Her ravens kept her informed of the intruder's progress toward the border. It's easier to see the forest floor in her raven form, though as a goddess, her sight was better than her flock. The shadows dancing under her wings carried her faster than a miniature dragon on the hunt. Down below her, she can see creatures scurrying in and under the trees, looking for food and mates.

Her him is a protected woodland by English law. The Dorcha Coille is an old forest with a dark history. Only the people descended from those who fought in the wars in the Beginning, are allowed to live in the Dark Lady's woods. In all the centuries since, she has never stopped protecting those in her care. And that wouldn't stop now.

It only took moments for Moriganna to catch up to the men who invaded her lands, their trek no doubt slowed by having to herd the villagers taken. Her anger spikes at the thought of her people becoming merchandise for these people, power surges through her caused by the strong emotion.

Underneath the trees, the intruders stop their march. Why would they stop so close to the border?

Moriganna dives to the closest oak tree, changing as she soars, the shadows of her magic bursting around her raven form and filling her with a cool, tingling sensation as her arms and legs lengthen. Her feathers disappear in scattering shadows that seep underneath her soft flesh. She quickly aims for the thick branch with her fingers and toes, crouching on the limb, attention fixing on the group below her.

Nemain perches on the tree opposite of the clearing so she would have two different views of the makeshift camp below if she could call it that.

The men gather the children and young women into a group, backs together, and shivering in the cool night air. Most of the villagers were wearing their nightgowns and had no shoes, dragged unceremoniously from the arms of their parents and their beds. They were shoving dried meat into their tiny hands. They struck those who didn't grasp the food immediately.

She had to shove aside her anger and think of their next steps. Focusing closely on the children, she realizes they weren't crying, even after being hit and taken from their homes.

Magic? Perhaps something to dampen strong emotions and make them malleable to their captives will. Only two of the men were passively watching the children, sitting beside them and sipping from flasks. Four other men gather further away from their captives, chanting in low tones.

Moriganna cocks her head to the side, listening to the words of their magic.

'Nemain, what spell is that?' she asks.

She closes her eyes and wills herself into Nemain's mind, at once the dark focusing on clarity only a bird can have.

'Hidden things?' Nemain says. 'What would they hide here? So close to the village-nest?'

A sudden surge of power spikes as the men's spell is complete, and the appearance of a white van answers their question. It is large enough to hold the slavers and the villagers. If they escape in this vehicle, Morgianna will not be able to catch them. Studying the van, she notices it is one of the old models, running on crude oil rather than elemental magic.

Thinking quickly, the goddess searches her flock for one raven. 'Regen! Here!'

Black shadows erupt next to Moriganna, and a ruffled looking raven stumbles through the portal, wings out to steady herself on the branch. Regen is the most daring bird of her flock and has a fondness for lightning storms. Random bits of feathers stuck out in odd angles despite the grooming routines ravens regularly keep. Her tail feathers always burnt from her daring adventures in the skies. Scars mar her sharp beak. Lightning catching isn't her only hobby, but it is her favorite. Out of the entire flock, Regen is the most unique and mad among the birds, which makes her a valuable member of Moriganna's family when it comes to battles.

Regen hopped on one leg to the next gleefully. 'I'm here for you, mistress!'

'I'll need you to become lightning.' The goddess grins at Regen's happy squawk as the bird leaps from the branch and into the air above the slaver's transport, flying in small circles.

Watching Regen fly away, Moriganna turns her attention to the sky. Churning clouds, reflected by the full moon, are already heading to their direction, but judging from the distance, it would not be here until dawn. She couldn't wait that long. Rubbing her hands together, she starts to drag the storm to her—the heat of her palms tingle and little trickles of electricity dance over her skin. Pulling her hands apart, slowly and weaving the spell that will hook the weather to her location, she let it build. Clouds quickly form overhead, wind rousing to full gusts, and the trees give a grateful groan in the wake of the potential rainfall they will receive.

"Ulgruf," she mutters and the shadows within her writhe, seeping out from the skin of her wrist, black drops pouring into the palm of her hand. A dot the size of a marble ripples and shifts into an arrow, sleek, shining staff, and a point that is as dull as a pencil. But she isn't trying to kill the storm, only anger it.

The clouds block out the moon, covering the forest in darkness. Rumbles echo from the sky, and the gusts of wind pick up speed. She glances down when shouting grabs her attention. The men are scurrying around, getting their supplies into the van before it started to rain. The children are shivering from the sudden drop in temperature at the edge of the clearing.

Moriganna ignores them, knowing she needs to hurry before they put the villagers into the vehicle. She grabs her bow off her back and aims the shadow arrow up into the roiling clouds. She pulls back and lets it fly, willing it to clash with the storm.

Regen soars above the white van as the arrow strikes. The sky breaks open, electricity building, and Moriganna's magic arrow explodes with a loud crack.

The goddess shields her eyes from the white lightning, but she knows when Regen catches the bolt. A sharp shock of pain echoes through her connection with her raven. Moriganna's breath catches in her throat, and her limbs seize from the force. But Regen revels in pain, opening her beak and spitting out the lightning, straight to the van. The vehicle exploded in a rush of heat, plastic, and glass shattering all over the clearing, knocking the men closest to it to the ground and killing them from the impact.

The explosion shakes the tree Moriganna is in, and she falls, limbs stiff from Regen's pain. Frantically, she pulls her mind from the bird. Regen fell into the bushes at the edge of the clearing, losing consciousness, and Moriganna groans when she realizes her vision was going dark as well as she fell to the forest floor below.

She awoke moments later, carried in a massive pair of arms, cradling her as if she were a mere babe than a 5'6" tall goddess. Her head is sore from where it hit the ground, and her eyesight is still blurry. She blinks, forcing herself to figure out what is going on. As her vision sharpens, she realizes the person carrying her isn't a person but a magic-made creature. A spirit monster called a grunt holding her impassively in its arms. Though it stands seven-foot-tall and looks like a lumpy version of a mountain troll, it doesn't have the emotions or wit to think for itself. It's not built to think, only lift and move things—a creature for handy for a construction company and businesses like it.

The creature isn't a danger to her. They don't have minds and only used for grunt work, hence their namesake. If these men have a grunt, then there is someone powerful enough to control the creature. Casting and commanding this kind of magic involves many layers of magic. If it is created for this group specifically, then she needs to find the magi.

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She tests her strength against the monster, wrenching her arm from its grasp, but its grip is firm. She considers destroying the creature, wiggling her fingers, and a spell on her lips when a voice interrupts.

"It seems a little bird has fallen into our grasp."

Moriganna lifts herself to look down at one of the men who invaded her forest. He is handsome for a mortal, with amusement in his expression that didn't seem to match the emptiness of his green eyes. He cocks his head to the side, looking at the goddess curiously, examining her bare feet and shapely legs clad in leather, up to her ragged shirt, decorated with different stitches and feathers.

He turns as another man walks up to join them, inspecting their surprise visitor.

"She's not injured, Illen." The man with green eyes looks up into the trees, blinking against the spattering of rain. "That's a twenty-foot fall."

Illen spares a glance at the trees, but his gaze strays back to Moriganna with an irritated expression. "Bah!" he spits on the ground. "She's probably just one of the mothers. What I want to know, Greer is how the hell we're going to transport our merchandise across the bloody forest on foot! The village idiots will catch us before we make it to the others."

Moriganna keeps a wary eye on the man. His gaze is straying back to her body every chance he got. For now, she needs a way out of their grasp.

Looking past the men, she surveys the clearing and the damage she caused. Relief flows through her at the sight of the children huddling at the edge of the clearing, away from the explosion.

"Should we kill her here?" Greer asks.

The goddess snorts. As if they could kill her.

"She's pretty enough to sell," Illen grunts, reaching out and stroking her calf with a big, meaty hand.

A spark of anger flares within her, and she kicks his hand away, causing him to laugh. He likes the reaction, and it is all she can do not to destroy all of them here. No, she needs to get the children at a safer distance before she can strike.

"We could sell her for quite a penny! She's not too old, by the look of her, even if one of the whelps is hers. We'll have to break her before the auction." He gives Greer a pat on the shoulder and grins, showing off his crooked teeth. "Get 'er locked with the others. And spell her, Greer. make sure she can't run."

Greer stares at Moriganna before glancing at the thundering sky. "She summoned the lightning," he says. Illen turns from the direction he was walking, wearing a frown.

"What?"

"Those clouds were miles away, and then it was here. It had to be magic."

Moriganna can't help but smirk as the leader's face turns a horrible red as the wheels in his pathetically small brain finally figures out what Greer is trying to tell him. Illen storms back to her, yanking her arm and getting into her face. Her smirk contorts into a snarl, and the man pauses at the dangerous look in her glowing amber eyes.

"You think that bit of magic was enough to make us drop the kiddies?" His breath stinks of tobacco and rancid meat, distracting from the fingers digging into her arm. She knows denying Greer's accusations would be ridiculous since it is too much of a coincidence connecting her fall to the storm. After fainting from the tree, her pride is wounded, and luring these men would not only benefit her current situation, but it would prove to be satisfying to see them get what's coming to them. A brutal end is the only way these men would leave her lands tonight.

She cocks her head and gives the two men an alluring smile, and start weaving faint spells, empowering her words, making them sound as sweet as honey to their ears.

"'Tis a shame you fine lads aren't appreciative of my gift," she purrs, dropping a hand on top of Illen's, which still grips her arm painfully. She strokes his clammy skin. "And I have so much to give."

She glances at the other man, raising an eyebrow when she realizes he isn't affected by her spell. Not completely anyway. His dull, green eyes were glazed over, and he sways on his feet but shakes his head and steps further away. She finds it interesting that he lets Illen become enthralled by her words instead of stopping her himself. Perhaps he knows what she plans.

Illen is completely stitched into the spell now, mouth lax lids half-closed. His breathing came in hard pants as his grip dug deeper into her leg. "A gift was it?" He rasps.

"Yes, a wonderful gift." She slowly reaches for the dagger strapped to her thigh, hidden between her and the grunt. She flicks her eyes to Greer, who keeps watching with keen interest. They never checked her for weapons. If she had a captive, it is the first thing she would do: that and severe any magic they could summon.

"Yes," Illen says. "You'll be giving me all kinds of gifts, won't you, woman?"

"I have plenty to give," she says in a breathy tone that she knows is drawing the disgusting man further into her spell and into her grasp. He leans forward, licking his lips, face hovering inches away from Moriganna's own. She cradles his head gently into her hand, watching his lids lower, closing fully from the sensation of her fingers massaging his greasy roots.

His eyes flash open, and he moans, carnal fascination reflecting in his cruel eyes. Eyes are a window to the soul, and Illen's eyes showed nothing but violence and greed. So Moriganna gives him what he deserves.

A dagger in the skull.

The goddess has a strength that cannot compare to a singular man, especially when she is within her forest. The sound of Illen's skull cracking washes out with the sound of pattering rain, but Moriganna could feel the break and the hollow sound as the hilt crests his head. Illen's eyes rolled, a strange gagging noise erupts from the slant of his mouth, and the collapses.

"That took ages," she grumbles, trying to lean over, pretending look at her handy work when she wants to know precisely where her dagger had landed.

Greer sighs, and she catches the flash of annoyance on his face before he smooths it back to a pleasant mask. She eyes the black, naked blade in his grasp. He did not stop her from killing his leader, but he is wary enough to arm himself automatically when she struck.

"Was that necessary?" he asks, gesturing to the dead man. He scrubs his hand over the back of his neck, shaking his head in amusement.

Moriganna shrugs and leans back as if she is lounging on satin pillows and not the rough, hard arms of the stone grunt. "I told him it was a gift. I never said who the gift was meant for."

"The grunt wasn't tied to him. And there are several more of our men around here near the boundaries of the forest. Killing him gained you nothing."

The goddess resists rolling her eyes. She knew who the grunt belongs to. It isn't as if she can't sever the ties between creator and creature. And these men would take mere seconds to take down. Greer is underestimating her.

But she can't do anything about such disrespect and watches passively as he raises one of his hands to show Moriganna black thread tied around each of his fingers and his wrist. The thread leads from him to the grunt, a network of spell-craft that allows him ultimate control over the golem.

It still didn't matter to Moriganna. Controlling the grunt is likely his only usable skill. Still, it's best to remain vigilant of his actions.

The other men hadn't seen the death of their leader, busy warding the children from escape and trying to put out the fire. They eye her curiously when Greer orders the grunt to cuff her alongside the children. The beast sits her gingerly on the wet grass. Her bow and arrows confiscated and tossed into a shrub at the side of the clearing as if it were trash and not an ancient and powerful weapon built from the bones of Ancient Ones.

Moriganna feels the rest of her flock coming to her location. They will be at the clearing within minutes. Nemain remains in the trees, watching everything. Regen is thankfully unhurt, and resting in the bushes, she fell in from the strike. She praises the bird mentally, giving her leave to relax for the rest of the night. The crazy bird shook her head and grooms some of the singed feathers off her wing. She doesn't want to leave the fun anytime soon.

Moriganna settles from her knees to her bottom, getting comfortable by the children. She is glad to see all of them are unharmed, save for some bruises. The men will pay dearly for that. She looks closer, watching as one girl with wild blonde hair wiggles when she feels a spider crawl up her arm. She didn't scream, cry out, or even look down to see what is on her but frantically tries to brush the arachnid away with her bound hands, missing each time. The slavers have done something to their senses, but the goddess cannot pinpoint the exact spell. Even if she were able to break the thread, it isn't wise to let their captives know she has such power. It won't be for long. She will get these children back home before they cross the border.

She reaches out to brush the spider from her arm. The grunt makes a groaning noise, the only warning she gets before a strap of leather clamps to her slender ankle. She gasps when the material sears her flesh, checking to see if it made of lava crystal rather than leather, but sees the magic being woven. Threads spike up from the cuff and fluctuate around her ankle before burying into her skin. She could feel the many layers of the spell and the slaver trinket has to be complicated in order to subdue the free spirits of human beings. But she isn't quite human.

She reads each twist of the spell as it spreads throughout her body. Obedience and binding.

She wrinkles her nose in distaste. She isn't one to become obedient to some mundane magi. No. She is a wild thing raised in the Dorcha Coille. The trees are her teachers, the ravens her family, the woods her territory to protect from invaders, and she is their mistress. These people don't know who they are messing with.

Her lids lower as she feels the edge of her anger drift away, another pulse and she is malleable to her captor's wishes. At the power's peak, she feels nothing and a momentary flicker of concern is all that crosses her mind when it receads and settles once the magic's weaving is complete. Morgianna brushes it aside with her own magic, and a surge of emotions erupt inside of her. Anger at the forefront.

She looks up to find Greer eyeing her with a thoughtful expression.

"You're young. But very strong." He grins, a wolf smiling at its prey. "Illen was right, you'll fetch a lovely price."

"You believe you'll get me that far, lad?"

His expression sobers, lifting a slender hand, spell already queued. Her lips tingle and warm strands of magic spills down her throat, choking her, tears springing to her eyes. Layer after layer of the spell coats her tongue and throat, quipped to stop her speech.

The next string of magic focuses on her hearing, forcing into her ear canals, the sensation similar to putting beeswax in her ears when hunting rabid banshees. The eyes are the worst though. It takes over her sight, the strands making its way behind the globes and into her sockets, making her sob silently, the spell already working. The man, the grunt, the forest went from her sight.

She tries to scream, but can't hear herself. Claustrophobia sets in and she shakes, keeping her magic from bursting out and killing everyone in the clearing. It takes some time for her flock to reach her mind and comfort her, telling her their plans for these men, the revenge and fun they will have mobbing them until their eyes bleed. Regen adds they can throw more lightning, which makes Moriganna chuckle. She hopes Greer can see that she's no longer frightened. She tampers down the fear and breaths slowly. She also has the comforting thought she can break the spell whenever she needs to, for now, she will remain cursed.

They bagan their trek through her forest, toward the boundary. She isn't concerned and holds her head high. She knows where she is. This is her forest, her home soil. The plants and tall trees whisper to her as they pass, green leaves uncurling and reaching to her as they walk.

She will play along for a while longer, but make no mistake, these men will suffer.