Further away west, the blood was much fresher. One of the dueling stags had clearly come off the worse; the coppery tinge in the air conveyed defeat.
Ris’kin sifted through each and every source until she identified one that made the thick fur of her hackles stand on end.
Gnomish blood.
It was a familiar scent—my avatar had endured plenty of it during the battle for the Grotto, not to mention when Longshank had lost a good few spoonfuls of his own just a couple of weeks ago. There was just the faintest whiff of it here, hopefully meaning the child was not seriously hurt, but it was enough to stoke Ris’kin’s fury at the creature responsible for drawing it.
Teeth bared instinctively, Ris’kin and I traced the scent to the base of a leafy behemoth which Insight informed me was a furynut tree. We gazed up at the massive expanse of the trunk.
We can take it, Ris’kin and I thought together.
Though dauntingly high and wide, the craggy bark provided plenty of footholds, and Ris’kin ascended with ease. We assessed each branch cautiously before moving on to the next, but found nothing except ants, spiders, and one very irate squirrel.
We steered well clear of the latter; it chattered fiercely, despite Ris’kin’s much larger size, and actually seemed as though it were shaking its tiny fists at us.
Ris’kin snapped her teeth at it as we passed.
It’s just protecting its nuts, I told her. You’d understand if you had your own. They’re as precious to it as this child is to us.
She rolled her eyes, then yelped as something small and hard hit the back of her shoulder. Ris’kin whipped her head around to see the squirrel, still chattering furiously, another nut held at the ready in its tiny hand.
Little bastard!
Ris’kin snarled and made as though to climb back down. The squirrel squeaked and shot back into its hole in the trunk.
As we neared the crown of the colossal tree with still no further sign of our quarry, I began to doubt my avatar’s instincts. Then a huge shape loomed into view.
The nest was lodged snugly amongst several forking branches. At first I could only see its dense outer wall, a seemingly impenetrable fortress of tightly interwoven twigs and leaves. As we moved a little higher, though, we were able to catch a glimpse of what was inside.
The kidnapped child lay curled in the center of the nest. Her pale halo of hair was now full of dirt and bits of twig. She was whimpering, probably because she was surrounded by ugly, fluffy monsters.
Tiger Owlet
The juvenile offspring of a tiger owl.
Chicks remain in the nest for the first six weeks, fully dependent on their parents for food and security.
It was hard to believe these creatures were the offspring of the majestically terrifying raptor that had attacked our camp. Their gray coats were fluffy, comprised of down rather than feathers; it stuck out in all directions and made them resemble cotton balls that had been struck by an electrical current. The eyebrow-like markings above their all-black eyes added to this image; they looked permanently surprised.
There were five of the little horrors in total—and no sign of their huge guardian.
The owlets were pecking ineffectually at the gnome child, who I realized now wasn’t whimpering but giggling as she swatted playfully at her feathery harassers.
The girl was safe. That was a relief. Let’s just grab her and get back.
But Ris’kin hesitated. Her every instinct conveyed that something here wasn’t right.
I considered. Where was the big owl? According to the Augmentary, the parent should have hung around to help its kids eat. Frowning, I returned to Insight.
After the first six weeks, they will begin to venture from the nest (known as ’branching’), but will not learn to fly properly until around ten weeks of age.
When fully grown, their downy feathers will become darker and brindled, perfectly camouflaging them against the furynut trees in which they make their home—
The massive winged shape launched itself at us with a demonic screech.
While I reeled in shock—it had been right beside us, and we hadn’t seen it!—Ris’kin’s muscles reacted in almost the same instant her impeccable eyesight detected the motion. She flung herself backward, pushing off from the trunk and commencing the long fall to the ground. The landing would hurt even with her ability to land on her feet, but it was surely less deadly than the owl’s wicked talons.
For once my avatar’s reflexes weren’t quick enough. The curved talons raked her face, and the burst of hot agony almost severed Double Sight’s connection. Ris’kin’s scream echoed my own mental cry as we hurtled toward the ground a hundred feet below.
I braced myself for a painful impact, reassuring myself that Ris’kin’s evolutions would ensure the quick healing of any broken bones and internal injuries, but the owl wasn’t done with us. It dived in pursuit.
Hard claws closed about our torso and squeezed. I cringed at the horrible sensation of my avatar’s ribs creaking beneath the pressure. When the first one cracked, I almost dropped our connection, wanting nothing more than to retreat back into my blessedly incorporeal—and painless—god’s-eye form.
But I couldn’t leave my avatar alone.
Not that she needed my help. Even as another rib broke beneath the crushing pressure, she managed to twist in her captor’s grip, raising her tail.
Words in the Augmentary’s golden text flashed before my vision.
Defensive Spray
An ability? When did Ris’kin learn this?
Her body was contorted, so I felt rather than saw the spray of fluid she squirted from her anal glands, right up into the owl’s face.
As one with Ris’kin, I recognized that she recognized the scent as her own familiar foxy musk. But the non-animal part of my mind was mentally gagging at how foul the odor was. That’s a whole new level
