Page 96 of Warrior of the Wild
Soren looks from the net to me. “That’s a much better plan. Let’s do it.”
UP IN THE TREES,I stand on two separate branches, holding the net, waiting for Soren’s cue. As I watch him kneeling behind a boulder, waiting for the otti’s return, I want to laugh at him.
His master plan was to just sneak up on the bird and take a feather.
Honestly, how did he even survive before I was banished to the wild?
I don’t think he’s ever excelled at thinking before acting. No wonder Iric said he used to get into trouble all the time.
One of my legs starts to cramp, so I attempt to stretch it out without toppling out of the tree. It would be so much better if we could set the trap on the ground and rig it to spring upward and catch the bird when she steps on it—but with those sharp talons, she’d shred through the rope in seconds.
This trap has to be sprung from above, and Soren needs to be on the ground, ready to pluck a feather once the great bird is caught.
If only she’d bother to show up.
The hatchlings still take their time with their meal. A fuzz-covered head lifts into the air with a chunk of meat held between its beak. It uses gravity to help force the hunk of mountain cat down its throat.
My eyes swivel back to Soren’s hiding place, only to see that he’s no longer there.
He’s creeping toward the nest.
“Soren, what are you doing?” I ask in a loud whisper.
“Speeding things up.”
Something sinks low in my chest, and I have the burning urge to rush to him as I watch him advance toward the nest.
Idiot. He’s out in the open.
But I hold my ground. He’s going to lead the otti to me, and I have to be ready.
But my throat closes off as I watch Soren draw closer.
During Iric’s mattugr, there was fear for him, fear for all of us—but now—
This is different. Nothing can happen to Soren. I couldn’t bear it. I feel the seconds tick by like a hammer against my heart.
When he’s ten feet from the nest, the wind picks up, sending Soren’s hair over his shoulders.
At five feet from the nest, there’s a loud chirp as one of thehatchlings eyes Soren warily. There are five hatchlings in total, and the others soon spot Soren. The sounds of eating cease. Earsplitting chirps ratchet up from the nest, clear sounds of distress. The birds rise onto their toes, each one as tall as Soren’s arm.
A faint whooshing sound stirs the air.
“Soren, she’s coming!”
I can’t see her yet. The sky hides her too well, but Soren must spot her, because he suddenly darts toward me.
My heart races as he clears the tree line, and the otti finally comes into view. She lands on the ground just before the trees, her wings sending the branches swaying. Soren, breath heaving, comes to a stop just below where I wait with the net, and we both watch the bird. She tucks her wings to her sides and hops a step forward. Talons crunch against rock as she leaps her way around trees and over boulders, drawing closer and closer, her mouth open, releasing angry caws into the air.
Soren backs up slowly when he’s sure the otti will take a straight path to him. She seems to gain both confidence and speed the closer she gets to him.
“Now!” Soren yells.
I drop the net, watch it land over the otti’s head, back, and tail feathers, before climbing down the tree as quickly as I can to help.
Soren grabs the front two ends of the net, holding down while the bird rears her head. I scramble behind her to grab the back ends. She tries to buck, swivel her tail feathers, but with her talons pinned beneath her, she can’t free herself from the net.
“It’s all right,” Soren intones. “We’ll let you go in just a second. I need something first.”
