rivercrow

She’d stopped counting the number of nests she’d raided as she clambered toward the river. Some of the cavity nesters had feisty fledgings, some of the raptor families had attempted to drive her off; she had cuts and scrapes, but Lorida’s hunger was sated by the time she reached the forest’s fringe. She guessed it was a few hours before morning and settled down to sleep.

Cries of birds woke her abruptly. Reflected light from the late morning sun on the river blinded her as she glanced around searching for the cause of the the upset. There, down at the edge near the reeds–she saw a younger groundborn chasing waterfowl.

Lorida’s first instinct was to call out, but she stopped herself. If she had younger traveling companions, she’d be duty-bound to tend them. A larger group would be slower and more conspicuous, especially if the members were not in their prime. The most dangerous part of the journey would lie between here and the true ocean. Still, if the groundborn had an older escort, that would be advantageous. She waited.

A broad, dark shadow snaked through the shallows towards the young groundborn. Lorida watched, digging her claws deep into the bark of her branch, knowing that she could do nothing to stop the inevitable. The crocodiles that lived in the river were too large for any of her kind to overcome. She’d almost been eaten by several of the monsters herself; only her speed and savvy had kept her alive.

No escort had appeared. The youngster was alone and foolish. It had stopped to eat the eggs of a waterfowl nest and was intently focused on the meal. The reeds parted, marking the progress of the predator as it crept closer.

A flash of movement, a few cries, and both groundborn and croc were gone.

Lorida forced herself to relax and concentrated. At this time of the year, the crocs would be defending their nesting areas. Peak territoriality. Although she doubted the same croc owned the space on the opposite shore, she could probably cross half the river before this one started hunting again. The sun was fairly high. The hottest part of the day would start in an hour or so and the predators would begin clustering at the forest edges to keep cool.

In an hour, she could be well across the water and into the trees on the far side.

She slid quietly down the tree trunk and walked carefully to the reedline of the shore, senses alert. The smell of waterplants, the lingering odor of the groundborn’s fear and blood, and the oily surface of the scummy water repulsed her. She hated being so close to the death place of one of her own, but she knew the other’s odor would mask hers. She waded into the reeds and made her way straight through to the open river.

The water came to her collarbone here, just deep enough to swim. She craned her neck, looking and listening intently in all directions for any sign of danger. Nothing. Not even birds. Lorida inhaled, gathered her courage, and pushed off into the muddy river’s sluggish current.

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