It is a thoughtless mistake, and one I will correct swiftly. “Killing it will be no problem. I am a strong mate,” I say.
I reach toward it, meaning to demonstrate this task. Before I touch it, my mate lets out a screech loud enough to make my ears hurt, and I freeze in place.
“No! Don’t hurt it!”
She lunges forward, seemingly forgetting her fear of me in her haste to get between me and the small antethorpe. I crawl backward, watching with surprise as she pulls the crying animal into her lap, stroking its head and wrapping it in one of my furs.
What a strange little thing…
The antethorpe ceases its cries and snuggles into her chest, letting its eyes close as it drifts off to sleep. Willow raises her head, her eyes narrowed in a glare. “I can’t believe you wanted me toeatit. Look how cute it is!”
I blink, not understanding what I’m looking at. Antethorpes aredangerous.It couldhurther.But…
If the mangy antethorpe youngling makes my Willow happy, and she wants to keep it alive, I will not stop her.
“I only wished to feed you… I did not know it would upset you so.”
“I’m a vegetarian. Of course it would upset me to see you kill an innocent animal in front of me.”
There is that blasted word again.“Vege-torian?”
Willow sighs. “It means I don’t eat animal meat. I haven’t in almost a decade.”
This is clearly important to her. And here I am, bringing alivecreature into our home and threatening to kill it in order to impress her.
“I did not know.” I dip my head, wishing I was not so unknowledgeable and foolish. “I am sorry, little human. Very sorry. I will do better. This I vow to you.”
When she doesn’t respond, a whimper echoes deep in my chest, my wings drooping at my back so the tips drag sadly along the ground.
Willow lets out a small sigh. “You know what? It’s fine. Just… promise you won’t hurt it?”
“You have my word.”
She nods, satisfied, then turns her attention to the creature’s leg. She sucks in a breath when she realizes the extent of the injury.
“Oh no. You poor thing. What happened?” She looks up, her eyes holding an accusatory glint. “Did you do this to it?”
I shake my head. “No! I found it injured. It was left by its herd, and likely cannot walk.”
Her face pinches. Her breath halts. She seems distressed by this news, and I do not know why—it is a simple fact of life. Beings are created, they grow, they feed, and then they return to the source to create more life. It happens every cycle. It is necessary to keep the balance of the world in order.
I’m about to inform her of this when she looks up at me with those wide, hopeful, beautiful green eyes—and I know whatever she is about to ask me, I will not be able to tell her no.
“Can you do something?” she asks. “To help it?”
“Help it?”
I am… surprised this is what she asks of me. Antethorpes grow to be vicious, angry creatures, and I do not know why she wishes me to spare one.Perhaps because she has never heard the ear-shattering howl of one that is fully grown…
“You want me to heal its leg?” I ask, making sure I understand her.
“If you can, absolutely.”
I gaze down at the frail creature, knowing that I could not deny her even if I wanted to. “It will be done.”
Her mouth tips up in the barest of smiles, and my pulse skyrockets. I would do anything to see this.Anything.
Swallowing hard, I work to focus on the task at hand. I reach out toward the walls, the pulsing blue roots running through the rock. Closing my eyes, I begin pulling from the magic that hums deep within my soul, directing it through my body to the tips of my fingers. Once I feel a connection to the source, I lower my hands to the antethorpe, imagining the bone mending, the skin pulling back together, the small vessels unwinding and the nerves firing to life.
