Written for the Seanfhocal Circle's challenge 7.
Shrieks, metallic and shrill, rang through his head as he tried to move, and found it hurt too much. Dizziness overwhelmed him and he fell back into the comforting darkness.
A voice – a voice, comforting and kind. He couldn't quite make out the words, but he felt her gently spread his wing out – splinting it, he realised dimly. She picked him up, and he shook with the effort of holding back his cry of pain.
Another voice, older, but more familiar, and he finally relaxed. Safe…
Hours later, he awoke, a soft, trotting motion beneath him. With a sudden resurgence of sickness, he realised he was on a pony. He heard the first voice again, quiet and curious.
"…What's her name? Zhaneh Bitterclaws…why follow us?" She turned and looked at him, and he saw it was a young girl – fourteen, at most, more likely thirteen. He was confused at her size, until he remembered – he was still in hawk-shape. He tried to shift, but the wave of dizziness this brought resolved him to stay as he was until he could transform back with no repercussions – such as scaring the life out of an innocent child when a naked man appeared in place of her hawk.
"Not for you, surely." He shuddered involuntarily. If they were still hunting him…
He put the thought out of his mind, and closed his eyes.
*
The smell of the raw meat made his stomach turn, and he instinctively moved his head away from it. But she was persistent, and eventually he picked up the morsel and threw it away.
Hands on hips, she glared at him.
"There's many a hawk would be happy for a nice bit of rabbit," she scolded, and he felt laughter bubbling up inside him. She sounded so exactly like his mother.
She offered another piece of meat, and he threw it to the dog – Tahoi, he thought. Onua. This must be her assistant.
He heard her talking to Onua a few feet away, sounding confused, worried. A few moments later, cooked rabbit was wafted in front of him. He followed the scent, slightly more appetising, but finally refused it. He fell asleep again amidst the smells and the sights and above all the feeling of Home.
*
Voices – always the same two – echoed around him, Onua talking of the Riders, and the fair in Cría. He ate raw egg and cheese one day, and threw it up within the hour. The fits of dizziness came more often now, one night he revived enough to taste the honey and water on his tongue, but soon enough he slipped back into the soothing blackness. He was warm, too warm, then the next minute, too cold, often both together, though he knew that was an impossibility. And there was Sinthya, a Sinthya more threatening than he had thought, only it was Ozorne, laughing down at him, and then Alanna, asking questions, and he laid his head against her chest in relief.
Then anger, so much anger, and he knew he should laugh, only he couldn't, because he couldn't get out of that form or maybe he was in Ozorne's dungeons again, and he couldn't breathe, couldn't fight back because he had no Gift to fight with.
Then her voice, gentle and caring, calling to him…
"Arram Salmalín? Arram – come on. You're too far off. It's all right, Arram – it's safe."
Safe…
Making a great effort, he concentrated on his human self, on Onua, on Alanna, on a tower near the sea, and most of all on getting back to her, the girl with the sad grey eyes. He heard something snap, and realised it was his splint.
She was scolding again, and if he hadn't been so tired, he would have smiled. Instead, he asked sleepily, "Can I have something to eat?"