Two suns passed in a state of highly organized, volatile chaos.
The infirmary was functional, thanks to Roric's sound-dampeners and Elara's iron will. Lion warriors shuffled in for wound checks, Wolf warriors came for water purification instructions, and Griffin warriors arrived for flight-simulator exercises that involved intricate feather stretching. Elara was officially overworked, but thriving in her role as the chaotic, indispensable pivot point of the oasis.
The Alphas, however, remained an ongoing source of professional frustration.
Kaelen would patrol the infirmary perimeter, using his immense bulk to deliberately obstruct Roric's line of sight into the neutral zone, then he'd saunter up to Elara and demand an "in-depth health assessment" which consisted mostly of him flexing his bicep and asking if she found his healing rate "sufficient."
Roric would materialize silently just inside the dampening zone, deliver a dry critique of Kaelen's patrol patterns, then offer Elara obscure maps of ancient trade routes, all under the guise of "intelligence sharing."
And Zev? Zev was the worst. He saw the infirmary as a challenge. He would drop "gifts" from high altitude—usually shiny, but useless, rocks—onto the infirmary roof, hoping to impress Elara with his fetching skills. Yesterday, he dropped a dead, scaly desert lizard onto the roof, which made a wet, alarming thwack and immediately started attracting flies.
"Alpha Zev! That is a biohazard!" Elara had screamed, shaking her fist at the circling Griffin. "That's not a gift! That's a route for parasitic transfer! You get down here and dispose of it!"
The Lizard-Drop was bad enough, but then, the real danger arrived.
A patrol of Lion warriors staggered into the infirmary, not with superficial cuts, but with deep, ragged, unclean wounds. They were exhausted and terrified.
"The Feral Tide, Weaver!" one Lion Beta gasped, collapsing onto the nearest clean mat. "They are moving faster! They were organized! Not just hungry beasts—they were hunting us! They have armor!"
Elara froze. Feral Tide creatures—mutated beasts driven mad by raw aether—were typically individualistic and driven only by hunger. Organized attacks and, worse, armor suggested a terrifying new level of intelligence and threat.
She quickly assessed the wounds—deep, nasty bites, but encased in some kind of crudely fashioned hide. The armor protected the Ferals, not the Lions.
"Clean the wounds and apply the strongest slurry," Elara snapped at the Lionesses assisting her. "We have a problem."
The Unscheduled Summit
The sun was setting by the time Elara had stabilized the Lions. She was sweaty, adrenaline-charged, and absolutely done with the tribal politics.
She sent a single, simple, urgent message to all three Alphas: MANDATORY TACTICAL ASSEMBLY. CENTRAL INFIRMARY. NOW. IF YOU ARE LATE, I WILL PERSONALLY BURN YOUR FAVORITE FUR COAT.
Kaelen arrived first, stomping into the infirmary, his golden eyes wide with defensive aggression.
"The Ferals are becoming a plague!" Kaelen roared, his voice echoing despite the dampeners. "We must strike hard and fast! A strong Lion attack will break their morale!"
"And waste resources," Roric stated, materializing silently behind Kaelen like a dark conscience. "The Wolf observed the Ferals yesterday. They move with coordinated stealth now. A head-on clash is precisely what they want. We must set traps and use the terrain."
Zev dropped from the sky, landing heavily on the soft dirt outside the infirmary with an audible thud. He stalked in, feathers bristling.
"You are both fools! We strike from the air! We harry them relentlessly until they scatter! They cannot match the speed of the Sky-Riders!"
"And waste the advantage of your invisibility!" Roric countered, a rare spike of irritation in his voice. "You alert the entire territory, Zev!"
"Your traps are too slow, Roric!" Kaelen bellowed. "I want immediate satisfaction!"
The three Alphas were instantly locked in a furious, escalating argument: Head-on Charge vs. Calculated Stealth vs. Aerial Assault. The tension was so thick Elara felt like she needed a scalpel to cut through it.
She waited for a full minute, letting them exhaust their initial fury, before she placed her small hand on the central table and slammed her fist down as hard as she could.
THWACK! (The sound-dampeners barely held.)
The three magnificent, volatile Alphas—all towering over six-and-a-half feet of pure, weaponized evolution—froze instantly, stunned by the sheer nerve of the tiny, exhausted human.
"STOP!" Elara yelled, her voice hoarse but crackling with furious authority. "I am done listening to your elemental battle plan! This is not a competition for Most Magnificent Alpha! This is a tactical crisis! And none of your individual plans are adequate!"
She pointed a furious, unwavering finger at each Alpha in turn.
"Kaelen! Your charge is stupid. You will lose warriors, and the Feral Tide will feast on your pride. You are the deterrent, not the first line of attack. You will guard the territory."
"Roric! Your stealth is too slow. We need faster intelligence gathering and rapid deployment. Your tactics are defensive, but we need offense now. You will lead the reconnaissance."
"Zev! Your air strikes are inefficient and waste your biggest advantage! You are the ultimate surveillance asset, not a bomb! Your job is to fly high, silent, and track their movements—every step, every formation, every shift in armor. You will be our early warning system and our eyes."
She snatched up the leather map and drew a crude, aggressive circle around the enemy's expected territory.
"The Lion attacks when the Wolf springs the trap. The Griffin tells the Wolf exactly where to spring the trap. You are not three separate armies. You are one goddamn organism with me as the central nervous system! Now, you will combine your strengths, or you will lose your tribes to creatures that are wearing Lizard-Skin Jackets!"
The Alphas were silent, digesting the brutal, professional honesty. Kaelen was infuriated that he couldn't lead the charge, but the logic of the defense strategy was sound. Roric was pleased that his stealth was being elevated to reconnaissance, though he hated being told how to deploy his tribe. Zev was ecstatic to be designated the critical "eyes."
"The Lion accepts the perimeter duty," Kaelen growled, reluctantly. "But the healer must be kept in a secured position."
"The Wolf accepts the reconnaissance," Roric stated, his silver eyes fixed on the map. "But I will require the healer's insight on the Tide's pathology."
"The Griffin accepts the sky," Zev announced, puffing out his chest. "But I will require the healer to teach me the silent signals you used yesterday, so I may communicate without noise!"
Elara nodded, satisfied. They had fought, they had resisted, but faced with an organized threat, they had bent their monumental egos to her will.
"Good. Now, Alpha Roric, you will use these charcoal sticks to mark the Feral Tide's movement paths on this map. Kaelen, I need you to triple the boiled water supply. And Zev," she added, looking up at the magnificent, arrogant Sky-Rider, "the signals are easy. They are called Morse Code. And if you send me another dead desert lizard, I will tell the entire den about your fear of ground bugs."
Zev's blue eyes widened in shock, and a moment later, he let out a strangled, offended squawk before launching himself into the air in a fit of feathery fury.
Victory, Elara thought, grabbing a charcoal stick and turning to the map. The Feral Tide is a huge problem, but managing three highly dramatic, easily bribed Alphas is, surprisingly, much harder.