Every bone in H'rral's body aches. Although he has had an ample night's sleep, he feels as if he has just run a marathon, dropped unconscious, then slowly roused to something approaching alertness again. His throat feels dry and cracked.

H'rral groans softly and rolls to his side. He lays still for a few moments, unsure if he will be able to muster the energy to do more than that. He opens his eyes, squinting in the early light.

Someone is moving outside the hut. There are the familiar sounds of the morning, of the earliest risers getting up before the day has progressed too far. Given how short the "day" is given how much the sun is filtered through the trees, however, it's all a relative matter.

There are more footsteps than usual, though. It would seem that either H'rral has slept late – which doesn't seem the case, by his senses – or else an awful lot of people are getting up this morning for some reason.

H'rral stands slowly with the air of an old man. Flashes of dreams insist of playing through his mind over and over, despite his attempts to dispel them and face the day. He raises his hands to his eyes and scrubs at them, trying to dispel the hazy shapes of the night before. "Uhhh… what WAS that stuff?"

The jaguar's voice, however, comes out a rasping croak, rather than the words he mouths.

H'rral groans and looks around the floor of his hut for his vest, remembering only after several moments of searching that he never took it off the night before. He stumbles out of the building and looks around for something, anything, to drink to clear his throat.

As H'rral stumbles out, he sees what all the footsteps were about. Most of the villagers are still in their huts, though some are watching from their doorways or platforms. One after another, cheetahs are being led from the larger hut, in leather bindings.

H'rral blinks his eyes, making sure he's not seeing double, or triple, or however many there are.

No, the jaguar is seeing clearly enough. That hut must have been packed to the rim with cheetahs – most male, but there are some females and a few children, too.

Some warriors from the village are herding the prisoners along, heading out of the ring of trees and huts.

H'rral finds his water and takes several long gulps, splashing his face in the process. This seems to help some, and as he stands up he doesn't look quite as lopsided.

Bluefeather signs to H'rral, "What is wrong with you? You look like you have not slept! Come along!"

H'rral shakes his head and groans softly, moving off after Bluefeather.

Although the jaguar is more steady now, his muscles protest. He can walk along, but it is an effort. Hopefully no heavy lifting will be involved in meeting the Sky Gods.

Bluefeather heads along beside the procession, with about a total of five other cheetah warriors, plus Third Eye, who is at the head of the line. Of those being led, there might be about twelve adult males, six adult females, and three older children.

H'rral tries to walk a straight line after Bluefeather, muttering to himself about the contents of last night's tea.

Third Eye looks slightly wobbly, too. At one point, she stumbles, and one of the warriors lurches forward to catch her. She leans on her staff, however, and angrily waves him away, before continuing on.

H'rral looks up in time to see Third Eye stumble. With a little chuckle he tries to say, "I don't feel quite so bad now."

The line is now well beyond the village. The way is uneven, and going uphill is a chore … but it is a chore on Third Eye as well, and since she is in the lead, none press any faster than her.

After stumbling several times, H'rral moves with his eyes on the ground, avoiding all but the impossible obstacles.

The jungle is growing lighter here. The sound of running water hints at a river nearby. There are more gaps in the overhanging canopy, showing the bright cloudless day. One of the female captives squints, craning her neck high to look at the sky, stumbling to one side. Redmane hisses and pushes her back into line.

Bluefeather looks up at the sky as well, fear in his eyes. He abruptly lowers his gaze again, and adopts a stern expression when one of the male captives grins at him defiantly.

H'rral looks up at the sky curiously, squinting at the brightness. He shakes his head again and goes back to watching the ground.

The trees part way, and the whole procession enters a brightly-lit clearing. The hot sun beats down mercilessly, and the air is humid, filled with the scent of the rushing river.

H'rral shades his eyes and rests his back against one of the trees at the edge of the clearing. He sighs with relief and watches everyone else, waiting to see how they act.

There is an open, small field this side of the river. A number of chiselled stones poke up from the foliage, of unknown purpose. Perhaps they are altars, but they are rather small for such, and there are plenty of them.

No one notices the jaguar's action. All are looking about, and mostly up – both captives and captors.

H'rral grunts and stares at the ground, just to be different.

A wave of gasps ripples through the group. Hunters' fingers point upward.

H'rral lifts his gaze despite himself.

From somewhere high above, there is a low, reverberating bellow … and it seems to come from some … THING … that is hovering up there in the air.

H'rral blinks a few times and watches the sky, captivated by his curiousity.

It looks like a great sea vessel slung underneath a gigantic melon that dwarfs it in size. Struts and other features stick out from the craft, giving it a fragile appearance despite its immensity.

The bellow halts, and the craft slowly lowers, noiselessly. Long cords unfurl and fall from the sides of the "boat", hitting the ground, where the dumbstruck hunters regain their senses, and start latching the ropes to the stone "altars".

H'rral blinks a few times, then looks at the others. As the boat lands, his gaze goes back to it and he takes a deep breath. "Wow."

Again, H'rral's voice fails him. It's only a quiet wheeze, not even a rasp.

H'rral coughs and thumps his chest violently, thinking unkind things about his gullibility.

Something dark and winged leaps out from the ship. A … giant bat?

H'rral straightens and moves into the clearing, sliding through the crowd to stand within a few paces of Third Eye.

The brown bat-being circles around, and alights to the ground. So does another, this one light gray. Another flying creature follows, this one with the head and wings of an eagle, the tail of a lion, and a muscular body … but with horses' hooves. The winged ones examine the moorings, and look over the assembled crowd.

Something else is being lowered from the floating bag-and-ship. It looks like a canoe, only broader, being lowered by ropes. It touches down to the ground, and the cheetahs move in toward it.

The hunters usher some of the males over to the lowered boat, and prod them until they sit down inside. If looks could kill, the hunters would be dead.

H'rral stands still, watching the bats and the activity with obvious curiosity.

The "canoe" begins to lift upward, more slowly than it descended.

Third Eye, meanwhile listens to one of the bats, who is talking in a squeaky voice. She nods repeatedly, looking much more humble than she ever appeared in the village. She signs something to the bat in return. Something about an "honored one to the Heavens".

H'rral watches Third Eye and the bat curiously.

The bat's expression is alien and unreadable. At last, Third Eye bows her head and backs away, as the bat takes flight back up to the Sky Gods' vessel. The canoe has risen all the way, and is now lowering once more, empty.

H'rral turns toward Third Eye and signs, 'What was said?', not sure if she is watching, or will even answer.

Third Eye walks up to H'rral, stumbling once, but then stopping, standing up tall, doing her best to regain her composure. It can now be seen that she is wearing a headband which covers her forehead – and the eye that gives her her name.

"The Sky Gods are pleased," Third Eye signs. "They have agreed to bear you upon the clouds to distant lands – even to the City of the Heavens itself, if you should choose."

H'rral signs, 'When I find out where my place is, or is not, I will return. I thank you.'

The Shamaness bows her head, then looks up again, and away. She slowly forces herself to walk over to one of the smaller trees, leaning heavily on her staff.

The Shamaness steps up on a stone, and claps her hands together, getting the attention of all those present. The last of the cheetahs have been borne up, and only the hunters remain – and the lowered, empty canoe.

Third Eye begins signing in elaborate, wide gestures – obvious for even those at a distance to see. "The Speaker has been chosen by the Sky Gods to be borne to the lands beyond, even to the City of the Heavens, and to learn their tongue. He shall learn the powers of the ancients, and be trained in the secret ways."

H'rral takes a deep breath and walks over to the canoe, taking a seat near the center. He looks up at the airship and sighs.

"Remember him well," the Shamaness bids, "and remind the gods to protect him. When he shall return, he shall be {shaman}, possessed of great wisdom and power."

The hunter cheetahs bow their heads respectfully for a moment, then rise again. The canoe awaits.

H'rral catches the end of Third Eye's speech and mutters, "yeah. we'll see about that."

Not even a wheeze this time. Just air across lips. H'rral really could use some water. Fortunately, that appears to be what is being brought to him right now by Bluefeather.

Bluefeather hands a flask to H'rral, and a small sack that smells of dried meats.

H'rral leans over and accepts the flask and meats, signing his thanks.

Redmane has an offering as well – a colorful shawl which he drapes around H'rral's shoulders. He stands back and signs, "It is said that the sun is jealous of those who draw close, and does not give its warmth to them as freely. This you will need."

H'rral signs his thanks to Redmane as well.

Redmane and Bluefeather and the rest all stand back, waiting and watching.

H'rral waves to the cheetahs, signing 'Fare well. Hunt well.'

The canoe begins lifting up, wobbling a bit, so that it's evident that H'rral should sit down and secure for the trip up.

H'rral settles himself more comfortably in the canoe, wishing they would get the lifting done and over with. He locks his eyes on Third Eye and refuses to think about the prospect of having nothing underneath him.

With only one occupant, the canoe rises more quickly than on the other trips. Third Eye watches from below, her expression – not that unusual – hard to decipher.

At last, the canoe comes up alongside deck, and some burly wolves reach over for the jaguar as the canoe is slid over.

The whole craft bobs and sways, and lurches a bit in the breeze. It's positively stomach-churning.

H'rral slaps the wolves paws away, looking more than a little green.

The wolves frown, and roughly grab the jaguar before he can go plummeting off the side, hauling him off his feet and over to the relatively more solid footing provided by the deck.

The jaguar's nose is assaulted with a wretched stench of unwashed bodies, filth, dried blood. The canoe descends again, this time laden with sacks and a couple of crates.

H'rral feels the deck under his feet and tries to yank himself free of the wolves' grasp, "What do you think you are doing, dog?"

The "dog" seems exceptionally strong … or else H'rral is exceptionally weak. His voice still does not avail him. All he can do is move his mouth and gasp or hiss.

Bindings are brought out, as others on deck hasten to secure the jaguar's limbs.

H'rral growls, twisting his body and and trying every trick he knows to break free.

At each movement, pain shoots through H'rral's body. His strength, his coordination – sapped from him!

H'rral finally slumps in the wolf's grip, unable to muster the energy needed to escape.

A giant of a lion, his face and bare arms slashed with a multitude of scars, and one eye replaced with a large marble, walks up, regarding H'rral appraisingly. He points to the open doorway where the smells come from, and roars something in an unintelligible tongue. The order seems easy enough to interpret though, as the jaguar is hauled roughly into the dark hole in the deck.

The jaguar's fall is broken by the bodies of those below him, who writhe and hiss. Here is where the smell is coming from. All around him, cheetahs packed in, with barely enough room to move without climbing over one another – or falling underfoot.

The strain – the aches – are too much. Darkness closes in, pushing away reality in exchange for the comforting embrace of slumber…

Time passes, in a nightmare blur of waking moments, falling unconscious again, and somewhere in between. Time turns upon itself, and reality and dreams play games with each other.

On occasion, there are blurred memories of something that must pass for food and water being dumped in through the opening in the "roof", and the cheetahs scrambling, pushing, shoving against each other and their bindings holding their limbs tight, trying to get to the scraps, trying to get under the water for a drink.

Whether H'rral managed to get any, cannot be remembered. He hungers … yet he is not wasted away. He thirsts, yet he still lives. Does he remember a soaking rag being pressed to his lips at some point – or was that just a hopeful dream?

Now, though, a cold breeze blows away the fog, wrenching it from his mind. His senses return. It is dark – pitch black – but that is no matter to him. He can see the warm bodies radiating well enough.

He feels weak … but it is a different weakness. His throat is dry … but yet it is only that from having slept with his mouth open for too long.

H'rral looks around, trying to get some grasp of his surroundings.

The jaguar is crouched against one end of the hull, with a curving wooden wall behind him. There is a small cheetah curled up against his side, sniffling in the cold. His arms are twisted behind him, bound in cords. His shawl has disappeared, but his vest remains.

The flask and sack of food … those probably disappeared long ago.

H'rral coughs experiementally and says, "Yeah… I'm going back all right."

This time, he doesn't wheeze. His voice comes out clear – a little cracked from the cold and the dry mouth, but pretty much back to normal.

H'rral struggles with the cords, knowing that it is useless, but feeling like he has to fight something.

The effort isn't as useless as expected. The rope seems to give a little.

H'rral blinks with surprise. After a moment of shock, he starts to flex the cords, trying to slip them down his arms.

The cords seem hardly a match for H'rral's strength. With a bit of work, and struggling against protesting muscles … the cords snap free!

H'rral looks around quickly to see if the sound went unnoticed.

There are a few cheetahs stirring nearby, but perhaps nobody has placed the sound of "cords being snapped free".

H'rral limbers up his shoulders for a few seconds, then leans over and starts to work at the cords of the cheetah next to him with strength and claw.

Besides, there is a heavy pounding noise on the "roof" that seemed to escape the jaguar's notice earlier … Perhaps it has been going on for some time. There are heavy footsteps on the wood above, some in a semi-regular rhythm.

The little cheetah yawns, and gasps, as he finds himself suddenly free to move, and without the slightest inclination as to why.

Guttural laughter echoes from above, and the sound of some sort of musical instrument wafts along the cold breeze that intrudes.

H'rral grabs the cheetah's hands and guides him to the cords of the cheetah nearest him, hoping that the implication is clear.

The little cheetah nods in the darkness, and struggles with the next cheetah's bindings … but he doesn't seem to be making any progress whatsoever, despite his grunts, except to wake up the cheetah in question.

H'rral swears softly and moves the smaller cheetah out of the way, breaking at the next cheetah's bonds. And then on to the next, and the one after that…

It's almost routine, as the jaguar's strength fully returns. The cords are no match for his claws and brawn.

H'rral watches the freed cheetahs as he works, making sure that none of them move to escape just yet.

Some of the cheetahs seem too weak to even move, let alone try to escape. As it is, getting to that hatch would be a chore. It's too high to leap, and it would take a skilled climber indeed to work up the walls and along the ceiling to that opening.

H'rral looks up at the hatch and growls softly. "We're going to need a pile of bodies to get up there… or wait for them to lower the ladder." With a grimace, he goes back to freeing the cheetahs.

Several faces are turning toward H'rral now. He can tell that they cannot really see him, but they can most certainly hear him.

By now, surely the last one has been freed. Some are moving about, trying to figure out just what to do with their newfound freedom. Some have tried scrambling up the walls, but that has little effect. Perhaps in the pitch black darkness, they don't realize that there's just a ceiling above them. Or perhaps they're just so desperate to do ANYTHING, no matter how futile.

One of the cheetahs, badly battered, struggles over toward H'rral, past the others, groping about. He manages to touch the jaguar's fur, patting him. He curls his fingers and presses them against the jaguar's hand, forming a sign – then another, pressing the jaguar's fingers to touch the sign with his free hand.

H'rral blinks, then tries to make out what the battered one is saying.

He's spelling a message, slowly, using basic building blocks of Savanite sign rather than the full gestures that allow for complete words and phrases with full-body motions. "Strong one – you speak {?}"

H'rral signs an affirmative. 'I speak.'

The jaguar's heat-sight reveals a smile forming on the battered one's face. "I am Ferryman. You {are}?"

H'rral signs, 'I am Speaker.'

Ferryman looks surprised – or afraid. He signs, slowly, "What shall we do, Speaker?"

H'rral signs, carefully, to make sure that he gets the point across, 'I want our freedom. We must capture this boat when the chance comes. We must be ready.'

More hoots and shouts echo from above, along with clapping and stomping on the deck, and playing of music. The words sung are unintelligible, but for certain the lyrics must be bawdy.

H'rral signs, 'Now would be perfect to attack. If we could get free from this hole.'

Ferryman nods, and then perhaps remembers that none can see him nod (or so he believes). He turns, looking to the hole, squinting to see what faint light plays beyond.

H'rral signs to Ferryman, 'They would be fools not to have barred the door. We may have to wait until our destination is reached.'

Ferryman signs back, skipping some words in his hurry, "Ale on breath. Opened hatch fetch women. Latched not {in} haste."

H'rral growls, 'Then, we need a way out. Speak around, find the fittest hunters. We must lead.'

Ferryman signs an affirmative, then scrambles about, patting on shoulders, asking questions, being directed, fumbling his way about.

The ruckuss has still not subsided, though someone has started cracking a whip now, prompting many laughs from whomever is on deck. At last, Ferryman returns with several ragged-looking cheetahs – but still muscular, each grim and determined, not yet broken, especially with some hope for escape … or at least vengeance and death with honor.

H'rral signs to Ferryman, "We will need to be lifted to the hatch. Form groups of four, to lift us.

Among the group, something catches H'rral's attention – One of the hunters is plantigrade, heel on the floor, like himself. Otherwise, he seems not in the least distinguished.

Ferryman signs in the affirmative again, and sets about, rousing the cheetahs, picking first those who are already standing about, glancing this way and that blindly in confusion. A spotted, furred "structure" is starting to form … though not without a few tumbles. Thankfully, the ruckuss above does well to hide any of the resulting sounds.

H'rral eyes the plantigrade hunter thoughtfully for a few moments, then pushes it to the back of his mind. He moves over to assist Ferryman in the construction of the living fur-lift.

One cannot tell how long this "structure" will last, but Ferryman's efforts are successful. One of the upper cheetahs pats at the ceiling and hatch, confirmation enough.

H'rral stands at the base and signs that he is going up.

H'rral moves up the structure, careful not to overbalance anyone. When he reaches the top, he lifts the hatch about an inch and peers around.

Just outside the hatch is a slumbering reptile … a huge snake which must be about 10 feet in length. However, it is not merely a giant snake – It possesses a humanoid upper torso, and two scaly arms. Its eyes are closed, its tongue flitting about, a heavy vapor of liquor on its breath. Next to it is a rolled rope ladder.

H'rral lifts the hatch carefully, and works his way out, watching to make sure that the snake-creature does not wake and that no one else is nearby.

Light can be seen from further along the deck, but the scene is obstructed by a raised structure – perhaps the cabin. The music and shouting comes from just around that. No moving bodies can be seen nearby, unless one counts the flitting tongue of the slumbering snake.

It is nighttime, and H'rral could, if he cared to, for the first time see it for all its glory – The stars are unknown to him, and there is no moon, but there is a long trail of sparkling lights that cuts a swath across the sky, from one horizon to the other. The wind is cold and biting, compared to the heat of the belowdecks.

H'rral eases the hatch all the way open and then moves around the snake. He checks to make sure that the rope ladder is secured on this end. He takes no time to look at the stars or feel the wind… they are inconsequential … trivial. What matters right now is getting free.

The rope ladder is indeed secured to the deck.

H'rral lowers the free end of the ladder into the hold, aiming for some of the hunters.

The ladder bops against a few cheetahs, but they catch on quickly. One of the hunters starts climbing up at a spritely pace, followed by another.

The snake snorts, and shakes his head. He blinks a few times, and then hisses. A rattling sound emits from his other end … as his tailtip rises and begins shaking rapidly.

The snake fumbles about for his polearm, hissing something in an unintelligible tongue.

H'rral quickly turns his attention to the snake-creature. He stomps on the rattle and launches himself at the thing's throat.

The snake-thing thrashes, biting at empty air, its coils flailing and bouncing. Meanwhile, the first of the cheetahs leaps out and onto the deck, followed closely by the second.

One of the cheetahs bumps into the polearm, and picks it up. The second helps more of the hunters out of the hold.

H'rral digs his claws into the snake's neck, trying to tear its throat out before it can break free.

The snake hisses and thrashes, but it is no match for the jaguar with his renewed strength and agility. Blood wets H'rral's claws and at last the snake gurgles and falls limp.

H'rral looks at the cheetah's gathering at entrance to the hold. He points at several of them and sends them in the direction away from the party, signing 'Look for them, try to keep quiet. If they give you any trouble, see if they can fly.'

H'rral signs, as an afterthought, 'If they can fly, tear their wings off.'

The cheetahs slink off, most heading for the light and noise toward what must be the fore of the boat, though hiding in the shadows. Others slink toward the back … and a couple of brave ones take to the rigging.

H'rral moves with the majority toward the bow, staying to the shadows. His bloody right hand is clenched into a fist and the anger that he did not allow himself to feel below is bubbling up.

As the jaguar moves forward, he can now see around the obstructions, to an open area on the front deck. It would seem the crew is helping itself to stores of ale, celebrating something, and some are hopping and dancing about clumsily. There are also a couple of female cheetahs dancing about, at the prompting of a laughing fox with a bullwhip. One stumbles and falls, and the fox focuses the lashes on the girl repeatedly, though she does not get up.

This is all the cheetahs need to see. The one with the polearm lets it fly – the sharp end impaling the fox in mid-lash. He lets out an unmasculine scream as he falls, kicking and squirming. Some of the others initially laugh, it taking a while to get through the grog for them to realize what is going on.

H'rral looks around for a likely (large) target. With a cry of anger, he charges directly at a large wolf, hopefully the one that drug him off the canoe. Before he gets close enough to grapple, he dives to the floor and ducks into a roll, coming up feet first under his target.

Crewmen stumble over each other, most scrambling for weapons, while others try the more direct approach, going at it with bared claws and fangs. The crewmen are restrained by ale … and the cheetahs by poor health and fatigue.

The drunk wolf swings his arms, grappling at empty air a full second after H'rral had already gone under him.

H'rral swipes with his claws at the wolf's hamstrings as he rolls to his feet.

"AIEEEEEEEEEEE!" one of the crewmen goes hurtling overboard nearby. The wolf takes the slash and crumples down in agony. Meanwhile, though, a raccoon swings with a chain and hook, narrowly missing the jaguar's head.

H'rral follows the chain back to the raccoon's hand, pummeling at the creature with all his strength

Shouts and curses fill the air as the slavers find themselves fighting against their silent but no longer captive cargo. A cheetah crumples lifelessly to the deck at H'rral's feet, felled by a crossbow bolt. Two more hit the keg nearby. Something in the raccoon's body snaps under H'rral's assault, and he falls aside.

H'rral looks around for the source of the bolt assault, grabbing the racoon's chain as it falls aside.

More cheetahs join the fray – more than just the hunters. They are hardly warrior stock, but their ferocity and numbers make it hard going for the crewmen. Another bolt sprouts from the chest of a cheetah nearby, however. A hippogryph up in the rigging grumbles and reloads his double crossbow.

H'rral swears and looks for the cheetahs that climbed into the rigging, hoping they are close enough to deal with it while it is distracted.

A surprised bat ends with a sickening crunch nearby. Another bat leaps off the edge of the railing, disappearing into the darkness below.

No cheetahs appear to be up in the rigging, save for a couple of crumpled, bolt-ridden bodies tangled in the ropes.

H'rral yells and spins the chain around quickly, letting it fly at the hippogryph before making a run for the rigging ropes.

The chain gets tangled in the riggings, not quite reaching the hippogryph. It fires off another bolt at the jaguar, before spreading its wings and taking flight.

H'rral dives to the side, trying to avoid the bolt and keep the cursed creature in sight at the same time.

A lion roars loudly, thrashing about with a broken board that has a couple of large nails sticking from the end – perhaps pulled up from the very deck itself. Several cheetahs lay broken and bleeding at his feet, but the sheer swarm of bodies brings him down as well.

The hippogryph is out of sight – having either dived below, blocked from view by the deck, or perhaps above, blocked by the huge gasbag that billows above.

On the deck, the last remnants of resistance are at last crushed. None are left standing save for the spotted felines.

H'rral searches the deck around for a weapon that he can throw. Every few seconds he checks the air on either side to make sure the fliers aren't coming back.

*THWOCK* *FSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHT!* *THWOCKTHWOCKTHWOCK* *FSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHT!*

*RRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIP!* *WHOOOOOOOOSH!*

H'rral looks up, eyes wide, "NO! You arrogant flying cowards!"

From somewhere high above, a taunting voice calls out, as a shadow wings away into the night.

H'rral throws something at the retreating flier… whatever is at hand. Then he runs to the edge and looks over the side, fighting off his vertigo.

The hurled tool spins end over end into the darkness … falling … falling … far, far below…