He woke in a flurry of feathers in the darkness, desperately trying the escape. Fear pounded through his body, the bird's wings flapping franticly, seeking flight. The hunter took to the air, diving from his wooden prison to tumble to the cold floor. He sat there, shivering, though the cold could not penetrate his cloak of feathers. For it was not the chill of winter, but the lingering effects of the dream before. Dreams. The rescued bird nearly laughed, a note of hysterics in it threatening to burst. It had been nothing but a dream. No, Zak shook his head, more to drive away the memory, the unwanted thing standing as clear as day, not a dream – a nightmare.
The night rolled on, its wings of darkness flying, changing in an internal dance. He thought he saw a glitter of light, reflecting from an unseen mirror, but there was nothing, the night's hand covering too much for him to see. In the endless shadows, the bird lay, lost back into the dream he had somehow escaped. A single, lone creature, in the maze of fog, of unravelling secrets. Emotions from the strange vision returned, laying its cold knife on the falcon's neck. A memory, newly discovered, yet blurred by time, drifted into his head, the memory of a drow raid, and the mercy he could not give.
And then the nightmare was all too real.
The dream came back at full force, the drow maiden from the nightmare, flying in circles like a vulture over its prey, waiting for the feast of death. The dream was no dream, no average nightmare. They had been past visions, the memories thought left behind in the other life, manifesting, growing in his head. Even in sleep, he had been browsing through his new found treasures, but most had brought their age old curses as well. The riches, if he could call them that, had brought even more burdens upon his shoulders, and Zak felt himself crumbling.
The worse thing was, memories had been real.
A deep growl brought Zak from the trance-like reflection he had fell into, and the bird fluttered into the air, knowing the ground an exposed, unnatural area to be. Two gleaming disks glared back at him, and the falcon took flight, not recognizing the creature before him. He felt better airborne, safer, and as the bird studied the creature, it growled again, the low, curious roar of a feline. Sleek muscles reflected in the dim light, giving away the fine char-coloured fur that blended so well, the shades of shadows mingling.
Another memory grew from the sight, a creature of the night in swirling mist, and beside it, a small onyx statue. Drow fingers as dark as the beautifully carved figurine it clutched, motioning, and a soft command was heard from the creature's master. Gwenhywvar, with the wisdom of one from another plane, blood dripping from her maw as she served the dark purposes of her elven masters, whipped past the weapon master, her eyes silently begging. The soul that did not belong, Zak had named her then, the soul chained to a tortured world, so much like himself, and Drizzt.
Relief flowed as Zak realized the soul had finally escaped, and now, perhaps, in the hands of one truly deserving. Two creatures that did not belong had escaped, for the bird suspected the onyx statue was still in drow hands. But guilt followed, for he could recall so many times that the weapon master could have saved the panther from that cruel existence, that he could have just taken the figurine for himself, or smashed it on the cave rocks so that she could have been laid to rest. He had been weak, though, knowing that he was no saviour, thinking that perhaps another would step in, someone more deserving than he. One did, but not after Gwenhywvar had suffered for many long years.
The panther stood studying the bird in turn, but no recollection sparkled. The bird was a bird, and that was all. Zak blinked as the deadly hunter turned house cat began to stalk away to spend her night elsewhere. "Gwenhywvar!" the bird suddenly shrieked, grasping quickly at the chance that might be lost forever, "Wait!" The feline returned, suddenly interested in the abrupt actions of the bird, but spoke nothing. Zak, dipping in his knowledge of falcons, turned to the simple language known by all beasts of the earth. "Drow," the falcon tried, "Your master?" Gwen said nothing, and, as if she had heard none of importance, yawned. "Drizzt Do'Urden!" Zak cried desperately, but there was no reaction. As one of magic, the panther was true to her nature, and knew nothing of the tongue of animals. Gwenhywvar turned to exit, weaving a lazy circle around the falcon, and Zak felt his hopes of returning as the drow weapon master dashed.
In frustration, the falcon snatched out, meaning to bite the air in anger, but snatching a patch of fur instead. The feline snarled, snapping with claws extended. A paw swung past inches before him, but flight gave him a large advantage, and height was the bird's shield. So he took it, retreating into the protection of wings. Another near miss as the cat pounced, striking with deadly accuracy. As pain sparked a rushing wildfire, Zak lost control as the falcon's nature buried him and all reasoning, and the bird attacked back in fury.
The bird used the frenzy of his wings to confuse his opponent, and, after ripping from the hooked claws, arched into a dive. A victory cry echoed the walls of Mitheral Hall, as the bird shredded an ear, the bloody tatters hanging like ribbons, but it didn't last long. The bird watched in horror as the panther snapped at him, her jaw revealing sharp fangs, but received nothing but a mouthful of feathers as he took to the safety above. The black leopard leaped after him, seeking to pull him down, but the dwarven tunnels were wide and, fortunately, high, and the cat's attempts trapped nothing. In a few moments, it was over, the panther sinking away into the darkness with a growl of warning. As Zak harshly drove away the instinct that had forced him to fight, the bird sighed sadly.
That night, he made his first enemy.