Page 22 of Ruby
That and screaming.
8
Szhe’ka
The air becomes cold and the sky begins to lighten, which leads me to assume that night is giving way to morning. I hadn’t realized how long my trek was from the silver cage and it pains me to realize how long I have left Ree waiting.
Time seems to pass a little differently down here or maybe I have just lost track of time since being grounded. Soaring through the sky high up in my aerie, it is easier to see and know whether it is dusk or dawn and we can smell the rain before the clouds even begin to gather properly but since I got here, I cannot count how many dusks or dawns have fallen.
Or maybe it is the way the forest is dense and I am not used to looking up to determine the time.
Whatever it is, my mind is brought back to the current situation when the pace of the gentle breeze swirling around me changes and I hear howling in the distance. This makes me stand stilland raise my head high to listen and know whether it is another predator or hunter, not that one is different from the other.
When the leaves of a bush start to tap urgently against my arm, I realize that it is not a different creature making the sound but, in fact, the wind.
It begins to rapidly pick up speed, making the forest start to dance with a scattered synchronicity that makes me think of mating dances but my mind is quickly diverted as I remember Ree’s sister and the fact that she too will be caught up in this storm. I wonder if she is awake, how badly the storm is affecting her and hope she is okay.
My mind is drawn to the fact that she is likely still stuck high up in that silver pod, precariously balanced in the branches of a tree, which can’t be doing well with these wind speeds.
I quicken my steps.
The sky starts to darken even further as the currents push my feathers backward and I am unsure whether to feel grateful for how reminiscent it is of soaring through the air and above hills or regretful at the knowledge that I will never be able to do it again.
The wind does not bother me while walking through a windstorm, that is, as I have been caught in them one too many times and managed to get through them unscathed. My wings and body were large enough to fly against the storm if I wanted to, and if it got violent at any time, I would go with the wind instead of against it.
The part that brings about the discomfort is the fact that I have never walked through a storm before, and it has not been the easiest task to learn to use my legs for such amounts of time at once.
Every step is a battle against the wind and my own weak feet. I start to use my lower arms as a secondary set of legs, half dragging, half crawling my way through the thick underbrush while the wind unrelentingly pushes against me.
The forest is now dancing madly; all of the plants, trees, and other ground detritus are being swept in whatever direction the air wishes to carry them, unable to object. A thick branch is picked up and flung wildly in my direction and while I manage to dodge it, it makes contact with the longer of the stumps that used to be my wings and I shriek in pain.
Because of the wind, there have been many more obstacles in my way and I cannot escape constantly dragging the tender bottom of my feet on branches, small, sharp rocks, and who knows what else.
I find myself hating the ground ever more, the indignity of losing my wings becoming secondary to the anger caused by the hostility of this ground biome toward me since I have become familiar with it, the only succor being the water that had balmed my wounds and given me a momentary peace.
I hurt everywhere; my wing stumps ache with memory and still ooze with blood when I exert myself; my skin is scarred—possibly permanently—punctured all over with minor and major cuts and bruises; patches of feathers have been ripped off my skin as well, almost definitely from my earlier tumble throughthe forest canopy; and my arms ache from having been used in this unfamiliar way to support my body weight.
Not to mention my feet—my almost delicate legs and feet have barely ever been used this way for this long and they ache and bleed at the effort.
I slash out at a nearby tree as if it were the manifestation of this most unwelcome ground I have been cast down to and press on.
The tempest lasts longer than I would have liked and I only now notice as the storm begins to abate that I have not covered even half of the distance I need to and it angers me. I grunt at myself.
Ree’s sister has had to endure that all alone because of my weakness.
Maybe it would have been smarter to hunker down and wait for it to pass if I was only going to hurt myself and not get there any faster. I fight the urge to be angry at myself.
If I were still whole, it would have been so much easier to swoop down and carry her to safety, high up in my aerie. But if I were still whole, I would have no reason to fly this low during a windstorm and I surely would not have a reason to help another victim of the beastly hunters.
The storm slows down and I catch my wandering mind.
It is no use wishing for wings that will never come back. I will have to use my legs for the rest of my life. I will just have to get used to the pain. It is agonizing, though. I find a sturdy tree to lean against as I inspect my feet, their yellow skin stainedwith deep-green blood; there are old wounds and fresh ones, all relatively new and it hurts to even hold them in my hands, but I know that I cannot afford to let it stop me. If not for my sake, then for the sake of Ree and her sister.
The life of another much frailer creature depends on me and after this storm, I am not sure what is left of her.
When the sky clears out, rays of light break through the leaves and give a gentle beauty to the forest. It is new and different, the calm after the storm, and it tells me that it is just early morning. Although the storm lasted long, the day is not over yet, and I still have a chance of finding Ree’s sister.
As I trudge on, my nose picks up on the faint scent of hunters and my own blood. I realize I have neared the clearing where I first woke up after I had been disposed of by them. I swallow down the rush of red-hot anger in my throat and move cautiously—in case they are still there—and quickly because I know that I must be getting close to the woman.
