Ten days surviving only off of dewberries and stolen jerky that one of the harpies forgot to stash away was taking its toll. While Ryelle wasn't exactly starving, she was running on near-empty reserves. Her body hungered for something more substantial to fill it, and her mind craved something else besides the wild nature of the sky islands.

And by wild nature, she meant Gwynelle.

The two of them had spent the last week and a half chasing each other across the wilderness surrounding the main harpy settlement, with the younger harpy flitting out of reach whenever Ryelle got close to catching her.

Of course, Ryelle's own stubborn streak meant that she took every failure and every lesson to heart. Each time she failed to catch her prey she stood back up, brushed the dirt off her knees, and came back swinging.

The results had been varied, but lately she'd gotten close enough to touching the harpy for the win to taste like a sweet nectar on the tip of her tongue. All she needed was a bit of luck to go along with her ever-increasing speed.

Luck or a trick.

The problem was coming up with a trick that would work against Gwynelle. While they'd been having these little games, the two had become familiar with each other. That meant Gwynelle knew most of Ryelle's tricks already, and wasn't likely to fall for another. Her own naivete had become a crutch, rather than an advantage.

On the morning of the tenth day, Ryelle roused herself early from the sleep that she had begun to take in fits and starts. Despite the days of restless slumber, she was not weary. No, she felt alive. Her blood sang in her veins.

Gwynelle still refused to tell her the exact nature of her "hunting" task, beyond the vague comments she made every time she asked—and of course, the tantalizing prospect of food once she completed it.

Today, she had decided, would be the day. She would succeed in catching Gwynelle no matter what it took.

As she made her way from her makeshift shelter to the central amphitheater where Gwynelle usually found her, her eyes searched for any signs of movement among the branches overhead. It was impossible to know exactly when the harpies might be out hunting—or even if they were watching her right now. They had an uncanny knack for appearing without warning at seemingly any time they chose.

Movement caught her eye off to the left, and she turned towards it only to see a familiar, energetic harpy watching her from above.

"Good morning, Gwynelle," Ryelle greeted her. "Ready to do some hunting today?"

"Good hunting!" Gwynelle answered brightly, before descending from her perch. "Good hunting today?"

"Of course." Ryelle gave her a half-smile. "I'm going to catch you."

"Nae." Gwynelle beamed at her. "Nae ever, never ever!"

"Wanna bet?" Ryelle laughed, but it sounded hollow even to herself. She didn't have anything to wager other than pride, and she wasn't sure she wanted to risk losing that—even if it would be fun to win against Gwynelle.

"No." The harpy giggled and spun around on her talons, giving Ryelle an upside down look. "No lose."

"Yeah, well, I don't plan on letting you escape," Ryelle countered, grinning at her playfully. She wasn't sure how to best use this newfound connection between them—or whether she should try—but it certainly made things more interesting around here.

"Naesayer!" Gwynelle exclaimed gleefully, leaping off the ground with her wings spread wide in a powerful flap. She soared toward Ryelle with the grace of a dancer, her wings flapping madly as she twirled through the air. The wind rushed past her face, sending her hair streaming out behind her like ribbons.

With another cry of glee, Gwynelle flew off into the distance. Ryelle didn't waste another moment before giving chase.

This time, rather than simply racing after Gwynelle as fast as she could, Ryelle kept a steady pace behind her. She didn't even pretend to try to keep up with her full speed, instead using a moderate effort to stay on Gwynelle's metaphorical tail.

Fortunately, the unspoken rule of the hunt was that they stay within sight of each other at all times, and that Gwynelle wouldn't fly above the tree line. While Gwynelle could certainly fly higher and faster, she stuck to a constant pace and kept low enough that Ryelle could easily trail her.

Once again, Ryelle's dragon essence played out within her. Every passing minute brought a heightened focus to the task at hand. Her breathing and heart rate steadied as she tapped into the physical side of her essence, and she felt herself getting faster. Stronger.

More draconic.

She sped up. This time she felt she had more endurance to fall back on, more energy available than before she'd been able to tap into that wellspring.

Her footfalls fell upon the earth in sync with the beating of her heart, and every time her legs pumped, the distance between her and Gwynelle lessened. It wasn't fast enough, not nearly—but it was measurable, quantifiable progress. With each breath, each beat of her heart, each pounding thud of her legs against the ground, she drew closer to catching the flying harpy.

Ahead, Gwynelle darted around an enormous moss-covered tree stump that seemed as tall as some of the houses back in Ebonheim.

Ryelle skidded to a halt rather than following, her eyes scanning the foliage as she searched for another route to intercept her quarry. It was clear that Gwynelle had seen what she was doing, and was trying to throw her off by banking away from the straight and narrow path she'd been treading previously.

Ryelle threw herself over the tree stump with reckless abandon, vaulting onto the trunk and pushing off with a kick. Then, with all her strength, she launched herself after the fleeing harpy. She leaped from one outstretched limb of a nearby tree to another, swinging forward like a monkey in a frenzy. Her arms and legs ached from exertion, but it was worth every bit of discomfort.

She could still see Gwynelle ahead of her, and she wasn't losing ground. If anything, she was gaining on her, just as before. Even so, Ryelle had a feeling the same tactic would only work a few times. She wasn't sure why or what would change, but as time passed, she got the distinct sensation that this was the last time she'd be able to follow through with this specific type of chase.

As if on cue, Gwynelle suddenly flared her wings and went into a wide banking maneuver, then quickly reversed course and shot off back the way they'd come.

Ryelle didn't stop to think. She sprang from the last branch she could find beneath her feet towards a trailing vine that swung by, her fingers catching hold and wrapping around the greenery. With a grunt, she clung tightly to the vine as she swung away from the tree trunks below, using the momentum to propel herself toward Gwynelle.

Ryelle let go of the vine and let loose a guttural cry of pure exhilaration as she flew through the air. She saw Gwynelle dive down and flit between trees in an attempt to shake her off, and grinned to herself. Not likely!

Her body twisted in midair, angling herself so that she landed squarely atop Gwynelle, driving them both into the earth with a crash of leaves and dirt.

Stolen story; please report.

Instantly, Ryelle pinned the harpy beneath her and held her down, panting heavily and trying to regain her breath. Her body was on fire, burning hot beneath her skin—but she didn't care. She'd done it!

After a moment of stunned silence, Gwynelle burst into a fit of giggles.

"Aye, okay, okay," she finally managed, squirming under Ryelle. "Get off!"

"Really?" Ryelle exhaled in relief and rolled onto her back, her hands still clenched firmly around Gwynelle's wrists to hold her in place. "I caught you, though...?"

"Good chase!" Gwynelle wriggled out of Ryelle's grasp and pushed herself upright. "Was fun. Best hunt!"

Ryelle felt exhaustion wash over her. She lay staring up into the sky above her, her breath heaving as she struggled to bring herself back under control. Finally, she lifted her head and said, "Thanks. I think."

Gwynelle flapped a hand dismissively at Ryelle as if swatting aside invisible flies. "No worry. Good hunt is done! Now food?"

A huge grin stretched across Ryelle's face at those words. Food! Her stomach immediately began rumbling audibly, her muscles aching after going days without proper nourishment, but it didn't matter. She had finally completed her hunt.

"Food," Ryelle affirmed, rising slowly to her feet. Her limbs trembled slightly with effort, but she managed to stand up straight. "Please."

Gwynelle led her through a maze of hanging vines and moss-draped branches to a cache hidden inside the hollow of an ancient ironwood tree. The smell hit Ryelle first—rich, bloody, alive in ways that made her mouth water and her stomach clench with sudden, desperate hunger.

Fresh fish, their scales still gleaming silver-bright. Wild berries that stained her fingers purple-black. Strips of venison that had been cured with mountain herbs she couldn't name but somehow recognized. Gwynelle chattered about each offering, but the words blurred together into meaningless sound as Ryelle stared at the feast.

"I thought I was supposed to hunt for my food?" Ryelle asked.

"Yae! Good hunt. Nae hunt alone." Gwynelle patted her on the shoulder. "Share hunt, share food."

"I guess I'm fine with that," Ryelle said, her mouth already watering.

Her hands shook as she reached for the first piece of meat.

The taste exploded across her tongue—salt and copper and something deeper, something that spoke to the part of her that had awakened during the chase. She tore into the venison like a starving animal, juice running down her chin, her teeth finding purchase in ways that felt both foreign and utterly natural.

"Slow," Gwynelle said, laughing. "Food nae run away!"

But Ryelle couldn't slow down. Each bite carried echoes of the life that had been—the deer's strength flowing into her muscles, the fish's speed singing in her blood. Her enhanced senses picked up traces of vitality, of essence, that made the simple act of eating feel like communion with something primal and necessary.

Ten days of hunger vanished in minutes of feeding that bordered on frenzy.

When she finally stopped, berries staining her lips and grease coating her fingers, the world seemed sharper somehow. Colors more vivid. Scents more complex. The rustle of leaves overhead carried information about wind patterns and approaching weather that she'd never been able to interpret before.

"Better?" Gwynelle asked, tilting her head with that characteristic harpy gesture.

"Yes." The word came out rougher than intended, closer to a growl, and Ryelle swallowed to make room for more human sounds. "Much better."

"Good hunt," a new voice said from above. "Good feeding."

Liselotte descended from the canopy like a falling shadow, her azure and white feathers catching fragments of sunlight as she landed on a branch that barely flexed under her weight. The Harpy Queen's crimson eyes fixed on Ryelle, their depths glittering with knowing amusement.

"You watched," Ryelle said. Not a question.

"Always watch. First hunts are..." Liselotte paused, her head tilting as she searched for words. "Important. Revealing. Tell much about what hunters become."

Ryelle wiped her hands on the moss, suddenly self-conscious about the remnants of her feeding frenzy. "And what did I reveal?"

"Dragon woke up." Liselotte shrugged one elegant shoulder. "Just a little bit. Just enough to taste what you could be."

The words sent an odd thrill through Ryelle's chest—pride mixed with something that might have been fear. The intensity of her feeding, the way she'd torn into the meat with such desperate hunger, felt like stepping across a line she hadn't known existed. As if the part of her that remembered sleeping under a roof and waking to a soft mattress had been eclipsed by something older and wilder and eager in a way that made her pulse pound in her veins.

"The chase was never about speed," she said, understanding dawning like sunrise. "Or tactics."

"Never about catching Gwynelle either." Liselotte launched herself from the branch, gliding down to perch on a fallen log closer to Ryelle's level. "About catching yourself. About finding the part of you that knows how to want something enough to take it."

"I wanted to succeed before—"

"Wanted to please. Wanted to prove worthy. Wanted to avoid failure." Each word carried dismissive weight. "Not same as wanting prey. Not same as hunger that drives claws through flesh and teeth through bone."

Gwynelle made a soft sound of agreement, nodding enthusiastically. "Much wanting! Much hunger! Was good chase!"

Ryelle's fingers found the torn fabric of her cheongsam where branches had caught it during the final pursuit. The damage felt like proof of something, though she couldn't name what.

"So what happens now?"

"Now we see if one successful hunt makes predator, or if you fall back into being prey that learned one trick." Liselotte's gaze turned toward the forest beyond their hidden grove. "But first, tell me what your dragon-nose smells that bothers you."

The question caught Ryelle off-guard. She'd been so focused on the conversation that she hadn't consciously registered the wrongness that had been tickling at the edges of her awareness since they'd settled down to eat.

She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. Most of the forest carried the rich scents of living wood, damp earth, growing things pursuing their ancient purposes. But underneath...

"Something's wrong with the trees to the west." The words surprised her with their certainty. "They smell... muted. Like something drained the life out of them without killing them."

Liselotte's expression shifted, losing some of its predatory amusement. "Show me."

They followed Ryelle's nose through increasingly dense undergrowth until they reached a ridge that offered a clear view of the western valleys. At first, everything looked normal—endless green canopy stretching toward distant mountains, broken only by the occasional cleared meadow or glinting stream.

Then Ryelle's enhanced vision picked out the subtle wrongness. A section of forest that looked healthy from a distance but seemed somehow faded up close, as if someone had drained a few drops of color from each leaf. The trees still stood, still bore leaves that moved in the wind, but they looked like watercolor paintings left out in the rain.

"There," she said, pointing. "That grove about a league past the ravine. The trees look..."

"Wrong," Liselotte finished. Her voice carried none of its usual musical quality. "Gwynelle mentioned strange quiet places. Thought was natural dying, but..."

"But this isn't natural." Ryelle's hands clenched into fists. Something about the sight made her teeth ache, made the dragon essence in her blood writhe as if caught in a snare. "Someone's claiming land that doesn't belong to them."

"Could be disease. Could be drought." But Liselotte's tone suggested she didn't believe her own words.

Movement in the affected grove caught Ryelle's eye. Tiny figures moving through the trees with suspicious coordination—too organized for casual travelers, too purposeful for random exploration.

"I should investigate," Ryelle said, starting to rise.

Liselotte's wing swept out, pressing gently against her shoulder as a signal to stay still. "Should do nothing until training finished. Half-taught dragons are dead dragons."

"But if something's spreading—"

"Then it spreads while you learn not to throw your life away uselessly. You caught one small harpy after ten days of failing. Think you ready to hunt whatever does that to forests?"

The criticism stung because it carried truth. Whatever force could drain vitality from entire groves without killing them outright wasn't likely to be an easy foe to counter. But Ryelle's gut still twisted at the thought of doing nothing while the damage spread.

"Then what do you recommend?"

"Learn to hunt things that fight back." Liselotte's wing nudged her sideways, away from the unsettling view. "Prey that runs is one thing. Prey that turns to face you requires different instincts entirely."

"More harpies?"

"Warriors this time. No more games, no more gentle lessons." The predatory smile returned, but it carried an edge that made Ryelle's newly awakened instincts prickle with warning. "Tomorrow you face the Trials of Fang and Claw. We see if dragon-blood means anything when claws come for your throat."

Gwynelle made an excited chirping sound. "Trials! Is fun!"

"For who?" Ryelle asked, though she suspected she already knew the answer.

"For watchers," Liselotte said. "Always fun to watch. For fighters..." She shrugged eloquently. "Depends how much they like bleeding."

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