[Gift] The 11th Hour | Partridge

Quake waited.

With almost a serene patience, Quake waited.

Buried in the permafrost, cold searing the metal on her snout, burrowing its fingers slowly but surely between the gaps of her velvet scales, Quake breathed in the scent of earth and clay.

She lay in the tunnel she’d dug deep under the ground, cradled in the darkness, almost utterly still. The only movement was the slow sweep of her twin tails behind her, a quiet but bracing scrape as her clubs traced over rocks, caught on roots.

The signal she waited for was unknown to all but herself, and perhaps to the one who might give it, though she hoped not. It was one of her life’s little missions to catch Flash unawares, to startle him before he knew better. It would defeat the purpose if he knew she lay in wait.

Quake shifted her hind legs, digging her claws into the dirt, and she listened to the vibrations through the earth, to the ripples through their shared mindspace.

There.

Her hard head reared up, and she began to push through the ground. Something as weak as the cold couldn’t defeat the likes of her, couldn’t hold the earth in place if she wanted to tunnel through it. It gave way before her, fighting the entire time, quivering and shaking apart as she thrashed like a predator taking down struggling prey, then broke free in a flurry of white, red, and brown scales.

Quake unfurled her wings as birds took to the skies from the shivering trees, launching herself forward on steady, sturdy legs.

She stopped mid-step as a a mess of gray feathers flew into her eyes with a furious cackle.

It wasn’t Flash; the feathers were too dark and the wings too small.

Her forelimbs were too short to bat the thing away, though she tossed her head valiantly as it settled on her face, clawed feet gripping the metal mask. Quake crossed her eyes to look at it, and it stared down at her.

Huffing and puffing, the small bird cackled again, the dark splotch on its breast vibrating as it called. It fluffed up its feathers in a vain attempt to look larger than it was.

Quake bared her teeth, tails thrashing behind her as she stomped, and the bird pecked harshly on her mask. The harsh noise rolled through the nearly-silent forest, clear as a bell, the only other sound the distant cries of birds fleeing Quake’s minor earthquake.

“What?”

The partridge narrowed her dark, beady eyes. Quake huffed, her breath pluming on the cold air. “I should eat you.”

Whether the partridge understood her or not was up for debate, but it did peck her mask again, and a headache camped behind Quake’s eyes. Quake took a step back almost reflexively, tossing her head again, and this time, the bird took off, gliding down to the forest floor.

Quake watched with wary eyes as the partridge sidled up to a small scrape nearby, nestled next to a thick bush. Inside were over a dozen little white-ish eggs camped in a small nest, too near where Quake had emerged from her own burrow, and then where she had eagerly been about to chase after where she anticipated Flash to be.

Instead she took several more steps back, and lowered her head to peer into the scrape and the nest as the partridge fluffed itself up and quickly settled itself over its babies yet again. Something like guilt crawled its way up Quake’s chest, and sheepishly, she said, “Fair.”

The partridge cackled at her again, flaring its tiny wings in a pathetic threat display, and Quake picked herself up and decided to leave her alone, taking the long way around to go chase after her rider.