The sound originated not from the forest floor but from somewhere overhead. Ivan Northes cautiously trained his bow toward the darkness beyond the trees. (Child Ghoul? Ape? Griffin? Please, no Wyvern...)

  The silhouette materialized, indeed resembling either a Griffin or some massive draconic beast. Ivan loosed his arrow before properly identifying his target—a decision he regretted the instant the shaft left his bowstring. The projectile buried itself in the creature's inner thigh, causing it to falter mid-glide before plummeting unceremoniously to the ground.

  Aethelwing released an agonized cry. Ivan Northes stood paralyzed, eyes widening in horrified recognition, hands trembling uncontrollably. (I'm screwed. I just shot Duke Dear's pet. Shit, like shooting a pigeon or a crow—just one shot... Triad of Destiny! How am I going to explain this? I almost forgot the damn bird existed.)

  He approached with trepidation. Aethelwing struggled repeatedly to right herself, each attempt ending in failure. As her lifeblood drained steadily away, her breathing grew increasingly shallow, her once-powerful wings now lying motionless against her sides.

  "Wait... don't tell me you're already dead..." Ivan murmured, gingerly touching her eagle head. He had briefly entertained hopes that this magnificent White Wyvern-Heigel might bear him from the forest—a possibility that now seemed remote at best. (I should extract the arrow immediately...) Aethelwing's eyes began to flutter closed. "No! Great bird, stay with me! Hey!" He patted her face urgently, forcing her eyelids open. "Don't die, I implore you. I should never have fired, curse my impulsiveness..."

  Then an extraordinary sensation emanated from her form—a peculiar tingling that coursed through his entire being. Ivan Northes stumbled backward, bewildered by this inexplicable phenomenon. In that moment, every feather on Aethelwing's body simultaneously detached, scattering into the air like a blizzard of pristine white petals.

  Ivan shielded his face reflexively, two downy feathers adhering briefly to his lips.

  Where Aethelwing had lain now reclined a woman.

  A petite, raven-haired woman occupied the exact spot where the majestic raptor had been, the cedar arrow still embedded in her inner thigh. Ivan stood immobilized, as though transformed to stone.

  "...I'm not quite dead yet, you know," the woman remarked softly, her half-lidded eyes regarding him. "I presume you're a gentleman, are you not?"

  Ivan Northes blinked repeatedly, staring vacantly. He registered only the exquisite pale violet of her irises—hauntingly beautiful. Beyond this singular detail, her words scarcely penetrated his consciousness.

  "Are you deaf or something?!" The woman's complaint escalated into a pained shriek as the wound in her lower body sent fresh waves of agony through her. "You shot me! You embedded an arrow in my thigh! Damnation!" Her frustration mounted visibly. "Do you intend to simply stand there watching while I bleed to death?"

  Ivan blinked with innocent confusion. "No... my lady. It's merely... I cannot comprehend how a... a predatory bird transformed into..." his words dissolved into incoherent stammering.

  "You're unfamiliar with my identity?" The black-haired woman appeared genuinely surprised. Ivan shook his head mutely. "Very well. I possess the ability to assume the form of an eagle, a dragon, or a Plumewyke Griffin. Should it please you, I might even become an adorable kitten. But, noble knight, might I suggest you first remove this accursed arrow and attend to my wound? I'm rather preoccupied with not perishing!"

  The elite knight remained hesitant. "I would gladly assist you, my lady. However..." His gaze involuntarily traced the contours of her unclothed form. Her figure displayed perfect proportions without excess; even the wound above her right breast failed to diminish her ethereal beauty. Ivan found himself transfixed by her erect nipples, momentarily lost in unseemly contemplation.

  "You..." The injured woman faltered momentarily. "Are you some manner of degenerate? Or perhaps you've never beheld a woman's natural state?" Her expression conveyed equal measures of indignation and incredulity. "Can men truly experience arousal even in such dire circumstances?"

  "I intended no disrespect, my lady," Ivan protested, acutely aware of his body's betrayal as heat suffused his loins. "It's simply that... treating your wound would necessitate viewing your... intimate areas. Without explicit permission, I couldn't possibly..." The words emerged with visible difficulty.

  Stolen story; please report.

  "By the three aspects of the Triad, are you utterly innocent?" she exclaimed in exasperation. "To the void with propriety concerning my intimate areas! I face imminent death while you fret over chivalric principles? Or perhaps you await my demise to leisurely examine my form? Is that it?"

  "Absolutely not!" The elite knight gestured frantically in denial. "This transcends mere chivalric obligation. Any man of honor would observe identical restraint..."

  "Alright, alright..." the black-haired woman said, wincing. "I give you permission to look at my body, you can't exactly heal me if you're blind... And you can look at my... intimate areas, but only look!" she emphasized forcefully. "Harbor no inappropriate intentions!"

  Ivan Northes nodded vigorously. Kneeling beside her, he examined the wound carefully. The arrow had penetrated deeply, appearing almost as though it had grown organically from her flesh. His fingertips brushed the inflamed skin surrounding the injury, causing the woman to flinch involuntarily. "The wound is substantial."

  "Your contribution, naturally," she retorted acidly.

  "Should the pain become unbearable, don't suppress your cries," he advised, noting her teeth clenched tightly against her lower lip.

  "Were I to scream authentically, I'd rouse every dormant Wyvern within miles. I possess self-restraint, knight. Ah!" His mere grasp of the arrow shaft elicited excruciating pain that radiated through her entire being. "Disregard my reactions... I can endure." Yet tears streamed uncontrollably down her cheeks, belying her brave assertions.

  Ivan sought to divert her attention. "You appear to have weathered numerous injuries, my lady. Beyond the arrow wound, I observe lacerations on your left leg and across your right breast..."

  "Are you conducting a post-mortem examination?" she queried with sardonic misery. "Extract this damnable arrow without further delay... I beseech you... AHHH!"

  The elite knight withdrew the bloodied projectile in one swift, decisive motion before casting it aside. Blood immediately cascaded from the wound. He pressed his left palm firmly against the injury while his right hand deftly located bandages within his belt pouch. "You'll recover completely, my lady," he reassured her, maintaining her consciousness. "Focus on my face, beautiful one. I'm stanching the bleeding now. All will be well, I promise you."

  The woman nodded weakly. "Proceed with haste..." Ivan began methodically wrapping bandages around her thigh in precise, overlapping circles. As he necessarily lifted her leg to facilitate the process, an inappropriate thrill coursed through him. (You contemptible lecher.) He castigated himself silently, yet found his gaze irresistibly drawn to her exposed femininity. (...Such sparse adornment.)

  "Done staring?" The woman propped herself upon her right elbow, dark tresses partially veiling her features. Ivan Northes suddenly realized his hands had ceased their ministrations. He resumed bandaging with renewed concentration, deliberately avoiding her piercing gaze. After completing the primary wrapping, he secured the dressing with additional binding strips.

  "Do you possess medical training?" the woman inquired, her half-lidded eyes lending her an appearance of languorous sophistication. "What I mean to ask," she clarified, indicating his medical supplies with an elegant gesture of her slender fingers, "is whether you routinely travel with such preparations?"

  "I claim no medical expertise, my lady. These represent merely emergency provisions intended for my companions should they sustain injury. Though it appears such contingencies are now moot." His voice diminished to a near-whisper. "They've likely all perished."

  Aethelwing soared through the forest canopy, repeatedly glancing backward with apprehension. She feared pursuit by the Vassily Greatbat, but it appeared to have abandoned interest in her. When she had expelled the cylindrical message container, she had effectively declared her submission. While the Greatbat examined the bamboo tube with predatory curiosity, she had seized the opportunity to flee.

  (The ordeal concludes,) she reflected with lingering anxiety. (For me, at least. But what of the others? Surely they haven't all perished.)

  She searched methodically for them—the men entrusted with carrying the crucial missives.

  She required their survival.

  Ivan Northes remained motionless for an extended interval. His laughter had evaporated completely. Within this vast and treacherous forest, the loss of his mount was tantamount to amputation. He staggered toward Black Lily's form, removing the blinders that had shielded her vision throughout their journey.

  Her eyes remained open, her lacerated neck still radiating residual warmth. Ivan slumped against her side, sliding weakly to the ground. He reached instinctively for his wineskin before remembering Old Mackenzie had retained it. Finding no other outlet for his emotions, he began repeatedly plunging his short sword into the soft earth.

  Extraction.

  Penetration.

  An endless cycle.

  Disturbances from deeper within the forest interrupted his mechanical ritual. "Listen," he murmured softly to Black Lily's unhearing ears. "More wolves approach. Relentless vermin."

  The sounds intensified, proximity increasing. "I'm not ready to die yet. Especially not getting ripped apart by those beasts." He stroked Black Lily's cheek with unexpected tenderness before approaching the fallen wolf to retrieve his arrow. "They won't feast upon my flesh, Black Lily. Nor shall they desecrate your remains..." After considerable effort, he wrenched the broadhead arrow free. The arrowhead remained structurally sound despite its violent passage. "This will suffice," Ivan determined, examining the bloodied projectile. "I'll claim at least one more, whatever the outcome."