A World Beyond Our Own | TFP AU

40 || Homeward

"Our search efforts have turned up nothing, my liege. The weather is making it difficult to track scents."

Megatron curled his lip in a soft snarl. "I don't want your excuses, Dreadwing." He growled, then turned his head away as he dove back into his thoughts. "I was a fool to think Knockout and Breakdown could handle such a simple task. Now we are without a medic!"

"Permission to make a suggestion?" Dreadwing inquired, bowing his head.

A puff of smoke burst from Megatron's nostrils as he faced Dreadwing. "Granted." He rumbled, his tail impatiently flicking against the ground beneath him.

"We may be without a medic, but so are the Autobots. That makes them vulnerable." Dreadwing explained. "I believe that we should shift our focus to finding the Autobot den-site instead of trying to locate the human-place, as it would make better use of our time and resources."

Megatron pondered over Dreadwing's words. They held some truth. He had always strived to effectively use what time and resources he had in his possession, but sometimes that meant abandoning certain campaigns in favor of others. However, he was not willing to abandon his quest to find and destroy the human-place. It would simply be pushed to side until he could return to it.

Ratchet and his pesky human companion were yet another issue that would need to be addressed later on, though he felt that things would fall into place on their own if given the time.

"I admire your sense of strategy. At least you are competent, unlike that fool Starscream..." Megatron muttered as he pushed himself to his paws. "When the weather clears, take your twin and do a sweep of the skies. Have the Vehicons search the territory beneath you. I have other matters that I must attend to."

Dreadwing respectfully dipped his head as the warlord passed. "It shall be done, my liege."

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Ratchet held his massive body mere inches above the ground, poised like a venomous snake preparing to strike. Several yards ahead of him, a group of elk grazed on patches of brown grass. Elk were a rare sighting, especially during this time of year, which meant this was an opportunity he simply could not pass up. One elk alone could feed both himself and Cliffjumper enough to stave off their hunger for a little while longer.

The dwindling ground cover wouldn't hide his approach for long, so he needed to be quick if he wished to secure a meal. He scanned the group, trying to pick out the perfect target. A bull elk was tempting as it would be a larger meal, but its antlers made it dangerous. Ratchet couldn't afford to take unnecessary risks, so he settled on a cow elk instead.

When the time was right, Ratchet propelled himself forward, eyes locked on his target. The elk fled as a group, weaving through the trees and releasing their alarm cries for the entire forest to hear.

Ratchet's first few leaps were painless and filled with energy, though the lingering ache in his previously injured leg was beginning to creep back into his joint. Regardless of that, he pushed himself harder.

He closed the gap fairly quickly, his target nearly within reach. His throat burned with each lungful of air and white clouds of hot breath puffed from his nostrils.

The herd darted to the left and went down an embankment. Ratchet dug his claws into the ground to allow himself to turn quickly, a hiss of discomfort escaping through his clenched teeth as his leg throbbed in protest.

Upon reaching the edge of the embankment, Ratchet could see the herd splashing through a stream of flowing water that hadn't yet frozen over. His target had moved to the rear of the herd, pushed back by the others in their panic. He leapt down to the shore, his paws slamming against the sand, and took two strides before he sprung for the cow elk.