Fugitive of the Sky

Chapter Five: The Hunter's Shot

Natan stalked through the trees, trying to be as quiet and as fast as possible. His other companions spread out before him as a silent net through the forest. Any noise would give away their position to the fleeing Larkwing, but they had to run as fast as possible to keep up. The Larkwing was flying fast. They were losing it.

Natan felt a strange twist in his gut. This was the last chance they had before their supplies ran out and they were forced to head back to Liron. They had to hunt down this Larkwing and get its cape. He had to pay his debts somehow. Especially after Natik had died.

Natan's eyes filled at the thought. He shook his head, ruthlessly thrusting the feelings away, and pushed forward. Now is not the time to grieve. Focus on the hunt.

The flash of gold glinted again, slowing. The hunter beside him slowed, expertly drew his bow and aimed. The arrow zinged upwards. The Larkwing flew on. The hunter growled and fired again. This time, there was an ear-piercing shriek and a crash in the trees.

"It's down!" Hornar, the leader of the hunting expedition, whispered harshly. "We'll get it now. Don't just rush in. Surround th' area it fell an' close in slowly. Watch th' trees, too. They like hidin' up there. Don't mess up! We can't let it get away, not after th' other one, understand?" He glared at each one of them in turn.

Natan met his eyes and nodded, his ears still ringing from the Larkwing's shriek. He wanted to throw up. Something about that scream was too human, too painful for comfort. It reminded him of Natik's death. Natan clenched his fists. What is wrong with me? he thought angrily. Why can't I get the job done?

Hornar made a quick jerk of his head, and they spread out. Natan concentrated on watching the trees while feeling the way forward with his feet. A hunter glanced over at him and shook his head in disgust. Natan looked away, a bitter taste in his mouth. He couldn't do everything. His knowledge lay in driving bargains and selling capes, not catching the Larkwings that had them. Not in listening to too-human screams or running endless miles through the forest. Not in dealing with his son's death.

Grief was a hard load to bear. Natan could feel it weighting his steps and dimming his mind, but he pushed it away again. Later. I'll grieve later. He scanned the trees around him for any sign of the fallen Larkwing. Nothing.

Unbidden, his thoughts flitted to the days before Natik had set sail. Natik had laughed that careless laugh of his as they had walked down to the dock. "I'll be back before you know it, with all the wealth you could think of. The West isn't that far by sea," he'd said. "Stop being so worried. I'll be fine."

The gulls had called far overhead, circling the three-masted ship like vultures over a dead body. He and Maru had stood on the docks as the sailors cast off and set sail. Natik had laughed and waved, an enthusiastic light in his eyes at the thought of sailing where no one had gone before. He always loved a challenge.

They'd never seen him again. The ship was wrecked at sea.

Natan blinked, the forest around him coming back into focus. I cannot grieve. Too much had gone down along with that ill-fated ship for him to spend months in grief. Too many merchants demanded payment for things he didn't have. Too many urgent matters needed addressing for him to mourn.

"Nothin'," Tampul fumed, startling Natan. "No sign of th' Larkwin'."

Natan glanced around. The other hunters were loosely gathered in a circle. They all wore various expressions of disgust. Hornar shook his head. "It must've flown onwards after it fell. Th' arrow mustn't have killed it."

"Or someone didn't shoot it," Tampul muttered with a glare at Notir.

"I shot it good as anythin'!" Notir protested, drawing himself up. "I know I saw it fall!"