Among the Deadwoods

Dusk fell, and she woke to gentle cooing. She reached a groggy hand to his massive head and stroked it with her first three fingers. He puffed his chest – proudly, not irritated – and lifted his beak, glowing from the attention. At her feet, she found he'd fetched her some fresh blaeberries and a dove, plucked and cooked to golden brown.

"You spoil me, Raven," she remarked, taking a small drumstick and lifting it to her lips. It tasted as though it had been dusted with fresh savory and corn spice. "I must be the most well-fed exile in the Moors. I've accepted the impossible. You are a truly magic bird."

She then found a candle at her feet. He opened his beak, then retracted, gesturing politely as if to ask, shall I?

"Oh yes, go ahead."

He spouted and gave light to the shelter. It was spectacular this time, Briar watching it intently. She saw him breathe it out like a dragon, witnessing not only the orange of a steady flame, but a cloud of sparks and stardust that danced off it as tendrils. When the flame dissipated from his beak and caught to the wick, she saw an additional gift. It was a bowl of yellow rose custard, her favorite. She remembered finding it similarly twice before, feeling otherworldly elation each time she consumed it. Briar took the bowl to her lips drank it, the dessert traveling down her throat the consistency of cool milk, despite the fact it was a thick, warm pudding.

She shivered while she walked. The bird followed her, sometimes hopping from the branches, sometimes soaring higher. The candle lit her path well enough. She stopped a few times to make her compass, but after a while she realized there was no need. The bird consistently guided her east.

At daybreak, the raven drifted down and found her a hollow – something there was no shortage of in the Deadwood Forest. In places that the trees were too sparse and scraggly, they found mossy caves or built camouflaged lean-tos. This creature was her shadowy angel, caring for her with woodland bounty that she couldn't see in the moonlight.

In the day, she felt the plumage of his wings covering the span of her arms. Sometimes they felt like the arms of a man. Although she tossed and tumbled on the earth, he wouldn't let her shiver. He was her great protector - just as Cal had been. Oh, how she longed for her brother! The terror of her flight caused her mind to default to sleep as a blank, restless state. On the fifth day of her travels, she began dreaming again.

"Cal!" Briar shouted, seeing her brother knocked to his face and dragged from the farmhouse. She screamed as loudly as she could, but to him and those standing before him, she was mute.

His face faded, and she sensed another presence. Nothing could be seen, but a cautious yet possessive pair of arms circled her upper torso. She felt no fear. It was at first invisible, then she saw the face of a man. He had pale smooth skin and striking silvery eyes that shone like medallions. His hair was the color of her raven.

The curvature of his face was mostly sharp and chiseled, but there was a softness to it that she could see. She knew this look. It was softness concealed by hardened agony, like the face of a man who witnessed the gore of the front lines. She'd seen his face before, but a hypnotic fog kept her from likening his features. Briar watched his lips as he spoke, taking note of their naturally sly curl. Her mind drifted intermittently, images from another dreamy place creeping into her view.

"Are you certain of your journey, Briar?" He asked, voice deep and melodic.

Her mind went to a faraway place with pine rafters and mounds of hay. Then, she was back studying his face; standing in his arms in a grove. They were surrounded by fruit of every shape and color, most of which she'd never seen. Of the few she knew, the man reached forward and plucked an apple. He placed it in her hands and asked her again.

"Do you know your path?"

"Yes," she answered, "I'm going to the Highlands."

His expression became even more burdensome. She studied his sinking eyebrows, the thick black lines filled with pain. She remembered a pair just like it. Her mind went back to that faraway place as she caressed the apple.

"You know what you must cross to get there," he said.

"I know. The Deadwoods. But, I'm doing well enough."

"No. Not the Deadwood Forest. Bahelin Forge. You know there's an encampment there."

"But not beyond it," Briar replied, slightly annoyed.

The man placed his arms around her again, whispering in her ear. He begged her to take the apple. Briar's mind drifted again, back to the faraway place. It was a barn. The eyebrows belonged to a man with this same, melodic voice. She remembered so little about him in this daze, but a name echoed again and again. Faolan.

"So long as you remain in the wood, nothing will harm you. If you must, go I cannot stop you; but you will not make it past Bahelin Forge. That is where the danger lies."

"How do you know that?" Briar asked, shivering. A draft came through a crack in her hollow tree, kissing her bare arms. As Faolan pulled her closer, the Raven extended his wings to their furthest reach.

"Because I can see...what you cannot," Faolan responded mournfully.

"Do you see the future?"

"Not as you understand the power. I simply see...where certain protections will cease. Where my power is quelled." He brought the apple to her lips. "But, I will follow you, even if it's the death of me."

The act sent her into a trance and she took a bite of the fruit. She felt her world become dimmer and clearer at the same time. Her mind's eye was spinning, flashing scenes from the barn, from her journey, of things to come. She saw him morph into a bird, then a wolf, then a man. Then, she saw a child. A small, blonde headed girl. There was something about her that felt familiar and wonderful, yet somehow sorrowful.

"Faolan," she called out, watching him fade. "Where are you?"

"I'm always near."

She awoke to a moon that was clear and full. There was a slight heaviness when she breathed, like a weight tied to her lungs. She turned her neck to see the raven staring at her intrusively from her chest. She shooed him off, half irritated by the way he so innocently inflicted pain.

"What have you been eating?" She remarked. "You feel at least ten wiq heavier!"

He backed off her, holding his head low as he lit the candle. As he sent the flame and stardust through his beak, she could see that this was more than a bit of weight gain. The raven had seemingly doubled in size. The next night, the raven grew again.

Each night, his size doubled or tripled. When she first saw him, he was a bird of slightly larger size than others of his kind. When he first grew, he was the size of a grey owl. The next time, he was the size of a mastiff. He grew exponentially, developing razor talons and a pair of claws on his wing tips. By the time two weeks passed, Briar's raven had grown so big that she slept against his ruffled chest, underneath the crook of his wings.

And each day, she dreamt. She dreamt mostly of pleasantries. Her protector sent dreams of warmth and light – albeit mostly against his nature – and did all he could to calm her. It was magic, miracle, or both. No one came near them as they traveled. Whoever – or whatever – it was to her, if she followed him she'd survive.

As they neared the edge of the Deadwood Forest, the raven had grown so large that it was easier to keep pace by crawling on his two-clawed wings. It became too difficult to fly in the dense foliage. He still fetched her fish and savory leaves, often cooking it on the fire during the day so it would be ready before she rose at nightfall.

Once, the raven changed his form – desiring only that he may see her while he was man over beast. When he did, he felt overpowered by the gentle rising and falling of her chest. He wished to see her just once like this, instead of her dreams, where he watched her intently. Then, he sensed it. He felt the trees watching them, whispering secrets about his true form.