The Last Sídhe

8 - Bird Hunting

It was easy to lose myself in the motions of running.

The repeated impact of my hooves upon ground was a familiar rhythm. The world became a simple mosaic of sensation: the dark grey sky, the wind that stirred the long grass and trees, the warm summer air. A faint hint of electricity crackled through it, clear against my senses, but I didn't care. I welcomed storms.

Even if her death hung on my heart, I embraced Maeve's absence. I didn't have to carry her weight; there was no reason to hold back. The land sped by in a blur as I increased my speed, trees and hills and grass blending into one long stretch of moonlit grey. It was easy to confine my thoughts to the delicious burning in my muscles and the heavy breaths that left my lungs.

Nor did I have to remain trapped in one form. I leapt over a fallen branch and shifted midair, relishing the feel of a new shape, of a change from the last few minutes. Forelegs became wings; I thrust them out, easily catching the wind and soaring higher. My vision sharpened, allowing me to clearly see the land ahead despite the thickness of the night.

Falcons were grand animals.

I flew further up, straining to go faster until the air grew too thin to breathe. An easy tilt of my wings let me spiral back down. A sudden, familiar urge to move shuddered through me; I dove sharply, pulled back up, spun wildly through the air until the rush of energy faded.

Curving downwards, I swept past a hill and dipped closer to the ground. Ahead, the mountains grew higher and rockier: and somewhere within them, the Críoch was waiting. If I continued at my current pace, it would only take a day to relocate it.

Heat buzzed through me at the thought. Finally. I angled myself down even further, skimming over the tops of the trees. Finally, I would return to the Críoch. It didn't matter what happened to me after that: I wanted only to destroy the monsters that had taken so much from me. My thoughts trailed, directed by the anger that sparked in my heart.

I didn't see the arrow until it was too late.

Pain shredded through my right wing. I screamed, losing my balance; it took everything I had to pull up into a controlled dive before crashing into the ground. The world spun as I tumbled across the dirt, finally coming to a halt on my side. I'd landed in a clearing brushed silver in the moonlight—which was fortunately bright enough to see by. Tree branches waved above my head, the whisper of their leaves mixing with the distant buzz of crickets.

I swiftly shifted into my human form: that one was better for assessing damage. A deep gash had been torn through my bicep. I gritted my teeth and moved it—agony seared through me, but at least it worked.

The crunch of footsteps drew my attention upward. Shayne walked past a tree, a bow held tightly in one hand. When our eyes met, an emotionless smile twisted his mouth. He tossed the wood aside, turning his head.

"I told you that human weapons have their uses," he said casually.

The shadows shifted; another Tremluí stalked forward. It had taken the rough form of a bear, albeit missing a foreleg. Shaking its head, it let out a low growl in response. Shayne chuckled.

Despite the pain searing through my arm, a dark grin tugged at my lips. I recognized this one. Maeve's flames had been what tore off that limb. "Nice limp."

The bear's red eyes bored into me. It transformed into a human woman with red hair and falsely bright blue eyes. Now she was missing half of an arm.

"This is a poor excuse for a Sídhe," she said dryly. "At least the others could fight."

Rage burned in my chest, but I widened my smile. "Did you shift just to insult me? It's not worth it. You look even uglier now."

She snarled and stepped forward, but Shayne stretched an arm across her chest. "Not yet," he said quietly.