The rain lightened momentarily. Lisle lifted her head and pushed back a thoroughly soaked hood to rest dripping about her neck.  I don’t know why I even bother to wear it, it’s so wet. She looked to see misty, open air on the other side of the trees to her left. Moving ever North, the companions slogged along, traversing the side of a steep incline, as they pushed closer to Guardian Mountain.

The storm raged on. The group were pummeled with an almost constant downpour. Water streamed away down the incline to their right, rivulets of runoff crossing in front and behind them, rushing to merge into the river far below. The ground was soggy underfoot, mud sucking at their boots. Occasional slides of stones and pebbles made the footing treacherous.

Lisle breathed deeply of the wet air filling the woods. The clean, damp scent would have been pleasant if she had not had so much of it recently. What’s more she was feeling increasingly agitated. She was sure they were being watched, and kept looking around, checking their backtrail every few minutes. Her hand, damp and white-knuckled, gripped the handle of the stoneshot at her belt.

The constant beat of rain pouring down around her was split by a tremendous roar from above that vibrated through Lisle's body. Jumping, she looked up with startled eyes to see Ell arrowing down between the trees. She was terrified that Ell was injured, as Ell landed almost on top of the companions, wings outstretched.

Roaring still, Ell backed into the four of them, herding them behind her, up against the huge trunk of an ancient tree, as she released another stentorian scream of rage at the mist-veiled tree trunks surrounding them.

Frightened still, but relieved, Lisle could feel that Ell was not injured. Ell was terrified and very, very angry.

“Let me see, Ell!”

Yanking her slingshot from her belt, and clamping it between her teeth, Lisle pushed her way free of the green, scaled haunch that held her against the rough, dripping bark of the huge tree. She leapt, grabbing onto a spinal ridge on Ell’s back, and scrambled up to her shoulders, like climbing a ladder.

The sky opened up, rain driving down. Lisle wiped the rain from her eyes and looked to see a dark, man-shaped shadow scuttling from tree to tree, moving ever closer.  

Moss, chattering angrily from inside Lisle’s overtunic, pushed her way out and took to the air, only to be grounded immediately by the driving force of the rain.  She landed at the base of the great tree and pulled herself up the trunk, climbing the shaggy, wet bark upward. Her hair was immediately slicked against her head by the rain in long, green waves streaming down over her shoulders.

“One curse it, Ell! Let me by!” Gareth struggled his way past the wing that pinned him against the tree trunk.

Another scream of defiance from Ell momentarily deafened Lisle as she stared out frantically from under eyelashes dripping with rain, looking for anything that presented a target for her stoneshot.

“Keep yur cussed head down younger!” Terris yelled up at her, wrestling with the enormous tail that held him. “Let go a me ya’ great lizard!”

Gareth pushed by Ell’s wing, knocking an arrow in his bow as he did so. He moved to stand in front of the raging Guardian. Ell roared deafeningly and knocked him aside and behind her with a sweep of her long neck.

Lisle felt rage, frustration and terror filling her up like an overfull water bladder. She had to let it out before it consumed her and opened her mouth to loose her own high, scream of defiance as she flung a stone uselessly into the trees.

From the woods before them, amidst the clattering of rain on the water-soaked ground, a howl of laughter echoed.

*****

Behind a tree, the Hunter bent over, hands on his knees, choking with laughter. Rain poured down around him, drenching his already soaked overcoat and splattering another layer of mud over his hide boots.  It didn’t matter if they heard him. They already knew he was there, and he was delighted by the inept tableau in front of him.

He guffawed as he thought of the Guardian herding and pinning its humans behind it, and those incompetent men fighting against the Guardian, uselessly trying to defend it.

 He laughed so hard he could barely catch his breath.

Then he thought of that younger, sounding like some crazed night singer, wildly flinging a stone at him. It was all just too much, and he howled with laughter again, hardly able to stand up.

That Guardian though, it gave him pause. He sobered and stood up straight, tilting his head and looking out from behind the tree trunk which hid him. Rain dripped from the brim of the hat which protected his eyes as he watched the roaring beast before him. He felt an emotion so foreign to him it was almost frightening. He couldn’t put a name to it.

The huge green-scaled creature was rippling with muscle. It stood upright on powerful hindquarters, long, curved claws gouging huge tracts in the muddy earth. With its wings spread wide, and open, sharp-toothed jaws it looked like some enormous avenging demon.

It seemed a creature not of this world, the likes of which he had never come across before. It was all that he had hoped, and so much more. The beast inspired him, a totally new and unfamiliar sensation.

Suddenly he wanted it, more than he had ever wanted anything in his life.  That Guardian is mine!

He studied the beast. It was covered all over with scales. Even the belly was lined with yellow protective plating.  The Guardian roared again and flapped its wings, its forearms flailing. His attention was drawn to the area just under its forearms. He wiped away the rain which had blown into his eyes and looked to see that under the forearms was covered with small, delicate looking scales. A well-placed arrow there will bring it down, he thought. Then I can deal with the humans.

The Hunter searched the area about him, and pin-pointed a tree which would give him a better vantage point for his shot. Staying low, mist shrouding his movements, he crept into place.

Gareth, brows knitting, looked at the sky with concern etched into his features. The dawn that morning was bright with red streaks, and a solid bank of slate-grey clouds built to the Northeast, stretching from one side of the horizon to the other.

​“That’ll be full on us soon. We’ll need to find good shelter,” said Gareth. Lisle nodded. Gareth knew about such things.

Ell waddled into a running leap, wings outstretched, then shot up between the trees and out of sight. Moss followed her upward for a short distance, wings a green blur. She hovered and turned in a full circle, peering all around them. Seeming satisfied, she fluttered down to land delicately on Lisle’s shoulder. Lisle hitched up her pack, careful not to dislodge Moss, and fell in behind Gareth, who had already started out. Terris followed closely behind them all, as Gareth rapidly outpaced his companions. 

They pushed hard, traveling all morning without a break. Lisle and Terris collected what firewood they could carry along the way.

The terrain grew rockier and they traversed an increasing incline as they moved North. Their feet swished through thick patches of lacey, green ferns growing at the foot of the great trees, and peeking up between large outcroppings of grey-stone.

Gareth scouted back and forth, walking sometimes with them, sometimes ahead or behind. By midday he returned to them, having found shelter.

He led them to a cave almost hidden in an embankment clustered about with tall evergreens. Its entrance was covered over with ferns hanging down from a mass of spongey moss clinging to the rocks surrounding it. Inside was evidence of past habitation by the small, winged darklings for which the forest was named, but the entrance of the cave was relatively clear and unsullied.  Here, there was enough room for their small encampment.

Not long after their arrival, with barely time to get themselves settled, the wind blasted bringing the storm full upon them. Their camp was protected by the grey-rock overhang and remained relatively dry, despite the constant drip of rainwater from the ferns hanging down.

Lisle settled herself on her bedroll. It was pleasant to rest there as the storm raged outside the cave. Very pleasant, she thought, with images of sleeping the day away by a warm fire in her mind. Moss snuggled into Lisle’s pack, wrapped in her small section of fur. Terris stretched out on his bed, hands clasped under his head, legs crossed, the picture of relaxation. Ell sat upright, toward the back of the cave, eyes closed. Gareth crouched close to the entrance, wrapped around with his bedroll, and prodded at their struggling fire with a small faggot. Every few minutes he scanned the storm lashed wood in front of them. Soon the fire was warm and crackling at the cave mouth. The welcome scent of woodsmoke curled around them even as wind and rain howled on the other side of the rocks. Lisle laid her head back. It feels so good to rest, she thought, as she drifted off.

Ell lurched to her feet and moved out from the back of the cave, into the rain, crimson ridged tail thrashing. Lisle's eyes popped open as Ell passed by her, and she  groaned. Time to go, and she nudged Terris with her foot and then Gareth. “P..pack up.”

The companions reluctantly left their shelter. The forest, so quiet the day before, now howled and grabbed at them. Wind-blown rain assaulted them, tearing at their clothes and packs, drizzling cold wet down their necks. Within minutes they were soaked through. Movement kept them warm enough, and travel hardened muscles kept them going.

Ell, grounded by the storm, walked beside Lisle. Lisle was grateful for Ell’s comforting, bulky presence next to her, even as she could feel Ell’s need to hurry. Gareth too, stuck close.

End-day was a miserable affair, hunched against a tree trunk to get out of the worst of the wind and rain. The sky, when they could see it through the driving rain, ranged in color from stone to deepest slate. The dark clouds formed curious, almost black, bulbous patterns such as Lisle had never seen before. Thunder growled and roared almost continuously. The rain, lit by lightening, seemed with each flash, to be caught at a standstill on its way to the ground. Wind thrashed at the tree branches above them which threatened to tear lose and cascade down upon their heads. They rested only long enough to choke down a cold end-day meal, then got up and slogged on, hoping to find shelter for the night.

*****

Rain and wind slashed downward, making tracking, even for the Hunter, near impossible. All traces of the trail he had followed so easily washed away with the storm. Lightning stabbed downward, flashing off dark, wet tree trunks and illuminating the forest about him in skeletal white on black. Thunder roared. The scent of ozone and soaked earth permeated the air.

Resigned, he squatted beneath the low, hanging branches of a densely needled evergreen, as he considered his options.

A short while later, having consumed a portion of dried rooter from his pack, the Hunter stood up, pushing his way free of the sheltering boughs. He stared up into a dark and glowering sky that seemed determined to continue on with its temper tantrum, as rain dripped from the brim of his hat, running in rivulets down over shoulders already soaked.

He picked up a hefty, arm-length branch from the ground in front of him, where it had been knocked down by the heavy winds. Its rain-softened bark felt crumbly and rough in his hands, as he looked about at the changes wrought by the storm. Driving rain wiped clean all trace of his quarry’s passing. The ground was now covered with leaves and debris blown about by the violent weather.

Tracking the humans was no longer possible, but he knew the companions traveled North, running for the safety of Guardian Mountain. He would travel due North and travel fast. With luck he would come across their trail on the way. If not, he would take them at the mountain. I will have that Guardian, he thought, and viciously stabbed the end of the branch he held, deep into the wet earth at his feet.

The day dawned with gentle coral and purple hues peeking through the tree trunks. the effect was lovely and entirely lost on Lisle.  It felt much too early, as she dragged herself from her bedroll. She straightened her travel-soiled tunic, and considered changing into the spare in her pack. Remembering that it was just as abused as the one she wore, she shrugged her shoulders and didn’t bother. Pulling on knit and much mended leggings, she bent to roll her blankets up and felt unaccustomed aches and twinges in her young back. Weeks of travel, fear spurred by the attack, nearly losing Gareth, broken sleep from taking her turn on watch at night, all these had taken a toll on Lisle. Though she would never admit this to the others.

Ell was increasingly agitated, pacing back and forth about their small campsite. Her claws digging in and long tail swishing along the ground. She left an odd, double track through the dirt and fallen leaves and her agitation frightened Lisle. Not because she was afraid of Ell, never that, but because Ell was afraid. Lisle could feel it.

The night before, when Ell finally settled down, Lisle sat with her, arm thrown over Ell’s shoulder, and tried to sense what Ell was feeling. She was unable to perceive any clear images from Ell. Ell’s communications swam with something dark, threatening and very dangerous. Lisle shared this with Gareth, Moss and Terris, but it was difficult to share the dread she felt from Ell.

Pale sunlight drifted through the trees that dawning. It lit a well-practiced traveling routine as they packed up quickly and started on their way. They didn’t take time to eat. Ell would no longer permit it. The companions would munch on leftovers as they walked, just as they had done for several days now. Ell took to the sky immediately and they hustled to keep up with her.

Ell’s wingspan made it difficult for her to fly in the dense trees of the forest so she flew above the tree canopy. This made following her difficult, as her companions could not see her leading the way above the tree tops.  Fortunately, in the first days of their journey, Lisle discovered a trick. She found that if she closed her eyes and turned slowly in a circle, when she faced the direction in which Ell had flown, she would feel her chest suddenly expand with breath, and a tingling sensation of happiness fill her. From this, Lisle was able to point the way, and the companions could follow in Ell’s wake.

For several hours they traveled that morning, their footsteps muffled against the evergreen needles covering the ground. The great forest was quiet and sweet-scented around them. Only an occasional melodic flier call broke the stillness.

Lisle was able to keep her fears at bay. Terris walked at the back of the group, occasionally hitching up drooping trousers grown too big for him, and pulling tight the belt attempting to hold them up. He frequently scanned the wood behind them, keeping watch. Moss flitted about, alert. Gareth ranged ahead, always moving North.

They stopped for midday and ate a cold meal of hopper and meal cakes from the night before. It had been their pattern to rest a bit at midday, readying for more travel later. Today however, Ell stood right after the meal, indicating it was time to move on.

Now Lisle felt the sense of dread returning with each step she took. As aftermidday wore on, increasingly long shadows of branches and tree trunks crisscrossed, menacing the path before them. Lisle’s fearful eyes swept back and forth keeping watch as the sun hid below the horizon with only a cursory attempt at color. A murky darkness filled the forest. When a branch snapped suddenly underfoot, Lisle leapt into the air, startled.

“Easy there. We’ll camp soon enuff.’ You’ll feel better with a nice fire goin’ and some supper in yer belly,” said Terris, though he moved his hand to rest on the knife tucked into his belt and scanned one again behind them as he walked.

They caught up to Gareth where he had stopped by a narrow, trickling brook.  They would make camp next to its soothing song. Gareth had caught several ground fliers during the day, and Terris set to preparing the meal. Lisle, with a watchful Moss on her shoulder, ranged close by, collecting for their cookfire. When the food was ready, Terris handed portions around, and Lisle looked up at him, smiling tiredly and reached out for the food. “Ta, m…m…my f…friend.” 

That night, Ell made them all nervous, pacing about at the edge of camp, tail lashing, her eyes fixed on the looming darkness surrounding them. Finally, she sat down, wrapped her tail about her foreclaws and closed her eyes. She remained sitting upright, motionless, even past the time when the others lay down to sleep.

Lisle woke during the night when a sleepy Moss tapped her on the cheek. She looked over to see that Ell had finally lain down to sleep. Reassured, she sent Moss to her bed of fur in the pack, and got up to watch.

*****
The Hunter squatted easily and studied the ground in front of him. Hard, grey eyes took in any signs of track or disturbance.

The Guardian traveled more and more on the wing where he was unable to see her from beneath the dense green overhead. This was not a problem; he tracked her human companions easily, the play of a younger for his hunter skills. What’s more, they travelled due North, their objective Guardian Mountain. He knew this from the information the boy-man, the one who’d hired him, had imparted.

His quarry was the Guardian of course, not the humans. Though he would deal with them when the time came.
A Guardian! The thought brought a frisson of excitement coursing through his body, the likes of which he had not felt since his first hunt as a boy. Now older, skillful and experienced, he found that hunting, even humans, was getting to be just more of the same. Where was the anticipation? The thrill? He thought. A Guardian now, that was quarry worthy of him.

The Hunter traveled fast for several days and was gaining on them rapidly.  Soon, he thought, his lips a grim, satisfied slash across his face.

So intent was he upon the enticing hunt for the Guardian this day, that he did not at first notice the ominous, blackening storm clouds at the horizon. It was most unusual for him to be unaware of his surroundings in that way, and he spared a moment for thoughts of chastisement. Such self-recrimination was short-lived however, almost as unusual as his initial inattentiveness. He noted the changing weather, taking it into his calculations, and refocused on tracking.

Several days passed and Gareth’s condition improved rapidly. Soon, he was sitting up, and able to lean carefully against the grayed trunk of a tree whose branches provided a canopy for their campsite hidden within Darkling Forest.  A few more days saw him standing and moving about tentatively.

Finally, he was well enough to travel.
​
The night before they were to leave, Gareth lay,  his head resting on a bedroll and hands clasped over his stomach. Lisle watched Gareth as he scanned the woods with haunted eyes. She sat with him beside their neat fire, holding slender hands over the coals. Despite it being full summer, the evening air was damp and chilly. Moss sat, watchful, upon Lisle’s shoulder, running tiny fingers through the verdant tangles of hair haloing her small head.

Ell lay curled, tail tip over muzzle, eyes open, reflecting the small flames of the campfire. Only Terris seemed relaxed,  fiddling about in his pack, pulling out various small bags of herbs and considering each one. Wagging his head in the negative, he’d stuff the small bag back into his pack and reach in for another one.

Haltingly, Lisle told Gareth of all that had happened after he was shot. She told him how Terris had saved the Guardian.

Terris looked up at them. He squared his shoulders. “I didn’t do nothin’ you wouldna’ done if you coulda’ Gareth.” Then he looked down quickly and fumbled with the bag he was holding.

Gareth carefully pushed himself to a sitting position. His lips twitched but he nodded solemnly to Terris.

Lisle continued on, telling Gareth how Moss had chased away Gareth’s startled assailant, quite possibly saving Gareth’s life. At this, Moss stood up on Lisle’s shoulder and puffed up her chest, wings lifting. She shook her fist at their remembered foe and loosed a string of staccato, clattering syllables.

Finally, Lisle told him how the Guardian sat with him, not eating, not moving for days, as Lisle cared for him the best she knew how. “W…which was n…not v…very g..good,” she said, looking down at hands now twisting in her lap.

“It was good enough. My gratitude to all of you,” Gareth looked at each one in turn as he said this. Then, eyes and head tilting up and to the side, he remembered, “I heard singing off and on, thought it was my Marn.” He turned to look at Lisle. “Was it you?”

“It e…eased y…you. I…I sang e…even when you w…went into th…that s…sleep. I d..didn’t k…know what else to…to d…do.”

Gareth shifted to look at her directly, grimacing slightly as his newly healed wound pulled. His eyes lighted,  “I had a dream.”

Gareth told Lisle of the lake and meeting Ell and the choice she had given him.

A pot crashed, jolting Gareth and causing Lisle to start. Together, they looked over to see Terris trying to regain his balance as he leapt over the offending pot now lying on its side on the hard-packed earth and stumbled to his knees. He looked up at them with an embarrassed grin.

Gareth pushed himself to his feet. Looking down at Terris he stepped over and offered him a hand up. Terris looked at the proffered hand with eyes wide, but accepted it and got to his feet. “Ta,” said Terris as he brushed off the legs of his trews, and set about righting the pot to make breakfast.

The next morning, they packed up and set off. Gareth walked up front, occasionally moving off into the woods, then returning to say all was clear. They didn’t travel far that day. Nor could they travel far for many days as Gareth gradually gained his strength back. Lisle took to feigning exhaustion at times to get Gareth to rest, and Terris soon caught on and contributed his own weary complaints. Gareth lost patience with them a few times, refusing to stop.

Unusually, several times each day Ell dropped down from where she flew above the sheltering canopy of the forest, back winging to come to land before them, dried leaves and dust flying up into the air about her. She would settle herself for a rest and look over at them calmly as if this was their usual routine. Always, this was just as Gareth felt exhaustion setting in, despite the desire to push himself. The companions soon learned that she would travel no further until they had all rested. 

That afternoon they settled by a brook. It was a comfortable place with the sound of the running water nearby. It was an hour or two before dark and they sat around a crackling fire, replete from a supper of ground flier, which Ell had provided, and Terris had seasoned with just the right herbs and a touch of salt.

Terris fiddled with the handle of a pot that needed mending. Then he looked up at Gareth. “It’s a strange thing I’ve jus’ remembered. That man what attacked the Guardian, he yelled, ‘For the Fallen!’ Jus’ like that. That man was terrifyin’, he was. He wanted to die.”

Gareth looked up sharply, “The Fallen? I remember something of that.” Gareth searched his memory for stories he had heard back when he was traveling with Lur. “There was a group who worshipped one called The Fallen. Anyone who serves the One is their enemy. Those that attacked us, they were after Ell. Makes sense her being a Guardian and of the One.”

Terris groaned. “Rend and tear it,” he said, shaking his head. He put the pot down and took out his knife and whetting stone, and began scraping the blade carefully against the stone. ”We’ll be ready for ‘em if they comes back.”

Gareth looked at him, eyebrows raised, his lips tiling upward. He recognized his own cuss words coming from Terris’s mouth, but said nothing. He was feeling a growing respect for the small man before him; glad now that Terris was with them.

“Yes,” said Gareth, “we will.”

Tim trudged into yet another village. He had traveled from town to village and further; so far, he no longer cared to know the name of each place. Always searching, never finding the man he sought.

All that wandering in strange places combined with something deeper and darker within him. It hardened him, firming up the boyish contours of his face into something a miscreant, bent on mischief or worse, would think twice about messing with. His odd, light green eyes beneath dark, glowering brows, and his long blade kept most trouble at a distance.  Knife throwing ability, honed by the pain of rejection, now protected him in his journeying. It took only one well-placed hit to warn off trouble makers. He never actually had to hurt anyone, but they didn’t know that. 

Tim entered the dingy room of the only tavern in this particular village. The much abused, wood floor creaked beneath his feet. It was early yet and the place was empty of customers. One, grimy window and a meager fire contributed little to the poor illumination. The air reeked of stale, spilt ale.

Time approached a stout, aproned man with a proprietary look about him, sweeping the floor with hard strokes. “I’m looking for the man called, ‘The Hunter.’

The man, stilled and leaned on his broom, squinting up at Tim. “I mighta’ seen him and then I mighta’ not.”

Tim tucked his thumbs into his belt and drummed his fingertips impatiently. “I am the Voice of The Fallen.”

The tavern keeper gasped and dropped his broom. He took a step away from Tim, and then another. “The, the… Fallen?” He made a warding gesture with his thumb and forefinger crossed and pressed against his forehead.

Tim had seen the gesture in each town he entered. It no longer concerned him.

“The Hunter, he, he, he…” The man paused to collect himself, looking down at the floor, suddenly submissive. “The Hunter, he comes in here reglar.”

Watching the man, Tim slowly pulled a coin from the pouch at his belt and flipped it in his fingers. “Tell me of him.”
The tavern keeper glanced at the coin and took a step closer. He flicked a look back over one shoulder and then the other. Leaning in toward Tim, he said quietly, “The Hunter hunts and tracks bettern' most men breathe.”

Tim listened, flipping the coin.

“He hunts for meat and fur, trades it in town here. But that’s not why they calls him the Hunter." The tavern keeper leaned closer to Tim’s ear and whispered, “He likes to hunt men. 'More interestin,’ he calls it.” He paused, head up and looking about himself, his hands wringing the yellowed apron he wore into a twist.

Tim continued flipping the coin.

The tavern keeper licked his lips. “He don’t come back without what he’s huntin’ for. He don’t much care what shape they come back in and neither should you if you hire him."

Tim flipped the coin at the man and dropping his apron, the tavern keeper caught it deftly with one hand, and tucked it quickly into a pocket beneath his apron.

“Where can I find him?”

“Most times he eats here when he’s not huntin’. You’ll find him if you waits long enough.” He bent to pick up his fallen broom and continued sweeping.

Tim waited several days. He slept by the hearth at night, and kept watch from a table by day. He intentionally chose a dark, corner table where he might not be observed from the door and ordered just enough to keep the tavern keeper satisfied.

On the third day a tall figure moved across the threshold of the doorway, momentarily blocking the light from entering the room. Tim looked at the owner of the tavern and the man nodded slightly at him, then he glanced casually over at the Hunter. It was difficult to make our facial features in the gloom, but the Hunter moved gracefully, like the animal he was named for. A fur-lined hide hat covered his head. A long bow was slung over his shoulder, a quiver of arrows at one hip. At the other hip he wore a long and deadly looking hunting knife in a worn, leather scabbard. Hide boots covered his feet and laced about his calves. Tim watched as he stalked across the floor and lowered himself to sit at a table facing the door, stretching out his long legs.
​
 “Ale,” the Hunter said, his voice low and husky.

“Yes, Sirrah. Right away.”

The tavern keeper busied himself filling a glass and placed it before the Hunter; nervously wiping up a non-existent spill on the table before scuttling away.

The Hunter removed his heavy hat, dark with stains, and placed it on the table beside him. Black strands of hair hung lankly about his lean, sharp-boned face. The rest of it was tied at the back of his neck with a leather thong. He drank deeply of the ale in silence.

Tim stood, holding a tankard and moved to stand beside the hearth on the other side of the room. He turned sideways to the Hunter, leaning his arm on the mantel, taking a sip now and then. He studied the man, careful not to attract his attention.  

The tavern filled up. It was a popular place being the only one in the village. The Hunter finished his meal and pushed his plate from him, reaching for his second glass of ale.

Two, large, rough-hewn men, entered the tavern. They hefted traveling packs over their shoulders and looked about themselves appraisingly, as if unfamiliar with the tavern. The tables were all occupied, each with several men, drinking and eating. All except for the table where the Hunter sat, alone.

The two men approached his table. “Mind if we sits here?” Spoke one.

The Hunter didn’t look up from his ale. “I mind,” a rough whisper.

The second man, placed his hands on the table and leaned into the Hunter. “Look you, we needs a place to sit. The tables is all full.” 

The tavern keeper stood, slack-jawed, eyes wide and staring. Then he shut his mouth with a snap and ducked behind the bar.

With no change of expression, the Hunter set his drink on the table, grabbed one of the hands on the table before him with his own, stood and yanked hard, spinning the hapless stranger about. The Hunter’s other hand rapidly unsheathed his long-bladed knife and held it to the man’s throat. A few deep red droplets welled up from where the edge of the knife pressed against skin. The man stood paralyzed in the Hunter’s grasp, eyes wide with terror. His companion backed up a step and reached hesitantly toward his own blade.

“This table’s taken,” the Hunter said quietly into his captive’s ear. Removing the knife, he pushed the man away, ignoring the companion. Wiping the edge of his blade on his pant leg, the Hunter sat back down and picked up his drink. The man stood staring at him, hand at his throat. His companion grabbed at his friend’s shoulder, eyeing the Hunter warily, and dragged him away.

Having seen enough, Tim put his tankard down on the mantel and moved quietly to stand in front of the Hunter.
The Hunter eyed him, hard gray eyes narrowing a warning. Tim suppressed the involuntary shudder that ran up his spine and said, “The Fallen has a job for you.”

The Hunter leaned back, tilted his head to the side staring up at Tim. He said nothing, considering the boy-man before him. He took a long swig of his ale, then nodded his head as if to himself. He nudged a chair toward Tim with his foot and rasped, “I’m listening.”

Gareth woke to find himself floating upon the surface of water so clear he could see all the way to the bottom, deep below. He was aware that he was dreaming. He felt neither warm nor cold, but surrounded with comfort, as if lying upon a bed of softest down.  All around him were the grey rock walls of the cave in which the pool was nestled. Shaggy stalactites hung from the cave roof high above his head, sparkling in the ambient light infusing the space.

He drifted for a time; his mind quiet, a sound gradually penetrating his awareness. He idly identified it as water trickling down the walls of the cave. It soothed him.

He felt himself gently sinking, though he experienced no fear. The water held him like his mother’s arms. He heard her singing softly and felt safe and loved. He drifted downward, breathing easily, eyes avidly taking in the sparkling, crystalline structure surrounding him. Down, down, until he rested softly on the watery bottom of the pool.

Light filled him, so bright he had to close his eyes. He discovered as he did so that the light was within him as much as outside of him, and closing his eyes did nothing to damp its glory.

With the light, he felt love pour into him and spread outward from him. Love and joy such as he had never known. It lifted and carried him, expanding him outward, leaving the cave far behind. He saw a great, shining web of light stretching out around him in every possible direction. He knew without thought that he was a part of this web of light, a part of this expression of the One.

His vision shifted and he was sitting on the huge rock where he had played as a younger. The sun was shining golden white in an impossibly blue sky as morning fliers twittered in the trees. As he breathed in his nostrils filled with the sweet, rich, earth smell that permeated the air all around him. Looking about he saw the Guardian, Ell, sitting beside him. A beautiful blue-white light shone from her, outlining her carnelian ridged head and wings folded upon her back.

He placed his hands together before his heart and bowed his head. Pink light washed up from her chest to surround him. He felt a wave of joyous tingling rushing up and down his spine, his arms and even the outside of his legs. The feeling was so intense that all he could do was close his eyes and breathe it in, gasping great lungful’s of sweet air. He wanted nothing more than to fill himself with the bliss of that love.

Gradually the waves of tingling subsided and he opened his eyes to look adoringly at Ell.

You have served me well, Gareth. In serving me you serve the One. You now have a choice. You may stay here, or you may return. Either way you serve the One.

Gareth heard her mind voice with delight. He breathed deeply of the rich earth, feeling the sun warm upon his face as he closed his eyes. He felt peaceful; an expansive sensation of love permeated his being. He was sorely tempted to stay.

Sweet singing wafted gently to his ears. Ah, my mother, and he listened as the music surrounded him.

His thoughts drifted. If he stayed, he realized he could never return to Mina. He felt a sudden deep sadness at the loss of what could have been, and was surprised by a vision of a cozy cottage in the woods. He looked closely and there was Mina, sitting in the sun on a bench beside the front door of the cottage. Her skirts were tucked about her feet and curling strands of hair framed her lovely face. She bounced a plump and laughing baby on her lap. She looked at him, then smiled with such love that he thought his heart might explode.

He longed for the vision to return, like the longing for a sweet dream awoken from too soon.

The smell of rich, damp earth brought his thoughts back and he realized that if he stayed in this beautiful place, not only would he lose his chance at a life with Mina, but Lisle and the Guardian would travel in danger without him.
Now he felt the pain of staying as an intense, red, throbbing ache in his side that traveled all the way down into his legs.

Gareth startled awake, his eyes flying open. He moved, throwing the blanket back, groaning with the effort, and Lisle was there beside him, helping him.

“Praise the One. Y…you’re b…b…back.”

Gareth looked up to see relief and joy flooding Lisle’s hovering face. He grimaced a smile, and eased his painful side into another position.

A loud chittering blasted his ears. Scolding, Moss fought her way out from under the blanket inadvertently thrown over her in Gareth’s attempt to get comfortable.
“She h…hasn’t left y…your suh..suh..side.”

Gareth’s lips twitched upward. He was relieved to be back, glad to be alive. His eyes fluttered shut even as he tried to keep them open, and he was asleep.

*****

Fal curled his long, darkly scaled tail and tucked it between muscled forearms, long, ivory talons clicking on the stone beneath him. He sank deep into the blackness behind his eyelids. Quickly, before the awful voices found him, he turned his mind’s eye to look in the direction of Darkling Forest. There he saw a blaze of light. My humans have failed! The Guardian, Ell, lives!

Fiery anger consumed him. He threw back his head, opened great, toothed jaws and released a roar of rage toward the ceiling of his cave. Pebbly grit loosed from the cave walls and ceiling, rattling downward to land unheeded around him.

The Guardian still travels to the mountain. I will stop her. There will be no Unification! 

Calming, the Fallen willed himself back down into the inky depths. He searched further, seeking not the blaze of indigo of the Guardian, but a murky, brownish light, just this side of black. There! The Hunter. He had no other name.
Fal came upon the Hunter several years ago in his meditations. The dark, brownish hue, almost as dark as his own, hinted that this one might be of use to him. He kept watch over the Hunter’s movements, waiting for the time to come, when he would have need of him.

He knew it would be a risk. A light like this one could never be trusted. The Hunter did not fear pain or death. He did not fear the Fallen. He feared only boredom, that grating, deadening sameness. Fal would have to entice the Hunter, offer him what he lived for - the excitement of the hunt.

Fal refocused his mind to find the small, bluish light that was Tim, and he called.
 

The four travelers resumed their journey and Terris began his. He had spent his entire life in the area around that small town. Such a small town that it had no other name but home. The increasingly unfamiliar woods surrounding them caused his belly to tighten and roil. He was afraid he might lose what little was left in there.
​
The young man, Gareth his name was, walked behind him, bow in hand, arrow nocked though not drawn. Terris knew because he kept a wary eye behind him every chance he got, and the more he looked, the worse he felt. The hairs on the back of Terris’s neck tingled, he knew that any minute he might feel an arrow penetrate his back.

He heard the twang of the bow and zing of an arrow swishing by, and fell to his knees, covering his head with his hands, frantic, sure he was about to be skewered.

“Hmph,” Gareth, his disdain audible, stepped around him and strode a short way through the cold drizzle that had been falling all day. He fetched back a small burrower. Terris knew without doubt that the man would just as willingly have brought him down.

He heaved a sigh of relief and stood up, falling back into step on the wooded path behind the girl-woman, Lisle. His feet landed softly on the rust-red pine needles covering the floor of the forest. Massive trees grew up all around. Huge, rough barked trunks soared into the air to end in deep-green needled branches high overhead. Slate grey sky peeked here and there through the dense, verdant canopy that dripped with moisture.

The Guardian spent much of that day in the air. He saw occasional glimpses of her, wings extended, soaring over the tree tops, always heading North.  

The green flitter hovered beside Lisle’s shoulder then settled into what seemed to be her accustomed traveling seat. She held onto the girl’s tunic lightly with miniature hands. Terris winced. He wished he’d never seen the little crawlies. He remembered how magical they had seemed to him as a child. Now seeing the tiny flier just made him shiver.

In time, the group stopped for the night. Lisle approached and stood in front of Terris. “Y..You can c..c..cook?”

Terris shuffled his feet, looking away from those penetrating brown eyes. “Cook?” His voice came out higher than he liked. Dropping his chin, he grumbled. “I can cook.”

The girl-woman nodded  and turned away.

Well, thought Terris, if I’m to cook that means I’ll not be cooked. Feeling a little better he put down his pack and went to look for firewood. He didn’t go far. There was fallen wood at hand and the man was watching. Terris didn’t want to give him any reason to come after him. Not with that steely look in his eye.

As he gathered broken branches, a thought came to him that further cheered him. If I’m the one as is doin’ the cookin’, not only’ll I not be et by that Guardian but I’ll probly be able to get somethin’ ta et for myself.  

Despite the dampness of the wood, Terris was able to get a good fire going. He was pleased with himself, fire skills learned as a blacksmith served him well here. He found the pot and some grain among the things dropped by the others. From his own pack he pulled a small bag of salt and a bag of cooking herbs he had gathered at home and dried himself.

Terris was a mediocre blacksmith, but he loved to cook. Not that it mattered none. My boys woulda’ et a chunk a wood if I put it in front a them.

Gareth placed the burrower next to him and Terris fell to preparing the meal with a feeling almost like enthusiasm.

As he worked, Terris remembered the many nights he’d gone to sleep as a child, hunger cramping his belly. The fear of it gripped him now, but it looked as though he’d eat. At least tonight. Then a less appetizing thought occurred to him. Probly juss fattenin’ me up for the Guardian. Terris ducked his head, shoulders pulling in and climbing up around his ears as he hunched down and stirred the pot over the fire.

Camp that night was cold and wet. But there was plenty of good, warm supper cooked over a crackling fire, and Terris was content in that if not in his damp bedding.

The days of travel passed. Terris was sore, muscles unused to travel complaining. He felt every day of his forty odd summers. It seemed a long trip already and who knew how much longer it might go on. Daily, the tall, young man, Gareth walked with bow ready behind him. The constant tension of it made Terris jumpy and irritable.

They traveled through dense forest. Even if he could have escaped, he would have had no idea how to get back home, much less survive till he got there. He was no hunter. He could use a knife well enough. Not a bow though. He had had no time for the practice it would have required.

Feet trudging methodically forward, his thoughts meandered back to his life in the village. He was surprised that he felt no real connection there, not even with his sons. His parents were gone, as was his wife. He felt a twinge of guilt as a sense of relief filled him. He’d no longer have to support them all at a trade he disliked.
 
He had made a scant living smithing, crude work he learned from a man who came to town and stayed a short while with his family when Terris was a young man. Back then, he had immediately seen the possibilities of learning such a trade. But the time had been too short to learn anything but the most basic of metal work, and Terris was not naturally talented in the art. Still it fed him, his parents and wife while they were alive, and his sons.

Now, it didn’t matter what kind of smithing he did, it did him no good. The strength in his arms and shoulders didn’t help much traveling except carrying wood. It certainly didn’t help him to keep up the pace they set all day long. I’m doin’ better now though, he thought, and they don’t make me carry more’n my share.

He felt his shirt grabbed from behind.

“Trouble!” Gareth’s voice was low and guttural. “Lisle, Guardian, ‘ware.”

Terris was pushed roughly to the side. He pulled out his knife and looked around wildly. He saw a man step onto the trail ahead and fall, Gareth’s arrow in his chest. He looked for the Guardian. She was just ahead. No one would dare fight a Guardian, he thought. I’ll juss’ go on up there. Terris stole quietly up beside the Guardian and crouched behind it’s bulk. The Guardian stood, rigid and alert. Terris wondered that it did nothing aggressive, but decided that this was still the safest place to be.

The girl-woman, Lisle, stood at the Guardian’s head, whirling her sling. The green flitter hovered above her head, then shot off into the wood. Terris looked about and saw Lisle's target, a roughly dressed man, bow drawn to shoot. The man aimed at the Guardian and stepped out from beside the dark, dripping trunk of a tree. He went down hard as a rock from Lisle’s sling slammed into him, his arrow, suddenly released, tangling in the bow string as he fell. Where was Gareth?

“For the Fallen!”

The wild shout jerked Terris’s head about. Another man ran at the Guardian, crazed eyes wide in a skeletal face. He grasped a long, deadly looking knife in two hands, held high over his head, ready for a powerful, downward thrust. Terris crouched ready to run. The Guardian did nothing.

Why isn’t she protecting herself?

Frantic, terrified, Terris launched himself at the man catching him at the knees with his broad shoulders and grabbing for the knife now threatening his back. Terris knocked the man backward and grappled for the blade.

The man was big, strong and fought desperately. He flipped over, pinning Terris beneath him, using his weight to force the knife downward toward Terris’s chest. The man had a fanatical gleam in his eye like nothing Terris had ever seen. Terris grasped and pushed, straining, blind terror lending strength to the powerful muscles of his arms and hands. He forced the knife up and back, pushing the man off him with a sudden, upward thrust of his legs. Terris rolled over on top of the man, knife at the man’s throat. He had him. They both knew it. A look of grim resolve eased the rictus of tension on his assailant’s face. The man’s eyes slowly closed. Hands over Terris’s on the knife the man calmly forced the knife downward hard into his own throat.

Terris leaped back off the man, horrified. He’d never seen anything like that. Backing away he came up against a tree and slumped to the ground, shaken and trembling, staring at his blood-covered hands.

“Gareth!” The cry was high, almost a scream. Lisle raced back along the trail.

Terris looked up, stunned eyes tracking her. She threw herself to the ground beside Gareth who sat, canted at an angle, leaning one shoulder against the rusty, furrow barked base of a tree. He stared down at where an arrow protruded from his side, a bright red stain spread on his tunic. His eyes were wide with surprise and disbelief.

Tim stood at the entrance to the cave which squatted at the base of Guardian Mountain, one tan and dirt encrusted hand grasping the rough, grey rock at the cave mouth. He leaned his head inward, straining his eyes to peer into the dark depths.

He knew it was here, though he didn't know what 'it' was.  

Tim was tired. It had been three anxious suns of walking due north through the frightening Darkling Forest. Yet anything was better than the torment of living with the scorn of his brothers and father, and his own growing hatred. The nights of his journey had been terrifying,  wakeful, hearing his name called over and over. All of it had brought him unerringly to this place.

While his body might be tired, his heart was thumping hard with excitement. He just knew this was what he was seeking; this was what had been calling him. 

Wind rushed past his back, carrying browned leaves fallen too early for the season, and brushing them on by. He didn’t notice. He was too intent on studying the tiny flashes of light which blinked at him from countless crystal points embedded into the walls and ceiling of the cave.

He heard a loud, snorting breath bellowing forth from some huge beast within and startled backward, his head rearing up. He saw it then, an outline of darkness, shadowing the crystal points of light, moving slowly toward him from the back of the cave. He heard the crunching sound of movement on rock, heavy and slow.

Terror vyed  for control of his body. His mind knew he should run yet his heart kept him rooted to the spot.

A deep green, scaled forearm stepped into the light. His eyes followed it downward as long, ivory talons curved into view, then another forearm moved up beside it, cruel talons clicking on rock. A tingling thrilled through Tim’s arms and legs, his body begging him to flee. Still he did not.

His mouth dropped open unheeded, full lips dry, as Tim’s dark lashed eyes followed the gleaming, scaled forearms back up to powerful shoulders, rippling with muscle. Shoulders which shone in the light as the enormous beast emerged from the dark shadows of the cave. Tim's riveted gaze picked out the sparkling details of each scale, looking as though they were made of purest, dark green emerald. He had never seen anything so beautiful.

His eyes traced further upward to the sinuous neck, reflecting the sunlight in an emerald green so dark as to look almost black, shading back and forth with a startling sapphire blue as the neck wove to and fro in the light. The effect was mesmerizing.

Tilting his head back to look further up, Tim saw powerful jaws and ridged, reptilian head duck under the rock overhang as the beast emerged slowly from the dark of the cave, it’s claws grating and crunching over the rock floor.

Run! Run! Run! Tim’s mind screamed at him even as he ignored the fear that coursed through his body.

A Guardian. It called me here. It wants me! Awe filled his chest on a gasping intake of breath.  He had never been so sure of anything in his life. Here was power, strength, and dominance, everything he wanted and more.

Tim fell to his knees bumping his forehead to the ground, almost touching the great, ivory claws. “I will serve you with my life, Great One, only give me  your power and strength,” his words fell to the earth followed by tears of fear, release and joy.

The huge jaws lowered deliberately to hover in the air just above Tim’s head. The breath blew out through enormous nostrils and Tim felt his hair parted and blown about. He didn’t dare to move. Perhaps the Guardian will take my life. He trembled involuntarily at the thought. It would be my honor to serve so, though he hoped the Guardian would have better use for him than that. He kept his head bowed to the ground, clenching his elbows tight to his sides trying to still the trembling that shook him.

It would seem that it did have a better use for him, because he felt the warm wind of breath quiet and the great head move away.
Tim lifted his own head from the ground and risked a glance upward. Large, round pupiled eyes the color of molten gold stared down at him from the bejeweled head, green ridges, dark as obsidian, standing high.

The Guardian slowly turned, long, graceful neck curving around, claws scratching over stone, and moved back into it’s cave. Tim knelt, watching spellbound.  The beautiful creature turned it’s head back once again to look at Tim, as if in invitation.

Tim, tear streaked face full of boyish wonder and pure delight, scrambled to his feet and followed.    
  

​The area in which they stood was deserted now, all but for the Guardian who stood, wings folded upon her back, golden eyes staring unblinking at the man who lay, shivering before her, looking up.

Lisle, after releasing the frantic captives, stood beside Ell. Moss landed upon Lisle’s shoulder and curled her fingers into the folds of Lisle’s tunic, hanging on with all the force of her tiny body. Lisle rested her hand upon her Guardian’s scaled shoulder and felt heat rise into her palm.  Gareth stood over the prone man, watching him, hand on the hilt of the hunting knife that he had tucked into the scabbard at his waist.

The Guardian, shook her wings slightly and moved away a few steps. She settled herself upon her haunches. Slowly she eased her foreclaws along the ground to lie down, as a small hunter will, tail curled about her. At a glance and a nod of her muzzle at the ground beside her, Lisle understood that Ell wanted her to sit down at her side.

Moss clung tightly as Lisle moved to sit down beside Ell.

“Yuh…you’re safe n…n…now.” Lisle whispered to the tiny, green flyer clinging to her shoulder. 

Ell closed her eyes and Lisle did the same, leaning back against her Guardian’s warm, scaled abdomen. It was almost too warm for Lisle's comfort.  Lisle took a breath, trying to calm herself, deeply inhaling the light floral scent that always accompanied her Guardian. She felt her insides still roiling with anger at this small man who had imprisoned Moss and her companion. How dare he try to earn coin from their misery? Her inner vision filled with fire, red and burning.

She felt Ell’s side rumble against her back and heard a low, guttural growl. She knew that Ell too was angry. In an attempt to calm herself, she envisioned an expanse of water, of deep, crystal serenity. Immediately its surface began to boil as if a great fire burned within its depths. Not knowing what else to do, she just watched the seething bubbles, not trying to calm them. The bubbling held her attention and that in itself was calming. Gradually the bubbles subsided, now just rippling the surface. The water calmed.

She felt Ell take a deep, whooshing breath, sounding like the bellows of the smithy she saw here in this village. Feeling peaceful now, she opened her eyes and saw that Ell’s head was turned, eyes open and watching her. Ell reached over and tapped Lisle gently on the forehead with her muzzle as she had done once before.

Lisle closed her eyes and felt herself sink beneath the surface as peaceful waters closed over her. Noting without surprise that she had no trouble breathing, she drifted to the bottom as serenely beautiful white light surrounded and filled her. Looking around herself she saw the Pathways of the One, that vast web of light stretching out in all directions.

There was the man, she realized his name was Terris, a spark upon the web. His colors were a bit muddied at the edges but a clear aqua toward the middle. She wanted to feel angry with him, even here, but it was all too beautiful, so balanced and perfect.
She looked about for Ell and found her blazing light close by. Ell’s light grew into a figure of light, her Guardian, shining from within with that sparkling, cobalt blue light. Lisle stared, riveted by her beauty, floating before her in that space of light.

Gradually an idea formed in Lisle’s awareness. It took shape and grew within her. She understood that the concept came from Ell, dropping whole and complete into her awareness without words. Ell wanted her to communicate this idea with the others. Lisle felt no fear at the thought of communicating something so long and complicated, though normally she would have cringed at the thought.  Rising to the surface, filled with Ell’s message, Lisle opened her eyes. I am Ell's voice, she thought. Feeling calm she turned to the man, Terris.

Using her own words she said, “Terris, you are to come with us on our journey to Guardian Mountain, as our cook. You are to tell your sons that every bit of the coin from the imprisonment of the flyer folk is to be returned. The Guardian will allow your sons to stay here in the village as long as they never again imprison or cause harm to the flier folk. The Guardian will be watching them.” Lisle nodded her head then, message delivered without a stumble. She crossed her arms on her chest in unconscious imitation of Moss. 

Gareth looked at Lisle, eyes wide. He glanced from her to the Guardian and then to the small man lying prone on the ground. His mouth turned down, forehead furrowing in displeasure. She could see he was not happy with this man accompanying them. Gareth fidgeted with his knife and looked grimly at Terris.

Lisle wasn’t sure she was happy about it either. She knew it was what Ell wanted, she had seen it all clearly. But how could they trust a man who would imprison flyer folk?  Where is Moss? She thought. During her communing with Ell, Moss had left her shoulder. Maybe they couldn’t trust this man, but she did trust Ell, and Ell wanted Terris to go with them.

Terris pushed himself up from the dirt and stood, keeping his head bowed. His gaze went to the coin box abandoned on the ground before him and his hands twitched toward it. Lisle saw his glance, feeling her mouth form a scowl as she shook her head hard at him.

With that she saw him draw back, looking hastily from her to the Guardian, then retreat into his cottage.  She assumed he would gather what things he might bring with him. She knew he would pass on the Guardian’s message to his sons who had already hidden within the cottage. He would be too afraid not to.

It was not long before she saw him exit the cottage, a heavily weighted pack on his back and move to stand beside Gareth. Gareth in turn, moved away a few steps, fidgeting with his knife and glancing pointedly at Terris. Terris hitched his pack higher onto his back and looked at the ground, shuffling his feet nervously.

Just then, Moss made a diving attack at Terris’s head. Grasping a few hairs in her hand as she hurtled past, she ripped them from his head.

“Yow!” Terris grabbed for his head and ducked. “You scrigging, little flitter! I’ll…”

A rumbling growl filled the air. Lisle saw Terris jerk his head toward the Guardian, unuttered threat caught between open lips, eyes wide with terror.

“I never meant it no harm, and won’t do now. By the One, so’s I won’t.” The fearful words poured out of him.
​
Ell blinked her eyes slowly at him, golden orbs accepting his promise. Lisle’s lips twitched upward grimly as she watched. Terris would be keeping that promise whether he wanted to or not.  

At the sight of the enormous, bellowing, horrific beast landing before them, Berk, Lellin, and Narn took off faster even than a runner. None of them gave a thought to any but themselves, not even their Farn. Perhaps they thought that he, like themselves would be saving his own hide, and they must act accordingly. Whatever their thought process, all three were racing away before even the group of villagers who had paid to see the intriguing spectacle of captive flier folk, ran screaming in all directions.
​
They didn’t see poor Terris, overly large, belted pants slipping further down on his hips, as too terrified to run, he dropped the cage and fell forward into the dust at his feet. He covered his head with his hands, rolled up sleeves and baggy shirt clinging to his sweaty arms and back. Then doing his best to disappear into the earth beneath him, he put his dripping forehead to the ground.

He had seen his death in the Guardian’s eyes in the short time that he dared to look. Those golden, round-pupiled eyes bored into him, filled with rage. He was sure he had seen flames flickering within.  The Guardian would surely rend him with those horrible claws and tear at him with it’s huge, terrible teeth at any moment. He trembled uncontrollably, awaiting his end.

It might even eat me, he thought with horror. He had never heard of someone being eaten by a Guardian. He had never even heard of someone seeing a Guardian. But this had to be a Guardian and it was so terribly angry. Angry at me, he thought. He curled in upon himself, knees drawn up to his belly, arms covering his head, face still to the ground, and trembled all over.

The roaring stopped and Terris, Praise the One, discovered he was not dead. Not even a little bit. He raised his face up from the dirt and peering between his fingers, risked a quick glance upward. He saw the Guardian standing over him, staring at him fixedly. He was sure he saw a bit of saliva falling from between it’s jaws. Recoiling, he lowered his head quickly and looked to his left. A girl-woman knelt in front of his cage, now lying on its side. She gently righted it and unfastened the door. A green flitter burst from the door, chittering loudly, followed closely by the red-winged flitter. The green one landed on the girl’s shoulder and shook it’s whole arm at him, chittering so rapidly and with such vehemence that it bounced about on the girl’s shoulder. He watched just long enough to see the red flitter hover before the green one and touch it gently with both hands, then zip away. My flitters is gone and my future along with them, he thought. He put his face to the dirt and shook.

The clacking sound of the flitter’s chittering grew louder and he felt a pull and a hard yank on the hair at the back of his head as hairs were ripped out. ”Ow!” The exclamation burst from his lips. He turned his head quickly to see the green flitter triumphantly brandishing it’s fist at him, holding a few of his grey and black hairs. She, for it was clear now that this was a female, hovered before his eyes, her lips spread in a feral grin, her head haloed with moss green hair. Then she whirred back to land once again on the girl’s shoulder. Just the beginning of the end, he thought morosely.

He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and turned his head back to see the Guardian rise to all fours and move away. He couldn’t help but watch even as his body lay curled on the ground. The Guardian’s long wings were folded now upon it’s back. Crimson wing tips draped gracefully over back haunches. The olive-green head ridged in carnelian, it’s terrible teeth now thankfully hidden within it’s jaws, was turned purposefully in the direction in which it moved. It moved rather awkwardly on it’s four limbs, if such a word could be used to describe such a creature as a Guardian, he thought.  It’s long ridged tail, scaled in shining green, ridged in ruby red, dragged along the ground behind it. It’s a creature of magic and air, not meant for trudging on the ground with the rest of us, he thought, momentarily distracted from his predicament by the awe he felt in the Guardian’s presence. Then he remembered himself. Even a creature such as that has to eat, and he shivered with the thought.  

“W…watch him Gareth?” The girl-woman followed after the Guardian her long, nut-brown braid trailing down her back, the green flitter riding her tunic-clad shoulder.

Terris raised his head, hope sparking within him.  He looked at the tall, young man dressed in hunter’s garb, standing just to his right. The man looked back at him, deep eyes intense, a lock of dark hair falling across his forehead. His upper lip curled with distaste. The man held a wicked looking hunter’s knife in his hand. It had a very long blade.

“Face down,” said the man. Hope died in Terris. Guardian’s probably saving me for it's end-day meal, he thought. Terris put his face down and lay, trying unsuccessfully to still the trembling of his body.