I wake to a muscular, silent figure looming over me, his
wings casting unnerving shadows. intelligent dark eyes scrutinize me from his
smooth, brown face framed by cropped black hair and raven quills. He’s been
around the block. My guard shoots up. I’d stand, but my body’s too weak from the
climb.
“Your nest, huh? Sorry, I didn’t see your name on it.”
“It’s carved right over there.” He points past me to the rockface.
My eyes travel over the stone, where he’d etched River in craggy letters. The
carved name is so tiny I didn’t notice.
“Now you’re supposed to tell me your name. That’s how this goes.”
I blink. “Delene Fairborne. Listen, would you mind if I––ow,”
I scrape against the wall and suck air through my teeth. I clamp my eyes shut.
“Are you okay?”
I shrug the blanket off, and my injured wing flops lamely near
my shoulder. River’s eyebrows Lower, and he comes closer.
“Let me look.”
He stows his serrated hunting knife, presents empty hands, and
crouches to examine my injury.
“Relax. I won’t hurt you. Let’s see the damage.”
He’s gentle, avoiding the wound and handling my feathers
softly. He lightly touches the Bandage.
“Hmm.” He examines the back with a frown. “There’s an exit
wound.”
“Yeah, I pulled it out.”
“Well, that was stupid of you. You could have died if those goons
pierced a blood feather.”
My temper flares. “Oh, as opposed to leaving it in. I’d
rather take my chances, thanks.” My voice is hostile, though I’m grateful for
his help. I still don’t know who he is or what he wants, and my mother warned
me to be on my guard.
“Doesn’t look good. How long have you been here, kid? A day or
so?”
“I’m no kid. I’m seventeen.”
“Well, I’m eighteen. So, you’re a kid.”
“By what, a few whole months?” I snicker. “Okay. If a kid free-climbed
in the pitch-black up a hundred-foot cliff to get here, I guess I’m a kid.”
After examining the wound, he says, “The damage looks fixable.
Let’s clean this well to prevent infection.”
“I’ve cleaned the wound.”
“Clean deeper,” he admonishes. “I don’t have antibiotics,
but I’ll try to get some. Or at least honey. Honey heals.”
He hesitates before retrieving water, then takes a rag from his
pouch and soaks the cloth. With the knife still in hand, he comes closer.
“Look … You seem all right, but I’m a lone wolf. I operate solo.
You have a target with a big ‘X’ on your back. I feel bad for you. I do. But
you know how it is with our kind.” He gives me a blatant look, so here’s your
cue to leave.
“Gee, I’d kindly vacate the premises, but I can’t fly.”
He rubs the back of his neck, agitated. “The valley’s full
of drones. And they’ve got at least a dozen soldiers combing the forest.”
“I’m sorry.” I shift my eyes down. “You never asked for any of
this.”
The night might be all I need. “Thank you.”
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