Page 21 of Where Broken Wings Fly

“That’s a very modern name.”

“I’m a very modern male.” He winked at me. I could get used to seeing that wild twinkle in his eyes.

“Seriously. There’s no way that’s your actual name.”

He lifted his hand to his heart and contorted his face in pain. Rolling my eyes at him, I nudged at his ribs with my elbow.

“Would something like Killian Fiodh’Rugadh be more acceptable?”

“Yes.”

“Well that’s my name.” He squared his shoulders, shifting the two stone swords crossed over his back. “Bit of a mouthful, if you ask me.”

“I’d have to agree,” I giggled, biting down on my lip to stop the noise from becoming anymore powerful.

We passed through a winding trail of creaking trees, the early-morning winds sweeping at the tips of their canopies until the wild path eventually led to a clearing amongst the woodlands. The dusky tint to the air gave away just as the trunks of trees did, leaving the dug out acres of grasslands in the middle of the forest to flourish.

Amongst them were paddocks crafted of the very branches I had been ducking under moments ago. Golden orbs from the low rise of the sun floated from side to side in the clearing, illuminating the bark-crafted barn in the middle and the fields surrounding it on all sides.

The barn was alive with the high-pitched calls of chickens, all of which scattered themselves amongst the area and took any surface as their perches. A particularly proud cockerel strutted amongst his flock, chestnut feathers puffed high whenever he caught me staring for too long. Beyond them was a field of highland cattle, their rich, chestnut coats haloed by light as their muzzles worked at the growing roots beneath their hooves.

“You have mini chickens and mini cows?” I snorted as Killian led me closer to the barn.

He snickered back as his eyes flicked the full height of my body. “I made you small, didn’t I?”

Bobbing my head back and forth, I had to admit he had a point. Why I hadn’t thought that capability spread to any and every creature, I was not sure.

“Just so we’re clear,” I panted as my lungs started to become spicy. “There are little people running amuck in the forests of Cornwall with their little kingdoms and little livestock?”

“If you’re wanting to earn any favour around here, calling us ‘little people’ won’t get you far. Most of us have walked this earth longer than you and your immediate family, combined.”

There was a hint of sourness to his voice. I was just surprised he could feel something other than gleeful mischief. All this time, I had seen him as some sort of leprechaun capable of doing nothing but grin and laugh.

“Fair enough.”

That vast thrill returned to his eyes as he finally stopped and turned to me. “But yes. Little people and their little kingdoms and their little livestock.”

“Bizarre.”

“Is it?” He arced his brow. “Or was this earth only ever capable of holding little things?”

“Are we going to get philosophical, now?”

The challenge brightened his dark eyes, but before he could muster up a retort or half-joke, commotion rose from within the barn and drew our attention.

It was like watching a bar's front doors at last call. Three bodies stumbled out of the barn, each of them leaning against one another as their only source of balance, limbs tangled and wild grins tipped to the sky as they rumbled out laughter after laughter. The sight was joyous enough that I felt myself starting to laugh along with them, until I realized who it was.

Niamh, Shea, and Prince Raegan, all lacking an ounce of care as they nearly tripped when their boots transferred from barn to grass.

All of them wore the same skin-tight shirts and pants, yet they had added the same leathered armour to their bodies that Killian and I now wore. Niamh had a bow and quiver swung over her shoulder, the former made of carved wood with intricate engravings and strung tight. On either of her thighs she had small, needle-like daggers holstered in leather straps. Shea, on the other hand, had a battle axe swung over her shoulder, and Raegan had an overly-polished sword swinging on his hip.

“Look what the banach brought us!” Raegan grinned as he swung an arm around both Shea and Niamh’s shoulders. The latter snorted at him as she pressed the bend of her elbow into his side, whereas Shea grumbled and swiped his burly arm from her vicinity.

“Don’t tell me you three have cracked into the nectar already,” Killian sighed, though his face was just as radiant and carefree as theirs as he greeted Raegan with a brutish hug.

“Maybe just a bit.” Niamh winked at me as she swept some of that thick, chestnut hair from her face, letting the twists and braids fall heavy against her back as she regarded me. “You look a bit like us.”

Raegan, intrigued by her comment, let his eyes unapologetically skim my body. I wasn’t sure what the noise he made with the back of his throat was, but it threatened to pulverize my bones.