Role

Chapter 3

Faulkren glanced over his shoulder, already a hundred feet off the ground,
and screamed in frustration as he saw the village overtaken. then suddenly
he screamed again, this time in pain! Similar cries echoed from the warriors
flying in formation around him and the lightning began to strike. The scent
of burned feathers and flesh filled the night air, even as the winds buffeted
Faulkren with the fury of a magical storm. Battered and disoriented, he
steeled his will and flew on, blind, to what he hoped was the west. The storm
seemed to follow, inexorably, no matter how fast he flew. Alone now,
Faulkrens own injury, a burning pain across his shoulders, grew to be too
much and he realized he would fall soon. Gliding clumsily towards what looked
like a clearing in the storm, Faulkren crashed into wet grass and rolled,
cradling the egg close to his body as he came to a stop, battered and
bruised. Lightning continued to strike, illuminating what appeared to be a
large clearing in the trees. A large, flat rock sat in the center of the
clearing, just feet from where Faulkren had come to rest. Seeing a refuge
from the lightnings, he dashed through the rain to the rock, tucking the egg
into a crevice in the stone as hail began to fall around him. Thinking
quickly, the battered Arial gathered up a handful of rocks scattered nearby
and stacked them around the egg, protecting it from the unnatural ice falling
from the sky.

Suddenly, inexplicably, the rain and hail stopped, and the lightning ceased.
The air grew still and eerily quietand then a searing, blue-white beam of
light dazzled into being, breaking through the clouds and striking the flat
rock and Faulkren on it. He hung, suspended, wings outstretched as the beam
lifted him from the rock, his every muscle strained and tense for what seemed
like an eternity. A great heat filled his body, so intense he doubted he
would survive, but when the light suddenly went out the uncomfortable feeling
of burning fled and the cool night breeze felt refreshing on his skin.

The egg! Faulkren exclaimed quietly to himself as he whirled, swooping down
to where he had tucked what was now, more than likely, the last of a new
generation of Akrei.

Pulling away the oddly shaped stones from the egg buried beneath, Faulkren
let out a long sigh through his nairs, the feathers around his beak
quivering. The egg was there. But it had split, a long crack zigzagging
across the top. Not from any hailstone or impact, no, the egghad cooked from
the inside, hard-boiled by the beam of moonlight.

Faulkren threw back his head and screamed into the night, a piercing, forlorn
call that seemed to mock him as it echoed back and forth across the clearing.