Guardian: Company

In the end, I left my pack at Ismene. The swarm was headed toward my personal guess at Sorcha's Post, and I couldn't spare the effort to haul the pack through the air. Heath agreed to safeguard it while I attempted to safeguard our Out Poster.

'What if you can't find her? What if the rabbits beat me there?' The damp air was heavy on my wings as I preened them, resting in the upper branches of a dead oak. I'd left the Home Post after ensuring that the dead rabbit was burned, and grilled Heath and Ricca on the warning signs to watch for while I searched.

'Black animals with red eyes. Atypical behavior. Easy enough.' Heath's last warning sent chills through my bones, though.

"If you see a simmer, like a rainbow, but traveling in a line like a storm front, hide." Heath had rubbed the back of his neck, refusing to meet my eyes. "Only the biggest swarms have that precursor, and there's nothing you can do to stop one."

Preening my breast feathers, I searched the map crystal, which had — as small things normally would — shifted with me. The crystal, with my annotations, didn't especially seem to match the forest below. 'But you think this might be here.' Mentally, I pinned an over-tall tree that had been a landmark when the map was fresh. The deadwood creaked under my talons, and I wondered what else had changed.

After my break, I took to the air again, arrowing above the trees that gradually grew shorter until I reached a place that made my gut whisper here. I circled over a stretch of seemingly endless forest, near a sharp bend in the just-visible creek, searching for a hint that I'd found the right spot. All I saw were trees, trees, and more trees, although there was one coniferous that was particularly tall. Looking at the sinking sun, I gauged I had about an hour and a half of light, so I spiraled down into the vibrant fall foliage.

Back-winging to a perch on a thick oak branch, I continued my inspection. In addition to the trees, which appeared to be rather widely spaced, there were a few bushes — a thorny kind — and delicate vines creeping up several trees. Any small animals that might have been present hid from me, as did the smaller birds. Still, in the twilight beneath the branches, there was no sign of the permanent Out Post that I'd hoped to find here.

I fanned my black-tipped wings in frustration, then lifted off the branch and glided toward the forest floor. A few feet off the ground, I shifted from falcon to man and landed lightly in a crouch, scanning the area with my human senses.

"Still nothing." Rising to stretch tired arms and cramped legs, I twisted, left and right, touched my toes, then dusted off my denims. A piece of jerky from my pouch looked, if I were honest revolting, and I wished I'd stopped for something tastier.

'Eat your dinner, Cairn.' Taking a moment to breathe, I smoothed my padded denim wrist guards, still not quite accustomed to the weight on my forearms, before ripping a chunk from the dried meat.

Still chewing, I spun in a slow circle, identifying the closest trees. Most were deciduous, with once-colorful leaves plastered to the ground, presumably courtesy of the torrential rains that had grounded me. There were also a few types of evergreens, though all but one of them was pretty small.

To my relief, there were no signs that the rabbit swarm had gotten this far, though the hedge-like bush, thick and thorny, surrounding this patch of forest might have prevented them from reaching within. 'And if there wasn't anything to kill, how could you tell they were here?'

Shaking my head, I ripped another piece of jerky free. 'Doesn't matter. Sorcha's fine, she's just…'

"Not here," I finished aloud.

The big pine drew my eye again. It was the one that stood above the rest, drawing my attention to this location in the first place. Boughs heavy with slender needles swept the ground, concealing the trunk within and rising smoothly — seamlessly — at least fifty wingspans.

'That's got to be as big as the trees they build the Home Post in.' I gnawed my barely healed lip and searched the not-quite-clearing again. A smooth patch of bark on an otherwise craggy-skinned maple required additional inspection, and I stood beneath it, peering up at the grooves. 'Maybe something was hoisted here?'

I knelt, pushing back the leaves. Moss, green and plush, lay beneath the litter, but it seemed crushed in a few places. I glanced over my shoulder and did a double-take — behind the sweep of pine branches, a lumpy hill emerged from the earth. In the fading light, a deeper shadow hinted at an opening.

'No Flit would willingly nest underground.' Standing, I dusted my hands off on my denims and approached the shadow. 'Still, it could imply that someone was here. Maybe that's what the glyph meant?'

Twin glints within the shadow stalled my steps, and I edged closer to the pine. 'Is that…?' A gust of wind rattled the branches, causing me to glance at the pine. Beyond the needles, just for a heartbeat, I saw a platform winding up the branches.

A delighted grin spread across my face and I pushed the needles aside to shove within the branches. Pulling stray needles from my hair, I gawked at the wooden ramp. It started at about chest height, requiring either a running start or something other than hands to ascend. From there, it circled, rising steadily, though the darkness beneath the branches prevented me from seeing how high it went. A moment of discordance made me frown — there wasn't a railing or even a safety rope. But a giddy thrill pushed that concern from my head in a heartbeat.

"Bones! This is the best Post ever!" Laughter bubbled inside my chest. 'This is what little Flits dream of — a secret, impenetrable Post deep within the wilderness with no adults in sight!'

A low growl froze the gaiety and refocused my attention on the present. Breath harsh in my nose, I whipped back to face what might be the Post's winter storage. Through a peculiarity of the branches' spacing, I could see out where I'd had trouble seeing in. The glints I'd spotted were larger now, emerging from the darkness, and they became the feral eyes of a bobcat.

"Bones!" I hissed, edging away. The pine branches at my back resisted; I wasn't getting out that way.

The cat stalked forward and didn't hesitate at the branches' edge; he slipped through with patent familiarity, then paused, crouching to lash his stub tail.

"Nice kitty," I said, angling my body toward the platform. My fingers clenched, and I realized I still had almost half the jerky I'd started eating. "Are you… uh… hungry?" I waggled the meat, but couldn't tell if the bobcat's eyes tracked the jerky or my hand.

He prowled forward a step, white paws silent on the pine needles and moss. I broke, flinging the meat at the cat's face and sprinting for the platform. It smacked my chest, and I clawed, scrambling my way up. Once my feet were clear, I turned to look; the bobcat was a breath behind me and leapt with far more grace than I'd managed.

Yelping, I spun, scrambling up the path. My head smacked — hard — on a shelf attached to the trunk, spilling a clay plate that shattered on the wood. That may have been what saved me — the bobcat jerked back, flattening his ears and yowling. I kept going, grabbing bits and pieces off the shelf to throw behind me as I went; a cup to match the plate, a bundle of herbs, the broken hilt of a knife. Only when my fingers wrapped around denim, worn thin but still distinctive beneath my hand, did I make the connection.

'You were throwing Sorcha's things at the cat.' My fingers wrapped tight around the denim, refusing to let go, and I redoubled my efforts to run up the spiral. It wasn't until I'd hit the end of the platform and scrambled up branches until they bowed and creaked under my weight that I stopped again.

Panting, I searched the now-full darkness for the feline. He hadn't chased me up the branches, and, from the snuffling sounds below, he seemed quite distracted by the mess I'd made.

'She… Does Sorcha have a pet bobcat?' Breath puffed out of my lips, misting faintly in the after-sunset chill. 'That's… insane.'

Bemused and still keeping a weather eye on the cat below, I shook out the folded denim I still held. Once freed, it revealed itself as a summer-weight Home Post cloak — from Ismene, based on the tattered bits of embroidery left at the edges — worn so thin it had holes carefully patched with scraps of hide.

'That doesn't make sense, though. You might wear Home Post clothes on a quick run when a Flit expects to be back before nightfall. It's not something an Out Poster would take.' I gnawed my lip, trying to remember if I'd seen anything heavier on the shelves. 'Maybe it's sentimental?'

I'd been moving fast, and it was dark beneath the pine branches, but my trained memory offered an image-by-image replay of the shelves I'd passed. Herbs, scraps of hides, coarse pottery — less of that now — rags, and a few folded lumps of threadbare denim.

'Either this isn't her main Post, or…' I shivered as the sweat congealed on my body. Reluctantly, but with few alternatives, I draped the denim over the branch and shifted, falling into my old barn owl form with ease. Somewhat assured that I'd notice the bobcat's approach in this form, I nestled my beak into my chest feathers and fluffed to hold in warmth. I fell into a restless doze; my body knew how to stay on the branch as I slept, but my mind didn't quite trust it.

When the dawn broke over the horizon, I realized I'd climbed above the canopy in my efforts to avoid the cat. Twisting my head, I couldn't see or hear any trace of the bobcat. Carefully picking the cloak free of the sap-sticky branches, I winged down to the platform, settling lightly and checking again before shifting to fold the cloak as neatly as I could manage.

A slow march down the sloped platform revealed as dismal a portrait as my nighttime escapade had hinted at: for as much storage space as Sorcha's Post held, it contained remarkably little. I collected the herbs and the knife hilt I'd thrown the night before, carefully returning them to the shelf. My fingers rested on a small ball of lumpy yarn with a coarse-carved hook sticking from it. It looked like a fledgling had been turned loose with a kitchen knife, though the edges had been meticulously smoothed. A few pots, sealed with bark plugs and beeswax, were thankfully untouched by my rampage, but when I reached the broken cup and plate, I knelt, feet folded beneath me, and stared at the shards.

"I can't fix this." The words sounded rusty in the morning air. I picked up a small piece and a larger one, trying to match the edges. Abandoning the futile task, I let them fall back to the wood, and the small piece slipped through a crack.

"No!" I slammed my palm against the rough wood, jostling the shards. More fell through.

"No," I whispered, falling forward to rest my head against the plank, eyes shut tight against the burn of tears.

An odd chirruping grumble snapped my eyes open. Through a knothole, I saw the bobcat, curled up in a nest of pine needles below. The yellow eyes met mine and my breath froze. Then the cat's head went down, and he pulled a strip of flesh from the rabbit carcass in front of him. For a breath, my heart raced. When I focused on the fur, an ordinary brown, I relaxed, going limp against the wood.

"You really are her pet. Just waiting for your girl to come home."

The cat hissed at me, watching warily before returning to his meal.

Sighing, I sat up and assessed. I couldn't do anything about the crockery. But there was another plate, another cup. And next to them lay a pile of shards, mixed with a broken comb tangled with pale blonde hair.

'Maybe you're not the only one prone to breaking the dishes.' With careful fingers, I collected the pieces that hadn't fallen and placed them with the others. 'You can't give up that easily.'

Shoving to my feet, I — quietly, so-as not to disturb the cat — climbed the spiral again. Hastily, I gnawed through a strip of jerky to quiet the snarl in my gut. Where the platform ended, I collected the cloak, shaking it out and swinging it over my shoulders.

'You've got an Out Poster to find, and a cloak to deliver.' Shifting seamlessly into my falcon form, I burst through the branches into the sunlight.

♫♪♫♪

Evening found me perched beyond the edge of the forest, a spindly willow branch flexing beneath my falcon's weight. I preened the primary feathers on my right wing for a moment before gazing out at the open expanse tracking the river. My tracking skills were not such that I could follow what little trail a paranoid Out Poster left, particularly not after a three-day deluge. 'But water… people follow that. They might follow a creek that joins a river.'

And some people cut their blonde hair next to rivers, letting it fly off to glint in the setting sun. 'Pretty hair, really. Much too pretty to adorn a logjam in the river.' I preened again, thinking of that twist of hair tucked safely in my pouch with my jerky.

'It's safe, anyway.' I dragged my mind away from the clotted blood that bound the lock together.

'She's not in the forest, or not anywhere you can find in the forest. Maybe she followed the river? There's things you simply can't make for yourself in the forest.' Villages were next to rivers, too. With a mental shrug, I lofted up to follow the river out of the forest.

"Kack, kack, kack!" I cried.

Nobody answered.

I reached the cliffs as the sun dipped below the horizon, edged by a massive waterfall that sprayed a rainbow plume into the air and drowned out the sound of everything else. My stomach snarled in protest. The jerky I'd gobbled for lunch had been a long time ago. Motion caught my gaze, and I stooped without thinking, my conscious mind blanking.

When I surfaced, my mouth tasted of blood and raw meat, and my mind very much wanted to reject the meal. My body, however, disagreed, insisting that this was far better than the tasteless jerky I'd been subsisting on. I shifted anxiously on the twisted scrub that clung to the cliff face, at war with myself in a way I'd never been before.

'Get out of the tree. Land. Then shift back.'

"Kack kack kack!" I shrieked, searching the sky for a non-existent rival.

Reluctantly, I tipped forward, diving off the branch. My wings caught me, as they always did, and I flirted shamelessly with the swirling currents where the river and cliff met. Then I landed and shifted, stumbling awkwardly and falling to my knees.

'Too long.' I panted, clenching my fingers in the grass. 'You shifted too long — almost became lost. Without another Guardian to call you back…' A shudder racked me, and my gorge rose. I fought to keep the meal down; even if I didn't like the source, I clearly needed the food. After too long, my stomach complied, and I crawled to my feet, every muscle aching as if I'd been beaten.

"Ugh, too much flying." Groaning piteously, I stretched, wincing at the pops and crackles. "I'm not that old!" I dangled my torso from my waist, letting my fingers trail in the grass.

Rising, I stared downriver, focusing all the way to the horizon. A slight shimmer, reddish against the growing night, raised the hair on the back of my neck.

"That couldn't be…" I gnawed my lip, drawing blood once more. "Bones!" I pressed my dirt-stained fingers to the fresh wound. "I've got to stop doing that!"

I looked behind me, at the cliffs and the river. A waterfall would obscure the approach of anything dangerous, but there was a nice overhang on the gravel strand that would provide good shelter overnight.

'Unless…' My fingers found the sound dampener disk stuck to my temple and tapped it randomly. After a few strokes, I couldn't hear the waterfall, but my feet shuffling through the grass was clear.

"Yes!" I pumped my fist in the air and scrambled up the bank, landing in the gravel with a crunch. A few minutes' work provided ample driftwood for a fire, and I quickly laid a small one, with damper wood around the perimeter, so it would dry before I needed it. A search of the rocks at the falls' base revealed two fat fish, stunned from their plummet or the edge. I dragged them out and bludgeoned them with a rock, then gutted and cleaned them before spitting them over the fire.

With a gleeful chuckle, I settled in to enjoy my first hot meal since leaving Ismene. Before I'd peeled the first flakey bite free, the crunch of gravel drew my attention back to my surroundings. Squinting past the fire, I made out two people approaching. I rose, setting the fish aside, and they stopped, holding up their hands in a seemingly peaceful gesture.

"What do you want?" I asked. When they didn't respond, I remembered the dampener again. 'They can't hear you.' I waved back, hoping they'd take the hint and approach, and circled to put the fire behind me.

They nudged each other, pointing at me, before continuing their approach. When they were within three wingspans, they paused, pointing behind me at the fire.