Page 65 of Heart of the Rebel Mate

Again.

Again.

The stones fly, some grazing the hawk's feathers, some falling wide, but none doing real damage.

Too fast.

The hawk climbs higher.

I exhale hard, frustration spiking. My feet dig into the earth as I crouch lower, searching for something smaller, heavier. A perfect projectile.

A memory flashes—some old human story about David and Goliath. A boy with a stone, facing a giant.

Except my giant isn't some warrior. It's a damn bird.

And I'm losing.

Maybe I should let it go.

Maybe this is how things are meant to be. The strong take from the weak. Nature plays out its brutal cycle, indifferent to who suffers.

Isn't this what I keep telling myself about Elara? About the Council? About Cassian?

That it's not my fight?

That I should just let things happen?

I close my fingers around a final stone. Small. Smooth. Heavy.

One last try.

I twist my body, aiming higher, waiting until I know—this one will hit.

Then I throw.

The stone slices through the air. A second stretches into eternity.

And then—contact.

A sharp thunk as it strikes the hawk's wing. The bird jerks, its balance thrown, and suddenly the tiny bundle in its grip slips free.

It falls.

I move.

I don't think. My feet pound the forest floor, dodging rocks, leaping over roots. The baby bird plummets, its tiny wings flailing, its shrill cries barely audible over the wind.

I lunge.

Pain rips across my arm as I crash through a thorny bush, but I don't stop.

The world narrows.

Just the falling bird.

Just me.

And then—I catch it.

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