FINTAIL

𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐕𝐄

It would surely be worth the time and the trouble.

The longsnout wandered until the melody of water overwhelmed the sweet whistles of the forest's livestock. Fossil purred to himself, eyes reflecting the trickling blue stream that greeted him with the winks of the morning star. Yes, Fossil thought with a smile. This was very much needed. He took his time wading into the rolling water; the temperature was warmer than usual, but felt like heaven against his scales. Beneath the waves, Fossil could feel little pebbles give way between his pointed toe-claws, and little rifts of upturned sand tickle the seams of his white scales. Along with the tranquil sounds that it gave, and the immaculate view, Fossil had never been happier to be alone. Once knee-deep, the spinosaur's body turned into a fulcrum; his tail flagged skyward while his head bowed to Nature's gifts, offering the longsnout enough distance to search the rippling waves for a snack. He liked this form of hunting; though vulnerable, it tested his reactions the most. And it was fun! Removing the need to run or swim was paradise to any predator, and nothing else could compare.

The only problem was timing. Most of the fish that took to the stream came in waves — there were no patterns. And, as perfect as this day was, it was looking like the predator timed his arrival poorly. Fossil's tail would flicker with impatience; the predator kept still and alert while his talons coiled and uncoiled with ease around his palm. Waiting. Watching. Listening. With so little happening, each passing minute felt like an eternity to him. He knew his brain would start drifting away from what was most important to other unnecessary things sooner than later.

And, just after ten minutes of nothing, the first mental image surfaced in his head.

Fossil growled once Speck's hateful glare broke even into his head. He nearly cursed himself for it; a quick reminder that he was hunting kept his maw clamped shut. Fossil couldn't get that look out of his head. Those sparring sessions had never done either of them good — just another waste of time and energy in both of their eyes. Riptide was always disapproving of Fossil's methods, no matter how he won. He tried to make it fun — it didn't really matter. And Speck's cowardice constantly thwarted his lust for enjoyment; where's the fun of sparring if your opponent keeps submitting to your every move? That's like a suicidal fish!

His eyes suddenly softened. Perhaps he did overreact. Speck had stopped talking for quite some time. There was an incident months ago (he wasn't there to see it) but whatever happened on the beach, whatever hurt him, broke him, too. He's been sulking ever since, silent and afraid, and Fossil couldn't understand it. Nobody could. Maybe that was the problem?

No. Fossil shook his head, Sparring was for good reason. With their mother, Azura, aging too fast for them to warn over, and their father's death still hovering above each one of them like Death, all they had was each other. They were still family. They were longsnouts.

And they were kings. They may not respect one another or show as much appreciation as most saurian families do, but the least they could do was protect each other. And that's all he asked for. That's... all he really wanted.

His eyes lowered. Whatever killed his father is still out there. Waiting. Watching. Hunting him as they did fish and rat. This world wasn't as safe as their mother taught it to be. And no other system would drive this into their thick skulls than a little sparring—

Fossil's body suddenly shuddered. Something had rubbed against his leg, something small and scaly. Fish! The longsnout blinked out of his stare with a gasp, searching the water.

Where is it? Where—

There!

He stabbed an arm into the water, feeling the pointed end of his fishing talon tear straight through flesh. Thwap, Thwap! Went the silver tail of a fish against his wrist, its beady yellow eyes bulging with pain.