This can’t be! His mind fought to determine a better reason for the Wings’ reaction. Father’s always been strong! He’s never failed us!
He headed southwest of Lexington. Judging from his people’s chatter, they had last seen their leader follow the winding road toward a single clan several miles down.
Last seen, Chante thought in confusion. So whose word were they taking that confirmed any sort of death?
That did not sit very well. His kind had not even checked, since none of the calls suggested they had. So he pressed on, pulling his wings close as he dived through the trees. If he had to, he would scout the entire forest for signs of his father. He would find SOMETHING, if only to prove them wrong.
It was dangerous maneuvering in flight. Trees in these parts grew one on top of the other, and with the speed Chante was traveling it would not take but one miscalculated turn of wing to break it against the hardy trunks. Instead, he dew his knees up, back arched in landing position to grasp the next tree he came to. Wings angled his descent to slow his speed until he could conform to tree hopping instead. This was a much more safer way to travel a dense forest.
A white feather flitted off a branch. Quickly, the young ‘Keyarx snatched it up to sniff. A faint scent of blood coated the tip. No doubt, this belonged to his father. The pang of worry grew stronger in his gullet. He spotted more clumped together down the side of a tree. Ahead, he just make out part of a road in between leaves moving gently to the breeze. Chante began descending the tree trunk, following shredded feathers all the way down, when he thought he heard a gurgling cough.