I chant the words as I run, focusing on my breathing and not tripping over my feet as I race into the forest. I've never been much for running - I'm a self-proclaimed geek who reads for a living - and sooner than I like, I slow down. The sounds of the battle are gone and I can't see anything between the trunks of trees.
Somewhat assured I escaped, I pause to catch my breath. The forest has gotten even darker and seems to be coming to life. Owls hoot and night animals crunch through branches and brush.
The bird is quiet. I pull him out of my pocket to make sure he survived my clumsy run. The fat little thing is fine.
"You're free, bird," I proclaim and bend to place it on a tree stump on the side of the trail. "Fly away. Or waddle. Whatever."
It hunches down on the stump, quiet, and watches me intently.
"What, bird?" I ask, uncertain if I should leave it or not. It doesn't seem like it can flee any nocturnal predators. "You got something to say?"
The bird chirps happily.
Attack at shadow moon.
The words come from nowhere, like a whisper from behind me. I whip around and see no one.
The bird's tune changes.
Capture the Heart.
I whirl once more. The bird goes quiet and is watching me. I stare at it.
"Did you . . . No. That's ridiculous." I start to wonder if LF made the animals of this world magical. Even if she did, I'm not about to ask a bird if it talked to me. I'm allowed to talk to animals because it makes sense when I do it. But them talking back? "Good luck, bird. If you can talk, don't tell anyone which way I went."
I mean it as a joke, but the idea that this world - down to the birds - is nothing like mine makes me more anxious to be home. I don't like surprises, especially not in the form of half-men, half-beast creatures chasing me through a forest at night.
Starting away, I glance up at the sky, visible through the canopy of trees. It's almost sunset, while the shadows of the forest are already long and growing thicker.
Shivering at the chill of the forest, I pull up the hood to keep the evening breeze off my neck.
I'm a good ten yards from the bird when I hear it start chirping again. I glance back to make sure no owl has it cornered. There's nothing around it, no reason for it to start to talk again, and I return my focus to the trail.