Flight School: Predator

Who he Was

The boy woke with a start; blood on his hands and sweat on his brow but a second glance revealed no crimson dribbling down his fingers—only a blurred vision, obscured by the tears that had welled up in his eyes from the awful scare.

Io sat up, drying his eyes with the back of his sleeve before taking in his surroundings. He recalled going to sleep before sundown, having insisted on taking a nap at a resting point and slowing down the general pace of the group. All he had to do was wait for someone to follow his trail, but now that he had, indeed, seen someone follow his trail and fall in the process of doing so...he wasn't too certain of any course of action at all.

Luna?

Yes? Her whisper came almost at once, as though she had been waiting for him to ask. She anticipated his question of reality; of the fearful sight that they, together, had seen.

Why do I have these dreams? He asked quietly, surprising, even, his Avian herself. Dreams of the future and now, the past. Is that what I have? Fore and hindsight of magnitudes greater than anyone else? The greater heights that Luna had awakened within him overwhelmed his fragile soul, and drowned the rampant mind that he never could control.

Even so, what is the use of sight when there is a lack of an ability to act? He cried softly, knees to his chest, head bowed and alone. Perhaps that is the point. Perhaps no one will ever see what I see, and I shall remain alone in this knowledge—bear its responsibility and burden alone. Do you think I was supposed to see that? If I never did, would Slayne have died? Does one require perception to exist?

Did Slayne die alone? What was he thinking as he closed his eyes?

Luna landed by the creak, watching her reflection in the water as it splashed over rock and sediment.

Did he think about the people he'd left behind? Did he struggle? Was it short? What do I DO WHEN SOMEONE IS DEAD? WHO SHOULD I TELL? WHAT DO I DO?

The final question weighed on his cage and all that was within but there was one—one sole question that weighed even more than he could conceive. It was loud and frightening, and the night felt to him, screaming.

Was it because of me?

*

The raven woke to the quiet sound of sobbing.

Her eyes squinted in the dark as she grabbed the handle of the kerosene lamp to her right and held it over Iolani Tori's sleeping bag on the left. By accident, the lamp hit his head with a dull thump.

"Oh fuck," she let slip, placing it aside; not knowing what to do. She hadn't expected to see him—out of every other prey she'd known—shed a tear, let alone cry while hugging his knees. To her, the boy was thick-skinned, stubborn, naively full of himself and blindly idealistic, which explained every bit of her opinion when it came to him.

The raven nudged his arm; and when she received no response, shook his shoulder.

His head rose. Something weighed on his mind and it made his neck sore from the unwieldiness of it all. Being light-headed was one thing, but heavy-headed was an entirely different matter. His eyes were slow to focus.

Yes?

She jumped, several inches backward, and whipped around to see if there was anyone else who could invade her Link. There wasn't. She turned back to the sparrow before her eyes. The sparrow; he did not look himself.