After that anthops encounter, everything suddenly becomes a walk in the pluck.

Meeting the anthops marks the fact that I've reached the stratum where they live, meaning I should be in the strata group of their distribution. In other words, I've managed to enter a group of the few strata among which was the stratum I first encountered an anthops, which I thought was a monster.

That stratum was where I fought and killed a great lapwing.

That stratum was where Fell the first time.

In other words, my climb has brought me back to familiar territory. The trees and animals here should be better-documented than in the strata between the Totara Pendent to this place, since it should be closer to Takamatsu Village. Don't get me wrong, the air still feels very heavy—it still feels like my head would explode if I held my breath a little too long—but after having lived in the Totara Pendent for a good while, the air here feels much lighter.

Which means the air in the Takamatsu Village must feel even lighter.

With a new pep in my step, I continue my climb.

In just around five days since I encountered the anthops, I've started seeing the same trees I saw the tripvines I made my first sling from. There are also more tripvines here, and I found the fruit with weird patterns that Kotengu first gave me as a meal the first time I Fell.

I'm here. I've reached the stratum where I first broke my Fall.

However, I have no time to waste. This stratum also happens to be within the habitat distribution of the great lapwing, and as confident as I feel about taking another one down with my improved sling and additional weapon—my rope and hook—I still think it's better if I don't encounter one at all. First of all, I don't want to risk my korowai. Sure, it's a very important gift from Kura, but apart from that, it's also a very useful tool. I don't want to lose my korowai if possible, and creatures that focus on their movement speeds like the great lapwing make for a horrible match against my korowai.

Also, I believe I'll need my korowai for when....

The climb continues. The trees grow thicker to the point it gets hard to move sometimes without tripping on the roots, but with a little sunlight and some scouting help from Kotengu, we find our way out of the thickness of the woods. The thicket was mostly inhabited by small animals and birds, with a woodserpent that I was lucky enough to only see and not really encounter. The thickness of the forestry and the size of the trees also means that water was abundant, meaning there was a relatively large potfruit thicket nearby—I didn't waste my advantage and drank a lot.

Which of course means I also had to pick flowers a bunch of times, but in a climb with such unsure situations on my way, I have no regrets.

And the climb continues. The trees thin out to only bushes and shrubs that go up to around my waist's height. The area is full of crawlers and walkers, little critters that seem to scurry about everywhere under the cover of the bushes. To make things worse, the predators for these things may not be really big, but they all fly around armed with very sharp eyes and impressive movement speeds—probably to catch the critters off their guard before the critters notice they're coming—which makes them such an annoyance to deal with.

The lack of fruits in the stratum also means I couldn't refresh the things I could sling, making me more wary about using my weapon.

Instead, I opt to use the rope and hook. I've always used it only to support my movement, but I realize that they make for brilliant weapons, too, if I could use them. The issue was that I couldn't, but hey, a sharp object in hand makes a decent enough arm when I need it.

I tell Kotengu that I definitely can't sleep in this stratum when the night falls (because anywhere I sleep would be open grounds for the critters and predators), so we hurry our climb to the next one.

... which happens to look just about the same, just with a little more trees interspersed between the shrubs.

We keep climbing.

We finally arrive at a stratum with more hollow areas that seem to provide good cover for sleeping, and we spend the night there. After another night of nightmares about my family, the climb continues.

Speaking of which, how are they doing, anyway? I've been gone for ... oh, I've really lost count of the days now. I'm very sure it's at least more than two weeks. Maybe a whole month? No, the moons have yet to cycle back to the same night I saw when I Fell the first time.

Did my classmates get punished for Falling me? Oboro, Benimaru, Akashi? What about Gekka? She's the youngest daughter of the Takamatsu family, after all. Would she ever be punished when our parents were the very leaders of the village?

If Gekka didn't get punished, would that mean the other kids didn't, too?

But what if Gekka did get punished?

To begin with, would Father ever really punish Gekka?

... maybe I didn't phrase that correctly.

Would Gekka ever be punished for getting rid of me?

I know for a fact that most of the villagers were more than happy to have me gone. Why else would they have treated me like that? What did I ever do to them that was so wrong? So what if I couldn't play? I know I'm pretty smart. Why couldn't they just be happy about that?

So what if I was basically naked? It's not like they gave me any extra clothes to cover myself up with, anyway. Kura did. Not them.

In the off-chance that Gekka and the others did get punished, though ... what would I do? Would I continue staying in Takamatsu Village? I think I learned some neat tricks down here. Will Mother still make me the same stale old meals?

Will I still get to greet my older brothers and sisters when they come home from their assignments?

Will Father finally look at me in the eye?

I'm well aware that great lapwings make their habitat up to very close to the stratum where Takamatsu Village is situated, which really heightens my anxiety in general as I climb upwards, but the next few days happen to really be uneventful. No more unique strata like the ones with just bushes, or the ones with mud pools and shrubs. No more large beasts like the frogmouth or the anthops. Not much I have to worry about apart from making leaf blankets, finding somewhere to sleep, getting meals, spotting water, and figuring out a place to take care of my droppings.

Then, finally, as I make my climb under the sunray of an open day, I start hearing it: voices.

People.

Language.

... Kunoi language.

I'm close.

Why would I want to return to Takamatsu, anyway?

I have a debt I must pay.

And if that debt is paid?

The climb continues.

I arrive on a very large branch of the Tree that makes a plain opening, surrounded by occasional tall trees to all sides except to my far right and far left—and there, ahead of me, are the wooden gates to Takamatsu Village: square and reddish in all its dirty, unclean glory, with the awkward sign of TAKAMATSUMURA being written atop the gates.

... I'm here.

Which means....

I draw my sling and load my first fruit.

Also, I believe I'll need my korowai for when....

... when I have to fight them.

My final obstacle into the village: the reliable guardians of the gates, the dog guests; the eared, furry companions standing on their two legs at close to five forearms tall, with bones that look like spears along the lengths of their arms.

There's a pair of them. They rouse from their sleep under the nice sunny day, turning their elongated snouts at me, sniffing as if to tell if I were friend or foe.

Not that they would need to know that. It's exactly why we posted them to guard the gates to begin with: because they would attack indiscriminately, friend or foe, except if you were the Matriarch of Kunoi Cluster.

The guhin, the cyocalus. We called them guhin because they made a mess out of the wild four-limbed group hunters that we used to point towards food, the creatures we called dogs—we ironically called these large beasts 'dog guests', or cyocalus. The cyocalus seemed to have grown specifically to hunt dogs. They were bigger, faster, their noses sharper, their fangs longer, and they could fly extremely quickly.

And what if even those were not enough?

They had the bone spears embedded in their arms.

I walk forth. "Kotengu," I warn. "I'll need you to feel exactly what I feel and attack exactly when and where I want you to. I'll need you to find more of the little fruits I can use to sling. I'll need—"

I take my time to look at my raven. My precious, loyal raven. It's all coming down to this.

"—I'll need your help if we're ever going to kill a cyocalus, let alone two of them. Can I count on you?"

The raven gives me an almost condescending look. "Kawk!" Since when can't you?

I nod, and the bird takes off.

The cyocaluses seem to have noticed that I'm walking in the direction of the gate, so they turn to me—oh, goodness, they're big. They're virtually twice my height, and their bodies are so bulky with muscles and fat that their large wings seem almost funny. Their ears are small and triangular, but they're currently tucked behind their heads as they begin showing their fangs at me and growling.

They're trying to tell me to leave.

Good dogs.

I start spinning my sling.

"I'm not going anywhere," I say to them. One snarls at me.

"GRRR—"

I snarl right back. "Come at me, you cowards!"

I run towards them, and they charge at me.

*

A little refresher again on why the Kunoi Cluster domesticated the cyocaluses to be the guardians of their gates.

First, and most importantly of all, they are big.

No. I'm serious. Their territorial nature actually comes later into the equation. The cyocalus gets as tall as five forearms long when standing right up on their two legs, but they're usually on all fours. However, since they mainly attack using their arms in a hunt and use their legs only to pounce and jump to get instantly into flight, most of their muscles go to those limbs. Every other muscle just seems to support those parts, with the exception of the muscles that lead to their wings.

Oh, yeah. Unlike the great lapwing, unlike the frogmouth, and unlike the anthops, they don't use their wings as forelimbs. They have separate forelimbs and wings. In this way, they're much closer to the winged people than they were to people of the Claws or the beasts I've come across. Their wings were wide, but don't really look predatory—that's because, thanks to their heavy muscles, they tend to not fly around a lot. It's not that they couldn't, it's just that it took a lot of energy for them that it would get tiring really quickly.

So, to make up for that small airtime, they fly fast.

To be fair, it's less their flight and more their pounces. Their wings stabilized their already powerful pounce, making them float for longer in the air and allowing them to strike even greater distances than where a simple pounce would've gotten them.

This makes them look extremely intimidating, and not just for show—they cover insane distances in any fight, which makes for a very great deterrent.

Then, and only then, do we mention that they're deeply territorial.

They don't like it when anyone comes into their territory. Not another cyocalus, not a predator, and most especially not prey animals. Oh, they have a special brutality against their preys, which really made me wonder if they lived with hatred in their blood.

Worse yet, in addition to these two factors, they are fearless. They don't fear larger animals—only few animals are larger than they are, and they have yet to show a single hint of fear—and they are nothing short of cruel against smaller animals.

The only saving grace to all this is that they're smart enough to be trained, so that they can be made to associate specific scents with friendly behavior. It's also helpful that they're stupid, actually—stupid enough to be trained without really fighting above their own nature. They're at just the right balance between smart and stupid that the Karura could actually train and utilize them for security.

These trained creatures are what guard the gates of Takamatsu Village, and they don't go down. Like the lapwing, they would fight until the last drop of their blood.

In other words, if I want to get in, I have no choice but to kill them.

If I can even manage that.

Cyocaluses aren't usually group animals, but they do form opportunistic packs. It was why they could post up to two or three cyocaluses as guards—that's as much as they'd tolerate each other.

And, because they hunt in these packs, they understand how to flank their prey.

That's the one thing I can't let happen.

The first cyocalus strikes with a powerful swing downwards from their arm, which I dodge just in time. It draws its other arm, preparing to strike—

But I strike first.

Being this close allows me to make sure I don't miss.

BAM!

The fruit in my sling makes a square, solid impact on the first cyocalus' jaw.

I can feel the second one behind me growing wary—I don't think they expect someone my size to pack that much of a punch. "Kotengu!"

Kawk!

As I load another fruit, Kotengu strikes the head of the cyocalus behind me, pushing it further, giving me space to move.

The first cyocalus starts recovering its position, shaking its head slightly to orient itself back to the situation, but I move first—another slam from the side with the loaded sling.

BAM!

The fruit splatters into pieces, squarely on its left eye.

The cyocalus growls in pain.

As it starts scratching its own eye, I run back towards the second one, who prepares too late against my attack—

But I don't attack.

Instead, I run even further behind it, to the tall tree just a distance away. "Kotengu!"

I throw my hook at my loyal raven, and he immediately swoops the thing off the air and up to the tree, where it securely clings onto a tall branch.

Most of the cyocalus strength lies on their arms and legs. They strike powerful blows and jump incredible lengths. The muscles there are thick—there's no way a simple strike from my sling could rupture them enough to break their bones where it matters.

They also don't rely on their wings all that much, so breaking their wings wouldn't really stop them from moving apart from making it more painful for them to move around.

In other words, if I want them to stop, I need another solution.

That's what I'm going for.

With desperation like I've never felt before, I climb my rope up the tree. To make my climb faster, I also try to run along the surface of the tree—the spiky sandals of the Kunoi really help here, I don't think I gave it enough credit during my fight with the frogmouth.

As I thought—the second cyocalus scrambles to follow me up the tree.

They have strong claws on their forelimbs and huge upper body muscles, so I can't see why they couldn't follow me up. Good. Keep at it. Don't lose me.

"Come here, you fool!" I scream as I pull for one last time, reaching the branch where my hook was stuck. I take my hook with me, load one more fruit into my sling, and prepare.

The cyocalus still climbs up, trying to catch up to me. Come on, come on—

"Kotengu!" I yell. "Find me a fruit for my sling!"

Kawk!

Kotengu disappears back into the forest.

The cyocalus arrives at the branch, snarling like a rabid dog.

Here goes nothing.

With all the remaining strength on my legs, I jump as high and as far forward as I can—

And I open my korowai.

Kura's feathers harden immediately, catching the air, and I stay afloat in the air.

Come here, come here—

The second cyocalus barks, growls, and finally opens its wings.

Kawk!

As my trusty raven emerges from the forest with a fruit in his beak, the cyocalus jumps off the tree with its wings open.

It's fast.

The cyocalus nearly reaches me in no time at all.

With its ugly snout right in my face, I relax my korowai a little—

I fall just in time, feeling the swish of the second cyocalus' arm almost lopping my head where it was. I harden my korowai again, continuing my float, and Kotengu arrives with the spare fruit I need—just in case.

Taking advantage of the second cyocalus' confusion, I aim at the first cyocalus from the air and begin spinning my sling.

Round, and around.

"Kotengu, confuse the cyocalus behind me!"

Kawk!

Round, and around—

I relax one string.

BAM!

The fruit hit the first cyocalus squarely on the shoulder. The creature barked, followed by a bark behind me—the second cyocalus still struggles to get Kotengu off his face.

Come on, come on....

Cyocaluses have incredible leg strength, but they nearly never jump vertically—because their wings are weak in comparison. Instead, when they needed to reach a prey they couldn't....

... the first cyocalus takes a step backward and tilts its body.

Here it comes.

The reliable guardians of the gates, the dog guests....

It seems to struggle a little, because I hurt one of its eyes, but it tries to lock its aim onto me.

The eared, furry companions standing on their two legs at close to five forearms tall....

And, with it, it swings its arm.

... with bones that look like spears along the lengths of their arms.

They were bigger, faster, their noses sharper, their fangs longer, and they could fly extremely quickly.

And what if even those were not enough?

They had the bone spears embedded in their arms.

Oh, yeah. They could throw those. They usually recover them from their preys, but those are body parts anyway, so they grow back.

They rarely ever need to throw the bone spears, but in the rare case that they do....

Thank goodness its aim was as off as I expected.

I relax my korowai, folding my cloak ... revealing the second cyocalus behind me.

The bone spear pierces through the second cyocalus—right through the neck.

With that, Kotengu stops his harassment.

The dog guest seems to struggle for breath, but all that becomes meaningless as its wings slump, its body finally catching up with the fact that all things must fall—

BLAM!

And the second cyocalus hits the ground, sprawled out, dead as a nail with a whole spear sticking out its neck.

I land right next to its corpse—then, very carefully, I draw the bone spear out.

This is my solution.

I can't hurt a cyocalus just by making bruises. I need something sharp.

The Karura use spears, sharpened sticks. They are mass-produced on the pluck of Kunoi Village, where the Karura headquarters are stationed, according to the juhi tablet I read.

I'd love to have sharpened sticks like that.

So why don't I just grab myself one?

And if I didn't have one, then why didn't I just make them do my job for me?

With its own spear in my hand, the first cyocalus seems to finally realize how much it screwed itself up. It still has one more spear to spare, but facing it is now a very angry girl with the power to actually kill it.

Unlike its active attacks just earlier, it now stands still, very cautiously eyeing the bone spear with its one remaining eye.

I move my spear to my left hand as I load my final fruit to my sling and begin swinging.

If it won't attack, then I will.

The cyocalus eyes my swing as it spins around.

Round, and around, and around.

Round, and around....

And around....

And, out of nowhere, a loud voice echoes: "Stop!"

The cyocalus freezes, and I turn around.

It's a sight I've never quite seen before.

Scattered across the skies, flapping their majestic wings, are winged people—but not just any mere winged people. They all wear the same clothes, the same protective suits, the same armors ... made of what looks like backbiter skin.

They all carry spears in the ready on their right side, and all their postures are strong and commanding.

My eyes widen. No way.

Four of them descend, their spears at the ready, but they don't come at me—instead, they approach the remaining cyocalus, pinning the creature down without hurting it. For some reason, the cyocalus obeys....

No way. No, no way.

No way.

Another one descends. This one lands right in front of me. He stands tall at almost four forelimbs high, so I need to raise my face just to see his.

"Are you Karasumori Miyako?" he asks.

"Yes," I answer. "Are you the Karura?"

*