“Rasmira, are you all ri—oof!”
I crank my neck to see Soren pulled forward as the otti finds her other leg. She spins around and hops toward the opening in the trees.
And then—seeming to think better of it—
She launches herself in the air.
With Soren still dangling by the ropes.
What is it with that boy and not letting go?
Branches and twigs rain down on me as the otti forces her way through the canopy. Soren shrieks as he’s yanked after her.
On the ground, I find the feather Soren pulled from the bird. I throw my pack over the top of it so it won’t blow away. Then I race out of the tree line to find Soren.
The shrieks make him easy to locate.
He has his eyes firmly closed, and he holds on for dear life as the bird flies through the air. They dart left, sway right, drop a few feet—Soren gets dragged every which way as the bird tries to throw him and the net off.
Thank the goddess she’s tucked her talons under her body for flight. Else Soren wouldn’t be long for this world.
They’re perhaps thirty feet in the air, far enough that Soren could sustain serious damage were he to fall. They sail over the nest of little birds, who chirp at the sight of their mother.
The otti is more weighed down on her left side, where two ends of the net are still firmly grasped in one of Soren’s hands. They twirl in circles for a moment, before plummeting a couple more feet.
I’m chasing them down, flinching every time I think Soren’s about to lose his grip. His legs kick uselessly in the air, the ax on his back worthless with his hands on the ropes.
The two figures cross over another grouping of trees, and I follow after them, plunging into the undergrowth. Through gaps in the trees, I can just barely make out Soren’s kicking feet.
“Soren. Soren! Can you hear me?”
“Ahh.” He likely still hasn’t opened his eyes, blocking out the height.
“Soren, let go!”
“What?”
“Trust me. Let go now!”
With a mighty bellow, he releases his grip on the ropes and plummets toward the earth. He crashes into leafy branches, scrapes against a tangling of vines, gets whipped in the face by another branch—
And then I catch him.
We both go sprawling onto the ground.
I can’t breathe, and I scramble to get Soren off. He groans and rolls over, but the wind’s been knocked out of me.
“I take back what I said,” Soren mumbles. “Your idea was terrible.”
My breath whooshes back into me, and I find my feet before reaching a hand down to Soren and helping him up.
The trees above us crack, branches ripping from their trunks. Instinctively, I go for my ax.
Not fast enough.
I’m on the ground again. A sharp, tearing pain flares up in my arm, and I look up to see a smear of blood against one of the otti’s talons. Leaves and twigs stick out of her feathers. A patch of sap clings to the side of her head. She must have let herself fall through the trees, talons first, getting lucky by nicking me on the way down.
The bird tries going for Soren with her sharp beak, but Soren has his ax out. He blocks and slashes, cutting through feathers and drawing blood.
The bird shrieks and rises into the air a few feet, this time darting out with her talons. Soren rolls, the talons glancing off the armor on his back as he does so.
I move.
Stepping up next to Soren, I brandish my ax, making huge sweeping motions with it from side to side. The twirling makes me seem larger, makes it harder for the bird to focus on one point as her eyes try to follow the ax’s movements when she turns for her next attack.
With my distraction, Soren launches forward and prods the otti in the chest. Not deeply, but enough to puncture her. He doesn’t want to kill her, I suspect.
With brown-black blood coating her beautiful azure feathers, the otti finally retreats. She leaps into the air, angling her body like a knife to slice through the canopy, and sails for her nest and little ones.
When she leaves, Soren and I look at each other.
I’m struck by the thought that we make a great team. We don’t even need to communicate when fighting. Moving in tandem is instinctual, somehow. Together, the two of us are unstoppable with our axes.
Soren leans a shoulder against the nearest tree. “You’re hurt.”
“I’ll be fine. We have to circle back around for the packs.”
“The feather?”
“It’s safe.”
He lets out a breathy laugh.
I hide my glare by looking at the ground. “Tell me, what did you think you would accomplish by getting hoisted into the air? Were you in the mood for a stroll over the treetops?”
“If I hadn’t, the bird would have attacked you. I didn’t know what else to do, so I held on.”
“Attacked me?” I ask incredulously. “Soren, I am a warrior! We could have fought her on the ground together. Like we just did!”
“I wasn’t thinking!”
“I’ve been telling you to start thinking about yourself. Your safety is just as important as everyone else’s!”
He steps up to me, forces my chin up with a finger. “Not to me it isn’t. I want to keep you safe. I will always protect you. Please don’t be angry for that.”
I swallow. What was it Iric once said? Something about how hard it is to stay angry at Soren because of his loyalty.
“Don’t scare me like that again,” I say.
Soren leans in and presses a kiss to my lips. “I’ll try not to. Thank you for your help.”
My legs leave the ground as Soren sweeps me off my feet, holding me in his arms before I can protest.
“What are you doing?” I exclaim.
“You’re injured. I’m carrying you.”
“My legs are fine,” I say as I swat his arm.
“I want to hold you. Now stop wiggling, and let’s get you over to the medical supplies in the packs.”
“I’m bleeding all over you.”
“I don’t care.”
He silences my next protest with another kiss.
CHAPTER
20
Soren carries me the long way around to reach our packs, because he doesn’t want to risk another run-in with the enormous bird. I protest the entire way, but secretly, I’m pleased. Maybe once I would have had an issue with it. I did ask Soren to treat me as he would any other warrior. But I’ve given myself permission to behave as I wish in the wild. I love how strong Soren is, and I love the feeling of being in his arms.
He sets me down once we reach the packs and retrieves strips of cloth from one of them to wrap my arm. Later we’ll find clean water to rinse the injury. It might even need sewing. But neither of us can do that. That is more Iric’s territory. He has experience from all the leather work that goes along with weapon-making.
Not that I care.
What’s one more scar?
The god has scarred me. The hyggja has scarred me. A mountain cat. Now the otti. Each scar marks me as a survivor.
A warrior of the wild.
* * *
WE FIND OUR SHELTER from the previous night and decide to reuse it rather than make more progress down the mountain. We’re both exhausted from the day’s events anyway.
It’s not even close to sunset, so Soren builds a fire, just so he has something to do. We don’t have anything to cook over it. It’s not even that cold yet. There’s no practical reason for it.
I’m glad for it, though. The crackling of a fire is familiar and comforting. It reminds me of the hearth in my room. I remember nights when Irrenia would sneak out of bed and join me in mine. We’d talk for hours—about how our days went, about our struggles in our chosen professions, about the future and what we hoped for most.
I don’t know what my future holds. Or even if my life will be long or short. But the present is full of more hope than ever before.
Soren holds the sky-blue feather in his left hand, while his right fingers brush the smooth strands. His eyes are on the fire.