As I near the camp, I thrust my mind back towards the present with a sharp snap. I must concentrate now.
   The sun in the west is sinking lower toward the horizon, lengthening the shadows near the west-border trees. If anyone was to question my absence, I could always pull the story of a lengthy patrol along those edges, making sure no straggling Light Hawks were drifting too close in the half-light. For a moment I wonder what my family will say when night falls completely over this land again, and they will see the glow in my hands. With a tremble, I begin to formulate my excuse for that, too. So many lies, so much to pretend for.
   The luminosity of the air is lightening by degrees around the camp. I can sense the change once more, but unlike the place with the fallen tree, it does not hurt, or make my skin crawl. It is half-light here, the same type of half-light that Sadir and I used to meet in; it injures neither. That means, if a Light Hawk was somehow able to skip the protective border of trees that surround our camp, they might be able to live here comfortably- at least until the sun sets.
  A prickly thorn barrier surrounds the edges of camp, made of thorns longer than my claws, which are currently gouging deep grooves in the dark soil as I walk. I keep my eyes closed to protect them, my body weaving harmlessly through the thorn hedge. The points slide quietly along my armored spine as I crawl my way into a thin gap. Any other creature would become hopelessly entangled, not that very much lives here, anyway.
  However, I do pass a dead Whisper Fly on my way through. I pause, enjoying the mouthwatering scent. A Whisper Fly is a large, venomous rodent, with long pointed ears and sharp curved claws. His pure white fur got tangled in the webbing, claws trying vainly to cut through to the cleverly placed bait nestled deep into the snarls. I take a small detour to pluck him free, tracking him by scent alone, and carry him with me the rest of the way into camp.
   The difference in general noise as I enter the center of camp is familiar and comforting. All clamor seems to drain from the air, almost perfect silence greets the ears. It's like the entire forest has gone. Except for the faint rustles of hatchlings in the darkest recesses of camp, or the gentle breathing of adults, all is quiet for a few long heartbeats.
   A purr rumbles nearby, and I shift the  Whisper Fly in my paws. A hulking, deep black male lopes out from a den to my right. I crack open an eye to acknowledge his arrival, but do not stop walking. He follows me silently, so quiet that the only reason I know he's at my tail is because I sense the faint shadow he casts around him, and hear the distant thrumming of his heart.
"Where were you?" His silky voice whispers in my head, gentle, but commanding. I sense his approval for the Whisper Fly I set in the prey pile before I turn to face him.
"I was patrolling the west-border line." I hiss into his mind, opening my eyes to fully observe him. "You haven't sent a patrol there in days, what if the Flits start to think they own this place?" The Flits, our one true predator; pesky little devils who jump from dark to light like it's nothing.
  He's looking at me, too, white eyes narrowed. He is bigger than I am, bulkier, with tougher armor plates that fall over his frame like large feathers. He, like me, has four long legs, a long spiny tail that tapers at the end, and large, dangerously soft ears atop his head.
  I pull back my lips to reveal my teeth and hiss. He hisses back, revealing rows and rows of razor sharp teeth inside his jaws. My tail twitches in annoyance, and his twitches in the same movement. I flatten my ears, and he flattens his. "Stop copying me," I snarl. He laughs with rough, short sounds that leap from his chest in sharp jolts.
"Don't you have somewhere to be, Rathúl?" I ask him, fighting a smile. He sighs, then shakes his great head. I flick  my tail, then turn around to look over our stash of prey in the prey pile. I can sense his stillness behind me as I bend my head and nose aside a few of the carcasses to reach a scent I know belongs to my favorite meal: Fleckshir.
  Fleckshir is an owl-like bird of prey, with four furry legs and a squashed face. Large, feathery wings sprout from its narrow shoulders, and at its toes, huge white claws curve out, ready to snatch unsuspecting prey. Fleckshir is quite a difficult creature to catch, but I greatly enjoy the challenge that comes with planning the perfect, tree-bound ambush.
The bird is nearly half my size, so after a growl, I accept Rathúl's offer to help me carry it to a place to eat, and share it with me. Our armor scrapes the hard-packed dirt as we settle down next to the Fleckshir to eat it. We take turns pulling out thick dark feathers, making idle small talk as we do so.
Rathúl is a Warrior. His job, mainly, is to protect the borders from enemies other than the Light Hawks, and to capture land every 240 hours as the sun begins to set. When the entire land around our forest is at half-light, he and the other warriors do their best to take as much hunting land as possible for the next few sleep-cycles, and possibly capture a few Light Hawks themselves. We've found that Light Hawks are more easily swayed into doing what we want if one of their own is in danger of being frozen by coming darkness.
I am a Huntress. In some ways, I am almost more powerful than the Warriors, but not in a direct fight. Hunters work through carefully timed ambushes, long claws, and lithe frames. I can run at speed almost double that of any Warrior. I climb the tallest trees, and hear the most subtle sounds. My senses are sharp, and I know how to disappear in plain sight. Though these are all gratifying abilities, if a Warrior (or most Light Hawks Warriors for that matter) wanted to, I'm sure they'd be able to pin me down with one paw. That is, if they can catch me. Together, Hunters and Warriors make a formidable team, something that, at least during half-light, Light Hawks and other enemies should fear. Apart, we are strong, but unable to hold our own against the Beam Bearers of the plains.
"How is the west border holding up, anyways?" Rathúl breaks my line of thought, chewing on a narrow wing bone of our meal curiously. I pick a stray feather from my teeth, stalling.
"Fine." I respond, yawning with fake content. I am careful to feign my easy attitude, but on the inside, I am twitching with anxiety. Not only am I worried about the secrecy I have been keeping about my meetings with...him, my would-be enemy the Light Hawk, I am also anxious about the words we parted with. I'm afraid of the terms of which we kept out promise; if he's planning something.
"I'm glad you decided to visit that border," Rathúl keeps talking, setting the bone he was chewing aside. "It's been too long since I've been able to send any Warriors out that way, especially since the light's fading."
I blink in confusion. "Fading? It'll be a long time before it is safe for our Warriors to venture that way without cover. Longer before the Light Hawks retreat." If they retreat...
Rathúl nods in agreement, but his claws curl a bit. "It's nearly half-light by the edge of the West Border. That means they'll be crawling closer than is safe, and you know how they've been experimenting with their strange heat devices so that they can breach the shadows."
A slight growl rumbles in my throat. "They will never breach the shadows," I say a little too harshly, and an image of Sadir dances through my mind.
"Perhaps not," Rathúl twitches his soft ears incredulously, "but it's always best to be prepared."
The burly Shadow Knight stumbles to his feet, sighing, "Well, I'll see you around then, Cahlel. I hope you don't mind, I signed you up for a hunt later. Shalré says she caught scent of a pack of Grimwolves near the lake."
"I don't mind," I purr up at him, running my tongue over my claws, which have grown quite dull lately. I close my eyes, listening to his own claws scraping the earth as he retreats to whatever duties await him, but before he's gone too far he pauses and looks back at me, "You look a bit light. Did you go too close to that fallen tree?"
My heart kicks into high gear, beating in my chest furiously. I take a quick second to calm myself at his observation, so that my response won't seem unnatural. "I, uh, was running a bit fast, but I got out of the way quickly enough." Lies. I swallow nervously at my weak excuse, but he must never know that it was a Light Hawk that burned my forepaws with his touch, and prolonged hours in a little less than half-light that makes my scales grow softly.
"You should have been more careful. You could have really burned yourself that way," Rathúl scolds me gently, then pads away with a twitch of his tail. I hear one last sentence before his voice fades from my mind. "The hunt is in two hours, meet the others by the East entrance of camp. See you soon, Cahlel."
"See you soon, Rathúl," I reply to empty space. Then I get to my feet, and turn to my den, where I will hope to catch a little much needed sleep before the hunt.