Eylderfell || ONC 2024

1-2

Tavor thrashed, but his body was weighed down beneath the horde. Hundreds of small faces crowded his vision. He could just about make out the cat behind him, shifted into a young girl with the crow on her shoulder, swatting a branch at her attackers. Then one of the brightlings climbed onto his face, claws sinking against his cheek as it blocked his view.

"Nice eyes," it crooned. "Nice, nice. Want, want."

Fear lurched in his throat. Tavor turned his head as the brightling lunged. Its claws missed his eyes, drawing jagged lines from his forehead down to his cheek.

Tavor screamed out. The laughter echoed in his ears. Loud. Too loud. The acrid tang of salt and rust stung his mouth. His skin tingled, buzzing growing in his ears over the howls of laughter. His hands found the dagger and he lashed out. The blade found flesh, and a piercing howl raked his ears. A liquid hissing bubbled beside him, the acrid tang of seared flesh making him retch.

The brightlings scrambled off him. Tavor staggered to his feet. His vision out his left eye was blurred, crimson and dark shadows reducing everything to a blur. He slashed the knife out blindly, forcing the brightlings away from him.

"Bad magic!" They hissed, retreating away in a wide circle away from the blade. "Bad magic!"

He stepped forwards, pushing them further from him until one by one they melted away, skittering back into the trees. Tavor waited until the echoes of their laughter had faded from his ears before he let his arm drop, trembling, to his side.

The cat ran up to him. Her fur was matted with blood, but she seemed in good spirits.

"You saved us," she breathed. "I thought we were done for."

Tavor opened his mouth to say something, but nausea gripped him in a heavy wave. His head pounded, and bright spots flashed like stars across his vision.

"Yes, I suppose thanks are in order," the crow said. "Although I feel obliged to point out this could have all been avoided if—"

This cat sighed. "Can't you just say something nice and leave it at that?"

"Alright," the crow said, and then, much quieter: "Thank you."

Tavor managed a shaky smile. But his head still felt heavy, body weak, as if all the energy had been sapped out of him. Had the brightlings done something to him? But the cat had also been injured in the skirmish, and she seemed fine.

The cat glanced up at him. "Maybe we should rest a while."

"Fine," the crow said, shooting a nervous look at the shadows surrounding them. "But not for long."

They found a clearing a little while ahead and settled down to rest. After washing the blood off his face with water from a nearby stream, Tavor slumped against a tree. If he breathed deeply, long and heavy, the headache was about manageable. He let his eyes flutter closed, listening to the cat and crow talk amongst themselves.

"How's your wing doing?"

"Painful, but tolerable. Although I won't be flying on it for some time." The crow sighed. "How frustrating. One quick spell and I'd be flapping around in an instant."

A quick silence. Then the cat spoke, voice lowered like she didn't want Tavor to hear. "Maybe..."

"No. Far too risky."

"Well, I can't carry you around the whole time," the cat said. "And we can't keep avoiding the issue like this."

Another silence, longer this time.

"Leave it a little longer," the crow said. "We're in enough danger as it is. If he figures it out too soon..."

Their air behind Tavor chilled abruptly, like he'd been plunged into cold water. The wind creaked between the boughs, ghosting against his skin like a cold breath on the back of his neck. His heart lurched, suddenly conscious of what felt like an undeniable presence, closing in behind him.

He jerked upright with a gasp, and the familiars stopped talking immediately.

"What's wrong?" the cat asked.

Tavor looked over his shoulder. Through the gloom, all he could make out were the silhouettes of trees. He shivered. His neck still tingled where he'd felt the breath-like wind against it. There had been something there. He was sure of it.

"I thought I..." he rubbed his arms and shook his head. Maybe the forest really was driving him crazy. "Nothing. Let's just go."

"Good idea." The crow said. "We shouldn't—"

"Shh," the cat hissed. Tavor and the crow both shot quizzical looks her way, but her attention was focused on the treeline, peering intently at the darkness. Suddenly she froze, ears and tail pricked up.

"Look!"

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