I watched her move through the cave system, confident despite the pregnancy shifting her center of gravity. She'd already adjusted her climbing technique to compensate, adapting in ways that spoke to years of experience on vertical surfaces. Natural adaptation, the kind that couldn't be taught.
We emerged into morning light and the vertical world spread below us—copper-green veins pulsing in the obsidian, thermal vents creating heat shimmer across the cliff faces, the three moons fading as the sun rose over the eastern ridge. The air was still cool, perfect for travel.
"Ready?" I asked.
"Ready."
The route to The Gap wound through ridge systems and cliff passages that I knew by heart. Hallie led on the ground, finding the climbing routes with that careful eye she had for reading stone. I flew parallel, watching for threats from above where my vantage gave me clear sight lines for miles. The weight of the pack slowed me slightly but nothing dangerous, nothing that would leave us vulnerable.
Two hours in, we passed through territory I hadn't visited in seasons. Old markers I'd placed decades ago were still visible but faded, weathered by wind and time. This had all been part of my hunting range once, back before the unbonded sickness had weakened me enough that I'd been forced to stay close to the portal site. Waiting. Hoping. Growing desperate as season after season passed without a compatible female arriving.
Now I was crossing it with my mate, pregnant with my offspring, moving to claim better ground. Everything had changed in ways I was still processing.
Hallie stopped on a ledge and checked her route ahead, assessing the next section with that tactical mind of hers. "How much further to The Gap?"
"Another hour, maybe less at this pace. Then the crossing." I landed beside her, folding my wings carefully. "You should eat something. Drink. The bridge crossing will require focus and you'll need the energy."
She pulled dried meat from her pack and ate methodically, not enjoying it but fueling her body in that practical way she approached everything now. Survival first. Comfort second.
"Tell me about The Eyrie," she said between bites. "You said it's Kethar's old territory."
"Was. Forty-five seasons ago he held it before a stronger male pushed him out and claimed it for himself." I looked north toward where we were headed, toward the high peaks. "Thorrax had ruled here for nearly four decades without leaving an heir. The territory's been empty since then, unclaimed because of its distance from the portal."
"Why didn't you claim it earlier?"
"Distance from the portal meant I couldn't risk being too far away when females arrived. I needed to be close, needed to be there within hours of an arrival or risk another male getting there first." I shifted the pack weight on my shoulders. "But now that you're bonded, portal proximity doesn't matter anymore. Only defensibility. Only the strength of the position itself."
She nodded and finished eating in silence, processing the information in that way she had. Always thinking several steps ahead.
We reached The Gap mid-morning.
The chasm split the cliff system like a wound carved by ancient forces. Five hundred feet across at its narrowest point, with walls that plunged two thousand feet into darkness so deep that no one who fell into The Gap had ever survived. Thebottom was perpetual shadow, a place where even thermal vents couldn't penetrate.
The bridge was exactly as I remembered—ancient stone wedged between the walls where a section of cliff had collapsed centuries ago. Fractures were visible even from a distance, spider-webbing across the surface. Weathered. Unstable. Dangerous.
Hallie moved to the edge and studied the structure with her climber's eye, that particular focus she got when assessing risk. The way her gaze tracked along the stone, reading it like language.
"This held your weight forty seasons ago?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Forty seasons is a long time for erosion." She knelt at the bridge's anchor point, running her hands over the stone surface in a way that told me she was feeling for weakness, for structural compromise. "Look here. Hairline cracks running parallel along this section. And this gap—" She pointed to where stone met cliff face. "—it's separating from the wall. Wind erosion over decades. Maybe an inch of separation now."
I saw what she meant. The deterioration wasn't visible from my aerial perspective, but from her angle at ground level it was obvious. Concerning.
"Will it hold now?" I asked.
She stood and walked along the edge, examining the bridge from different positions before answering. "Maybe. If we're careful about weight distribution. If we move smoothly without creating impact force that could shatter the compromised sections." She stood. "You first. If it collapses under weight, you can fly. I can't."
"No." The word came out harder than I'd intended, more forceful. "You first. I fly beside you. If it fails, I catch you before you fall."
"That's not?—"
"You're carrying my offspring. You go first, and I protect you while you cross." I spread my wings, making it clear this wasn't negotiable. "That's how this works. That's what bonded means."
She hesitated. Then she nodded, accepting my decision. "Fine. But I need to find the safe path first, need to read the stone properly."
She spent ten minutes studying the bridge from every angle, looking for stress concentrations and identifying which sections had the most structural integrity. Finally, she pointed to a path that ran left of center along the span.
