In order to save the world from eternal night, Red must find a way to unlock the dormant power of the Sun Goddess running through her veins without killing herself and everyone she loves.
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Hunter wiped the sweat from his brow as he climbed the steep rise, sand and scree shifting under his weight. It was surprisingly humid in this part of the Wylds; the air was wet against his skin, thick with the taste of salt, even though the ocean was two day's travel on foot. A white gull circled lazily above them, waiting for the small group to set up camp and scatter crumbs. Hunter scowled at the oppressively open sky, longing for the cover of the jungle they'd left behind.
Rogan walked stiffly at the head of the pack, careful not to jostle his injured side. Sebastian's ashwood arrow really had done a number on him; not even Nya could speed his recovery.
There was something other about ashwood, the one weakness that every denizen of the Wylds shared. It was mad to think the Blood Moon Pack had built their sanctuary from the very thing that could kill them, but Hunter couldn't deny it was effective in keeping predators at bay.
A little part of him -- nay, a rather large part, if he was being honest with himself -- hoped his father would never truly recover, but he couldn't let it show. Not when he was trying to gain Rogan's trust.
So Hunter bit his tongue and endured the burning in his calves, the prickling sensation of being watched. He smoothed his expression, willing it to be as still and reflective as the surface of a calm pond. Let him see what he wants to see.
The nonchalance came in handy when they crested the hill and Rogan's insufferable theatrics came into play. "The Hidden Vale," he boomed, flourishing an arm, as if introducing a troupe of dancers. "Otherwise known as Nya's Womb. This place will see the birth of all our dreams."
Hoping he was speaking metaphorically, Hunter leaned over the edge to get a better look. The cliff face dropped into a valley of darkness that was oddly reminiscent of a bed of live coals, black and shifting with faint traces of light and heat. Sulphur wafted up from the depths, and Hunter fought to keep his stomach from turning as he eyed the precarious slope. He would be able to manage it, but his father...
"Are you okay to climb in your condition?" Hunter asked, stirring sugar into his voice.
Rogan smirked. "Who said anything about climbing?"
A shrill cry pierced the sky, slaughtering the birdsong. Hunter's chin snapped up, belly clenching as the white speck he previously mistook for a gull grew larger and larger, plummeting with unnerving speed.
Leathery wings snapped tight against its serpentine body as it dived with narrow-eyed intent. It looked like a wyvern, but where was its proud, flaming breath, or its hide of freshly cut jewels? This thing looked like it had crawled from the underbelly of the ocean, with pale, milky scales and limped eyes that showed the network of veins and tissues beneath.
A silvery glow bathed the pebbles as Hunter reflexively reached for Nya's Grace, ready to obliterate the thing before it could touch down. Bradon's skin was already crawling, as if he was waiting for the right moment to enact the Change, but Gordon's dispassionate stance gave Hunter pause. Aside from Rogan, the Beta was the only one who'd been to the Vale before. If he was not alarmed, then Hunter would not make a fool of himself by overreacting.
The sickly wyvern opened its wings at the last second, relying on the sulphurous updraft to slow its descent. They were fleshy and membranous, oddly reminiscent of a frog's webbed toes. It was all Hunter could do to keep from gagging; the creature was twisted and deformed, more like a Bone Snatcher's approximation of the mighty dragons he'd fought in the East. And the smell; Goddess, it smelled like it was rotting from the inside out!
The earth shuddered as twisted creature landed beside them. It was the size of a juvenile wyvern at best, just entering adolescence. Though he'd never really cared for the territorial beasts, Hunter found himself disappointed by the diminished version of his deadliest foe. It cowered beneath his father's steely gaze, shoulders hunching and spines flattening in submission, as if expecting a blow at any moment. It inspired pity rather than fear as Rogan climbed up the spines on its forelegs, taking a seat in the hollow at the base of its neck.
"My dear friend," Rogan said, offering a hand to Gordon. The Beta took it, hauling himself into place behind the Alpha.
Bradon went to climb up after them, eager for the horrors that no doubt awaited them below. Rogan planted a boot on his chest, shoving him back as the wyvern spread its vile wings once again. With a powerful thrust of its hind legs and a few mighty flaps it was airborne, laboring to carry its new riders into the sky. Hunter scowled, crossing his arms and tapping his foot as he waited for the next creature to arrive to carry them.
Too late did he realise that his father had a different plan in mind. The sickly wyvern turned around and swooped again, spreading its viciously curved talons like an owl descending on a rabbit.
