Cattidy Birdbringer
For Readers on Deadline, over at Deadline Dames...
Opening the cage was the catalyst. Cattidy’s hands shook as she fumbled the latch, emotions warring. Her desire to succeed contradicted her longing to live.
Life wasn’t fair, she knew. And she was the only Summoner. If this worked, her family would never want again.
The instant she opened the cage, the birds appeared, wheeling through the poisoned sky, squalling with harsh voices. No lovely, delicate birds, these were predators, of sharp eye and deadly beak.
There was no turning back. Their creator, she would also be their sacrifice. Her heart thudded as she prayed her death not be in vain.
Let it work this time…oh, please let it work.
She watched dreamily as the distant windmills ground into motion, churning in response to the birds’ presence.
“It’s working,” she whispered in awe.
Above her, the birds swarmed, and descended. Her triumph curdled into bitter fear. Desperation pulsed through her; she would give anything now to undo this. Let someone else save the village - she didn’t want to die alone.
Wings beat her furiously. She sank to the ground beneath the onslaught; cried out despite her vow to remain silent. Her dress tore, staining crimson. Pain became a live and angry companion, inhabiting her with its savage burn.
After a time, everything retreated: the wing beats, the slashes against her snowy dress and ivory skin. As pain faded, she realized she’d been wrong about their voices; they weren’t harsh at all. In fact, they sang like a choir of angels.
ETA: Tried to hide behind a cut, but as usual my formidable computing skills have resulted in FAIL.
Opening the cage was the catalyst. Cattidy’s hands shook as she fumbled the latch, emotions warring. Her desire to succeed contradicted her longing to live.
Life wasn’t fair, she knew. And she was the only Summoner. If this worked, her family would never want again.
The instant she opened the cage, the birds appeared, wheeling through the poisoned sky, squalling with harsh voices. No lovely, delicate birds, these were predators, of sharp eye and deadly beak.
There was no turning back. Their creator, she would also be their sacrifice. Her heart thudded as she prayed her death not be in vain.
Let it work this time…oh, please let it work.
She watched dreamily as the distant windmills ground into motion, churning in response to the birds’ presence.
“It’s working,” she whispered in awe.
Above her, the birds swarmed, and descended. Her triumph curdled into bitter fear. Desperation pulsed through her; she would give anything now to undo this. Let someone else save the village - she didn’t want to die alone.
Wings beat her furiously. She sank to the ground beneath the onslaught; cried out despite her vow to remain silent. Her dress tore, staining crimson. Pain became a live and angry companion, inhabiting her with its savage burn.
After a time, everything retreated: the wing beats, the slashes against her snowy dress and ivory skin. As pain faded, she realized she’d been wrong about their voices; they weren’t harsh at all. In fact, they sang like a choir of angels.
ETA: Tried to hide behind a cut, but as usual my formidable computing skills have resulted in FAIL.