The mandatory consultation had worked—barely. The three Alphas had retreated to their respective territories, snarling their agreements, but their cooperation was brittle, held together only by the fear of infection and the unprecedented need for the tiny human's expertise.
Elara knew the fragile truce would shatter if she didn't enforce it immediately.
"The Beta, Torvin, needs a strong, natural analgesic to fight the nerve pain, and the Griffin, Rhen, needs a flexible membrane to properly set his wing," Elara announced at sunup. She stood at the center of the neutral zone, holding a crude, detailed map she'd drawn on a piece of dried leather. "I have identified the source: the Black Mire Orchids and the Desert Gecko Sheath. They grow in the Northern Salt Flats, near the Shadow Wolf territory border. We leave now."
Kaelen arrived first, magnificent and glowering. He was wearing minimal gear, his golden mane flowing, ready to dominate the terrain. "The Lion will lead. The Salt Flats are open ground. Strength dictates the path."
Roric materialized an instant later, silent as a thought, clad in dark, sand-colored gear. "The Wolf will lead. The Flats are riddled with pitfalls and hidden threats. Cunning dictates the path."
Zev descended in a controlled, dramatic glide, landing with a flurry of dust that made Elara cough. "The Griffin flies above the Flats. Speed dictates the path. I will scout ahead. You are both too slow."
Elara slapped the map hard with her hand. "Rule #4, gentlemen: I dictate the path. And the team dynamic. You are not leaders today; you are specialized transport and security. You will travel as a group. No separate scouting. No spontaneous fighting. And no unnecessary roaring. It alerts the Feral Tide."
Kaelen roared anyway—a loud, frustrated sound. "I will not travel like a tethered pack-beast with the Wolf!"
"You will, Alpha," Elara said sweetly, pulling out a coil of rough, thick rope. "Because since none of you can resist tearing each other apart, we are instituting a leash system. You walk within five feet of each other, or I sit down right here and refuse to move until Torvin loses his leg."
The humiliation was visible. The three apex predators—the undisputed rulers of their respective domains—stared at the thick rope. Kaelen looked like he was about to combust. Roric merely raised a skeptical, amused eyebrow. Zev began to snicker.
"This is an insult to the Lion's honor!" Kaelen thundered.
"No, Alpha," Elara said, tying the rope around her own waist first. "This is infection control for the diplomatic mission. We are going to the Salt Flats, which means the Wolf leads, because he knows the pitfalls. The Lion walks flank, because he is the heavy deterrent. And the Griffin flies overhead for surveillance, but stays within communication range."
She handed the other end of the rope to Kaelen. He took it as if it were a bag of scorpions.
On the Road to the Salt Flats
The journey was a masterclass in controlled, agonizing tension.
The Northern Salt Flats were a vast, shimmering expanse of cracked, white earth, blinding under the two suns. It was hostile, empty, and perfect for ambush.
Roric led the way, moving with an eerie, ground-hugging gait that seemed to defy the glare. He used subtle shifts in the crystalline earth to navigate, his silver eyes constantly scanning the horizon.
"Stay to the north of the crest," Roric murmured, his voice barely audible above the wind. "The south face is eroding. A three-ton Lion would fall straight into a cavern."
Kaelen scoffed loudly. "Lies! A Lion's strength is sufficient for any terrain. We do not fear hollow ground."
"Your stubbornness is a greater threat than any cavern, Alpha," Elara muttered, walking between the two. "Trust the expert."
"I trust my eyes, tiny human," Kaelen snapped, his patience fraying. He took a heavy, deliberate step toward the southern slope.
"Alpha Kaelen!" Elara yelled, pulling sharply on the rope tied around her waist.
It worked. Kaelen, startled by the sudden, sharp tug and the human's audacity, stumbled back onto the path, his golden eyes wide with shock.
Roric snorted—a low, controlled sound of Wolfish amusement. "The Lion requires training, Elara Vance. Perhaps a collar would be more efficient than a rope?"
"Silence, Wolf!" Kaelen roared, his anger now redirected entirely at Roric.
"No, you silence, Alpha," Elara cut in. "We are walking, not competing for the title of Loudest Predator. Roric, focus on navigation. Kaelen, focus on not letting the rope chafe."
The Aerial Fiasco
Above them, Zev, the Storm Griffin, was having an equally disastrous time with the concept of "communication range."
He was soaring in high, beautiful circles, enjoying the sheer exhilaration of speed, occasionally dive-bombing nearby rock formations for sport. His immense wingspan would create a miniature sandstorm, showering the ground party with grit.
Elara squinted up, shouting against the wind. "Alpha Zev! You are too high! I cannot see your signals!"
Zev's reply was a high, mocking cry that was utterly useless for tactical communication.
Suddenly, Roric grabbed Elara's arm, his grip surprisingly gentle but urgent. "Feral Tide. Two clicks north-east. Fading scent, but large numbers. Zev is distracting us."
"Magnificent," Elara muttered. "The one time we need the aerial scout, he's showing off."
She pulled out a small, flat piece of highly polished metal she'd convinced Kaelen to give her (claiming it was a 'medical signaling device'). She angled it precisely to catch the intense sun and flashed a series of rapid, rhythmic signals toward Zev.
Zev, gliding far above, was about to launch into a spectacular roll when the sudden, sharp flash of light caught his eye. Used to reading the sky, the signal was immediate and jarring. He plummeted, descending rapidly toward the ground party, his face etched with concern.
He landed near them, feathers ruffled, his expression indignant. "What is the meaning of the light-trick, dirt-walker? Are we under attack?"
"No, we are under attack," Elara said, pointing to Roric, "but you were busy showing off your beautiful feathers. That signal means: You are too high, and the ground team is about to die because of your negligence. Now, Roric sees a Feral Tide threat. Use your height to confirm the location and movement."
Zev, stung by the accusation of negligence, immediately transformed, launching back into the air with serious purpose. Within seconds, his magnified, sharp vision located the threat.
"Roric is correct," Zev reported, his voice now tight with urgency, broadcasting clearly from above. "A pack of thirty. Heading south-west. They are hunting."
The Foraging and the Fury
The Feral Tide was diverted thanks to Roric's stealth and Zev's timely confirmation. They finally reached the Black Mire—a hidden oasis where the Black Mire Orchids bloomed in the perpetual shadow of a large rock.
Elara knelt, carefully extracting the precious, pain-killing roots. Kaelen and Roric stood guard, the rope between them slack, but the tension palpable.
"You waste your skill on these flowers," Kaelen rumbled, watching her work. "A proper Alpha requires no pain-numbing herbs."
"A proper Alpha relies on the skills of his tribe, Alpha. And a proper doctor uses every tool available," Elara corrected, standing up with her prize. "Now, for the Desert Gecko Sheath. Roric, where do the large, shedding geckos hide near here?"
Roric pointed with a silent, graceful sweep of his hand toward a cluster of sun-baked boulders. "Under the largest stones. Their shed skin is thickest near the vent."
The three Alphas watched in horrified fascination as Elara, without hesitation, plunged her hands into the dark, dusty crevice to retrieve the flexible, tough gecko skin she needed for Rhen's wing splint.
"The human touches the desert filth without flinching," Zev commented, watching from a perch. "She has no sense of proper distance."
"She has no sense of proper taste," Kaelen growled, watching her wipe the dust on her already filthy pants.
As they started the journey back, laden with their bizarre cargo, the sun was setting. Kaelen, the proud Lion, had been ordered around and humiliated by a rope. Roric, the cunning Wolf, had been forced into an alliance with his bitterest rival. Zev, the soaring Griffin, had been brought low by a piece of flashing metal.
But they had secured the resources. And they had survived, together.
As they walked, Roric deliberately nudged Kaelen with his shoulder. Kaelen instantly tensed, ready to fight.
"The human requires rest, Kaelen," Roric said calmly, not a single trace of aggression in his tone. "The longer we fight, the longer her recovery is delayed. She is a fragile asset. Control yourself."
Kaelen stared at the Wolf, then at the back of the small human figure walking determinedly ahead of them, her medical supplies secured. He let out a low, frustrated noise that was halfway between a growl and a cough. He had been ordered to cooperate, not by Elara, but by his own rival's cold, tactical assessment of her value.
The rope can be cut, Elara thought, watching their tense, controlled steps. But the truth of their mutual need is a much stronger chain.