“Now I am. I’ll be fine.”
She watches me carefully. “Don’t overdo it, and don’t put yourself in danger.”
“I won’t,” I assure her.
I move before the Raffia can register my presence fully, stepping out from cover and deliberately snapping a branch underfoot when I’m a distance away.
The reaction is immediate.
The creature’s head tilts, then lifts, its massive form shifting for the first time. The ground seems to tremble with the simple adjustment of its weight. Its eerie eyes lock onto me.
“Come get me, little birdie!”
Almost as if it understands my words, its features shift, darkening with what looks like anger.
Oops! Did it understand the insult?
I move at high speed, and though the bird is heavy, it manages to keep up.
I draw it further into the forest, keeping just enough distance to avoid provoking a direct attack while ensuring I hold its focus.
Behind me, Moe moves stealthily.
Time stretches. I count every moment in my mind. We’d tried to calibrate everything to make sure our teamwork was complementary and not disruptive. While weaving our way through the forest, we’d also done mock-up scenarios based on the information in the book.
Moe had timed her movements within a hundred steps to thirty seconds. Then added another thirty seconds for the blood extraction. The distance in this case is much smaller, so the one full minute we planned for should be plenty for her to accomplish her task.
Every second feels like a minute as I move through the sparse terrain, careful not to lead the Raffia too far from its nest so asto not mess our plan. It lets out a low, angry sound—something between a growl and a call—and charges toward me.
The ground shakes. The trees’ crowns tremble, leaves falling to the ground.
Oh, fuck!
Forty-five, forty-six…
Fifteen more seconds. I need to?—
Another loud noise that causes everything to quake.
Fuck!
Instead of luring it even further away and risking a direct confrontation, I channel all my energy in my feet, moving at full speed. Level four sure is better than three. It feels as if I’m teleporting instead of just running.
The world folds for a fraction of a second as I race against time and reappear behind the cover where Moe is crouched over one of the eggs.
She’s quick at work.
A narrow tool is embedded into the shell, her hands steady as she drills through with precise force. The shell resists, but not enough. A crack forms. Then another.
“Almost,” she whispers.
A thin stream of dark, viscous liquid begins to seep out. She quickly positions the container, collecting it with practiced care. The faint glow within the egg pulses stronger as the extraction continues.
I gulp down. Only a couple of seconds but it feels like an eternity as the bird’s growls grow closer and closer.
“It’s almost back,” I whisper.
“Just a bit more.”
