Sound the Hunting Horn
Predaking stormed through the nest, heedless of all others. It was time and past to begin the hunt. He checked sharply when he reached an unfamiliar opening, the small not-Raf organic from earlier standing directly in his path.
He cycled his optics once as he took in what the organic considered 'armor' - some strange fibrous material made into a sheet, connected to some strangely shaped hydrocarbons. Still, to each their own weapons and protections.
The other problem to be considered, of course, was that the organic had no wings. If the Raf-organic was anything to go by, the ground travel speed of organics was pathetic. He needed to finish this hunt quickly, for his sake and the sake of his captive packmate, but he was no common beast of burden!
Finally, he conceded it was the only way. Crouching, he looked the organic straight in the optic. "Where I go, and how I go, you could not follow unaided. Therefore you must find a place upon or within the armor of my true self and stay there until we have found their filthy nest and gained entry therein."
Without waiting for an answer, he stood up and back and twisted onto all fours, stretching his wings in anticipation. He could hardly wait to fly again.
