The Elitra: Book One

Chapter Three

The room was peaceful with the flickering of the flames creating a warm ambiance. Faelin looked down at Vabelle as she lay on her side, her heart-shaped face turned toward him. But rested and relaxed with her eyes closed, sleeping in the heavily heated room. It was as if the room had a sun within its walls.

Vabelle had the feathers of her left arm fanned out over her. He knew her other arm still hurt terribly.

Those damned Starian's!

He still remembered finding her on the ground standing over blood sodden sand with all her silver feathers of her right arms littering the ground. He had made them pay though. He'd every last Starian. Except the one who had counted. The Starian princess had gotten away. But he didn't worry about any of that. There weren't enough Starian's to raise a revolt. The land was as good as gone, their people nothing but a handful left.

Her right hand was bandaged from her fingertips to her shoulder blade, and unless he could find a way to help heal her arm back to normal, she'd never fly again.

He ran a hand down her left arm, just brushing her skin lightly. He didn't want to wake her but she stirred at his touch and then opened her eyes when he paused, his fingers frozen near her shoulder.

He sighed.

"Sorry, love. I didn't mean to wake you," he said and took his arm away, laying down the side of his turned body instead.

"It's alright," she mumbled, sleep thick in her voice. She cleared her throat and tried again. "It felt nice to wake up to."

She gave him a smile that lit his heart on fire. She took her left hand and slid it along the side of his cheek, her feathers receded into her arm, as if they were never there.

It was a power most Thracian's were born with, but there were a few who were regarded as rare and more powerful than a normal Thracian. And those were Thracian's born with metal feathers instead of the birdlike, soft feathers.

They were pure metal and there were only ever three of the metal wings born at the same time.

Vabelle was known as the Silver Falcon with her pure silver wings. Or wing. Faelin growled in his mind as he thought about it.

He was the Copper Hawk with pure copper wings.

While the golden feathers are supposed to be the most powerful of the three, this life cycle had given Faelin the strongest of power. He was more powerful than both, Vabelle and Duraun, the Gold Eye.

But while the three had different metal wings, they all had the same gold shimmering eyes.

He closed his eyes and felt her fingers on his skin. He gave a deep groan in satisfaction.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his eyes still closed.

She took her hand from his face giving him a slight grimace before answering, "It hurts, Faelin. You don't have to ask me every time. I will tell you if it changes."

His face softened and looked at her sadly, "Sorry, love. I just want to know how you're feeling."

"I know," she said and tucked her hand back under her.

"I will find a way to heal you," he said, staring at her unblinkingly. He wanted her to know he was serious. The thing was, that he couldn't get over, was that she always knew when he said something he would go to the ends of the lands to find it.

She smiled warmly up at him, her happiness burning like the temperature in the room.

"Love, I have to go, I'm returning to the library to see if the Sils have anything on helping heal magically."