88th Ashan, 710
M
At the lower end of a narrow ravine, Pharan pushed to his feet. An owl-monkey, startled by his sudden movement, bickered at him in its shrieking voice, then scampered of into the underbrush. The Avriel stretched, the jungle’s heady breath moist against his skin and plumage. Tentatively, he spread his wings and drew a sharp breath. His whole body ached from his latest misadventures, the long time he had been bound and grounded. He knew he had been lucky. Neither of his latest falls had done any serious damage. Not that it helped his mood. There was something distinctly undignified about a bird that couldn’t haul itself into the air anymore. With a hiss, he beat first one wing, then the other. Shreds of mist rose around him like dust-devils.
A sound to the side drew his attention. His wings flared wide open as he pushed himself to his full height—but it was only Praxes who had come down the trail. The Ithecal cast him an odd look Pharan answered with a glower before sinking back down on his heels. The hunter’s ability to appear at his side without warning unnerved him more than he cared to admit.
Praxes lifted his hands, all but two fingers outstretched. Eight. Pharan nodded his understanding. His eyes trailed up the gorge that cut into the slope as if someone had thrust a knife into the red earth and pulled, parting rock and vegetation both; and back to the other man. The Ithecal wore his light leather armor. Not for the first time, Pharan wondered if the beast-man even needed it— punching him would be like punching a crocodile or a large lizard. Not that he thought about it.
Ignorant to his musings, Praxes cast him an expectant look. With a sigh, Pharan turned.
The moss-covered walls of the ravine turned into a blur of green and gray as he bound down the remainder of the slope winding its way valley-wards. Cool wind rasped against the underside of his wings, but it was only when the path suddenly dropped beneath him, he had gained the momentum to climb upwards. Vines and thin branches whipped his shoulders. A flock of birds, disturbed by his swerve flight, cried havoc as they rose from their nests. They broke the ever-green canopy of century-old jungle trees at the same time. For a moment, their fragile bodies surrounded him like golden motes, then they dropped away
Freed of the trees’ oppressive weight, Pharan took a deep breath. In the east, the sky had begun to pale. The dawn was a gash of crimson along the horizon, bleeding red on the ocean below. He didn’t linger. He dipped one wing, circling around the chasm below, the rift a vague suggestion between trees. Pharan looked ahead.
To the north, the jungle gave way to a sea of tall, emerald grass. The shredded body of a river wound around the lower end of the meadow, but it was the eight figures breaking the waves of vegetation near the upper end of the ravine that caught Pharan’s attention. He crooked his wings to angle closer. One of the figures, a young buck, lifted its head. It was a small, hardy beast, all lean muscle and legs. The deer’s ears twitched in acknowledgment of his presence.
Now just do me the favor and run, Pharan thought as pulled his wings. Run!
His controlled descend became a plunge. His innards lurched with vertigo. Below, the herd scattered. All but the young buck, which had turned to charge.
Pharan spread his wings, rolled to the side. The heels of his boots connected with an antler. The splayed tips of his wings brushed long grass before he managed to propel himself upward once more, away from his cervine adversary. Again, the buck rose on his hind legs, this time only piercing the air. Pharan cursed.
Around them, most deer had fled towards the river.
With a feeling of desperation, he searched the glade. There. At the mouth of the gorge. Wide-eyed and nervous, a single hind pranced back and forth some thirty feet from him. With a bellowing shriek, Pharan sent her running down the slope. Half-flying, half-running, he followed.
Boulders slick with moisture rose to the sides. Low hanging branches and vines bared their passage, but he pushed them aside as he hurried after the escaping beast, if only to make sure it didn’t stop.
There was nowhere else it could have gone.
Something knocked him in the side. As he fell, Pharan expected to see the buck again. It was a branch the length of a man’s arm, protruding from the strip of fern that had hidden it. Somewhere below, he heard a sudden commotion, followed by Praxes triumphant voice.
With a grunt, he dropped back into the dirt.