant foot connecting with Treepie’s testicles.

She screamed so shrilly that snow shook off some nearby trees. Her screech was met by another as Wyvern dove at the trio of wolves, mistaking the accident for an attack. Her beating wings added to the confusing dust-up as the nightjar sought to sink her talons into Kira in particular.

Oblivious to the nighthawk’s defensive behavior, Tiuttuk could only curl into the fetal position in the snow, both forelegs thrust between her hind legs as she clutched at her lower stomach. She had never in her life felt a pain so excruciating.

Treepie let out a shrill scream and before Kira could try to determine if she was okay, another shrill cry came from above and Kira was being attacked by a bird. 

She yelped from pain and tried to scramble her way out of the pile up. Not caring too much about if anyone got hurt as she was trying to get away from the attacks. She’d check on her friends later. 

Once free, she bounced away from the other two and swatted at the bird. “Go away,” she said.

The world turned on its head — and on Kindle's. He felt as though the sky had come down and landed on his head, but what he was really feeling was the back of his skull knocking into the frozen earth. But neither hard surface seemed to give; there was no blood and no sickening crack. Just a painful thump that was drowned out entirely by a triple round of banshee screams.

Kindle rolled away from Treepie, wanting to get his paws away from her before he stood. His apology, too, was likely drowned by pain and screeching. Figuring Kira could deal with a bird well enough, he stumbled to Treepie's side instead.

"Damn — maybe get 'em in the snow?" he suggested, wincing in deepest empathy. His dead twisted toward Kira, who was fighting her own battle. He realized he could not remember how any of this had come about. Just that he'd thought to go and find Treepie, and now here she was.

"I hope," he said, calling out to Kira, but we would never find out how the sentence would have ended. As soon as he opened his mouth, his nausea overtook him, and the word "hope" came out with a gurgle and most of his breakfast, which soon lay steaming on the snow next to Treepie's face.

He swayed were he stood, gazing down at the pile of sick and his girlfriend's pretty face with horror and confusion.

She thought she might vomit, it hurt so much. Treepie turned her snout to the side, though the urge dissipated as the acute pain devolved into a terrible, throbbing ache. She let out a breathy moan and peeled open her eyes, just in time to see Kindle yark beside her head.

She flinched her muzzle the other way, though there was no way of avoiding the terrible noise Kindle made as he upchucked, nor the hideous smell of it as his bile ate through the snow. Pie felt a hot fleck or two hit her cheek, prompting her to give a little cry and roll to the side.

This left her own forelegs trapped beneath her, though she unceremoniously yanked them free and let out yet another small, pained sound as the movements jostled her bruised flesh. She somehow sat up, eyes flicking to see what had become of Kira and—

Wyvern! she shouted, her voice coming out an entire octave higher than usual.

Whether deterred by Kira’s swat or Tiuttuk’s admonishment, the nightjar beat her wings and quickly ascended out of reach. Pie’s yellow gaze bounded between bird and woman, woman and bird, and she exhaled in relief when neither appeared to be hurt.

But there was Kindle. Where had he come from? And why had he puked in her face? Pie’s brow furrowed as her eyes dropped to him now. She should probably offer to help him, though she was so puzzled by his presence that she just peered down at him for several seconds.

I think you might’ve castrated me, she said through a grimace. Grasping for some levity, she continued, I’m not entirely opposed, though your method was brutal and probably not eff—

Abruptly, she remembered Kira perhaps didn’t know about Treepie’s assets. Her mouth clapped shut with a click as warmth crowded her neck. She supposed it wasn’t a big deal—she’d been ready to share this part of herself with the Lazore before—but she couldn’t tell which shriveled more just now: her balls, or her soul.

It wasn't long before the bird left Kira alone, though she wasn't sure if it was due to her swatting, or Treepie calling to the bird. She shook herself, getting snow out of her fur and shaking off the cold.

"Damn bird," she said. It took her a moment to gather what had actually just happened and hadn't quite heard Treepie talking. She walked back over to where her friends were.

"Are you guys okay?" Her gaze shifted to Kindle, who had clearly just gotten rid of his breakfast. She made a face and stepped away from the mess. "I'm sorry, I don't know what happened." She looked around, as if their surroundings would explain why they'd ran into each other.

Still feeling dazed, Kindle tried to piece together what had happened. He must have hit his head — he'd felt this sort of thing before, after all — but he couldn't for the life of him remember how, or how Kira and Treepie were involved.

He was a little frightened, and terribly, terribly guilty.

"I'm sorry, Pie," he said, scraping dirt and snow over his vomit to cover up the smell. His attention was on her, though. On her assorted parts, looking for damage. But his eyes jumped to her face when she suggested she might want to be mutilated, aghast at the idea of Treepie harming herself in this way.

Kira reappeared, then, and Kindle felt a throb in his head at the sight of her.

"I don't, either," he said, still unusually distressed. "Pie — are you sure there's no tearing? Maybe we ought to take a look," he told them both, his concern evident. He could only smell his vomit, and her words had worried him greatly. He didn't know how he'd live with himself if he harmed her. Especially since he didn't know quite how.