After coming to the mountains, it was another four days journey to skirt around the northern edge of the mountain range that I was becoming increasingly sure was the Tuurlon Peaks, a mountain range found halfway from Narvaatal (the mountain range far to the west, Gods’ Footstool in the Veushten tongue) to the Sheer Pass, the isthmus that connects the two halves of the continent. I had no way to be sure, since I’d never come close to Tuurlon, but the geography was close enough for me to believe it.

The mountains ran close to the shores, with burlraizes reappearing for what was sure to be a short time before disappearing for good as we continued our journey west. In the distance, one could almost see the ocean that surrounded the continent, the barest hint of blue on the horizon, and as we descended from the hills to the more populated coastal jungle.

This jungle was wildly different from that of our origin–the ground wasn’t a rich brown but instead an almost sickly light brown that was populated by long, tough scrub and grass that spread sporadically across the empty space between occasional burlraizes. The scrub was home to various burrowing creatures I’d never heard of, which we name the Bonebreaker, the Sandy Dulgar, and Treats (the third was named by the five children).

The Bonebreaker was a strange insectoid creature that was .6m long and .2m tall that was covered entirely by a hard exoskeleton. It had eight legs and two massive claws in the front, but was different from a crab, which we had also seen. It walked forward, almost like a spider, but instead of webs and fangs, it used its claws. We called them Bonebreakers for that reason–their claws were powerful enough to crush stone, and they used them liberally on each other and anything they could reach. The Sandy Dulgar was somewhat like a normal dulgar, but instead of an armored body, they were entirely hairless and almost never came out of the sandy soil in which they lived. If brought to the surface, they had the same heavy claws and angular body of a normal dulgar, but the absence of armor was strange to me. Finally, the “Treats” were small, quick rodents that darted through the foliage they lived in and were nearly impossible to catch. They were, however, pleasant mouthfuls if caught, and the spawnlings had made a game of seeing who could kill the most.

Speaking of the children, they had grown exponentially in the last fourteen days since leaving the den. They were well and truly close to adulthood at this point, merely a week or so away from their evolution into adulthood and standing just below my chin in height, around 1.5m tall. The girls had grown apart, physically. While hatchlings, they were nearly identical, but their khatif evolutions were obviously different, with Ishtar being a lithe, powerful commander of sorts and Isnanna fully embracing the graceful form of her mother, but as beautiful as Sybil was plain. Both were a more metallic version of their mother’s brown, a burnt copper color, and their faces were still the same shape, even if their bodies were quite dissimilar. Comparatively, Iituli was a brushed, almost polished copper color, sometimes shining in light so brightly it was almost painful. He was built just like me, with the same curved claws, flexible and pointy scales around the forearms, and ear crests. To his sisters’ obvious envy, he was the only one who manifested any sort of magical power. He was able to make fire just like Histy, and she had taken him under her tutelage somewhat, and taught him how best to work on his magical abilities.

Trai and Foult (Foire and Treel’s sons) had grown very differently from each other. Trai was a bruiser, just like his mother, only even more thickly built. He had a barrel chest and broad arms, able to compete with established adult keelish in strength contests quite easily. Fortunately for him, he had a good sense of humor and never gloated or insulted the adults he bested. Foult was more of a mix of his parents, obviously a scout but never shying away from the front lines of a fight. He frequently played it straight to his brother’s shenanigans, but the attentive observer could occasionally see his self satisfied smirk when his serious responses to his brother’s absurdity landed.

I was finally coming to realize exactly how uncommon a magic manipulating organ was among the keelish, as among my brood there was only Sybil and myself. Maybe Shemira as well, but I still wasn’t sure if her charming abilities were magical or natural in nature, and I didn’t care enough to really verify it. I wondered if it was a genetic thing, and the girls would enter an evolutionary path that allowed for them to use magic for themselves, but I didn’t worry too much about it.

Ishtar had taken to practicing stealthy approaches and interkeelish combat with Wisterl whenever possible, and, though Iituli was significantly larger than her (given his warrior caste), the two of them were about matched in combat. Iituli was a far better hunter, but he wasn’t a trained fighter like his sister, and his focus had recently been on developing his magic. Seeing his dedication on that front forced my attention back to the fact that I had completely neglected my own training of my magic. I’d gotten close to figuring out how to vibrate my arms and claws in a way that made them function nearly as sawblades as a result.

As we walked towards a particularly large clump of beach grass to meet up with a hunting party, a keelish shriek of rage and pain rang out from hidden within the grass. Without conscious thought, I was issuing commands, “Huntmaster, with me! Bring a small pack along! Gamma, keep an eye out on anything approaching!”

Took was at my side with a pack nearly immediately and we jogged cautiously into the thick grasses while being followed by a dozen of the swarm’s elites. They grew well over 2m tall and were so thick that visibility was nearly zero. Ahead, we heard the continuing guttural roars and shrieks of the keelish pack, “Together!” “Over there!” and “There’s something wrong with the ground!” mixed with a familiar snarling and growling.

I picked up the pace and only hardly noticed the sand quickly transitioned to damp, then wet, then muddy. I had to change my gait to accommodate taller, shorter steps to continue forward, and then I took in the sight of a hunting pack, only four left, attempting to keep their companions safe in the deepening mud below them. A hunting pack of seven adult Wolfstags circled around them, water continuously dripping from their bodies into the saturated ground beneath their feet.