Fugitive of the Sky

Chapter Six: Bickering and Quarreling

Natan lost track of the fleeing Larkwing as sudden light blotted it out. He stumbled, blinking. He'd discovered the Larkwing right on the edge of the forest. Natan shaded his eyes and tried to spot the Larkwing again. After all he'd been through, this Larkwing couldn't get away from him now. He had to have that cape.

There. Now that he could see clearly, the flapping cape made it easy to follow the Larkwing across the blank sky. Natan glanced behind him. The others hadn't arrived; they must've been farther away than he thought. It was up to him to catch the Larkwing. He wiped his face and rushed after the creature once more. If only he had a bow, he could shoot it down — if he could shoot it, that was — or a knife, or even Tampul's slingshot! With only a sword, he'd have to run after it until it landed or one of the others caught up. A sword wasn't much use until the Larkwing was injured.

Natan glanced up at the fluttering cape again. Hetterah, he was losing it! He threw himself forwards, trying to go faster. His chest burned with all the lungfuls he was trying to eat. There was no way he could go much further, but the Larkwing wasn't slowing down. It only had to make it over the cliffs, and it would be lost.

Natan pushed his body faster. He had to do something to catch up, something that would slow the Larkwing down until—

He heard triumphant shouts from behind him. "DON' LET IT GE' AWAY, NATAN!" Hornar screamed. "WE JUS' HAVE T' HAVE ONE SHO'!"

Natan risked a glance behind him and saw the other hunters burst out of the forest. Notir already had his bow drawn and was aiming. There's no way he can hit the Larkwing from back there! he thought wildly. The arrow whistled loudly as it flew into the sky and shot over Natan's head. He strained to track its path between the pounding of his feet and the shaking of his breaths. The Larkwing swerved abruptly and backpedaled in the air, dropping a little before shooting off in a different direction. Notir'd missed.

Unwillingly, Natan's steps slowed as the need for air overcame him. No! The Larkwing could not get away! But Notir's shot had done something after all. The Larkwing was zigzagging now and had turned to fly along the edge of the cliffs. It knows we're shooting at it, Natan realized with icy shock, and it's trying not to get hit. Not many animals would realize that. Hornar or Notir would shoot it if it tried to fly over the cliffs now, so its only hope was to gain some distance so it could fly over and away without getting shot. How does it know?

Natan shook himself and dashed on, curving right to follow the Larkwing along the cliffs. At least it was slower now that it was darting back and forth to avoid any more arrows. Another arrow blitzed over his head and fell short of the Larkwing's latest drop, but the Larkwing jerked sideways all the same.

He was catching up. Notir and Hornar's arrows were keeping the Larkwing from flying far, and once they hit the mark it wouldn't have a chance. Natan splashed through a freezing little stream and scrambled onto a bank of shale. The rocks cracked and slid away under his feet. He fell forwards and clutched at the branch of a scraggly bush to pull himself up. He leaned on his knees, heaving, and tried to catch his breath a little.

Tampul crashed through the grass and leapt across the stream, but the rocks again crumbled away and he fell back into the water. He jumped up again immediately. "C'mon, trader," he panted, "give me a hand! Th' Larkwin's gettin' farther each second!"

Natan straightened and grimaced at the stitch in his side. He held out one hand to pull Tampul up while holding his side with the other. Tampul wiped his face and bent to grab a stone without looking. "I'm almost close enough tha' I can hit i'. Run on ahead an' slow i' down! I's almost around th' cliff!"

Natan shook his head, too out of breath to object. His legs shook from the effort and his sword hilt was slick with sweat. How was he supposed to slow the Larkwing down?