The Forgotten.

On silent wings, I floated through the dark forest, scanning the terrain below. My eyes locked onto it first: a path worn by many feet through the dense flora. Tipping my wings, I turned and followed the path. My tufted ears caught the first sign of my true goal, twisting to pinpoint the soft patter of cloven hooves, then my eyes found him: a young buck, alert but not alarmed, walked down the well-trodden path.

Beating silently against the dusky air, I rose high above the unsuspecting deer. Then I folded my wings tight to my body and plummeted down, angling to intercept my prey. Just before my strike would fail due to our size discrepancy, I shifted from my owl form — losing my feathers, my night vision, and my sharpened hearing in favor of brute force and mass. My all-too-human hands could grab the buck's antlers and twist his head around with an audible snap. Using my leftover momentum, I rolled off the path until I was hidden in the brush, listening anxiously with my deadened hearing.

Still blind and deaf, I slipped back to the dead buck. Forefeet in one hand and hind feet in the other, I swung the carcass onto my back, stifling a groan, and slipped quickly down the trail. My heart raced as I searched the deepening shadows; I knew if they were here, I would have no warning in this form.

In a small clearing mostly concealed beneath tree boughs, I lowered the deer to the ground. From a hollow at the base of an elm, I retrieved a small knife, stained dark with plant juices to blend with the night. Then I gutted the beast, pausing several times to sharpen the easily dulled blade, and used a braided cord to hoist the meat from a sturdy branch to bleed out. After returning the knife to its hiding place, I shifted back to an owl, searching the night for any hint of danger before waddling to the pile of offal.

Instinct whispered that the better food source lay within the deer's skull, and easily accessible with my talons and a little persistence, but my mind revolted. I'd eaten a lot of things while in the forest, things that I'd have turned up my nose at before… Well, before. But deer brains?

'No. Just… No. Besides,' I reasoned as I fell on the liver with gusto, 'I need the brain to tan the hide.'

Avian stomach full near to bursting on the choicest tidbits, I twisted my head, peering wistfully at the branch that supported the buck. Sleep called, borne on the click of cicadas and the counterpoint of a lonely bullfrog, but — my ear tufts raised and my head spun around to search the brush behind me.

Scavengers — and possibly worse — were already being drawn to the entrails I hadn't finished.

'No rest for a rogue.' Shifting back to my flightless form, I lowered the carcass, re-tied the hooves, and wrapped the excess cord around my waist before hoisting the prize across my shoulders again. The last bit of slack wound neatly around my arm, keeping it well clear of my clumsy human feet. Sticky blood plastered my hair to my scalp as I slipped through the nighttime forest, crossing from one deer track to a rabbit trace and back to another deer trail.

My nerves crawled, and my useless eyes searched the darkness. When I reached the creek, I followed the rock and tree-limb strewn bank upstream, grateful for the moon-drenched gap in the trees — enforced by the stream's violent spring tantrums — until the crescent moon dipped beneath the treeline. Then I waded into the summer-warmed water, calf muscles and back screaming their own protest at the continued uneven footing, and waded downstream. A rueful twist of my lips marked the game trail where I'd met the waterway — 'Am I paranoid?' In the cold light of the stars, aching and half-soaked, a niggling thought suggested all this was unnecessary. 'But… I'm not dead yet.'

I snorted at my melodrama as the creek bed vanished beneath my next step.

The deer's weight drove me under the suddenly icy water before I could do more than gasp. The gasping turned to choking as water flooded my mouth. I fought to free my arm from the cord and claw my way to the surface, fingers scrabbling at the wet leather, then at the surrounding stream. Thrashing freed my arm, and I flailed, trying to escape. But that blasted cord still twisted around me, hampering my movements, and I couldn't tell which way was up any longer.

Then my feet touched rock — it wobbled, then steadied, and my heart settled, too.

'Okay. This is down. Now get clear of the rope.'

Twirling in a demented pirouette, I spun around, loosening the anchor. My fingers flashed through the water, grasping the knotted end, as I pushed off the creek bed and thrashed to the surface, bursting free with a choking gasp.

Lungs burning, I kicked and paddled enough to keep myself afloat until the current pushed me past the washout. My knees struck the creek bed, throwing me forward and ducking my face beneath the blood-warm water. I thrust both hands down, pushing above the surface once more. Pink rivulets trickled across my face as I crouched on my hands and knees through a paroxysm of coughing.

A tugging against my hand brought my attention back to something other than breathing. Shoving limp strands of blonde hair from my eyes, I glanced down at the knotted end of the cord clenched in my fist, then followed the cord downstream to where the buck floated, tugging as the rope halted its downstream momentum. I stared, mouth agape.

Then a giggle escaped, hoarse and thin, but growing stronger until I sat on my heels chortling like a loon in a creek in the middle of the night. Gradually, caution returned, stilling my mirth, and I searched the night once more. My flightless form found nothing, but it couldn't be trusted. Shivering in the breeze, I stood and noticed an especially uncomfortable draft. Glancing down revealed the source: my denim shirt was torn, exposing my pale, fleshy breast. I fingered the worn cloth, trying to smooth it back over my skin and teetering between further hilarity, swearing, and tears.

'The antler must have caught in the worn spot near the seam, then torn while I…' I shuddered, unable to finish the thought, and bit my lip until the tears cleared. 'There's nothing to do about it now.' I forced my attention back to the creek and forest and stumbled forward, letting the buck drift with the current. It wasn't slower than carting it on my back, and I only had to drag it over the rocks when the stream grew too shallow.

When the carcass drifted past the third tiny tributary's mouth, I reeled it in, leaning back and hauling on the water-logged cord. It stretched but held, and I dragged the beast up the tributary until it grew too shallow — all of about 15 steps, but my muscles appreciated the break just the same. They told me all about how they deserved a longer break, in fact, when I hoisted the soggy flesh again. Still, it wasn't much farther, and I bent my shoulder with a will. My focus narrowed to placing one foot in front of the other, and I panted, my breath harsh in my raw throat.

When the watercourse became too tiny for my feet, I clambered out, locating the thinnest trail in the pre-dawn light that filtered through the leaves. I followed it, leaving a wet trail in my wake, to a thorny wall of bushes. I circled the wall to my right, my burning eyes seeking the child-sized gap at the base of one bush. With a groan, I set the deer down, stretching as I found the forked branch I'd oh-so-carefully left ten steps away. Wedging the fork into the thorn-bush's lowest branch, I shoved upward, widening the gap enough for me to belly-crawl through, half-inch long thorns a breath from my face.

I may need to thin the branches a bit. Teeth sunk into my lip. 'Is it early enough that the gaps will fill in, or is it better to wait till spring?' My head popped clear of the bush, and I shook it. That problem would keep. 'The buck, on the other hand…'

I searched the thorn-encircled clearing. Several trees, including a massive pine with branches brushing the ground, stood serene on the moss-coated ground, exactly as I'd left them. I rolled my head on my shoulders, trying to loosen the tight muscles, and turned back to the gap. Crouching, I tested the cord — the knotted end still clenched in my fist — making sure it hadn't snagged, then dragging the buck through, hind-feet first.

I glanced at the thin scars, pale against the tanned skin of my hands; I'd learned the hard way to pull bucks backward.

Once the antlers were clear, I stared at my hard-won prize. There was so much left to do, but every bit of my body cried out its need for rest.

I sighed. Some things couldn't wait. Turning from the carcass, I settled the cord over my shoulder and dragged the buck to the nearest tree. Another braided rope waited, already looped over a thick branch, and I tied the hind feet with it. The original cord — soaked, stretched, and pulled altogether too tight — I left in place. My fatigue-numbed fingers couldn't pick it free, but I had a few tricks to try after I'd rested. In the meantime, I hauled the deer well-clear of the ground. It would keep for now.

I trudged back to the entrance, reached through, and, with my face pressed into the cool, moist moss, pulled the forked branch free. I hissed as the thorns sprang loose, biting my arm in retaliation for their brief imprisonment, and weaseled clear. Sparing a glance at the dripping wounds — five scratches, so not bad — I tossed the branch over the thorn wall, a quarter turn from where I'd thrown it last time. Then I plodded back to the buck, fishing a sweat-stained leather lace from beneath my denim shirt and tugging it free. A cloudy quartz crystal popped out and with it a stylized filigree butterfly.

My heart leapt into my throat and my eyes darted around the still-empty clearing while I stuffed the metal back beneath my clothes. I carefully unwound the crystal's lace from the metal chain, slowly inhaling and exhaling while the dizzy adrenaline rush faded.

When my hand only shook a little, I focused on the deer meat as it was — water-logged and dirty — and twisted my mind through the facets of the crystal.

Dizziness pressed in again, threatening to buckle my knees, but I locked them. 'That will keep the meat fresh.' I swallowed against the sudden dryness in my throat, then twisted and dove into the crystal's core. Its facets gleamed around my mind, then around the buck, glowing briefly in the brightening sun. I stared up, past the buck, past the oak leaves, at the pink clouds. The moss floor caressed my arms, eagerly accepting the sluggish blood-offering from my half- clotted scratches.

'I could sleep here. It's not so bad a nest.' My mind's eye painted lurid pictures of the soggy trail I'd left from the stream to the thorns. A tickle drew my attention to a black ant crawling across the unexplored terrain of my exposed breast. With a gentle finger, I intercepted the creature and returned it to terra firma before sitting up.

'No one will find it before the mud dries,' I argued. My mind threw up images of tracks set in hardened mud, implacable and set until the next downpour obliterated them. I sighed, forced my muscles to respond, and shifted into an owl again. Grabbing the cord-wrapped bundle I'd prepared for the purpose in sharp talons, I beat my wings heavily to lift off. The preserved deer's legbone, complete with a hoof; twig-broom; and waterskin would allow me to mask the trail to my home.

'Once it's safe — then I can sleep,' I promised myself.

♫♪♫♪

The crows were back.

If it had just been one, I'd have shifted and stood better than even odds of having dinner dealt with. Two or three, I could have driven off. But they knew that, so the whole bleeding murder perched in my tree, watching. Waiting.

The moss was soft beneath my feet, and I'd gathered a pile of branches to feed a smoke pit. I just needed to carve the deer I'd slain into pieces the flightless thought appropriate. All while under the eyes of the crows. I ground my teeth together and released a harsh breath.

They wouldn't attack. Hadn't since they'd mobbed me in owl form, and I'd shifted to one of them. A grin twisted my lips as I recalled their terrified shrieks. No, they wouldn't try that again unless they were sure they could take me unaware. But they would wait till I dropped the shield and tear into the buck. Since I didn't have time for their tricks, I expanded the shield so I could stand within it and skin the carcass. And the persistent ache at the back of my skull? Didn't matter one bit.

Still, maybe that's why.

The stress of holding the barrier.

Those black pests and their chatter.

This thrice-cursed form's night-blindness, that kept me from a proper sleep schedule.

Maybe all of it. But when the knife broke — as I stared at the hilt's stub of blade, the awful snap that wasn't flesh and tendon parting from bone echoing in my ears — white haze clouded my eyes. Fury boiled through my veins, and I threw the broken knife, uncaring of the direction with such force my elbow throbbed. A sound most akin to shattering crockery, but different in ways I couldn't describe, shot across my Post. The shield crumbled away to nothing, and the crow's shrieks rose as they launched from their perches.

I screamed back, wordless rage given life, turned, and grabbed a branch in each hand. Planting a foot on either side of the carcass, I swung at the first black-feathered bodies, swatting them away. My lips twisted into a feral smirk as the anger found another outlet. In a flurry of branches, birds, and feathers, I let the rage swallow me.

When the chaos died, I stood panting and surrounded by broken twigs, broken feathers, and one broken body. Distantly, my limbs ached. Sharper, my right hand pounded with each thud of my heart. I dragged my eyes from the crow's corpse to focus on the battered branch clenched by that hand. A single half-inch thorn emerged past my fingers, crimson-stained and sticky. With a gasp, I released my grip. The branch hung, suspended by the flesh it impaled, before tearing free and falling.

My eyes darted from the branch to the dark feathers to the deer. 'Okay. I need a knife. I have a knife, but not here. But the buck can't be left like this. And that…' My lips twisted as my gaze landed on the crow again. 'It's fine. Gotta do this.' My breath slowed and steadied, and my bloodied hand pulled the crystal from beneath my stained shirt. With a glare hot enough to sear the meat, I projected a new shield around the deer's carcass. Shifting, I tore into the crow, devouring it. Then my wings beat near-silently against the midday air, and I went to get my knife.