Blood and Feathers: The Complete Collection

Hawk’s Hunt (Prologue)

            Soaring on graceful wings, Red Tail glided through the air high above the forest. She watched the ground for movement, noticing the scampering of mice and the hopping of rabbits. But these did not interest her. She only sought a certain species.

            The red furred mouse, the most elusive of quarries. In all her years of soaring the skies, only once had she caught a glimpse of red fur and a black tail, disappearing into the fall foliage the second she laid eyes upon it. That had been years ago. Now, red furred mice were treated as myth.

            If anyone could obtain the honor of the last kill, the eradication of a species, surely she would be the one to claim it, for of all the hawks in the sky, she was the best, the most feared of all.

            The green canvas beneath her stretched far into the horizon, broken up by swaths of meadow. Pines dominated the deep forest, but oaks clung to the outskirts.

            Swooping into a low glide just barely over the tips of the trees, Red Tail focused her attention on the meadow slicing through the forest a short distance in front of her. That is where the last living red furred mouse was rumored to live. 

            Gracefully, she soared in a circle above the meadow, searching for specks of red in the green and brown foliage. There.

            Red Tail dive-bombed the earth, tucking her wings close to her body. Just before she collided with the ground, she spread her wings and extended her talons, gripping soft flesh. The squealing rodent was carried high into the air, above the pale clouds, above all it had ever known.

            But was it the correct prey? There was only one way to know. She opened her talons and let the mouse fall screaming to its demise. With great satisfaction, she took note of its red fur. A living myth, executed by her own talons! Full of pride, she adjusted her course and flew away, into the setting sun.

             

The War

Watching as the sun lifted high in the morning sky, Chickadee sharpened his talons on a smooth stone, a rock jutting from the side of a cliff looming over a lush meadow. He wasn’t actually a chickadee; the other eagles gave the name to him. It was meant as an insult, due to his smaller than average size. But he wore it with pride, for it made him unique. It set him apart from the rest.

            However, today was not a day for mirth. Today was a day for war. A hawk had intentionally caused the extinction of a rare species of red furred mouse. While typically, eagles cared not for the plights of rodents, the concept of a species being intentionally wiped out drove them to the cusp of sanity, until their blood boiled in their veins and rage sweltered in their hearts. And so, the eagles declared war on the hawks.

            Taking off from the cliff side, Chickadee soared through the crisp air, his compatriots flying beside him. They numbered ten in total, but despite their numbers and physical advantage, the disease of fear spread through their ranks. They flew through unknown territory, towards an unknown number of enemies. Surely, the hawks knew of the eagle’s advances. It had been the song of the land ever since the eagles had first stated their desire for vengeance.

            Nearing their destination, they banked left into a field of clouds, hoping to mask their encroachment. The element of surprise would mean everything in the upcoming conflict.

            A score of shapes, indistinct in the cloudscape, tore near them. With talons extended, a hawk burst into clear vision, mere wingspans in front of Chickadee. There would be no surprising the enemy today.

“Fight, for the red-furred mouse!” shouted Chickadee. He grappled with his opponent, seizing the hawk’s wing with his clawed foot and ripping downwards, tearing a gaping hole in the wing’s primary feathers. Letting loose a disgruntled shriek, the hawk fell out of sight.

All around him, his comrades engaged in battle. Though smaller than their adversaries, the hawks more than made up for their small stature with ferocity. Beaks ripped through gullets and claws through wings. Injured bodies fell through the pale cloud cover and towards the earth below.

“I am Red Tail, slayer of your precious mouse!” The cry carried through the din of battle.

Chickadee adjusted his course, turning so that he was directly charging the source of the screech. Swooping at a downward angle, he clipped Red Tail’s wings with the tip of his talons. A trail of blood followed the arc of the cut, but Red Tail didn’t cry out. Rather, she adjusted her course of flight, so that she charged Chickadee head on. With screeches of rage and pain, they collided in a burst of blood and feathers.

As they plummeted to the ground, they eyed each other with scorn. Chickadee, his feathers bloodied and his wings torn, extended his shaking wings and tried to maintain control over his descent, but the gashes torn in his primary feathers by Red Tail left him with little control.

            She fell near him, similarly injured. During the ongoing battle in the cloudscape, the red-tailed hawk had collided with him midair, her beak ripping gashes in his breast. He had reacted likewise, slashing her with sharpened talons.

            Tearing his focus away from her as the ground neared, and with it, endless forest. It took all his concentration to weave through the trees without colliding against one. Landing in a rough heap on the ground, he felt his right wing splinter under the impact, and knew immediately it was broken. Severely.

            Limping on battered legs, Chickadee scanned his surroundings for danger. The forest floor was not an ideal destination for a creature of the air. He wondered if Red Tail had survived the fall. She was a warrior, he knew. It would take more than gravity to slay her.

            A bush rustled several wingspans away. Turning to gaze at it and assuming a defensive position, he lifted his good wing high into the air and pointed his beak forward, like the tip of a jagged rock.

            “You eagles are tenacious devils, I’ll give you that,” said Red Tail. She limped into the open. She had suffered just has badly as he, dragging an injured leg behind her and clutching a broken wing close to her body.

            “We have to be, when we have opponents like you. Before I rip out your gullet, tell me, why did you eradicate the red-furred mouse? What pleasure could you possibly gain from such a fowl deed?”

            Red Tail chuckled feebly. “Feel the sharpness of your beak and talons, the magnificent shadow of death you cast upon the land when you unfurl your wings. These are why I, a hawk, have the right to exterminate fellow life. I am a hunter, engineered to reap the lives of lesser creatures. To deny this is folly.”

            “I couldn’t agree more. Which is why, for your crimes, I shall lay you into the earth. The very animals you hunt will feast on your rotting flesh.”

            “Then we have nothing left to discuss.” Red Tail limped towards him, clearly fighting back waves of pain. The strained expression on her face said it all.

            Chickadee held his ground until the last moment, leaping forward with his beak open. Red Tail tried to evade the lunge, but Chickadee’s assault was too quick. His beak snapped closed over her throat, and with a vengeful twist, he snapped her neck. Chickadee gently laid the hawk’s broken corpse on the ground and limped away, off into the forest. 

            Slit eyes, unblinking, watched Chickadee’s movements. With a contemplative hiss, a slithering body followed him at a distance.

            Chickadee limped through the forest, leaving a trail of blood behind him. Already, curious onlookers had begun to flock Red Tail’s dead body. It wouldn’t be long before only a few feathers and bones remained.

            He knew that if he hoped to survive, he’d have to get off the ground. Wolves and coyotes would relish the opportunity to slay him. But without the use of both wings, he had no way of flying to safety.

            He froze, hearing a noise in the underbrush behind him. Turning quickly, Chickadee pointed his beak forward and tried to appear large. Maybe he’d be able to intimidate his assailant, persuading him to leave.

            A soft voice hissed from the underbrush. “So, what have we here? An eagle, forced to walk on the ground like a common animal. Why, what at tragedy.” A large snake slithered into the open, the banded pattern on his back and odd tail tip signifying him as a rattlesnake.

            Chickadee tilted his head. “What’s a rattlesnake doing so far north?”

            Rattlesnake chuckled. “I am answering Serpent’s call. He has great plans, plans I am happy to aid. But before I pledge my service to him, I wish to be held in esteem. To do so, a trophy must be brought to him. And what better than an eagle, the hunter of snakes?”

            “Fight me, and you will die. But I have no wish to fight you. Enough blood has been spilled today.”

            “Yes, your little war with the hawks. It’s a waste of time. The red-furred mouse was doomed. The hawks only accelerated the process.”

            “Perhaps, but someone must protect those who are defenseless.”

            Rattlesnake leered. “How noble of you, especially considering how those you seek to protect would treat your corpse. The red-furred mouse would eagerly feed your body to his family, were he still able. Fighting against nature is a hopeless, useless, foolish task, one unworthy of a warrior such as yourself.”  

            “Then I am happily a fool. Now are you going to keep driveling, or are we going to fight, worm?” Chickadee flexed his clawed feet and puffed out his chest. He could see the fear in Rattlesnake’s eyes. Even injured, he’d still be a dangerous opponent. “Find another trophy, if you wish to survive.”

            “Perhaps you speak the truth, for I am unsure which one of us is the deadlier, but one thing is certain: one of us is going to die today.” Bearing his fangs, Rattlesnake lunged towards Chickadee’s heart.

            Chickadee dodged to the left, deftly avoiding Rattlesnake’s fangs. He thrust his beak downwards, narrowly missing the back of the snake’s head. Reaching with a clawed foot, he seized the back of Rattlesnake’s tail, maneuvering his body away from the snake’s mouth.

            Though his adversary twisted and writhed on the ground, Chickadee held firm. “Where is your bravado now? You have made a fatal mistake, worm.”

            “Damn you!”

            “Poetic last words.” Seizing Rattlesnake’s head in his other foot, Chickadee dug his talons in, piercing his enemy’s skull and extinguishing his life with a savage crunch.

            Chickadee satiated his hunger with his fallen foe’s corpse. Rattlesnake, it turned out, did not taste much different from the snakes Chickadee was accustomed to eating. A tinge more bitter, but nevertheless, delicious all the same.
            Something stirred in the air above him. A gust of wind brushed against his feathers as three eagles descended into the forest, perching in branches and landing on the ground.
            “Chickadee,” said the largest eagle, Winter, a magnificent specimen of sheer power. His white head accented his brown-feathered body splendidly. “You survived! We witnessed your battle with Red Tail in the clouds, and when you both fell to the earth, feared the worst. I take it she is dead?”

“I have vanquished our foe. And what of the battle? Has it been won?”

“We three are all that’s left. But of the hawks, no more remain.”
Chickadee chuckled darkly. “So much bloodshed, all due to the greed of a few. But it is for the better. The red-furred mouse has been avenged.”

“Indeed. Come, we’ll guide you home. Your injuries will no doubt heal in time.”
            Chickadee nodded his head several times in quick succession as he walked towards them. “They better. I fear dark days are ahead. The rattlesnake I slew spoke of someone called Serpent. Perhaps another war looms on the horizon.”