The tracks led up into the tree, moving ever up the trunk. The four looked at each other, not that comfortable with climbing and moving in such an environment. Strapping their weapons to their backs and securing scabbards by strapping them down so they wouldn’t swing and pull them off balance, they started climbing up. The roughness of the trunk and the frequent branches making it much easier than they expected.

They followed the marks gouged into the tree by whatever creature they were following, and saw they moved across a branch that came from another tree, the two branches almost touching but not quiet. The branches were thick and sound, easily able to hold their weight, but they swayed in the wind which pushed at them. They looked nervously across the gap, at the jump they needed to make.

Martin turned to see Gwynneth unstrapping her wings, taking her protective cloak off.

“I’ll go across with a rope and secure it. You then jump with the rope attached. If you fall, I’ll bring you up.” She looked at Kilia, “Mind if I loan one of those daggers of yours? I need to cut away branches as I go forward to save my wings.”

“Here you go,” Kilia looked at Martin, “if it gets lost you are going to have to make me a new one!”

He nodded, they were fighting together as well as friends, it was not an issue to him. If need be he would take the time necessary to replace it. He would have smiled, but after what he had seen, he could not. The mutilated body of the child making him grim, driving him to find who, what, had done this. To save the other child.

“We are saving a child. If a knife is all that is lost, I will rejoice.” His face was grim, his resolution obvious. Hurnith nodded, his snarling mouth visible even under the gel covering his face.

“We will find them.” He looked at the gap. “However long it takes, we will follow whoever did this and save the child.”

It did not take long. With the rune sharp dagger Gwynneth was able to easily remove those branches she feared would damage her wings. A quick flit across and she tied the rope securely to the branch while flying a bit higher to rest on a branch above so she would not be dislodged by the branch moving when the others came across.

One by one they jumped across, none falling though it was close with Martin, the least sure footed of them. Silently, he made a promise to himself “Next time I raise dexterity! It will help the rune inscription and it let me catch up to the others to not hinder them like this!” They continued on, following the trail, the scour marks no longer blood filled, but concerned by the blood they found on occasion, there was only one source for it, the kidnapped child. They pushed on; determined, grim and praying they would find a live child and not a corpse.

***

Dorne looked up at the forest overhead. The creature had grabbed him as he tried to cross the bridge, shouting for help. It had easily caught him, pulling his feet out from under him before pulling him up and looking at him. He looked at the cruel face, the mandibles that clacked at him, the small black eyes hidden behind ridges. He saw no pity, nothing but his death as fear seized him and blocked his throat. The creature seemed to make some decision, and instead of treating him as he had poor Jine, Dorne found himself wrapped in rope, trussed up like a wrangled calf. He was slung onto the creatures back, who then took off, heading into the treetops.

K’t’o felt the young Fae on his back moving around. He was tempted to bring him forward, hit him into oblivion, but he refrained. He was not sure of the resilience of these young Fae and he had a mission. He remembered the words of the master. Go to the Fae. Create fear. Kill a few, leave evidence so they will know it is the dark. Take a child, that will make them follow. And when they do, kill their hunters. Weaken them. Show them there is nowhere we cannot reach

He remembered and moved at a leisurely pace. His clawed legs meant he skittered along branches and between tress almost as fast as on the ground. He made sure to leave a path, and when he felt it was becoming less distinct, he thought of how to make it clearer, as well as taunt those who followed. Just a small slash, and the child bled. Undoubtedly following fresh blood of one of their own would goad them further. He smiled to himself, savouring the idea of killing those who followed, and the feast of Fae flesh and blood to follow.

He looked back down his path, seeing four creatures, one with wings following him. He smiled, looking for a good place to ambush them. He decided to go down to the forest floor, quickly descending the trunk. At the bottom he looked around, then jumped up, snagging himself on an overhanging branch. He made sure that the Fae child’s blood dripped no more, going so far as to bind the wound. He then hung him up above him by his feet, swaying from the branch, like a fruit hanging, ripe to be picked. The image amused him, considering the fate he intended for the child once he had dealt with those following him.

The four followed the markings and droplets of blood, moving along between trees, sometimes having cross branches, but happy with the solution they had found. Then the markings stopped. They cast around, looking for more to follow and Kilia found the indications of whatever they were following heading down towards the forest floor. Carefully they descended, not wanting to rush and end up injuring themselves.

They got to the bottom, happy to be on firm ground. Weapons were loosened as Kilia searched for tracks, heading into the forest. She stopped, looking around.

“The tracks end here,” she turned around looking at the ground. The others watched her as she bent down to examine the ground, and saw something large falling from the trees above. She tried to dive out of the way, but failed, and screamed as she felt something pierce her back, driving through her to the ground. At the same time, she saw a scaled and heavily muscled limbs with blades coming down on either side of her head. A hiss resounded through the clearing, followed by the clacking of mandibles.

Martin looked on horror in horror as a nightmare dropped from the branches above, skewering Kilia. One of its four legs driving through her body. The creature looked at them, a hiss filling the clearing as its mandibles opened and closed. Hurnith reacted far faster then he, diving forwards into a roll, coming up just below the creature of the dark, his sword pushing towards its belly, but pushed aside by a leg while at the same time he was forced to dodge as claws were slashed downwards towards his face.

Martin drew his hammer, and screamed as he ran forward, his blood high as his hatred of this creature, the murderer of the family that had brought his friend down, stood before him. He paid no attention to Gwynneth.

“Damn you idiots! You are too close! I cannot use Tornado while you are there!” She looked around, coming up with another idea now that he main attack spell could not be used. Looking at branches lying on the ground she started chanting.

K’t’o looked at those he was facing. None gave off the energy of the Fae realm though one looked like a Fae. They smelled of mana though. Had he gotten lucky? Would he be able to dine on the mana enriched meat of the awakened? His mandibles moved in anticipation, as he kicked out at the one in front of him, watching as he step backwards to avoid the blade at the end of his leg. He jumped forward, his leg ripping through the one he had impaled further damaging her. He could hear her rasping breathing, her blood soaking into the ground below. He easily dodged the hammer the other swung at him, then felt a flare of pain as smashed the leg he tried to block it with, rune infused strength breaking his scales.

He swung round, the claws on his hands trying to cut into the hammer wielder, the rune enhanced weapon being his biggest worry. As he did so, he realised that he had over compensated and quickly brought his legs up to block, the sword, only to feel a rune enhanced edge cutting into his scales. He screeched, loudly, jumping back, both his front legs oozing black fluid through broken scales. He raised his arms, preparing to jump when he realised another threat, a chanting mage! He jumped, as a branch came flying through the air towards him, cutting along his ribs, breaking some and sending his black blood out in an arc. Where it landed it sizzled, burning the grass. He looked with hatred at the three attacking him and jumped upwards, into the branches above, moving away as fats as he could. He would not be getting his meal, and he swore vengeance on the awakened as he fled towards where he knew he could rest and heal.

Gwynneth watched as the creature jumped away, rushing into the forest and scuttling up a trunk. She did not follow but rushed towards Kilia where Martin already knelt down. Hauling bandages and healing salves out of his pack. Hurnith stood behind him, looking around, making sure their foe did not suddenly return.

Gwynneth come forward in a panic, her mind whirling, rehearsing every healing spell she had heard of. But healing was not her strength. She was a air mage, healing associated more with water or those oriented towards nature. Still, she would try, but magic outside of one’s affinity…hurt!

She knelt down, chanting, holding her hands above the wound, looking at what, without immediate healing, would be an obviously fatal wound. Martin stood, standing back to back with Hurnith, the two watching all approaches. He looked up, to make sure the creature was not sneaking up on them. He saw what looked like a cocoon hanging in the branches above, and watched it as it swung in the wind, occasionally wriggling on its own. He frowned, but decided to keep watch, leaving Gwynneth to her healing.

Gwynneth tuned out the world, concentrating on the mana floor, on channelling it into the wound to heal Kilia. She gritted her teeth, feeling the start of a pain in her chest as her body tried to force air mana into a nature mana configuration. She felt burning in her hands. She knew the risk she ran, funneling mana she was not aligned to, she had been warned of the consequences, from simple burns to maiming, to a total burn out of her talent and even death. She concentrated on her chanting, gasping for breath between words, forcing the foreign mana through into her hands and into Kilia below. Dots began to appear before her eyes, her head ringing in pain, the world turning dark as she chanted, continued to push healing energy through. Eventually her concentration slipped, and the pain flared as she collapsed across Kilia, her hands blackened from the effort. However, Kilia was breathing, the hole through her body healed from the inside, though the top layers of skin, both on her back and belly, continued to ooze blood where the healing had not finished before Gwynneth passed out.

Martin started a fire to warm water to clean the wounds on Kilia, smearing the healing gel onto the mana burned hands of Gwynneth while he waited. Once the water had boiled and cooled down, he used it to wash out Gwynneths’s wounds before wrapping them in bandages. He turned to Hurnith to suggest they keep watch but he placed a finger on his lips, looking upwards to the cocoon above. So Martin sat below, watching the two unconscious members of their group while Hurnith climbed up, moving across to the cocoon. As he came closer, he saw it was no cocoon, but rope completely smothering a young Fae child. Carefully, he swung the child towards him, grabbing hold of him before cutting him off the branch. He tied his own rope to the child, lowering him down to Martin who used a knife to cut him free.

Through the gaps in the ropes around him, Dorne watched the strangers battling the creature of the dark. He had been wriggling, trying to catch their attention since they had first appeared, but with his mouth blocked by the ropes he could make no sound. In despair he watched as one of them went down from the dark, her body pierced through just as he had seen done to his mother. But he rejoiced when the others managed to fight back and send the creature away, wounded though not fatally. They rushed to help their friends, not seeing him from below. Despairing, he tried to shout, thrashing about as much as he could, not caring if he crashed to the ground below. Anything would be better than remaining hanging here, to starve or be eaten by wild animals.

He rejoiced when a Gwathur clambered up, a wolf one, and cut him loose. He waited to be freed, but instead the Gwathur tied a rope to those around him and lowered him to the forest floor below, to his waiting friend. As he was cut loose, Dorne fell sobbing into the arms of the human, not caring that he was not Fae. He felt safe in those strong arms, and he sat there sobbing, remembering how his mother had fell and how he had run with his father bellowing behind him. He sobbed, knowing that he should be silent since they were in the forest and not the village, but he could not stop.

Martin continued to hug the child that clung onto him. He continued to watch the forest around them as Hurnith climbed down, stroking the child’s head as he did so. Then he and Hurnith sat down, back to back, keeping watch as they waited for the others to awaken. The child continued to cry into his lap, until exhaustion overcame him and he fell asleep. Martin and Hurnith looked at each other and stood watch, they would be vigilant, no more would die this day.