Ravensblood Forest Sun breaks through a crack in the shades

As dusk dragged the sky from rose to crimson to deep navy, #97 stretched his wings and bumped a comrade, #102, who was still sleeping. The myotis winced as #102 came to with an irritated squawk. In response, #97 detached from the rocky ceiling and plunged downward to land easily upon the stone floor, where crickets waited for his open jaws. He spun a cloak of echoes around himself, visualizing in sharp clarity every fellow bat prowling the ground, as well as every brainless cricket.

He fed as well as he could—food wasn't exactly plentiful yet, since the colony was usually still hibernating this time of year—and then launched himself into the night with powerful, impossibly quick strokes of his thin wings. He dodged trees with expert blasts of sound to illuminate his way and glided out over the foothills. Beating his wings hard, #97 climbed swiftly and followed a pass through The Sunspire, emerging on the other side after only a few hours of flight.

Trimming his wings close to his body, the golden bat dipped down over Kintla Flatlands and sped toward the nearest place he could roost: Ravensblood Forest. The world passed quickly by in silvery blurs in his mind, perfectly sharp despite the blurry grey vision his eyes lent him. Selecting a large oak, #97 dove, coming in fast, and flipped midair at the last second to gingerly grab the branch with his hind claws.

He hung there, breathing hard, and widely opened his mouth to send out nearly inaudible sonar pulses, painting himself a vivid mental image of his current location.