will not listen and endanger herself.
“I’ll stay right here,” she says in a soft voice, lying back down in the nest of furs. “Be careful.”
I nod and get to my feet. I pace toward the entrance of the cave, studying it even as I approach. My heart pounds in my chest. Fear for my mate—for my tribe—makes the blood rush through my body with speed. I must remember to remain calm. To throw true instead of quick. The entrance to the cave is narrow and sky-claw are large. Old Grandfather is the largest of all, so he cannot get in.
But still, I brace myself, just in case.
T’shen is at my side a moment later, spear in hand. I nod at him, but I go first through the narrow cave entrance, because I am familiar with this enemy, even if only in stories. T’shen is close behind me, and when we emerge from the heat of the cave into the bitter cold, it takes the breath from my lungs. I am momentarily dazed at the sensation, and so T’shen is the first one to notice. He points ahead, at a cliff.
“There,” he says.
I look, and swallow hard.
Old Grandfather is the largest of all sky-claw. While most are large enough to make trees bend, Old Grandfather is large enough to snap the trees himself. He is three times the size of any I have seen, and legend has it that he has grown so large because he ate his young when he could not feed his belly. His body is wiry with age, his hide mottled and silvered instead of the dusky brown of younger sky-claw. He perches atop a cliff across from our cave, his long, snaggle-toothed beak covered in gore from a recent kill. Down below in the valley, I see several dead dvisti, their remains scattered in the snow, torn apart and half eaten. Above, Old Grandfather preens, rubbing a claw along his pointed snout. His taloned feet grip the rocks so hard that they crumble underneath him, and he shifts his weight every so often.
Perhaps I am wrong. Perhaps this is not Old Grandfather. Perhaps it is just a large sky-claw and he can be killed.
But he is the color of snow himself, pale with age. And as he grooms his beak with one razor-sharp claw, I see the long, jagged scar and the badly-healed gouge on the side of his beak where his teeth are gone. And I remember the legends of T'aashi, strongest of Strong Arm clan, and how he gave Old Grandfather that wound many generations ago, and used his tooth as a spear-head.
This must be him. Somehow he has left the island and come to the land of snow. He has followed the People and threatens us here.
T’shen makes a sound of wonder and fear behind me. “I have never seen a sky-claw so large.”
“It is Old Grandfather,” I tell him. “Just as I feared.” I watch the creature continue to groom itself atop the cliffs, his large, membraned wings tucked against his body. He does not look as if he is moving from this spot any time soon. Sky-claw are territorial and this one will attack anything he sees whether he is hungry or not.
At least he is far too large to come inside the cave.
“You know of this thing?” T’shen asks.
I nod. “Let us go inside and tell the females. We cannot leave. Not yet.” I will not let H’nah go outside, not if Old Grandfather is waiting to slaughter her like he did the dvisti. I will keep her safe at all costs.
T’shen returns to his spot in the cave and retrieves his mate, then we all sit down near the nest I have made for H’nah. My mate remains under the shelter I have made for her eyes and she sips water, her gaze full of worry and strain. T’shen and B’rukh both look to me for answers.
So I begin.
“My people tell stories of T'aashi and Old Grandfather,” I say. “T'aashi was a young hunter desperate to prove himself. The chief of Strong Arm had just died and many hunters were fighting amongst themselves to claim leadership. There were some that were strong in hunting, some that were strong with providing, but none seemed like the right leader. T'aashi thought he should be leader, and so to prove himself, he went to hunt sky-claw. They are a dangerous prey, even for the Strong Arm clan because they are fast and