This is a rewrite of Chapter Three of Tales of the Eternals. I'm really proud of this chapter and fleshing out more of the raptor people's society. There will be more to come of this aspect next time.


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The old version can be found here:
https://www.furaffinity.net/view/12629937/

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Tales of the Eternals Chapter 3: Shern’aath’s world


The forest was now calmer as the sun started to set. Shern’aath could smell no fresh scents of any predators, as he lead the way. He pushed aside low branches for Altallo who followed him sedately. They travelled over a wide river across some large stones, which Shern’aath explained that his people placed long ago to make crossings easier. Then they climbed a scrub covered hill. From the hill, they could see a wide valley with two rivers flowing through it. Between a point where the two rivers almost join together was a mound of red earth. This mound were a number of tents and huts, surrounded by a wall built from sturdy trees and the bones of massive animals. Even from this distance they could see tiny figures moving amongst the tents and around the walls.
“That’s it, my home. I told you it wasn’t much.” Shern’aath grunted. He thought it looked rather humdrum compared with Altallo’s spectacular home. Altallo in contrast seemed fascinated by the activity below.
“You live inside those things?” he pointed to the tents.
“Well, yes. Where else would we live? We need to keep out of the rain and away from all those knife-teeth...and the others.” he added bitterly.
Altallo wanted to ask who these ‘others’ were, but Shern’aath pushed on ahead without another word and Altallo reluctantly followed.

The two made their way down the hill, following a pathway of earth that twisted around trees and boulders, worn down by the footsteps of many of dagger-claws. They reached a narrow part of the river with gentle sandy banks. Shern’aath wondered whether he would have to carry Altallo, but to his surprise, the little creature casually waded through the water with apparent ease and joy. He beamed at Shern’aath when he climbed out of the river, legs dripping wet. Shern’aath could not help but chuckle at the sight.
Soon they arrived at the borders of the settlement. From the cover of a huge mass of ferns they could see other dagger-claws behind the wall and a few outside it on the banks of the river, with nets and spears. Two dagger-claws would stretch a net out across the river and leave it for a few minutes before reeling it in and taking it to the shore, emptying their catch into wicker baskets. The ones carrying spears waded out into the shallower areas behind the nets, stabbing at passing fish and hanging them on nearby racks on the shore to dry. At this distance, Altallo noticed how varied in appearance the dagger claws were. There were some with stripes and speckles across their bodies and some without, a few with feathered crests on their heads and tails like Shern’aath, while others were completely covered in feathers. They all ranged in shades of brown or green with splashes of other colours on their feathers. All of them had a single common feature; a tattoo of a red circle surrounded by a blue ring. Some like Shern’aath had it painted on their snouts, others had it on their tails or chests. When Altallo inquired Shern’aath about this, he explained it symbolised the red hill surrounded by the river which granted them protection, food and water.

“Right,” said Shern’aath. “We’re going to have to be quick about this so no-one sees you. We’ll wait until there are fewer dagger-claws around.” he picked a frond from the clump of ferns they were hiding in and smelled it. He seemed satisfied with it. “The scent should keep us hidden.”
An hour passes by until the dagger-claws by the river gathered up their baskets and carried them towards the settlement, chatting and laughing, until their voices faded away.
“This is our chance, come on!” whispered Shern’aath, grabbing Altallo’s arm and leading him to the main entrance. He pressed himself and Altallo against the wooden wall and peaked carefully through the gate. Inside the dagger-claws that had been by the river were gathered around a large fire where others were waiting. The fishers looked to be around Shern’aath’s age, with smooth scales and boldly coloured feathers. There mature individuals who were taller and more powerfully built. There were a few elderly dagger-claws, no longer strong enough to hunt or work, yet were given places of honour around the fire. Around the legs of these adults were small juvenile dagger-claws with less defined feathering, looking more like balls of fluff. One of the adults had dressed themselves with three branches on his head, mimicking one of the mighty horned herbivores the tribe sometimes hunted. All around him the others poked and prodded at him with sticks, learning from the elders on how to take down such prey.
The other adults were preparing the fish over the fire by spearing them on long poles and rotating them over the flames until they were warm and brown. Soon the whole tribe sat down and there were sounds of munching and lively conversation after the food had been consumed. Gradually they started to disperse back to their homes.
Wordlessly, Shern’aath beckoned Altallo and they slowly slipped around the gate before making a dive behind one of the circular tents. Shern’aath poked his head out.
“Ok we’re all clear” he whispered “It isn’t far to my tent, just keep low.”
“Why don’t we just walk out and I introduce myself?” Altallo asked in a hushed voice. “Surely if they’re like you they’ll-”
But the look on Shern’aath’s face silenced him. There was no point arguing it seemed.
The tents were arranged into neat lines. Most were uniformly made from animal skins and bark all in a dull brown or grey. They soon come across a tent with wavy blue lines and a green band on the roof.
“That’s yours?” asked Altallo, bending down and peering into it.
“Yes. It’s not much, but its home.” Shern’aath replied, his eyes focused on the other tents. To his horror, he sees a female dagger-claw emerging from a tent from the row in front of them. She turned and spotted Shern’aath. Luckily she didn’t see Altallo behind Shern’aath. She grinned at Shern’aath and waved. Shern’aath for his part hitched a very wide smile and waved back, but to his horror she started coming towards them.


“Oh no she’s coming here! What am I going to do?! What to do what do?” he thought as his eyes laying to rest on Altallo, who was still innocently into his tent. With a flash Shern’aath pushed Altallo into his tent before hurriedly closing the flap, never taking his eyes off of the new dagger-claw She had dark brown scales with tawny feathers on head and a blue and red ring painted around her neck.
“Hello Shern’aath!” she said cheerfully.
“Oh er Ta’arahis!” replied Shern’aath, gently kicking back Altallo who had popped his head out of the tent flap to see what is happening. “Hello! How are you?”
“I’ve been taking care Na’alia’s hatchlings, they’ve grown so much,” Ta’arahis said conversationally. “Have you had any luck on your hunting trips?”
“Um, no I didn’t.” said Shern’aath, his composure slumping. In all the excitement of meeting Altallo he had completely forgotten the task he was given by the elders. For years Shern’aath had neglected his hunting skills. While he excelled at tracking, he never came back with a successful kill. Unknown to the other dagger-claws, Shern’aath was reluctant to kill animals, even if he knew his people needed to for food. To the rest of the tribe he was nice yet clumsy and ineffective. Ta’arahis gave him a pitying look.
“Arkh'Tor won’t be happy you know—hey what was that!” she gasped. She tried to peek into the tent but Shern’aath, stepped in front of her, blocking her view. Ta’arahis gave him a sly toothy grin.
“Shern’aath, are you hiding something from me?” she asked in a sweet, cooing voice, leaning up at Shern’aath and poking him playfully on the nose.
“H-hiding something? No no! What makes you think that?” Shern’aath replied, with a huge and thoroughly unconvincing smile.
Ta’arahis puts her hands on her hips, giving Shern’aath a withering look.
“I know when you are lying, you stutter a lot and shuffle your feet. So you better get out of the way and-”
“Wait no I-“ began Shern’aath, but he was cut off by a scream from Ta’arahis.
“THERE’S SOMETHING MOVING IN THERE! I SAW IT!” she screamed, pointing a trembling clawed finger into the tent.
Drawn by her screams, other dagger-claws emerged and swarmed around Shern’aath’s tent.
“What is it Ta’arahis?” asked an older female with dark grey scales and blue feathers. This was Ta’arahis’ mother, So’lot. She put a comforting hand on her daughter’s shoulder.
“It-it was a….a creature moving about in Shern’aath’s tent!” she mumbled. She buried her face into So’lot’s chest. “Oh it was horrible!”
All eyes locked onto Shern’aath who stood rooted to the spot quivering with fear. A big sandy coloured dagger-claw with the red and blue lines of the tribe across his torso and orange feathers on his head and neck moved forward and looked down at Shern’aath with steely grey eyes. This was Arkh'tor, the leader of their tribe.
“Alright Shern’aath,” he said in a deep, yet surprisingly soft voice. “Let me see what you have inside your home.”
“B-but I…alright.” Shern’aath mumbled.

Shern’aath stepped aside and Arkh'tor stepped inside. The young dagger-claw couldn’t look at any of the others in the eye and kept his eyes on the ground. All the while he could hear Arkh’tor rummaging around the tent. Shern’aath could already guess what would happen; there would be a cry of surprise from Arkh’tor and he would drag Altallo out. The others would crowd around the frightened Eternal and then...Shern’aath did not want to think of what else would happen.
Soon enough Arkh’tor emerged from the tent.. Shern’aath hears gasps of shock and awe and he opens one eye slowly. In his minds eye he could see Altallo being dragged or carried out by the giant dagger-claw. Or worse his lifeless body hauled out. Instead Arkh’tor was carrying a sphere in one of his hands. Shern’aath’s eyes snapped open and he stared at the object. It was very beautiful, with a smooth dark blue surface covered with hundreds of constantly moving coloured dots, lines and strange symbols.
“Where did you find this?”
“In the forest.” Shern’aath said in a stuttering voice.
“I see,” replied Arkh’tor. He eyed Shern’aath with suspicion but didn’t push it any further. “I’ll take this away and speak with the shaman about it. If it poses no threat to us, you can have it back.” He turned to the assembled crowd. “Nothing to see here.”
The other dagger-claws disperse, chatting and muttering amongst each other. Arkh’tor patted Shern’aath affectionately on the head and walked off. Shern’aath let out a sigh of relief, but then he spotted Ta’arahis. She was following her mother, however her eyes were fixed on Shern’aath, still clearly frightened and angry. Shern’aath felt a pang of guilt, but quickly put that out of his mind and ducked into his tent. It was more spacious inside than it looked from the outside. In the centre was the support pole holding up the roof. Lying next to this was a sleeping mat with another rolled up nearby. Around the perimeter of the tent were baskets and pots made from reeds and clay respectively. In one basket were Shern’aath’s pride and joy; several small stones. They were originally rather plain grey, but Shern’aath had painted them in a variety of colours and patterns. Art was one of the young dagger claw’s passions. Unfortunately for him, in a tribe mostly concerned with the daily acquisition of food and fresh water, this was rarely if ever encouraged. Shern’aath remembered the teasing and bullying he had received during his youth, for being too soft to hunt like the others. It was for that very reason that Shern’aath had ventured out into the forest that fateful day, to prove he was a capable hunter like the others.


He heard a soft movement from the left and Altallo emerged from behind a pile of pots with a reed mat over his head.
“Are they gone?” he asked, removing the mat.
“Yes, but what in the world was that ball thing?” Shern’aath said as he helped Altallo stand up.
“It’s a star catalogue. It maps the movements of stars, planets, moons and comets in the local solar system.”
Shern’aath looked nonplussed, but Altallo didn’t seemed to have noticed.
“I’d like it back sometime,” he continued as he wandered around the tent, taking in all the details. “Who was that and what is this shaman he spoke of?”
“Er, the big guy is our leader, Arkh'tor. He and a few others stop arguments and lead our main hunting parties,” Shern’aath explained. He paused and Altallo noticed he seemed rather embarrassed. “The shaman is the oldest member of our tribe. He used to be considered the wisest person here.”
“Used to be?” This had piqued Altallo’s interest. “What happened?”
“He became a recluse, moved away from the village and into the wilderness. Arkh’tor still visits him to give him food, otherwise he shuns most contact.”
There was a pause and then Shern’aath stretched. “Well, its getting late. You can use that spare roll there.”

And with that Shern’aath plumped himself onto his bedroll, curled up and promptly fell asleep, or at least he pretended to be asleep. Altallo was puzzled by his friend’s sudden bluntness. He would have to search for answers tomorrow.
As the first rays of dawn began to illuminate the tent, Shern’aath began to stir. He stretched and rubbed his eyes before rising to his feet. He glanced over at Altallo who was lying very still. A chill ran down Shern’aath spine and his stomach felt like it had dropped out of his body. He carefully approached Altallo and held a hand over his mouth and nose. There was no sign of breathing and Shern’aath began to panic. Had taking him away from his ship been too much of a shock for the poor creature?
As if on cue, Altallo sat bolt upright, almost colliding with Shern’aath.
“What the?!” Shern’aath stared as Altallo got to his feet as if nothing had happened. Altallo meanwhile had reached the tent flap. Outside the sky was turning from indigo to pink and everything was quiet.
“I would like to meet this shaman of yours.”
“What?” replied Shern’aath. “Why would you want to see him?”
“I need to get my star chart back for a start. What you told me about him also sounds fascinating. I’ve waited a long time to study sentient beings and their cultures.”
“Its a long journey though,” Shern’aath said.
“Even better!” Altallo replied joyfully. “A chance to find any new species or specimens. There’s a few I will need more of, such as-”
Shern’aath sighed and let Altallo’s words drift over him. When the little creature had stopped Shern’aath said. “Fine, but we better move quickly before anyone wakes up.”


Their journey stared in the valley downstream from the dagger-claw village, following the river. The riverbanks were bordered with rich with conifers, cycads and flowering magnolias. At first the air was still cool but as the sun began to rise higher, the air became warmer. When they reached a clear area, they spotted two massive creatures on the other side. At a glance they looked very similar, but a the longer both Altallo and Shern’aath observed them, the more differences they could see. Both had wide, bulky bodies covered in thick bony armour. One had an enormous club at the end of its tail and the other had spikes around its shoulders. It would be much later that Altallo would learn the names of these creatures; Ankylosaurus and Denversaurus. The creatures seemed to tolerate each other and while they gave Shern’aath and Altallo a cursory glance, they didn’t appear to be troubled by their presence. Shern’aath explained that they never hunted them since their armour would deflect their spears.
Further downstream they stopped to rest. Shern’aath waded into the river after building a simple fire pit and caught a fish. He offered to get another for Altallo, but the alien politely declined.
“That reminds me,” Shern’aath said after munching up his fish. “I’ve not seen you eat or drink anything since I’ve met you. Why is that?”
“I don’t need to consume anything,” Altallo explained. “I can taste things, but it honestly never crossed my mind to eat anything.”
Shern’aath grunted, then said. “You weren’t breathing last night.”
“Oh I don’t need to breathe either. I’ve always wanted to know what it felt like though. Maybe sometime I will.”
This comment confused Shern’aath. He didn’t know whether to be amused or unnerved. Altallo was an enigma and he hoped the shaman had some answers. He waded out and caught another fish for the shaman and then they continued on their way.

The river gradually became narrower and flowed faster as they followed it further uphill. They finally arrive on a plateau which offered them a spectacular view. Far below them lay some familiar sights: the dagger-claw village, the woodlands where they fled from the knife-tooth and the tall rocks where Altallo’s ship had landed. The river flowed westwards and drained into a huge sea. To the south beyond the forests lay vast plains, where very few dagger-claws ventured for it was home to enormous creatures, including many more knife-teeth. Neither of them knew this, but what they were looking at would one day be called ‘Hell Creek’ millions of years later in a continent called ‘North America’. After a brief rest, Shern’aath led Altallo further along to the plateau where the river was born from its source, a deep blue pool. Compared to the dry and rocky plateau, this depression was marshy and lush. Near to the pool was a rough, boxy shack made of wood with a spout pouring smoke on its roof. Shern’aath walked up to the door, knocked and called out.
“Shaman? Are you in there?”
“Who’s calling this early!” snarled a voice made raspy with age. Shern’aath grimaced.
“It’s me. I’m here with a...friend.” Shern’aath said sheepishly as he shot a glance at Altallo who seemed to be distracted by the plant life nearby.
There was a short pause and then the door suddenly burst open with an explosive force. Standing in the doorway was another dagger-claw. He looked like Shern’aath, but his body was thinner and lankier, the back stooped and his scales paler. He grinned when he saw Shern’aath, revealing a broken smile with several missing teeth.
“My dear little pookins, its so good to see you again! Where have you been?” the old man hobbled over and hugged Shern’aath who grimaced again. He wished his dad stopped calling him that. Over Shern’aath’s shoulder, the elder spotted Altallo who was picking at some swamp plants to gather their seeds. The shaman’s demeanour changes. His body riles up and his eyes narrow.
“No!” Shern’aath cried, jumping between them. “This isn’t prey. Its the friend I mentioned.”
The shaman looked from his son to the stranger and back again. Altallo by this point approached both of them, his hands full of seeds. The shaman stroked his chin thoughtfully and started examining Altallo. He circled the alien, poking and prodding at his face and arms.

“Fascinating. Such a strange looking creature. Why would something grow a short snout like this?”
“Could you please stop doing that,” Altallo said. The shaman jumped back and almost tripped over his own tail. Thankfully Shern’aath was there to catch his the old man.
“I didn’t think it could even talk!” the shaman croaked.
“I told you he’s not an it,” Shern’aath sighed. “He’s called Altallo and we’ve come to speak with you.”
The shaman frowned. “Fine, you can both come in. Oh and mind your head.”

They file into the smokey interior of the hut. The most surprising feature was a stove roughly hewn from stone and clay. There were also shelves lining the walls of the shack, piled high with a clutter of objects and Altallo picked one of these up. It was made of wood and roughly hewn in the shape of a hadrosaur, a common hunting target for the dagger-claws. In terms of detail it was rather simple yet vividly coloured, far more saturated than the real life creatures. The shaman had been loading fresh branches onto the fire when he spotted Altallo looking at the models. With a gleeful, childish smile he dropped the remaining branches carelessly and hobbled as quick as he could to the little alien.
“Do you like them?” he asked Altallo. Behind them Shern’aath was piling the branches carefully back on the fire. “I tried to get every detail down, but its not that easy when you can’t get up close to them.”
“What’s stopping you?”
“Well, I’m not exactly in the prime of my life,” the shaman stretched with an audible crack as if to emphasise it. “So I just study them from afar. Not much else to do nowadays,” He paused and then sighted. “No one really comes up here much.”
“But why? You’re the same as Shern’aath and the others.”
The shaman huffed and crossed his arms as he looked around at his models. “I’m considered a freak, an outsider. Everyone laughs at me and all I’ve made. I know what the names they call me behind my back.”
Altallo looked back at the models and then at both the shaman, now sat dejected on a matt and Shern’aath who had his back to both of them.
“I don’t understand.”
“Put simply, the others can’t see past their next meal. What about you Shern’aath?” he cackled, elbowing the younger dagger-claw playfully in the chest. Shern’aath mumbled something and looked down at the ground. “Ah, no need to be ashamed. Remember when you were just a hatchling and-”
The shaman started reminiscing stories of Shern’aath’s childhood, much to the embarrassment of the other. Altallo watched this with a mixture of fascination and hesitation. He had just realised how alien he was to these two. The connection they had was foreign territory for him. He waited until they were finished and the shaman looked up at him expectedly.
“We made sculptures and murals on our homeworld. It was a chance for all of us to express ourselves and leave a mark before we departed.”
The shaman perked up at this. “Really? What an interesting tribe you must have. What did you yourself make in your...homeworld?”
Altallo frowned and looked around as he shifted through his memories. “I’m afraid I don’t remember. Its been far too long. However, I do have some onboard my ship.”
“That’s where he lives,” Shern’aath explained to a confused looking Shaman. “But I do remember you wanted something back. Dad, did Arkh’tor bring you something?”
“Mmm, ooh yes that he did!” the shaman started bustling around the shelves and pottery. “He brought me a strange stone. Said he’d found it in your tent Shern’aath,” he gave his son a stern look. “I hope you’ve not been taking other people’s properties, its very rude!”
“I didn’t!” Shern’aath bristled defensively. His feathers ruffled and he huffed.
The shaman finally fished out the sphere from a jar. He had to use both hands to heave it out.
“Here you go,” he puffs as he gave it to Altallo. “I have no idea what it is but its heavy.”
“I’ll demonstrate it.”
Altallo balanced the sphere perfectly on one of his fingers and stared at it intently. To the amazement of the two dagger-claws, the ball started floating in the air and slowly spun on its axis. Its markings then seemed to peel off the surface and circle the sphere like young around a parent. These became larger and larger, until the whole hut was bathed in their light. The shaman stumbled around the hut, his mouth wide open in a smile of pure awe.
Altallo followed him and started explaining what it all meant. He pointed out planets, stars, the sun, moons, comets and their orbits. To Shern’aath it felt far too complex to understand, but the shaman was enraptured by all the details. He may not have understood everything, but he was eager to learn more.
“So you think we live on a speck?” Shern’aath said. He glared down at the small blue and green marble. “I don’t believe it.”
“What is this here?” the shaman asks. He pointed to an ominous red dot some way near the Earth.
“Oh that’s an asteroid. There’s a few of those floating in this system. They’re not usually something to worry about given how big space is,” Altallo began dismissively. Then he looked back to the red dot. “But I should probably keep my eye on it.”
Altallo continued to explain more of the cosmos around them. It was hard to find describe everything in simple terms to the two dagger-claws. But it was a challenge Altallo had prepared for since he had landed long ago. When he had finished explaining the local system, which was all the map could show while it was away from the ship. Shern’aath was tired and barely keeping up and the shaman was still curious.
“Why come here though?” he asked as he started bustling around the stove. After chopping up a fish that Shern’aath had brought, he placed it in a pot full of broth. “We seem so out of the way in the grand scale of things.”n
“I wouldn’t say that honestly, I find it wonderful. There’s so much life to study here and I’m always finding something new.”
The shaman stroked his chin, then pointed to the models on the shelves.
“I would like you to have these. No no,” he held up a hand as Altallo was about to speak. “I insist. You travel further than I ever could and I want you to finish these for me. I’m sure you’ll a better job than me with these old hands.”
Altallo did not know what to say but helped the shaman gather up the models into a basket. Shern’aath meanwhile dozed against one of the walls until he was nudged awake by the shaman. Shern’aath shook his head and he snapped quickly out of his groggy state when he smelled what the shaman was pouring into three bowls. Inside was a thick soup with bits of cooked fish and sprinkles of plant matter all over its surface. It smelled delicious and the dagger-claws quickly drank them with much slurping and sighs of enjoyment. Altallo watched this and then started to drink also, though far more neatly. Although he could not feel the sensation of food and drink satisfying any need for hunger or thirst, he tasted the soup in full. It was a lovely soothing taste with a slight tingling sensation on the tongue. The sun was now almost at its highest point, morning was about to turn to midday. Shern’aath and Altallo decided it was time to go, for it would be a long walk back while carrying the shaman’s gifts with them. Altallo noticed the shaman’s feathers droop and his smile falter, but he walked with them to the doorway and waved them out.
“Thank you again for these shaman.” Altallo said, indicating the basket in his hands.
“Oh you’re quite welcome and please, call me Shern’ocsa, no need for formalities.”
“Shern’ocsa, thank you again.”
As they walked away, a thought came to Altallo.
“That name, Shern’ocsa, it sounds a lot like your name. Is there any reason for that?” he asked Shern’aath.
Shern’aath grimaced. “Its a common sounding name for us dagger-claws.”
“And he seemed very happy to see you.”
Before Shern’aath could answer, Shern’ocsa shouted behind them. “Bye son!”
Altallo looked back at the old man and then back to Shern’aath. “Son?”
Breathing through his nose, Shern’aath nodded and mumbled, “He’s my dad.”
“What is a dad?” Altallo asked. Shern’aath looked down at him in surprise. For all his knowledge of stars, planets and the inner-workings of nature itself, Altallo really had his limits.

Behind them Shern’ocsa watched them until he disappeared. He sighed sadly and shuffled back inside, alone once more.