The Fickle Winds of Autumn

45. The Fatal Ravine

Kira's shoulders wrenched and erupted in agony; she fought back a torturous scream as Harath's fierce talons tore into her shocked flesh and dragged her forlorn weight upwards.

Her eyes had been determined not to watch the deadly ground rush up and crush her miserable life, but the sudden excruciating pain forced them open in appalling horror.

The bitter, unforgiving air stung into them; the delicate unsuspecting flakes of snow crashed and bounced into them.

She blinked and squinted through the unyielding torment; her ears roaring and red; Harath's powerful, compelling wing-beats pounded a rushing swirl of currents and eddies around her.

The vast engulfing sky swallowed her deep into the wonderful mysteries of the Surrounder.

She was flying!

But her restless shoulders assured her that the clean, swift finality of death would have been far less traumatic.

They swooped away from the solid mass of cliff and climbed into the open, airless void of the ravine.

Kira told her wayward eyes not to look down at the prowling danger which waited below; she tried to force them to peer ahead for the safety of the far cliff and the waterfall.

But they insisted on flickering towards the terrifying swirl of vivid rock and cloud and death in the gaping jaws of the valley below.

The searing pain and deadly terror overwhelmed her mind.

Her shoulders jerked and sang out in anguish with every beat of Harath's wings - they understood how it might feel to be the shredded and tormented flesh of Graath - but her shuddering thoughts also knew that each distressing, flapping pulse pulled her closer to safety, closer to the blessed relief of the waterfall, closer to her friends.

If she could just withstand this bitter agony, if Harath had recovered enough energy and strength to propel them across the open dizzying sky, they would make it, she would be safe.

Above her, the breathless howl of the wind was pierced by a shrieking cry of alarm.

The smaller, more agile guards from the corridor had caught up to them.

Kira tried to twist her head to see, but the distress of her shoulders pinned her in place.

Was Harath safe?

Was she?

Harath screeched in torment; the rhythmic tugging down-draught of her wings faltered and lurched and checked.

Kira's anxious thoughts convulsed at the angry, violent sound of the guard's flapping, battering attack - but her bubbling frustration knew she was useless in this situation - there was nothing she could do to help her friend now.

Her turbulent stomach retched and shuddered as a sudden lunging drop juddered and bounced across her shoulders; her face crumpled in a terror of shrieking pain.

They veered and swooped from side to side to deflect the angry hacking blows; Harath's fierce talons flinched deeper into her bloodied shoulders; biting in hard to grasp and secure her dangling body; Kira's forlorn weight wrenched at the seeping wounds; her damp clinging tunic shredded and soaked with dark blood.

A second sinister silhouette flashed threateningly through the swirling mist at her side and tore towards Kira's terrified legs.

The angry guard twisted and contorted its muscular body as it sped in; its fierce talons glinted menacingly in the pale, thin altitude.