The rescue

I’ve never felt more blind than on that return trip. The wind from the chasm was stronger. It gusted, knocking me off course. The smell was stronger too, and at last I recognised it: charm. I can’t understand why I didn’t recognise it before. It’s another puzzle.

The cries were coming regularly. I closed my eyes – they were useless in the dark anyway – and tried to recall my future sense. But I was still locked in the present. So I followed the echoes, and eventually found my way to the source of the sound.

I reached the cliff edge. Fragments of light reflected off the wet limestone. I saw something hanging from the edge: a small figure with two arms and two legs and no visible wings. A natural faery. It was calling plaintively. As I approached, it let go.

The faery fell into the chasm. Not thinking, I tucked in my wings and stooped after it. Charm-laden air rushed past my face. The feel of it on my scales brought up old memories of an unturned world, and a parallel realm where the clouds move sideways. But I was not there for the charm.

I caught the faery, gathered it up in my claws, beat my wings against the thermal rising from the chasm and soared aloft once more. As I began to climb, I cast a single glance down into the pit. There was movement down there, an endless scrambling dance of darkness. And charm. There was that too.

Weighed down, struggling to stay aloft, I carried the faery across the chasm and dropped it on the far side. It rolled over the gritty rock, unconscious. I landed beside it. And there I am still. My wings ache; my lungs feel raw. It’s a long time since I had so much exercise! I’m tired, but I’m not sure if I can sleep. I’m waiting, you see.

Waiting for the faery to wake.