Borne aloft

Thrush screamed to the iron-coloured sky and the sound was torn away from him by the hungry wind.  Pastel green light formed a nimbus around him, glowing strongest nearest his body and dissipating gradually as it moved further away.  After about five feet it shaped itself into gigantic wings stretching easily twenty feet above his head and eight or nine below his feet.  They were torn and ragged at their edges, and constantly in motion though they clearly disregarded the wind.  They pulsed, and bore him along.

Clutched in his arms, pulled in tight to his chest, was the bundle of bloody rags that had been on the floor in front of him.  She was still barely breathing and felt light enough to be a hollow paper shell instead of a human being.  When he wasn't screaming, Thrush leaned over her, cradling her, and whispered her name.  Mab.

Dragged along below him, his arms clutching his head to his chest, his feet pulled up, almost embryonic in shape, was the Captain of the Faebreak.  The pastel green glow encompassed his body as well though it darkened as it drew close to him and dark tendrils roamed over him.  Every now and then a tendril would find a hold and then tighten against him, binding him slowly in a thickening cocoon.  Each grip made the Captain moan a little, though it was hard to hear him over Thrush's screaming.

The sea raged below them, waves as high as the Faebreak had been stretching up and clutching ineffectually at the Captain.  The air was hazy with salt spray and the crash of water against water was drowned out only by Thrush's screams.  The elemental rage in the air seemed to skirl like bagpipes and it was no surprise at all that the sky was darkening and lowering towards them.

Land finally coalesced on the horizon, a dark hump in the sea that was steady instead of chaotic and Thrush raised his head and stared at it, his eyes silvering completely over with cataracts even as he did so.  His wings flexed, their tendrils curving inwards, and there was a feeling of an immense force applying itself.  He gained speed, arrowing towards the land leaving a foam-capped wake of waves behind him that cut through the ocean's wrath, and in barely ten minutes was hovering over a narrow beach of black sand.  Below him the waves slammed vindictively against the shore, luminescent foam breaking up and recombining incessantly.  Inland, the beach gave way to scrub grass, than in turn gave way to forest.  Somewhere in the forest something howled, an impatient, ancient sound, and Thrush's head adjusted, turning towards it.

Blood flowed from his ears and nostrils as his wings bent to their task again and he carried his burdens through the air, heading for the centre of the forest.  The Captain moaned again and jerked, struggling for the first time against his restraints and finding out that it was too little too late.  And above them, the clouds merged and it began to rain.

The End

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