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The gwragedd shook her head. "No, you came for this. You sensed it."
"Yes, I sensed it in passing, but--"
"And now you have found it. You will bring your pack. You will stay. I have guarded this for you. Protected it from humans."
"I know, and we are grateful. Impressed as well, you have protected it for generations, and you have sealed it to prevent souls from passing into this world. That is excellent work. And it means that you do not have to stay." He smiled, a kind, genuine smile that reminded me of Ricky. "You are free."
"B-but I have found the passage. You need it. You will bring your pack."
The Huntsman gave a slow shake of his head. "We do not need it. More importantly, we cannot even use it, I fear. There are so few with fae blood in this region that there would be no point in us settling here. We must stay where we are needed. It is our duty."
"But I have found--"
"And your duty, little one, is to be free. To be happy. You served our kind well, and we are grateful. But you do not need to continue."
"I wish to continue," she said. "That is my duty."
"We have relieved you of it. However, if you want to stay, we cannot stop you."
"Alone?" she said, and there was a plaintive note in her voice. A fearful note, too, almost like panic. "I have been alone for so long, my lords. I kept this for you. For a pack to come so I may serve."
"Then join us," the younger Huntsman said. That earned him a look from the older one, but they exchanged a glance, and the older one dipped his chin and said, "Yes, little one. You may join us. There are other ways to serve."
"But this--this is a passage. It is mine. Yours. You must come."
"No, little one--"
The gwragedd flew at him.
Fifteen - Liv
The hounds fought off the gwragedd easily, pinning her beneath their giant paws as gently as they could. The Huntsmen tried to reason with her, persuade her to leave, but she flew into a fury of gnashing teeth and tears and wails. In the end, all they could do was withdraw, with reluctance, the younger one telling her where she could find them, should she change her mind. And as they left, her cries echoed through the forest.
"Do not leave me, my lords! Do not leave me alone!"
I woke on the ground. It took a second to realize where I was. Sometimes with a vision, I wander. Fortunately, my powers weren't quite prepared to kill me yet, and I'd crashed exactly where I'd fallen into the vision.
I got to my feet and reoriented myself while sorting out my memories. I'd heard Ricky. Then I'd seen him in a different direction. But that hadn't been him . . . which explained the "wrong direction" part. Got it.
I hadn't gone more than a few loping steps before his bird cry came again, letting me know he was on the gwragedd's trail, no note of "Where the hell are you?" in it, which suggested a time-freeze during my vision detour. Excellent.
I kept moving as quietly as I could, having to keep reminding myself of which memories had been the vision--the gwragedd wasn't following Ricky, and any noise I made wouldn't lead her straight to him. I still tried to stay quiet. No need to unnecessarily attract her attention.
I kept up that slow jog until I heard a sound. A faint whimper that had me skidding to a halt. I looked around. Another whimper, so soft I had to wonder if I was actually hearing it. It sounded like a baby softly fussing.
Or it could be the damned puppy again.
I followed the sound. When I caught sight of a yellow blanket and a flash of what looked like brown fur, I grumbled. But I took one more step, to be sure, and that "fur" turned into the soft baby hair I'd expected when I grabbed the puppy.
I hurried forward and pushed into the thicket.
The baby looked like something out of a biblical story, cradled in a basket woven of twigs and leaves, bundled with blankets. She peered up at me, only mildly curious, as if I'd happened upon her in her crib. Then she lifted her arms with an uh-uh-uh that even I recognized as the universal baby language for "Pick me up."
I did. She smelled sweetly of leaves and moss, and I could see both padding her makeshift bassinet. She cuddled into my arms, seemingly untraumatized, and I had no idea what a fae would feed an infant, but the gwragedd had apparently figured out something.
As I cuddled her, I debated my next move. Did I give my alert cry, bring Ricky back and then leave? An hour ago, I would have. Now . . . it felt cruel. Of course I had to take the baby, but I wanted to say something to the gwragedd.
That impulse passed quickly, though. Yes, I felt bad for her, but not so bad that I'd endanger myself or Ricky or the baby.
