Sheepeater Cliff soronúmë

1st November. Paging @Dagwood but others welcome to help/harry!

With a call to her Court, the stricken had parted from the vale that had become their perhaps-claim; an invitation to lurk with her, too; hunger strident within marrow-hollow cages where innards wended.

Now, she watches the aerial maneuvers of those gilded eagles who yet remained upon these cliffs. Disheveled in feather as she has become in fur; limned so much so with dawn's late sun that she must veil her eyes and turn from them, though there were scarce any sheep who themselves remained ... save for the worn, sunken carcasses wealded into loam and lichens far, far below. No, there were none besides left.

None, save for those they had perished beneath; Andraste watches, and wonders if it is worth further flaying of her figure—
( maddened, she has been branded )
—and finds that if it is for her Court, she cannot care.

His breath soon became rhythmic as he fell into place behind the famished fae, her steps easy to match as they made their way across the unexplored terrain - eyes watchful, stomachs empty.

Coincidentally, just as a rumble echoed in the depths of his gut, the once regal predators made their wings known to the world, exposing them to the hollowed beasts that lingered bellow. And where the pale wisp turned her sight elsewhere, Dagwood remained enraptured.

To be able to soar far above any clouds one down here could see, to go wherever it is they might wish...he couldn't help but wonder - why stay here?

watching for now.

Her lean frame ambled along the entrace of the vale as her mind drifted away. Again, she left, answering her soul’s call and satisfying her hearts desire. She left the pearl behind, but she understood her need for this.

A gorgeous, majestic creature was the eagle; most importantly, it was free. Agana admired and respected the eagles. They were free; they were free.. Golden gaze could not do anything but stare; and hope.

It found the presence of another; one she knew, another she did not. Agana ambled away, and there she stood, quiet.

The younger of her followers had fallen alongside her step; blushed nose quivering at the scent of another of her ashen ones; and though the stricken's gaze remained , she mused listlessly to he with her:  "How many would you say we might down?"  Crazed, she must be crazed; had the earthshatter not robbed them of the sinew and strength within each, perhaps their chances would be more sure; perhaps she might not even turn to these far-seeing fliers at all—
—but Andraste hungered, and now meant to hunt, and the words were the only barricade to the slavering at scarred chops. ... As masters of the heavens  (and of wool, perhaps)  why would they ever look above their own feathered-brains?

Still ... that was just a theory.

All the same, halfsight found the jadeglim of Dagwood's; wondering if he might like to test such with her.

Poppy is said to poison the mind of those who consume it but no matter how the willowy yearling looked at it, it was h u n g e r that wasted away and toxified the senses. What mad beasts they were to think they stood a chance against the king of the skies and yet here they were - stomachs louder than any rational thinking might be.

"I don't know, but perhaps if I act as a distraction you'll be able to snag one or two." It was wishful thinking but if there stood any chance at all to rid themselves of starvation's vile bite, then he'd give it his all.

Moving this along with messy post, @Agana jump on in whenever <3

Only her?
The sybil could not help the specter of a simper that pranced faint at the corner of shorn lips; looked to Dagwood with a diverted countenance.  "I was wishing that you would be deadweight, I will admit,"  if only to help drag these feathered fiends from their realms. However ...  "distraction, though? ... Mm. Perhaps."  If he could, by some means, harry them her way while their sights lie upon him—
—even to wonder at such, she was not sure. They could never be sure, unless they put thought into action.

Halfsight leapt to the ashen tenderfoot;
and with scarce a cant of skull, wished him care, and advised him to begin.

In the meantime, the stricken flurried, low, sweeping, from her original post to coil beneath one of the many shelved outcroppings from the stone; eyes now upon whomever the youngster deemed favorable to set them upon.

Sable ears flickered as he offered a half-hearted ear towards the pale fae's words - eyes locked upon what he deemed to be their best course of action should they seek success.

A nest.

It had fallen from the nook it had once been nestled in and yet still the young pair that had built it seemingly refused to let it go. It was frayed but not b r o k e n. He assumed that if the couple had not yet abandoned it after all it had been through, they certainly would not let some spindly youngster destroy it now.

And so with rumble in his chest, Dagwood set to wreak havoc upon their home, certain they would move to stop him and fall victim to the court's queen.

vroom vroom gotta go fast!!1

Oh—!
As Dagwood indeed fell upon the remnants  (not quite?)  of a once-nesting home, the silver stilled, scented, and saw a great buffetting overwhelm over this particular portion of the natural eyrie;
and no sooner had this fiend screamed its fury had the sybil fleet-fled from her position— vaulting o'er crag, swift, prays godlessly that she must be swift and she bounds—!
—a piercing landing betwixt those straining shoulders, those daunting, dreadful wings—
slavering through feathers; the faltering beneath her fangs as she savaged with all the famished might that remained within her—
—and with the boy's propositioned deadweight, brought it to stone and loam, and his monarch near surrendered a rare smile. 

... But they were far from safe; and their first oddity of quarry had yet to be delivered its killing hold;
farther from their haven, too;
all this evident as a shadow befell the pair and malady lacerated the rawboned segments along pale hips— 
—and Andraste was wrenched from the male's presence, frothing at her jowls as she sought to snap at yet another adversary; who now straggled to heave her into the very same skies that have once sundered her.

Every beat that took place after his initial onslaught was a blur.

The strike.
The fury.
The earsplitting cries of a flightless sovereign.

It was only at the sharp clang of teeth meeting air that pulled the yearling from his adrenaline fueled trance, heartbeat ringing in the back of his skull while the world spun around him. They had succeeded, proof now helplessly jerking about the earth's floor, desperately trying to take flight and flee it's predestined end.

It's partner however, charged with the ire of a madman, sought vengeance against it's offenders. Dagwood, slender and quick on his toes, moved as if a lighting bolt had sprung from his legs. Fangs soon met flesh but before he had any chance to retreat from the eagles wrath, talons sunk their way deep into his breast, sucking all air from the monochrome yearling with them.

light pp perm. given for daggo boi <3

Skies below her; wheeling;
Icarus screams from the breast of bird and so Andraste shrieks fathomless fury within her own, floral'd tongue— tries to!— and then the merle male is there, snapping for her freedom and she reaches towards him, kicking, thrashing;
and though she meets the earth oncd more with a sharp THUD of bone unsplintered, the stricken wasted no time at all, now;
rushing forth as Dagwood surged past her; twinned as they each found with their fangs the death knell within avian anatomys; he, in the throat; she, in the skull. Nevermind feathers within throat, nor the turmoil that now flared in pale dimpling of spine;
all faded, diminished now beneath this shared victory; wrangles the first of their find almost jovially between shorn jaws.

Their Court would not starve.

For a few hours, at least.

Thankfully for the young male, a swift snap at the bird's heel set talons free from his flesh, leaving the raptor exposed and vulnerable to it's executioner. And just like that it was over - the final screech cut short by the unsettling crunch of cervical vertebrae.

Victory never tasted quite so sweet, but that might be due to the blood still lingering on his tongue.

Either way, they had triumphed - successful in their mission to rid the court of hunger. It was a joyous occasion that left him on a high, one that caused him to overlook the wound he'd earned and forget about until later that evening.

After all, now was the time for celebration was it not?