Winged

Four: Exile

Da dum,    da dum,         da dum,                da dum...                             da dum...

It smells like dried blood. More than enough to erase all the pine and frigid night air of the forest. The scent will attract some gigantic animal, surely.

Night seemed to fall faster than it should have, covering the forest in layers of shadowy creatures that itch and writhe to leave their prisons of darkness and eat me. I see their elongated fingers tipped with midnight claws and the moonlight that glints off of their many teeth. They came from nowhere but the night. And the night came too fast. Time appeared to be speeding up, and the remainder of the boy- of Ethan's- felt as if it were dripping through my fingers. Was it just me, or was his heartbeat slowing with every breath, his face whiter than the moon?

Halie didn't want to leave him, but after much arguing I'd convinced her to fetch her sisters. It was not like the two of us could cart an injured man all the way back to the clearing, and I had already stopped the bleeding. But how did I know to do what I did? How did the thoughts flow so easily from my mind to my fingers, when I can't even remember my own name?

My body shakes from the icy night, and my grotty, bloody fingernails clench my palms tightly. Tighter. I've got to stay awake. It's been long enough, they will be back any minute now. Any minute...

My shirt is torn and wrapped around his chest as a makeshift bandage. I wear nothing now but damp and stained underclothes, yet his arms and legs are wrapped snug. It's cold, I'm insecure, and I wish I'd walked in a different direction and never stumbled across the girls.

The fibres from the fabric I shredded earlier tickle my gums, stuck in my teeth. I pick them out, warily watching the forest.

Crack!

My head whips around, fear coiling around my shoulders like a snake. My hand finds a stick. The noises are far off and I see a bear or a wolf or a...

"It's daaaaark! Ow! There're so many sticks!"

"Shut up."

"No, you shut up!" A branch creaks and then snaps back with a whoosh.

"Ow! Hey!"

The stick clatters to the ground left in my dust as I stand, wiping the dirt from my bare legs. "Halie? Anna? Is that you?"

It is. All five girls call back in response and pick up speed, crashing through the dry sticks and old leaves like a stampede of boars.

Halie emerges first with sticks in her hair, face damp with anxiety. She barley glances at me and falls onto her knees beside the unconscious Ethan. His face is scrunched up even in sleep.

"Ethan? He's asleep! Is he supposed to be asleep?" She cries, eyes wide and urgent.

"He should be okay," I lie "He just needs to be somewhere warm."

The five nod, relaxing a little. All but Annabelle, who takes another sceptical look at Ethan and shakes her head. She can see through my words. We meet eyes, and a moment of fear passes between us.

"Let's carry him back," She suggests, "'Cos it won't do any good to fly him. The trees are too thick to surpass."

We nudge Halie up to her feet, and all of us gently lift him. Annabelle holds his wingless shoulders, I take the torso. The twins take a leg each and Lucy scouts ahead of us, clearing the way.
Halie holds his hand.

꧁꧂

This tower is tiny. Sure, the celling is tall, but sets of wings unsurprisingly take up a lot of room. Mine seek out every rock and jagged edge to scrape against, and the knobbly ends are already rubbed red beneath the feathers. And now five winged girls sit, all but one with wings fully grown, tired and dirty and squished.