Five days felt like forever. Five days where I couldn't fly or patrol properly or defend against aerial threats the way I should be able to.
"Other males will notice I'm grounded," I said, stating the obvious.
"I know." She finished bandaging her arm efficiently. "Which is why I'm handling ground defense while you heal. I can do this."
"You're injured too?—"
"Not as badly as you are right now." She looked at me directly, no compromise in her expression. "And I can climb. Can set traps. Can defend narrow passages where wings don't help anyway. You taught me how to do all of this."
She was right again, but letting her defend alone while I healed felt wrong on every level. Backward. Against every instinct I had.
"We're partners," she said, reading my expression easily through the bond. "That means when one of us is down, theother covers for them. Right now, you're down. So I cover. Simple as that."
Day eighteen arrived with afternoon heat.
I felt them before I saw them—the change in air pressure that signaled wings nearby, the subtle shift in thermal patterns. Multiple sets of wings circling our territory boundaries in ways that suggested surveillance rather than innocent passage.
I limped to the lookout despite the pain in my bound wing. Looked out over our territory and saw them in the distance. Three males circling, maybe four depending on how you counted overlapping flight patterns. Not approaching directly. Just circling. Testing. Watching for weakness.
Scavengers, all of them. Males who waited for winners to show vulnerability, who calculated odds carefully and attacked only when defenses were at their lowest.
They'd seen the fight yesterday. Knew I was injured. Knew this was potentially the perfect time to challenge for territory.
"How many?" Hallie appeared beside me, following my gaze.
"Three that I can count clearly. Maybe four. Hard to tell at this distance when they're overlapping." I watched them circle in those lazy patterns that suggested patience. "They're testing boundaries. Seeing if we'll defend or if we're too vulnerable."
"Will they attack?"
"Not yet. They're assessing first, looking for weakness. If they think we're too vulnerable to defend properly, they'll coordinate an assault." I tracked the flight patterns, calculating approach vectors. "But they're cautious. Smart enough to be patient."
She was quiet for a moment, thinking. Then: "I need to make them think we're not vulnerable at all."
"How?"
"By defending visibly. Making it clear that even wounded, we're more dangerous than they are together."
Her tactical mind was working, assessing threats.
Day eighteen progressed into evening.
Hallie spent three hours setting up defensive measures throughout the territory while I watched from the entrance, grounded and useless.
Warning systems first—small rock cairns placed at key approach points that would collapse in specific ways if disturbed, alerting us to intrusion. Simple but effective, the kind of thing that didn't require strength, just cleverness.
Then traps came next. Sections of loose stone positioned above narrow passages, ready to be triggered to block routes or create rockfalls on command. Territorial markers reinforced everywhere with her scent mixed thoroughly with mine, a clear declaration to anyone approaching: claimed, occupied, defended, dangerous.
I stood guard at the cave mouth, hating the bandages that tethered me to the stone while she did the work. She moved efficiently despite the cracked ribs, despite the bruises spreading across her skin. She climbed routes I couldn't access without flying, set traps I couldn't reach from the ground, defended ground approaches while I healed.
The circling males noticed her activity—I could see them adjusting their flight patterns, coming closer to test boundaries, to see how she'd react to their presence.
She ignored them completely at first. Just kept working methodically, showing no fear or concern. Confident in ways that suggested she knew exactly what she was doing.
One of them—younger male, maybe twenty-eight seasons based on his size—dove lower in what was clearly a test of aggression response.
Hallie picked up a rock without breaking stride. Threw it.
The throw was perfect, accurate in ways that suggested serious practice. Hit the male's wing membrane hard enoughto hurt but not hard enough to damage permanently. Just hard enough to send a clear message: approach at your own risk.
