“Hi pretty bird. What are you doing out so early?”
A moment later the bird flew into the air. He swirled around once, twice. He was so beautiful, so majestic. I forgot everything and enjoyed the swirling and looping bird.
I watched him as he circled once more and then changed direction and dove. I ducked, thinking he wanted to get to one of the fish, and that’s when his talons dug through my shirt and into the flesh of my shoulder.
“Ah!” The owl pecked furiously at my face, towards my eyes, and I fought to shake him off, but the bird was mental. I flung my arms over my face and scrambled to push him off, as his claws dug deeper into my skin. My shirt shredded like paper, blood flying as I darted left and right. No matter what I did, I couldn’t shake the bird.
“Get off!” But it wouldn’t let go, and his beak kept coming closer and closer to my nose. I screamed louder as I realized what he was doing. He wanted to peck out my eyes. I went to my knees, and the owl followed me down to the ground. I shrieked unintelligible words as the bird stabbed relentlessly to get through to my eyes.
I had only one thought: Bollard. He’d made this thing, and the bird was coming for me. This little bird could be someone I’d met. I deserved this then.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” I yelled through my tears, over and over, but the bird didn’t stop. It was on top of my head now. My scalp ripped open by its claws.
There was a loud thwacking sound, followed by a thump and then the bird was on the ground.
Greer stood over the bird, branch in his hand, arms raised. If my uncle did this, if this was Enzo or Manon, then this bird was my fault. I couldn’t let him hurt this owl.
“Stop!” I cried.
“It’s sick.”
“No, please, it isn’t sick.”
The owl didn’t move. Maybe the bird wanted Greer to kill it, but I couldn’t let him. “Please don’t.”
Greer lowered the branch, and the bird rallied and flew off into the woods. “What’s going on?”
My hair was slick with blood, and back of my head throbbed. I stood up and swayed. Greer grabbed my waist before I fell over.
“Tell me later. You need help.” He scooped me up into his arms and carried me to the large stone where moments ago the bird had launched its attack.
Blood dropped like rain onto the stone. With each thump of my heart, my head throbbed, and I leaned heavily on the rock as Greer poured the water bottle over my head. The quantity of blood running out of my hair made me gasp. The stupid bird must have scalped me.
“Stay here,” Greer said, like I had any choice in the matter. He ran to the tent for supplies. Thankfully, he was gone only seconds. He parted my hair to see the damage, and I almost fell over again. The pain at the back of my scalp shot down my spine. God it hurt. Greer dropped my hair and retook my waist before I fell over.
“I’ve got you,” he said in my ear. “I know it hurts. I’ll be gentle, okay?”
I whimpered out a yes, struggling not to cry out with pain.
He poured something on my head, and my skin numbed where the liquid touched.
“Should feel better in a second.”
The pained dulled to where it didn’t make me feel faint, but it still hurt. I caught my breath long enough to ask how bad it was.
“Bad but not too bad.” As he poured more water, bright red blood flushed to the ground.
My body was shaking. “Really?”
“Heads bleed a lot more than people expect. The cut is only so deep, but you’ll need stitches.”
“Is it going to hurt?”
“Stitches usually do in the field, but you don’t have a lot of options unless you want to bleed to death. The lidocaine will cut some of the edge but yes, it’ll hurt.”
“Can you do stitches?”
“Does it matter?” he said. I would have nodded, but by then my head was viced in his arm. “Any idea why the bird attacked you?”
The needle pricked my scalp, followed by a pull and a tug. I wasn’t going to tell Greer that I suspected the bird to be something Bollard had made. How could I explain what I saw to Greer? He said he knew what I was, but I kind of doubted it. If Lothaire, who loved Grandma, ran when he knew the truth, what would this stranger do? “Violent species of birds is my guess.”
Greer chortled. “Great Horned Owl? Violent against humans? If the bird killed you, you’d have gone on record. ‘First death by hoot owl.’”
Greer tied off the thread. “I should check out your shoulder too.”
Great. Not that this wasn’t awkward enough.
I unfastened the first few buttons, and Greer delicately lifted the shirt from my shoulder. He moved the chain of the necklace away from the wounds. Greer poured water over the cut to flush out the embedded fabric. He leaned in to see the cut, and my skin prickled as I became acutely aware of his closeness. My head throbbed worse, and I had to rest on Greer for support. “You think it wanted to kill me?”
“It wanted to get through your skull.”
Crap. I should have let Greer kill it. I was incredibly sleepy, and I leaned deeper into Greer. It felt good through the pain. I desperately needed a hug, but he didn’t seem like a guy who offered hugs to the scared or wounded.
Greer sighed, not moving for a moment, before he added, “We need to wash the blood from you.”
Embarrassed, I sat up. A large wet spot covered his shoulder where my head had been. Blood ran down the length of his arm and coated both of his hands. Mortified, I said, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t even think. I had my BFV shot and stuff.”
Greer
