A Little Side Quest
(Picks up where A Necessary Quest left off)
They flew, struggling to keep the Guardian
aloft; their wings beating humming bird fast,
but still he’s sagging, his cloak’s draggin’.
His weight pulls his small bearers, ’till at last,
gravity wins and he lands in the snow.
Exhausted, his foot tall rescuers pant
and gasp as they rest their tired wings and woe
to the giant pain in their wings who can’t
get up and walk himself to some shelter.
Anasril bit her lip; they hadn’t carried
him far; he was too heavy, but shelter
he needed, claimed her breath misting, carried
on the wind’s sigh southwards towards the Groundling’s
abode where silver water falls, singing…
~ ~ ~
Anasril shook out her wings, blue as night’s
retreating back, as distant dawn rises
o’er the East Reaches for real, out of sight
for now, though soon to reveal its sun-prize.
She gave the crumpled Gaurdian a glance
that steeled her spine and took with her his sword’s
glow, locked safe in mem’ry’s box as she danced
with the wind, making its current her own.
A shining pebble, it catapulted
her, leaving wings’ glow to see, since moon’s frown
lends little light to the predawn tumult.
E’en with snow reflecting her fairly light,
blue shadows, drawn to obscure, cover sites.
~ ~ ~
Furious wing beats followed by a shade
that overtook her; stopped and hovering
in the air, he blocked her flight path; dismayed,
she regarded Chero; silver traced wings,
black and velvety as a moth’s, that beat
an angry tattoo reflected in slanted
eyes whose epicanthic fold seemed a treat
for her fingers to trace but he’s ranting
and so she held her hands to keep from touching
Gathevral’s heir; so she listened instead.
“–they might still be out here,” he said couching
the Undeem’s invisible tread with dread.
“Wait until first light for this mad errand.
It blinds them, then go wherever you planned.”
~ ~ ~
“I can’t wait that long. He might die without
help and we’re too small to do anything.”
She needed a mendicant but doubted
she’d find one wandering around with things
like Undeem about and far away
lived the Mountain Folk whose herb craft might save.
“They’re the closest help I can get,” she swayed.
Weaving starlight into defenses gave
her no rest and the night’s toil caught up fast.
Chero’s eyes narrow but ‘fore he renews
the argument, she’s pushing to fly fast
as hummingbirds who zip from flower to rue,
herb of grace, though she’s winging, field to glen
where water falls, sings, and help makes its den.
~ ~ ~
The story continues in Anasril’s Quest.
~ ~ ~