One of the Last

Wrenching talons rip the starling in half. Black feathers tumble free and get sheared by the wind out of view.

Fucking pests.

Aumelix alighted on the colossal cliffside nest his powerful wings flapping to slow his descent. Gripping the edge of the mud and straw perch, he folded his wings and permitted himself the time to make the change, a luxury he rarely allowed himself anymore. Moments later he tumbled into the nest exhausted, a creature of tender flesh and muscled limbs. Naked, filthy, and starving he began to weep.

This was the third abandoned nest he'd found in two weeks. This time there were shattered eggs concealed under the down. It was getting too much to bear, the plight of his people. So few, so few of them left, the Vorax were going mad of loneliness. They would depart their nests and fly, shrieking for thousands of miles desperate to encounter even one other of their species. Filled with despair they would leave their eggs unprotected, unable to face bringing children into a world without hope. The moment the eggs were alone, the starlings and blackbirds would move in.

No Vorax remained unaffected by his people's plight, but Aumelix was responding differently than some of his brethren. Whereas most expressed their grief in lamentation and listless wandering, Aumelix was growing more and more enraged by the day.

Here! he boiled. Here, in this nest just a few days ago there were living Vorax children. Here is where the hope for our species lay and it was just abandoned.

Like others he was searching the skies far and wide for his kind. Like others he was nearly insane with loneliness. Unlike the others he was determined to do something about it. He was methodical and relentless. Going days without food, nights without sleep, and rarely stopping for long enough to change his form and rest his wings, Aumelix would not let it go until his body betrayed him to death.

And in the meantime he would kill as many starlings as he could get his talons on.