Page 8 of To Tame An Angel

I didn’t care. I was free.

After emptying one of her pillows, I used the sack to fill it with food and water. Inside of her dressing room, I was stunned by the number of gowns she owned. I never beheld so much soft fabric. My fingers lingered on one dress, grasping the skirt and pressing it against my nose. It was the best scent I’d ever smelled.

From the dining table, she moaned softly. I’d lingered too long. Desperate for a weapon, I found a small knife and with quick steps and bleeding blood all over her carpet; I moved to the balcony. Pausing, I’d looked at her one last time. The likelihood of ever seeing her again was slim, but I would recall how she’d offered me food. Angry at my own foolish thoughts, I turned and jumped onto the balcony.

The first few hours were a mad dash, as if all the women haunted me. When the lady woke, she would report me missing and convey how I had attacked her. It would release the hordes of hunters and trackers. But, as the hours passed, and I traversed deeper into the forest, I heard no hounds. Or horses. There was nothing but stillness amongst the trees. Exhaustion frayed my senses, and I tripped over a rock. Attempting to find my footing, I smashed into a giant torn bush. A scream was ripped from my mouth when a spine lodged itself into my bare foot.

I collapsed back, scratched and bruised, falling to the ground as I clutched my leg. It seeped blood and there was the awful spine, at least an inch and a half buried in my heel. With trembling fingers, I tried to yank it out, but I would need tools.

“Fuck—” I groaned, as I used the small water sack to clean my foot.

There was a need to yell in frustration and anger. I held it in, feeling the sense of loneliness erupt within me with such force I shuddered.

I wished for my wings, for I wouldn’t be able to walk for much longer like this. But my wings had been surgically stuffed inside of my body when I was a boy, and I didn’t know how to sprout them.

Desperate for a reprieve, I slid over the forest floor, hiding between two tree trunks and curling into myself.

Rest. I needed rest. The pain in my foot was so intense I felt tears prickle my eyes. Angry, I thudded my head against the trunk. There was no use in praying for help. I prayed plenty as a lad, desperate for my mother. Not that she’d cared much for me. She didn’t want a son. I had been desperate for her love and attention, but all she’d done was scowl at my wings.

I was five years old when I clutched her skirts the day they came to take me. Her hard face still haunted my dreams because of her lack of care. Or perhaps she hadn’t allowed herself to care because caring for me would mean mourning the day they took me. She’d not fought for me then and now she was long dead, and I was a hunted man with absolutely no one in the world. No woman would fight for me, even if I belonged to her. That was the law of the land.

Sleep overtook me and I rested an hour before I woke in fright, jumping to my feet and looking around. It was a mistake for the pain of the imbedded torn shot up my leg and I moaned, clutching trees. I had to keep going. There was nowhere to go, but rumors of men and women living in harmony in small communities deep in the forest always persisted. It was the only hope I had, and to rush towards that dream was at least a plan. In my mind, I imagined a small cottage by a lake, where I could fish and hunt. Maybe find some peace in this world.

Pushing myself, I continued, limping across the forest floor, pausing for small bites of food and water. Between the trees, there was a small clearing with the moon shining bright above. With the stolen knife, I attempted to dig the thorn out of my foot, but it was impossible with my trembling hands. The pain was unbearable. I tore a strip of cloth from my pants and fashioned a rustic binding to cover the torn. It would need to be ignored, as all other pain was ignored. In the pits, if we ever got wounded, ignoring was the best course of action. Many times, we allowed wounds to heal on their own. My body was a testament to that, filled with scrapes and scars.

At the end of the second day, I was deep in the forest and still no sounds of trackers. No one was looking for me. The horrid tension living perpetually between my shoulder blades began to dissipate. Perhaps the lady confessed that she’d let me go, or something equally silly. They would punish her. That didn’t sit right with me. My stomach burned a little, and I had to fist down that emotion. They wouldn’t, would they? She was the daughter of the general. Her mother would protect her. I couldn’t worry about her.

Shuffling to my feet, I kept going, but the pain was getting worse. A small voice in my head whispered infection. I ignored it. Regardless, I had no means of healing myself.

As I stepped over a boulder with a sharp grimace, I felt the whiz of an arrow fly past me. It embedded itself on the tree next to my head, less than half a foot away. Startled, I looked behind me.

The lady.

The time for soft, sensual gowns was over. She was decked in hunting gear, her hair pulled back, and her eyes were wide with fury as she nocked another arrow into her bow. I didn’t think her capable of it, but it seemed like the sweet woman who tried to converse with me was gone. This was a powerful huntress trained from childhood to kill.

We stared at one another, far enough to not hear her words but close enough to shoot me down if she wished. That had been a warning shot.

Just the thought of what would happen if she dragged me back made me tremble. There would be torture and death. I wasn’t ready to die.

Run.

I rushed through the ground, dropping my pack as I fled for my life. She’d told no one because she came to get me herself. She didn’t need a posse. My heart was at my throat as she gained on me. She wasn’t hurt; she wasn’t wounded; she was lithe and quick.

I jumped over fallen trunks, feeling my bare feet tear up with the harsh debris of the forest floor. But I didn’t stop, I couldn’t. Another arrow flew by my face, making me duck and roll. The branches and rocks cut and bruised my arms.

“I don’t want to kill you,” she yelled.

But she would.

Pushing myself up with a scream of determination, I continued, but realized she was trapping me. Inexplicably, the day they banded my wings came sharply to mind. Three men held me down as my wings were shoved into me, my bones making room for the appendages meant to live outside the human body. There was no pity as I sobbed and begged while they sewed up my back, ensuring the wings didn’t sprout. The pain lasted weeks, and I was one of many boys laying on cots crying and wishing for their mother. I’d not felt or seen my wings since. It was that same panic that ate me now.

I ran, feeling no pain, desperate for liberation. The forest ended suddenly as I burst into a clearing and came face to face with a cliff. The wind slapped my face as I looked at the massive canyon. My feet were a meter from the fall. If I had my wings, I could escape. Fly into the ravine and never be seen again. I yelled, my voice echoing into the vastness, wishing to tear into my bones and yank out my wings.

The trees moved as she gained on me. I had nowhere to go but to climb. Sliding into the rock, hands shaking, I pulled myself down, feeling my breath catch at my throat when I saw the impressive fall.

“Don’t be a fool!”

My feet were sliding on the rocks. I yelled as I held myself with the strength of my arms. She stopped and watched me. Her face was flushed, but her brown gaze was angry.

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