2. Dayhawk

I have a feeling I’m going to regret this

This is an installment in a serialized novel. To start at the beginning, go here.

Rahn took aim, drawing in a breath and holding it. The bowstring snapped back into place and she exhaled. Far off across the clearing, the arrow vanished into the underbrush of the woods beyond. Rahn cursed softly, tucking a loose strand of black hair into her thick braid, then breathing deeply as she drew another arrow. Inhale, hold, release. This time there was a satisfying thud as the arrow sank into the half-rotted tree stump, a small target from this distance. Rahn smiled, shaking out her shoulders and feeling the pleasant fatigue in her muscles. She drew and the arrow thudded again. 

Rahn lowered her bow and strolled across the clearing, feeling the warmth of the late summer sun on her face. She reached the stump and bent to pull the arrows free of the soft wood. The first came out easily. She inspected it, noting that the fletching was coming loose on one side–she would have to fix that later. For now, Rahn returned it to her quiver and grabbed the second arrow. This one resisted her pull, and she knelt to tug from a better angle. 

Voices carried down the slope behind her. Rahn could hear laughter. She turned to look, one hand still on the arrow shaft. A hiss cut the air, and an arrow hit the stump with a loud thud– a hand’s breadth from Rahn’s own hand. Rahn froze, heart beating loudly in her chest. A second arrow hit the stump. This time Rahn reacted with a yelp and leaped backward into the underbrush. She stumbled to her feet, ready to run.

More laughter, closer this time. “Relax, Brown Eyes,” called a voice, “If I had wanted to hit you, I would have.”

Rahn turned to see three youths crossing the clearing. There were two boys and a girl, bows in hand. Rahn’s jaw tightened as she stepped out to meet them, plucking a leaf out of her hair.  “Don’t you have better things to do, Batsa?”

The boy in front grinned. He was still nearly a hand’s breadth shorter than her. “Oh don’t worry, we didn’t come looking for you, Brown Eyes. We were just out hunting and saw your little target practice. I have to say, you’re not bad for sprana.”

His companions laughed. Rahn stood stiffly.

One of Batsa’s companions, the boy, pointed down the length of the clearing. “There’s a nice, fat rabbit down there. That’s going to be my dinner.” He nocked an arrow. 

“Not if I get it through the eye, Farasha,” Batsa grinned. “Now, Brown Eyes, we’ll show you how it’s done.” He drew his own bow. The two bowstrings snapped into place, nearly simultaneously. 

At that moment, a bird plunged like lightning across the clearing, talons outstretched toward the rabbit.

One of the arrows found the rabbit. Batsa’s arrow, which had been whizzing toward the rabbit as well, curved up from its original trajectory and caught the bird mid-dive. It tumbled to the ground.

The girl gasped, and Farasha clapped Batsa on the back. “That was amazing. I didn’t even see the hawk until you had it.” 

Batsa grinned. “That is how the ashavela do it! Farasha, go grab our dinner– then we can let this earthworm go back to shooting stumps.”

“What about the hawk?” asked Farasha.

Batsa looked momentarily uneasy. “Leave it. My mother says it’s bad luck to eat birds. Let the Brown Eyes take the curse if she wants.”

Rahn watched them go, stomach churning, waiting until the trio had mounted the rise and disappeared from sight. Then she ran down the length of the clearing to where the rabbit had been. She walked a slow circle outward until she saw what she was looking for.

It was a hawk, not fully grown–hardly big enough to have taken on a rabbit that size. It was still moving, one wing trailing low on the ground. Rahn didn’t see the arrow anywhere. It must have passed through the wing. Rahn drew closer. The hawk’s plumage, which had looked almost black from a distance, was a dark blue-gray color, dappled with white on the chest. 

“A Dayhawk,” Rahn breathed in surprise. “You’re having a bad day, aren’t you?” She instinctively reached a hand toward the bird, then immediately yanked her hand back, just in time to avoid a slash of the sharp beak. 

“Well then, I guess you’ve still got some life in you.” The bird stared at Rahn with wide yellow eyes, its beak open and ready to attack.

“I can see that you’re not thrilled to meet me. But we seem to have a common enemy. And anyway,  you’re not going to last long out here with a wing like that.” Rahn sighed, taking off her cloak. “Still, you’re not going to like this.” She pounced, grabbing the injured bird by the legs. The hawk shrieked in rage, pecking her hand viciously until Rahn managed to immobilize it, wrapping it in her cloak, taking special care with the broken wing.

Rahn tucked the still-shrieking bundle of feathers under one arm, adjusting her bow and quiver across her back and inspecting her bleeding hand. “Crazy bird,” Rahn cursed. “I have a feeling I’m going to regret this.”