Sunrise

Chapter Twenty-Six: Perspective

Her companions had rounded a clump of alders and disappeared behind a pile of boulders. Hurrying to catch up, Eilonwy tore around the rocks in her turn and found, too late, that they had halted. She ploughed directly into Fflewddur, who caught her by the arm to keep her from toppling over. "Oof!" she huffed. "What on--"

The words died in her throat as she followed the collective gaze. A few paces ahead, within a thorny bramble, a dark, ragged object was twisted: a mass of thin black feathers whose shape she could barely discern. In fact, she only realized what it was when Taran took a few cautious steps toward it, and a large, awkward head stretched forward from the mass, opening a sharp, hooked beak to hiss at him. 

Eilonwy had never seen a gwythaint up close, but she knew what it was. She'd heard the guards at Spiral Castle speak of them with dread, and Achren had commanded obedience by occasionally threatening to feed her to them. That was nonsense, no doubt...yes, of course it was. But she suppressed a shudder as she crept forward to examine the creature more closely.
Fflewddur whistled. "It's a stroke of luck the parents aren't about. Those creatures will tear a man to shreds if their young are in danger."

Eilonwy glanced at him and back at the misshapen bird, feeling a twinge of grudging sympathy. If that were true, it made them good parents at least, which was more than she would have expected, given the stories. The gwythaint's yellow eye, rimmed with cracked, pebbly red skin, stared them down with unmistakable animosity. The expression was faintly familiar.

"It reminds me of Achren," she said, "especially around the eyes, on days when she was in a bad temper." 

They all turned at the creak of leather, and saw that Doli had drawn his axe. Taran made a startled, defensive motion toward him. "What are you going to do?"

The dwarf snorted, his usual baleful glare magnified. "Going to do? Do you have any more stupid questions? You can't imagine I'd let it just sit there. I'm going to chop off its head."

Eilonwy grimaced, the twinge of sympathy battling with a sense of guilty relief. But Taran grabbed Doli's arm. "No!" he exclaimed. "It's badly hurt."

"Be glad of that," Doli retorted, "If it weren't, neither you nor I nor any of us would be standing here."

Taran stood up straight, towering over the diminutive dwarf, and threw his head back. "I will not have it killed," he declared, chin jutting forward. "It's in pain and it needs help."

Eilonwy stared at him in amazement. Had he gone mad? Compassion was one thing and caution another; and putting this creature quickly out of its misery satisfied both. She opened her mouth to say so, but Taran looked so...so...oh, what, exactly? Standing there, defiant, his eyes blazing, face flushed with righteous indignation. Stubborn, perhaps, but no, that wasn't quite it. This wasn't like all his other displays of hardheadedness; it wasn't all about him, for one thing. She wavered, sliding between revulsion toward the creature and some faint, warm emotion she couldn't quite put her finger on.

The gwythaint squawked weakly, a pitiful sound from so infamous a creature, and strained against the brambles. For a moment it looked no more dangerous than any large bird, wounded and frightened, and Eilonwy's heart smote her.
"Taran's right," she declared, surprising herself. "It doesn't look comfortable at all. For the matter of that, it looks even worse than Achren." 

The boy threw her a grateful glance, but Doli slammed his axe to the ground in disgust. "I can't make myself invisible, but at least I'm no fool. Go ahead! Pick up the vicious little thing. Give it a drink and pat its head. You'll see what happens." He made a jagged motion across his own neck. "As soon as it's got strength enough it'll slice you to bits, and then fly straight to Arawn. Then we'll be in a fine stew."