Be careful where you walk traveller, for danger walks beside you. There are monsters far beyond our ken that stalk the night. Leave them to those blessed by the gods, or the system, or just the mad fools that wear the skin of the enlightened races but care for nothing but battle.

Let those psychopaths deal with what haunts the night, instead stay safe behind these walls with the rest of us. Let the fire warm your bones, or risk them being picked clean come the morning.

Erlina's tavern has good ale and no ghosts.

- Sign outside the village of Belksham, bordering the Wandering States

I woke to something tickling my face. I rolled over but the sensation didn't leave, simply transferring from one cheek to the other. New sensations whispered over the skin of my neck and forehead, around my eyes and over the bridge of my nose.

My thoughts sluggishly coalesced over the next few moments into the terrifying thought that something was on my face. Many somethings. A memory of the ant swarm flared to life in my mind, and I jerked upright with a cry. Nothing fell from my face though as the sensations abruptly vanished. I raised my hands to pat myself down and found no evidence of anything amiss.

I blearily spotted my bedroll a few feet to my right, and realised I must have rolled off in the night to sleep in the grasses beside it. The damp on my clothes from the morning dew was enough to confirm the theory, and I groaned as I stretched.

Weeks in the wild had attuned my body to waking with the dawn, and as the pink blush spread across the horizon, I set to rising. It had been three days of the same routine of our training march across the Wandering States, and I'd still not mastered the trick of staying still in my sleep. Something about the freedom of being able to move around without falling out of a tree, perhaps? Either way, it was fast becoming an annoyance.

Everything was still in its place, but my companions were not going about their normal morning routines. No armour and weapons were donned, the camp wasn't being struck, and worst of all, no movement by the cookpot. Vera was striding over by the time I stood to my feet though, and she gestured for me to follow with a kind smile.

"Good to see you up, Lamb, follow and stay quiet."

I sighed at the nickname, knowing better than to fight it. It wasn't the worst, and would have to do for now. Besides, it was infinitely better than being called 'Runt' all the time, which was especially annoying when coming from someone significantly shorter than me.

Nathlan was stumbling along just behind me, undergoing a heroic fight with his robes that seemed to have somehow become tangled with his legs, and Jorge was nowhere to be seen. I asked what was going on, and Vera answered swiftly.

"Jorge caught sight of a migration herd," she confirmed as she walked backwards with only a minor raised eyebrow at Nathlan's antics. "And we're going to watch it pass. It's a sight you won't soon forget. You'll understand when we get there but stay quiet. Jorge and I have a bet on what your first question will be, so I'm not allowed to explain yet."

She turned and picked up the pace, both Nathlan and I following at the easy lope for perhaps fifteen minutes before we crested a faint rise, coming to rest alongside the silhouette of Jorge.

Early morning sun bled across the horizon, staining the sky in shades of red, orange, and yellow. Streaks of white cloud interrupted the blending of colours sporadically, and gave the grasslands a mottled pattern, where the daylight amplified the green of the long grasses, and the shadow of the clouds leeched them of colour.

The resulting vista was like an oil painting, with the harsh contrasts only enhancing the vibrancy of the colours on display. I barely noticed these details though, despite it being one of the most beautiful views I'd ever seen. What took my focus instead was the river of purple and orange feathers flowing along the plains before me, in a riotous procession of colour. Musical, lilting bird calls flowed into the sky from thousands of throats and mixed with the colours below into a synaesthetic collage.

Jorge didn't turn as we took our place beside him, instead staying intently focused on the winding columns of creatures in front. I heard him speak softly though, and listened in fascination as I took in the sight of a lifetime.

"Thanks for getting them, Vera," he part whispered. "Lamb, you're a lucky son of a bitch, I've got to say. Took months before I saw my first migration, and you're getting a premium view on day three." He chuckled softly and muttered, "luck of the gods" under his breath.

"These plains are home to many nomadic peoples, and most of them follow the migrations of the great beasts of the plains. Down there is a smaller cacophony of Jackal-Beaks – that's the collective term for them by the way, I'm not just being poetic."

"Why are they called that?" I asked, and he frowned over at me, pressing a finger to his lips again.

"Hush, Lamb. Quieter. If they hear you, you'll soon find out. They have one of the loudest screeches I've ever heard, and something about their physiology allows them to amplify each other when in large enough groups. You set them off and Nathlan will be hard pressed to ward our ears before they knock us all out with their screeching."

"I'll take your word for it," I replied, matching his whisper now. "But I think it sounds pretty nice from up here."

"Aye, well it gets better, trust me, lad. Anyway, you see those feathers? They belong to the beak part of the name. Dozens of small songbirds nest on the backs of every jackal down there. From what I hear, they only leave to lay their eggs. Each jackal has their own roost of the birds, and there's apparently no sharing – once a bird chooses its jackal, it's a lifetime bond. The jackals themselves are the hunters. Omnivores apparently, but I'd not trust a potato to keep one of 'em well fed! Not sure if your perception's high enough to see at this point but they're bloody massive. Thick as mountain aurochs, but faster, and agile as a cat too."

It reminded me of my battles with the tall, spindly wolves of the endless valley and I shuddered to think of what facing one of those Jackals would be like. I couldn't make out the details from here particularly well, but every now and then there would be a plume of colour as some of the birds flapped into the air, shuffling about for position on the creature below, and I'd catch sight of thick legs drumming against the earth. The scale was hard to make out, but I had no trouble believing his words.

Jorge continued his explanation, no doubt knowing my thoughts. "That's not all though. You might be wondering how there is enough prey to sustain the group below, and that's where the birds come in. They find the prey and direct the Jackals, who kill it and share the spoils. I'm not sure how the birds find the prey given that they so rarely leave their moving nests but clearly, they've figured something out."

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Nathlan shook his head there and spoke softly over him. "The birds do not share the food, instead they eat insects and flies that swarm around the jackals and their kills. They spend the vast majority of their time grooming the jackals, and they do not actually find the prey for the Jackals themselves. Instead, they use a startlingly wide range of songs and calls to mimic other species of migratory or travelling birds, and find out where any moving animals could be from them. They act more as knowledge relays than direct sources, but as far as I know, no scholar has yet figured out whether they communicate directly with other species of flying creatures, trade information in some way, or just 'listen in' as it were."

Jorge butted back in at that. "Scholars might not be writing treatises on it, but the Jancen people who follow the Jackal-Beaks are happy to share their mythology with any who spend enough time with them, and they are clear that the Beaks are thieves and not to be trusted. They even teach their young to mimic the calls of the Beaks, so that they can differentiate between a legitimate plea for help from their own people, and a fake call from one of the Beaks meant to lure them into the waiting teeth of a Jackal."

At my confused look he expanded. "The plains can get all kinds of eerie when its dark. The winds whisper things and swirl in strange ways, and it can be easy to lose your sense of direction with no waypoints to mark your location against, just the endless sea of grass. Not to mention the dips and rises, which are surprisingly difficult to spot, as you've no doubt noticed."

I shook my head again. "No, it's not that. I just don't see why the Jackals would need to wait in ambush? Wouldn't they just kill anything outright?"

Vera snorted and replied, "No. Most people might be generally no stronger than you are now, but they'll have usually decades of experience with their Skills to draw on, and every group will have at least someone that's somewhat capable. It's not worth the risk attacking from the front. To a Jackal, a level 25 Farmer and a level 45 Spear Master look much the same, but one will be a meal and the other a death sentence."

"Right, got it," I nodded. "So what's happening down there? How long does it go on for?" I asked, pointing at the thousands of creatures streaming past below, blanketing the plains.

The sound of their hooves hitting the earth created a muffled thunder that rolled out across the empty plains continuously, reminding me of nothing so much as the crashing of waves against a coastline. Endless. Relentless.

"Well, this here's a seasonal migration of Jackal-Beaks, lad. A relatively small herd, so they'll pass within an hour or so I'd guess. They're heading west to the Panyera, where they gorge themselves on the salmon-run for a month or so, and rear their litters, before heading back into the grasslands again."

We watched in awed silence as the great herd passed by below us, less than a mile away. My enhanced perception allowed me to catch details I would have otherwise missed, and I marvelled at the sheer size of the herd. Jackal-Beaks loped a dozen abreast in small lines, with their fellow creatures behind them. These streams wound back and forth, intermingling and breaking apart, giving the impression of a great river splitting into a hundred tributaries, before joining as one to flood across the plains once more.

I couldn't make out much of the Jackals themselves, but I caught flashes of long muzzles and overly-large ears pointed to the sky. Their torsos were covered in a chaotic main of bright feathers, purple and orange most prominent but other colours darted in and out of sight too, as the Beaks nesting on their backs shuffled about, squabbling over prime real-estate, no doubt.

I realised I hadn't paid any mind to the ground shaking, so distracted was I by the sights and sounds. It had seemed natural to have a hundred thousand hooves shake the very earth beneath me, but now that I was aware of it, I quickly queried Nathlan, likely to be the most knowledgeable on the subject.

"Hey Nathlan – do they have hooves?"

He looked at me quizzically before answering. "No. Padded feet, with three toes and unextending claws on each toe. They have a fourth dew claw higher up on their legs and it has long been speculated by – I believe Marcus Signofore – that this is an evolutionary…"

I tuned out the rest of his lecture as I wondered how such a soft-foot could shake the earth. Alone I wouldn't even hear a single Jackal approach through the soft grassland. Perhaps a dozen of them could approach at a trot and they'd be upon me before I could react. To send such reverberation through my feet from a mile away, how many of them must be down there? How heavy were they? And how much strength did it take to carry them forwards over hundreds of miles during a migration?

My awe only grew as I considered the sheer power on display from a supposedly 'small' group of creatures. I caught Jorge looking at me for a moment out of the corner of my eye, and I thought I could see a satisfied look on his face. Was there a lesson here he wanted to teach me?

Eventually the herd passed into the distance, and I looked over to the others to see if we would be packing up soon, but they just remained silent. I opened my mouth, but Vera laid a hand on my shoulder, shook her head lightly and spoke out of the corner of her mouth.

"The show hasn't ended yet, Lamb. Eyes front, don't move, and keep your mouth shut now. See if you can learn something."

She didn't let go, and as we returned to staring out at the distance, I strained to see anything on the plain below us. Seeing nothing, I closed my eyes and tried to focus on the feeling of vibration in the earth below. It had been fading as the herd moved away, but before I could wonder at what we were waiting for, I heard a faint noise behind me.

I nearly whipped around to look, but Vera's hand tightened on my shoulder, and I remembered her words. I saw the point of a thin wooden javelin appear next to my head. It continued moving forwards slowly until an arm appeared and then a shoulder. After an agonizingly slow second of watching and waiting, I could make out a person come striding into view past me.

She was tall, tanned and whip-cord thin, with dazzling feathers tied into her hair. She wore a leather skirt, sandals, and had cords of leather wrapped around her biceps. More feathers were tied to the arm bands, and a few hung off the edge of a short, thin buckler made of some sort of bone. It covered her entire forearm in a rectangular shape, albeit with a rounded edge on one side.

With the javelin in her other hand, and the few extras strapped to her back, she looked like a hunter out of myth to my uncultured eye. Other figures slipped between us, not glancing our way for a moment.

It was an electric feeling, having armed men and women pass so close to me without acknowledgement, and I would have flinched if not for Vera's heavy hand on my shoulder and the presence of my companions like a steady weight to either side of me.

As the hunters grouped up together in front of us, facing away towards the herd that had retreated into the distance, I saw first one, and then several lift their heads. They broke into a lilting, ululating cry that echoed around the plains strangely, and before long all assembled before us were singing to the sky, a dozen throats lifted in a single call.

They bounded off then, quick and nimble as they hurried down the gentle slope towards the plain below, no doubt intent on following the herd in its migration. The first to pass by us stayed in place a moment longer, tilting her head to the side so that I caught an outline of her face. She gave a quick jerk of her chin to the sky and then she was off too, bounding down the grassy hill towards the rest of her fellows.

Their call seemed to have been some sort of signal, or simply good timing, as from out of view where the herd had emerged from came a new procession. Far less epic in scale but no less fascinating for it. A few hundred people, dressed similarly to the hunting party that had passed us by, came running.

It was an effortless movement for all involved. I saw a few men and women with babies strapped to their chests, bound in thin wraps, and their heads secured against the repetitive movement. An older woman with grey in what little of her hair remained was hunched forwards with the crushing weight of age, and yet she too was running, seeming for all the world to be as comfortable with the movement as the younger members of the tribe.

Bringing up the rear were a few powerfully built men and women with no weapons visible but long sleds trailing behind them. I couldn't see any bindings linking them to the wooden sleds, but by their movements, I could see that they were connected. These sleds were packed down tightly with canvas, straining against their contents as if an entire village had been deconstructed, disassembled and piled carefully onto wooden logs.

It was an impressive sight, to see the raw physicality and self-sufficiency of an entire group of people hundreds strong. I watched in amazement as they raced of in pursuit of the herd, aiming to stay out of earshot but within sight, if I had to guess.

We watched for a long time afterwards, none of us uttering a single word until the sun had finished its majestic rise through the open sky. Vermillion red, cadmium yellow, and then finally cerulean blue; a riotous procession of colour much like the Jackal-Beaks below.

Despite all the excitement, the wonder, and the new things I'd seen, one moment kept springing back to the forefront of my mind. Every face I'd seen of that group; young or old, carrying children, weapons or sleds – every single face had held a smile as they ran.

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