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Enkhtuya had a few grey streaks in her black hair. Their hue matched her dull hunting garb's, the fabric fuzzy at places with white burrs. Hia waited as her adoptive mother prayed on her knees. Smoke from an incense stick wafted around her, and the room smelled of blood sandalwood, fresh from the southern kingdom of Kedhara.

She knelt before a simple charm; an obsidian mirror mounted on a silver stand. Hia had often thought that the mirror was broken. The last time she had looked, she could only see the door and her mother's hunting trophies behind her. The both of them had had no reflections.

The skull of a sea-serpent and horns from the monocetheria of the Börke firefields took up the topmost racks. Feathers of every bird, from the Kedharan peacocks, to the elusive simurva of the far-eastern deserts were placed below. Some were fashioned into fans, whereas some stood as writing quills. Above them all stood the wyvern-ligament longbow, which Enkhtuya had inherited from her father.

Like an Alpha to rule them all, Hia thought.

". . . For all paths lead but to you."

Enkhtuya finished and stood up. She lifted her quiver and swung it over her shoulders, before adding arrows, one by one. She adjusted the quiver strap, and lifted the bow from its stand with both hands. The well-oiled wood gleamed in the first rays of the morning. Hanging it across her shoulder, she moved out. Hia barked and wagged her tail, as Enkhtuya smiled and scooped her up into her arms.

"Oh my, you've grown heavier. Did my baby miss me?" said the huntress, and the bamboo stool squeaked on her sitting down. She stroked the dome of Hia's head, and scratched her behind the ears.

The rogue yelped and said, switching over to the Dekshtran tongue,

"I did, mother, may Mara watch over you and bless your hunts. I see that Miss Gina is not here with you, have you seen her around?"

The huntress cocked an eyebrow.

"Why no! She usually sleeps in the sheep-pen in spring, doesn't she? Where did she run off to again?"

Hia felt her chest tightening up, and saliva being a whole lot more difficult to swallow. Her ears drooped and she cuddled closer to her mother.

"I had fought with her yesterday, mother. I didn't mean to and I'm really, really sorry. I should've been nicer to her. Can we go find her?"

Fingers ran through the soft fur on the scruff of her neck. The forefinger and the thumb rubbed the tip of an ear.

"She'll be fine, baby. Gina is a smart and strong dog; she has always found her way back home. This is not her first time."

"But," Hia said, standing up on her lap."There are bad wolves in the woods! They'll hurt Miss Gina. They'll kill her and they'll eat her. They'll make her have their cubs and make her hunt for them. Can we please, please go and look for her?"

"Calm down, little one. It's alright, it's alright," she said, and hugged the wolf.

"Dogs do run off sometimes, sweetheart. It's not because they're angry or sad. They just need. . . a break, you know. A respite from all the hard work on the farm. A few days of vacation, to be free as a song-bird in the wilderness. She'll be back before you know it."

She put the wolf down on the wooden floor.

"She will be back soon, right?"

"Definitely. Now, who's a good girl?"

Hia didn't feel like smiling. But for her mother, she pulled back her cheeks into a doggy grin and said,"I am."

Temujin growled as he emerged out of the barn, heeding the huntress' call. The cockerel had crowed the barn down that morning, and had started nagging Temujin about the coop immediately after. He had escaped from being strangled by the wyvern's talons by the skin of his beak.

He protested, and grimaced as Enkhtuya slipped on the leather saddle.

"You're being odd today, Khan. We have a mega-ravage of whistlers to be felled and burnt. Come on, now, behave."

He snorted, and waited for the huntress to inform her widowed sister. Hia sat down on the grass near his feet. Temujin yawned wide, displaying his two sets of saw-edged teeth.

"Miss Gina would be fine, wouldn't she?"

"She must be in heat, emegtei düü. She probably ran off to the village square. She would be back with puppies if she is lucky."

Hia's ears perked.

"Puppies?!"

"Yes, puppies. You might get a few playmates this year."

Enkhtuya and her sister Altansarnai walked down the hillock on which the second house stood. The farm was a family enterprise, and as immigrants from the Börke firefields, it eased local interaction. The milk-vendor waited outside the second house on his trap, as his assistant loaded the Mehu-usi milk churns.

Mehu-usi cattle from the village nearby, of butter coloured fur and durability against the harshest of temperature drops, grazed alongside their sheep.

An ear-piercing whistle from the forests afar made Enkhtuya break into a run. Her sister warned her to slow down, and the milk-vendor grabbed the reins of the trap horse to stop it from bucking. All eyes moved to a huge black cloud rising on the horizon.

Hia shuffled out of her way, as the huntress leapt on the wyvern, and waited with an arrow notched in her bow. The whistling grew more menacing with each passing second. Sheep and cattle in the pastures huddled together; all horns to the defense of the young. Bells rattled and hooves stomped in fear.

A scout bird flew over their heads. The creature was aquiline, with brilliant blue plumage and a beak built for cracking bones. Being the size of a dinner table, it could have carried off the Bellwether with ease. The bird twitched its tail and corkscrewed to higher altitudes. Its whistles faded into the cloud cover.

The wolf ducked as the wyvern catapulted into the air, nearly tearing grass lamina from midrib with each flap of his wings. The bird was adept at playing hide-and-seek in the sky. However, the squalls from the wyvern's patagia threw it out into the open. The hum of a bowstring was followed by a final squawk. The whistler plummeted to the earth. The ravage responded to the scout's cry with a cacophony of whistles.

Temujin swooped down the meadows, and glided into the forest land, returning a mighty roar to the advancing ravage.

•° ۝ °•

Glossary

Khan: Mongolian for king or chief.

Author's Note

Here's the question!
⭐ Please tap the star if you liked this chapter!

🐦 What would you do if you were to encounter a ravage of Whistlers?