“It was a family of voles that first went missing.” Tame's beak clenched, his voice low. “A mother, father, and two sons…”

The wind shifted, carrying the scent of sun-baked earth and the faint musk of distant predators. Tame’s amber eyes stayed fixed on McPants, observing the serpent's every subtle shift. His scales glistened faintly in the afternoon light, like a liquid shadow.

“The Society took notice but assumed it was natural. They lived near the Verge.” He paused, carefully choosing his next words. “Then another disappearance happened—a chinkara. Again, it was easy to dismiss. Maybe they wandered too far…got caught in some trap. But then… it escalated.”

McPants’ coils stirred. "How so?"

"The disappearances became more frequent, and we noticed strong predators were going missing. Large cats, packs of wolves, vultures…not just the weak or the old either.” Tame’s eyes darkened with the weight of memory. His wings flexed briefly as if trying to shake off the feeling, before folding them in. 

“At first, the Society tried to handle it quietly.” His nails scraped the stone beneath him, the sharp sound filling the silence. "But then...we started to notice the symbols. They were hidden—amongst the dirt, formed in stones, sometimes…in blood.”

McPants’ pupils narrowed as he shifted closer, coils pulling in tighter. "Do you remember what they looked like?”

Tame hesitated, the memory almost too clear. "I remember one."

He glanced down at the dry earth beside them. His feathers ruffled in the afternoon breeze as he moved toward a cluster of loose rocks scattered across the ground. With deliberate motions, he began nudging them into position, carefully arranging them. McPants watched silently, his serpentine body coiled in quiet anticipation.

“It was after the gnu disappeared a few days ago,” Tame murmured, his voice steady, though the tension in his wings betrayed his unease. “That we found this symbol within the grass near the confusion*.”

As he shifted the final stone into place, a pattern emerged: a circular shape with jagged lines radiating outward like shattered glass, intersected by a crescent moon in the center. Rough, but unmistakable.

McPants’ tongue flicked, tasting the air. His eyes thinned as he analyzed the symbol. "That’s…old magic," he hissed softly. “It hasn't been seen since the days before the Mawl...when Unruer walked the earth.” He slithered off the rock, his long body undulating as he studied the symbol closer. His tail tapped the ground rhythmically as his gaze lingered over the stones, feeling an uneasy feeling rise within his belly. "And the Giants? You said even they are afraid."

Tame dipped his head slowly. "They are. The Society tried to question them, but they’re keeping to their strongholds, refusing to speak of what they’ve seen."

McPants’ tail stopped its tapping. His gaze grew distant, his long body twisting into tighter coils, processing the gravity of the situation. Overhead, a bevy of white Barbary doves cooed amongst themselves, their wings catching the heavy gust.

McPants finally broke the silence, his voice quieter now, almost swallowed by the wind. "I’ll help. But this is the last and final time."

Tame’s posture softened, a silent relief easing his feathers. "Thank you."

"But remember," McPants hissed sharply, his voice gaining an edge, "We do this my way. No hesitation. If I tell you to run, you run."

Tame’s gaze met McPants’ cold, unblinking eyes. He dipped his head in acknowledgment. "Understood."

“And no secrets,” McPants added, his emerald eyes gleaming. “I won’t tolerate it.”

Tame straightened, his wings shifting. "No secrets."

McPants flicked his tail impatiently, the sound cutting through the air like a whip. "Good. Now," he coiled tighter, "tell me—what do you know about the Old Gods?"

Tame froze at the mention of the Old Gods---or the Hollow Gods, as the stories called them. His gaze dropped to the earth as if the very mention of their name could summon them.

"I don’t like talking about them," Tame muttered, his voice low, almost to himself. “But since you brought it up…”

He paused, scanning the horizon as if ensuring they were still alone. The sky above felt heavier, the wind quieter, as if the world itself held its breath.

"When I was just an owlet, my mother used to tell us stories to keep us from wandering too far at night. The stories were always about the Hollow Gods. The one I remember most…" His voice grew softer, barely audible over the rustling grass. "It was about the God of Empty Skin...”