** When their beloved mistress is murdered, a white raven and a black fox embark on a journey for revenge. Will the brave familiars manage to recover the stolen heart in time - or would they lose themselves? **
"Sometimes love is
what drives you to...
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It seemed to him that they were leaving their home forever as they moved further away from their grove. Together, the two guardians followed one of Odhrán's black crows, which showed them the way.
Like a shadow come to life, the black fox flitted through the tall grass of the lush green meadows bordering the forest. The scent of wildflowers tickled his nose, while his dark, midnight-blue eyes kept a watchful eye on his surroundings. Again and again, he stopped, listened in different directions, and then quickly continued, which led him over hill and dale of this overgrown valley.
He paused for a moment when he finally reached a hill with a grandmotherly curved back overlooking the valley and the forest. The black fox, with its dark blue gleam in its shiny fur, looked back wistfully.
His chest rose and fell under his regular but heavy breaths, and his heart beat fast as if it was urging him to hurry, to loosen the tight knot in his chest as quickly as possible.
Cian made a panting sound and shook himself under the sickening cold shiver that made the black hairs stand on the back of his neck. He and Lir had often sneaked out of the forest against Hailyn's orders. It was the typical rebellion that awoke one day in every living creature when it tested the limits of its newfound form. But now they were leaving familiar territory for reasons other than the rebellious and untamed spark inherent in most nature spirits.
The treetops rustled, the branches bent, and it almost seemed as if the forest was waving goodbye to them and wishing them good luck on their journey. Under the gusts of wind, the grass bent like a green, wide sea, and Cian raised his head to look up at the deep blue sky, blinking. The snow-white raven was barely noticeable among the white clouds that drifted lazily with the wind as it traveled above him like a silent sentinel.
For a few heartbeats, the crystal blue eyes focussed on the white feathers, on which the morning sun refracted and cloaked them in an orange-red glow as if Lir had the shape of a phoenix rather than a raven.
Odhrán was right: the fox usually enjoyed running through the undergrowth, the leaves and grass beneath his paws, and the glimmer of Lir's white feathers above him. But now, the painful knowledge throbbed in the back of his mind that there was no home to return to if they failed.
