Part One: Insider

Chapter One

Cinnamon crouched in the tall grass, slowly creeping closer to her prey. The wild boar snuffled noisily, ravenously gorging down a patch of potatoes. It's dark bristles swayed in the wind as it ate. It's back was turned to Cinnamon. It was the perfect kill.

Cinnamon leaned back on her haunches, her tail flicking side to side. She took a deep breath, slowly, so that the boar wouldn't hear her, and dug her claws into the charred ground. With a snarl, she sprang from her hiding place. She landed heavily on its back, claws sinking into its shoulders as her thorn-sharp teeth penetrated its thick neck. It squealed and fell face forward down a short, steep slope. Cinnamon rolled with it, head over tail over head again, keeping her jaws locked onto the boar's throat.

They skidded to a stop at the bottom of the hill, and Cinnamon finally let go and squeezed out from under the heavy boar. She let out a sigh of disgust. The boar was dead, but her cream-white fur was scuffed with dirt and blood. She crouched to sniff the boar, her ears flicking, and then drew herself as high as she could go, looking around. Nobody was nearby, so it was safe to rinse off in the river without anyone stealing her kill.

Cinnamon followed the faint sound of running water until she saw the stream she'd been tracking, and dove in. It would only take a minute. When she thought she must be clean, she pulled herself out onto the sandy bank, water streaming off of her pelt. She shook out her fur, scattering silvery drops everywhere, and trotted back to her catch. It was a short walk, but by the time she got back, the warm breeze and sun on her back had almost dried her fur already.

She bit down hard on the boar's cold back leg and started dragging it next to her, keeping her ears erect and alert for danger. She let her long tail drag, imprinting a slithering trail in the dust. By the time her pack's camp came into view, her muscles ached, especially her jaws and back. She let go of the boar, letting it slide into the divot dug out for prey, and shook her head, stepping away from it.

"Hey, Cinnamon!" Someone called, and a golden brown coloured drake with darker flecks scurried up to her. "There you are. I was wondering if you'd gotten lost."

"One time," she said through gritted teeth. "One time I get lost, and you're still talking about it as if it maybe wasn't, you know, my first day out of the hatchery."

"Settle down," Moss laughed. "I was just bugging you."

"Very effective," Cinnamon observed.

"Nice catch," Moss observed, nodding at the boar. "Come on.  Emerald says we have to watch the eggs this afternoon."

"Watch the eggs?" Cinnamon moaned. "But that's an omega's job! I thought the whole point of being a scout was that you didn't have to do that crap anymore!"

Moss shrugged and flicked her tail. "Come on. It could be worse." She paused and shuddered. "Or do you want to ask for drakelet duty instead?"

"You know what, guarding the eggs sounds like a riot," Cinnamon said, instantly jumping up and hurrying to trot beside Moss.

Moss laughed. "I knew that would work."

Cinnamon narrowed her eyes at her friend, and then realized with a jolt that she'd been outsmarted. "You tricked me!" She yelped, barreling into Moss. Moss laughed and tried to push her off, but Cinnamon was a little bit bigger and leaner then she was. "You used that backwards-psychology bull-crap on me! I told you to stop doing that!"

Moss pushed at Cinnamon's claws again. "It's called reverse-psychology," she amended. "And, for the record, it only works on weak minds."

"Oh, ouch," Cinnamon said, lifting her claws so that Moss could scramble away.

Moss sprang to her feet and bumped Cinnamon with her shoulder. "Race you there!" She challenged, zipping away. With a laughing yowl, Cinnamon reared up and charged after the rich brown blur in front of her, squinting to see through the cloud of dust Moss had already kicked up. Twice she nearly ran into bony grey trees, and another time she came way too close to plowing over one of the oldest gammas in the pack, but with some sort of miracle and the seeming presence of lightning in her legs she managed to sprint past Moss at the last moment and beat her to their destination.

Cinnamon collapsed into a gasping, panting ball of cream and red fur. Moss laughed breathlessly, dropping onto the ground next to Cinnamon. "That was... very impressive," Moss told her.

"Th... whoosh, thanks..." Cinnamon struggled to respond. Her heart was beating four times it's normal rate. Prairie drakes were fast, maybe the fastest runners in the world, but they unfortunately couldn't run for very long without tiring themselves out.

Cinnamon took another minute to regain her strength and pushed herself to her feet, looking around at the small piles of round white eggs sitting in divots in the ground. Moss got up, too.

"Think about it," Cinnamon said, sniffing a newish looking egg, sitting alone in its own divot. "Just three years ago, we were both somewhere in here, not even hatched yet. Three years isn't that long a time. But it's been our whole lives."

"Yeah," Moss agreed. "It's wacky. I can't believe how small we used to be."

"We used to be as light and defenceless as turnips," Cinnamon told her solemnly.

"Why use turnips as an example? That's so random; you've never even eaten a turnip!" Moss pointed out.

"It was the first thing that came to my mind," Cinnamon replied.

"That makes sense," Moss laughed. "You're mind is a turnip."

"Oh, shut your mouth," Cinnamon growled, trying not to laugh as well. She gazed around at the eggs. They were so... still. And quiet. But soon they'd be the opposite of both of those things. Drakelets, ew.

Cinnamon peered suspiciously at a black dot on the horizon. As if swept closer, she saw massive wings and cruel hooked talons and flashing black eyes. She'd heard about death condors, the huge birds who could lift a young drake straight into the sky and carry him off, but she'd never thought she'd see one.

"Moss..." Cinnamon said nervously.

Moss looked up and shrieked in fear. "Is th-that a d-death condor?"

"I think so. Go get help," Cinnamon barked. "I'll fight it off."

"Really?" Moss asked, standing tensely next to Cinnamon. "Do you think you can—"

"Go!" Cinnamon exploded. "Hurry!" Moss nodded, turned, and pelted away, heading back toward the central part of the camp.

Cinnamon bared her teeth at the massive bird, squashing her fear. Those talons looked super sharp, and it really did look big enough to carry her off.

The bird shrieked, pulling back to dive. It's eyes flashed evilly, and it shot forward. Cinnamon hissed menacingly, but it wasn't going for her. Dread seemed to creep up her legs and into her heart like a swarm of spiders.

It's going for the eggs.