A chilling threat lurks in the shadow of night, hidden under the guise of impartial winds, both gentle and benign. Inescapable in midnight flight, the wrapping currents turn cold and treacherous, coiling like twisted fingers. From their touch, deeply sheltered warmth is stolen away with practiced ease, making escape all the more fleeting as their grip inexorably tightens.

My heart sinks in my chest as Marco's body grows more frigid with each passing second. I wanted to put more distance between us and those monsters, but I cannot bear this any longer. Curving downwards towards the river, I focus my attention on landing as gently as possible. Talons extended, they find rough purchase in the grass below, eliciting a faint twist of pain from my charge. Even now, Marco barely clings to life, if only by mere threads.

With the upmost care, I let up on the scruff of his neck, from which blood seeps from our hurried retreat. Even now, I can still taste the traces of his blood upon the edges of my beak, making my stomach turn in disgust. But there is a greater priority than my own self-pity.

Now laid on his side, I quickly begin searching for the spear wound threatening to steal his life away. Slowly, I pat around his chest, holding back pangs of regret as my feathers pass over several stretches of blood-encrusted fur. It doesn't take long to find it, as trails of warm blood serves as a grim guide to its whereabouts.

You're going to be okay, just hang in there a bit longer.

Light coalesces upon the tip of my wing, forming into brilliant pearls that bathe the surrounding forest in a soft azure glow. The essence takes quickly to the wound, absorbing the precious lifeforce with gluttonous abandon. All to quickly, darkness washes over the vicinity once more as the last of the essence is pulled into his body. Yet to my dismay, fresh blood still pools over my feathers.

Again, I channel my own precious essence in the fallen orothus, and just like before, it disappears into his injury as water would into droughted soil. However this time, the wound finally begins to stitch itself shut.

Relieved as I am to finally see some progress, I can't help but feel a sense of apprehension. While I might not have any experience treating anything this terrible, the amount of essence Marco took into his body is enough to give me concern. It was far more than anything I've done prior, and memories of my time in the underground passages only serve to double down on those fears.

But what choice am I left with?

If I gave him anything less, I fear he wouldn't have made it through the night. It’s a miracle that he survived long enough as is, and perhaps I should just be grateful for that.

With the worst of it out of the way, fatigue finally washes over me like a tidal wave. Fighting back is useless, so I give in and lay down beside Marco, draping a massive wing over his body like some sort of protective guardian. So that his head isn't left on the ground like some corpse, I snake my head below his own, allowing him to rest it against the soft feathers of my neck as it were a cushion. Then with careful handling, I take his serpentine tail into my beak before placing it gently on his belly.

Together like this, it's all to apparent how close to death he really came. Fur completely devoid of warmth brushes up against my own warm feathers, and if it weren't for the shallow rise and fall of his chest, I would've feared the worst. I can only hope that I managed to save him in time. It's up to him now.

Sounds once muted in the face of crisis begin to emerge from the background one by one. Soft like a whisper, reeds creak and sigh as a gentle breeze weaves through the delicate plants lining the water's edge. Waves lap at the shores in rhythmic melody as they embrace the land, only to shyly retreat in a quiet murmur. And raising their voices to be heard in kind, countless tiny creatures chirp and chitter like a woodland orchestra, each a unique voice that yearns only to be heard. Together, they create a midnight lullaby, inviting those who still linger within the waking world to succumb to peaceful rest.

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

One last thought impedes the way before sleep can take hold. Back in the clearing, I heard something. Not the sounds of battle or my own thoughts, but rather a stranger's voice, one that rang true with near-perfect clarity within my own mind. Only one word was spoken, but the impression it left was significant. It clearly cried out in desperation to warn me of danger, but even still, I can't help but feel anxious about it. Who was talking to me? What was talking to me? Will there be more voices?

This last one fills me with the most fear and anxiety. For how long was I trapped alone in that void? Never did I hear another voice in that realm, and the reason can be suppressed no longer. While I do not know how, or why they came to me. Countless flames, no… lives surrendered themselves to me, never to emerge ever again. The thought that I might be wrong in that regard sends a horrifying chill down my spine.

However, I can't even be sure that this is the case. I could very well be wrong, reaching conclusions that are far too imaginative for my own good. But the opposite remains like dregs that weigh heavy in my mind.

What would I even ask them?

Another chilling thought with dire repercussions should it prove true. Impulsively I begin asking myself more questions as if it were only natural to expect some sort of response.

Who am I?

What am I?

…

Is what I'm doing the right thing?

But just like then, no one answers back. Only silence.

Frustratingly, just like everything else, I will have to discover my own answers.

Too tired to dwell on the matter any longer, I tuck my head into Marco's side and let my consciousness slip away.

That night, from deep within the boundless thicket, clouds of silken mist gather in ambient silence. It stalks like an ethereal specter, quickly overtaking the forest. Once mighty trees become mere silhouettes, their form fading in the approaching veil. Sounds hush in its wake, continuing onward until the world becomes like that of clouded realm.

Shapes materialize within the thin vapors, growing in size before standing tall and straight. All throughout the swirling landscape, their ranks multiply, forming into legions of shrouded, expressionless, visages, that extend out beyond a limitless horizon. In silent invasion, they converge as one towards the epicenter, my nerves at their absolute limits in the face of such overwhelming adversity. No sound escapes from my beak as I cry out in primal fear, as hordes of faceless apparitions close in around me. They each reach out with spectral limbs, taking hold wherever they can, and mercilessly pull in every direction.

I call out for somebody, anybody to help. But nobody hears my desperate plea.

As my cries go unanswered, their faces begin to split in twain, folding backwards like a hinge, and from their abyssal maws, they scream in muted unison. Bouts of ash and smoke spew from their maws, forming into innumerable, crooked, misshapen claws. The once milky white landscape transforms into a writhing mass of flailing limbs, each desperate to seize their own share. Within seconds of their frenzied onslaught, my vision turns black, as I'm swallowed whole into the endless void.

CYAA!!!

Blinding light floods my vision as I jolt upright in panic. The echoes of that horrible nightmare still linger, fresh in my mind. Even now my heart still races, and I can feel all my feathers standing at attention. But as my eyes adjust, no traces of the dream remain, as if it were all a mirage. Then, memories from the night prior return, and only then do I realize that I'm alone.

Marco? Where are you!

Whatever vestiges of stupor remained are quickly shed away as I scan the campsite. To my relief, my panic is short-lived when I spot a slender black and white head poking its way over top the tall grasses. No sooner had the curious serpent revealed itself did the reeds rustle and sway in response to something far larger stalking within. Not long after, they part to make way for Marco, whose legs are caked in gobs of fresh mud. But as he steps into view, giving each of his paws a rather irritated shake, something stirs in the reeds behind him. A small body with soaking wet fur leaps into step behind him, and when it locks eyes with me, it does a cute little hop on its front two stubby legs, and lets out a sharp little ark!

Seeing Marco already recovered to such an extent is like having a hundred weights off my shoulders, and happy as I am, I find myself confused with this current development.

Jesti?

Yup, that's definitely him.

Excitement is written plain as day on his face, given that his whiskers are bouncing about practically as much as he is now.

But then as I go to stand up and face them properly, they all freeze with wide-eyed expressions on their faces. They stay like that for a bit, but then Jesti begins to tilt his head. First left, then right, and then to and fro a few more times, whereafter both of Marcos heads do the same exact thing, in the same exact direction, nearly at the same time.

Okay, that… is so creepy.