Feathers

A Working Trap

Sorren heard a crash behind her, the silver-eyed snarling in anger as the vines caught him up like an insect in a web and sagged under his weight. He tried to maneuver his way through them and stumbled after her on foot only to receive several stinging scratches for his trouble. He strained to see which direction she had gone but knew she would not lead him to her home. With a growl, he jerked his knife from his belt and slashed any vine that got in his way as he marched back to the camp. 

Arthur was sitting and rubbing his ankle, Rutiger stood off with his arms folded and looked quite disgruntled and Link was coiling the snare up to reuse it later. Bain normally kept his cool, but the ease with which the Feral had so quickly made a fool of them embarrassed both him and his men.

"She knows what we are here for and now she is going to tell all the other Ferals," Arthur grumbled.

"She was alone. There is a chance that she does not fly with many others," Bain replied, still feeling the sting of his own embarrassment. "We should split up, put snares everywhere. And try to be more...quiet."

The three wordlessly divided the rope between them and stalked off, just as cross about being bested by a tiny girl as Bain. He ground his teeth together and took a few deep breaths. He told himself that he needed to be calm as though he was actually hunting deer. He remembered how his heart had leapt right up into his throat when he had seen her perched in the tree, grinning at them. There was more than the shock that usually runs through a hunter when he spots his prey, an added element of sexuality, the immediate electric current that sparks in a man when he sees a beautiful woman. It had made him hesitate when they should have all gone after her at once.

She had spoken to him, though, and he had hoped to trick her. She was more clever than he had given her credit for. He would have to take that into account when he next spotted her and he was determined not to let her best him.

Sorren made it home in good time, slipping under the thick green curtain of hanging moss that concealed the entrance to the cave. Bear was sitting on his pile of pine needles, gnawing on some bees nest he had stolen. Sorren hoped it was empty.

"You are back!" His voice rumbled. "There are Peregrines about. Males, too! They are like bucks in rut when they come to Deepfell looking to snatch up a mate. Less blood in their heads than in their-"

"Bear!"

He sniffed and licked his lips. "Hmph. You had just better stay close to home for a while until they leave."

"I know,"she said. She would not dare tell him that she had gone looking for them and had been chased. She also hoped that no birds or other creatures had seen the event either. If Bear heard about it from a different source, she would be in much greater trouble.

"Do not provoke them either, Sorren," he growled as if reading her mind.

She sighed and plopped down without answering. Bear had been her guardian since she was five years old. Her mother and father had both been Ferals and had been the leaders of a small village deep in the woods. At least five Feral families had lived there in houses woven between trees and a part of the living world. Bear had been close with her parents, bringing in the giant bee hives so they could make the beeswax soap and in return, put salve on his welts. Honey was his favorite thing and no amount of painful stings would deter him, especially when they could be immediately soothed with cool cream.

A band of Vultures had sacked the Feral village, overwhelming the Ferals with their numbers and killing everyone. Sorren barely remembered that night. She was torn from her bed, her mother hushing her and telling her not to make a sound as she fled the house. Her father had run outside to battle after quickly kissing her forehead and telling her he loved her and to not look back. Bear was there and her mother put her on his furry back and he lurched off into the forest. Sorren had tucked her face into his shoulders and cried.

Bear had said she hadn't talked for a long time after that because her mother had told her to be quiet. When she finally asked about what had happened and where her parents were, he had said that everything had been burned to the ground and she could not return. She had never been able to find the village in all the years she had been with Bear.

She leaned over and pried the nest out of his large hands, his claws four inches long and black.

"You know you are going to get it stuck in your teeth," she chastised him.

"Well, you were taking too long," he replied.

She took out her knife and cut the tough outside of the big gray mass, pulling out the sticky comb. She poked and prodded the cells full of wax out into a bowl until she thought she had enough. The majority of the comb she mashed in a separate bowl with a rock and let Bear have it that way, he was too impatient to wait for it to strain. The last bit she would store away for a rainy day when they could not go out to forage.

She had a jar of oil and some lye, but she would soon need to go to the Lower Quarter, a market on the outskirts of the city, not within the giant walls, that accepted any and all customers. Ferals often appeared for things they could not acquire or make themselves.

She heated the oil and beeswax and tossed in a few dried flowers for a perfume. It soon came to a trace after she added the lye and stirred fairly consistently until it was ready to be poured into a mold. Making the soap was the only thing she had been allowed to do at five years old. It reminded her of her parents, their faces slowly fading from her mind over time as well as that night. She could hear their voices in the swish of the stirred oil, constantly telling her to never eat the lye. It almost made her feel like she still had a family.

Bear never interrupted her during this time.