Somewhere in the Southern Cardinal, a group of hunters sat around a fire passing food between them.
"I'm just saying, that Razorwing had no business being that far south." Kael wiped grease from his mouth, his twin blades leaning against the log beside him. The weapons still hummed slightly from earlier. Level 4s did that after a kill, needed time to cool down.
"Everything's moving weird lately." Amara had a spherical device in her lap, turning it over in her hands. To most people it looked like scrap metal, but the flame-conduits running through it marked it as a Level 3 thermal projector. "Six years hunting and I've never seen migration patterns this fucked."
Dyson grunted, cleaning his rifle. The energy coils glowed faint blue in the firelight. Level 4 military-grade, probably cost him a year's worth of cores. "Command doesn't pay us to ask why. Just to bring back what we kill."
