I faded back into the trees as the last child whispered their thanks, the silent smile on my face mirroring theirs. I turned and wearily began the trek back to the large, hollow, crooked, (used-to-be) owl-infested tree I called home, too exhausted to take flight.

I was at least a mile away from my tree when an unnatural rustle made me freeze in place. I turned my head from side to side, my ears pricking up as I attempted to locate the source. My heart racing, I bit my lower lip, chewing until some of the dead and peeling skin came off. I spat out the piece, partially out of habit: partially out of nerves. Carefully, ever so carefully, I resumed walking, making my way to the nearest tree, forcing my aching muscles to move, higher and higher until I reached a sturdy enough branch to take temporary inventory of my physical state. I assessed myself, searching for any pain. My arms and legs ached from climbing and walking, I had splinters in my palms that I absentmindedly picked out, a couple of thorns stabbing into the calloused soles of my feet, my neck was stiff, and there was no way I was flying tonight. I had a bad headache, I was lightheaded, and everything was distant, but I had to press on. So, breathing heavily with exhaustion, I shimmied down the trunk and rested a hand against the bark before moving on, all my senses on high-alert. Another crack sounded, just behind me, and I resisted the urge to turn and impale them with my spear, although my hand drifted to my back pocket, fingers twitching with anticipation.

I gripped a fistful of my cloak instead and lifted it as I stepped over a root, gasping as my foot came down on a bit of broken glass. I hopped back and looked at the bottom of my foot in horror. It had been the whole bottom of a broken bottle; I had a bleeding circle of varying depths carved into my foot, thankfully without any lodged shards, but still enough to bring tears to my eyes. Before whoever was following me could see, I tore off a wide strip of my shirt and tied it around my foot, expanding my spear into a rod to use as a crutch as I resumed hobbling, collecting the broken shards and impaling them deep into the bark of a tree; I would return and make sure the tree healed over so no one else would get hurt.

A sharp pain burst into being in my gut and I wrapped an arm around my middle, barely not doubling over. Jason, I mouthed tenderly, a wisp of white mist drifting between my cracked lips, although whether or not it entered my soul or left it, I couldn't tell you. Farewell, Jason. Then the pain passed and I kept moving, not even registering the noises that were becoming louder. There was a fog over my brain and I moved on autopilot, striding deeper into the woods. I was so distracted, I tripped over a large root and went sprawling, hitting my temple and face-planting in the dirt, my feet dangling awkwardly over my head and the cape over my face muffling my startled gasp. I groaned silently and got to my knees, brushing dirt off my hands and clothes impatiently. My head was throbbing now, and I really needed to treat my injuries. All were minor, but they still hurt and were slowly sapping me of my power. I wasn't immune to pain just because I was immortal, believe it or not, and the glass cuts stung, probably from getting dirty and being walked on. I pushed myself to my feet and trudged on, covering ground faster than the average human.

I was a half a mile away when the sound of a tiny twig snapping a few feet behind me pierced the fog and I spun, hissing from my injuries, and aimed my now-pointed spear at the maker of the noise. I was breathing heavily, stupidly covering any noise made, but I couldn't slow my gasps, aftereffects from getting hurt often in so little time. I heard another crack from behind me and I whirled again, but nothing was there. I instantly spun again, facing the way I had come from, but I was alone. No people, not even any animals, just me and the trees and the shadows. It was eerie, and gave me a strange foreboding feeling.

I backed up, nervous, and got rid of the point on my spear. I faced homeward again, my internal compass pointing me in the right direction, and I started running, shrinking my spear and shoving it in my pocket again to have both hands free for pushing the branches away from my face. By the time I got back to my tree, my arms and hands were covered in thin cuts from the springy whip-like projections, and my feet felt like they were going to fall off, but I climbed straight up the trunk of the tree and sat on one of the wider extensions; falling from this height while I was drained and unable to catch myself was painful, especially while injured.

I carefully and slowly reached my hands up to the cloak's heavy clasp resting in the hollow of my throat between my collarbones; another small noise, much like the ones from before, startled me into reaching for my spear, but I relaxed when I heard nothing more, assuming I broke a small branch in my clumsiness.

An often fatal mistake, a mistake I had witnessed the repercussions for too many times to count, but I was exceptionally weary, too lost in the cloud of pain to realize what I had- or rather, hadn't- done. If only I had listened closely for a moment after, if only I hadn't stepped on that ridiculous bottle, if only humans weren't so cruel to both their own kind and the earth they were born from, then I wouldn't be in this state. Nothing in comparison to what I had suffered from before, but that knowledge didn't make stepping on a circle of broken glass, piercing the softer skin of my arch, hurt any less.

So when I had a large piece of fabric shoved down over my head from behind, I was totally unprepared. I bolted to my feet, ready to run, and the cloth was dragged further, covering my whole body in a sort of bag. The opening was at my feet and the gathered part was yanked roughly, pulling my feet out from under me and dragging me off the branch, slamming my head on the wood and making me dangle upside-down from somewhere. A color reached me through the dark spots that were consuming my vision, and I knew the bag was red. A voice, unmistakably male, filtered through the pounding in my head to my sharp ears, although it was clearly not directed at me.

"Alright. I say... The North Pole," they whispered, and something shattered before there was a loud sucking sound and I was swung and thrown; my ears popped and my head hurt so badly I thought I was going to die. I felt nauseous as I was spun and thrown, twirled and whirled in a vortex of bright light I saw through the bag and I smelled pine, although that may have just been my delirious brain. I hit the floor again with enough force to make my vision black out and my hearing fuzz completely for a moment before everything snapped into focus, clearer than before.

The bag I was in was definitely red. There was bright light filtering in, making my sensitive eyes, specially adapted for seeing in the dark, burn. I moved my hand to shield my eyes and the cloth at my feet then felt less restraining. Small tinkling noises, like minuscule bells, were the closest sounds I could pinpoint, and they were coming from near my feet. The air smelled of peppermint, and the sack smelled like that a little too. I groaned in my head and looked down at my feet, still squinting, and I saw small hands and faces peering into the sack.

I gasped as I shifted closer to the now-untied opening, feeling my head protest, but I squirmed around until I was staring at the faces of two, tiny, elf-like creatures in pointy red costumes. Jingling bells attached to the tips confirmed that these were the things I had heard moving. My arm shot out and I swept them to the side brusquely, nearly knocking them over, but they scurried aside in fright with barely a nudge. My other hand followed soon after its partner, planting on what my still-overwhelmed eyes confirmed as wood flooring and dragging my sore body out a little. I licked my lips and resolutely shimmied forward despite the pain in my head and, ensuring my hood was up to shield my face, heaved myself fully out of the bag, my shoulders screaming, my thighs burning with lactic acid.

With a silent huff, my arms gave out and I collapsed to the floor, watching lazily as the room spun. I was sucking in air like a fish as I once again pushed myself up, this time tucking my legs under me before toppling over. I blinked blearily, pupils contracting as the searing light seemingly ebbed away, allowing me to see.

The burning sensation faded and I climbed to my knees shakily, careful not to put too much weight on my hurt appendage. My head hurt when I moved it, but I carefully took in what sights I could see with only flicking my eyes around. Overhead was a ceiling, high, high above, that reduced the feeling of being trapped that the bag had insinuated. Between my body and the ceiling were large jellyfish-like floating contraptions that made small whirring noises, and toy planes soared by too. My eyes wandered back down to the small beings that were peeking into the bag, and I stretched a trembling arm out to them, taking in all the details of their little getup, from the bells on their- heads?- to their bare feet.

I slowly curled my hand into a fist and then, rather anticlimactically, I tapped the cone-thing with my knuckle. The thing let out a chuckling noise and rammed it's fabric cone into my hand, making the bell jingle brightly and a smile come to my face. I pulled my hand back and looked up again, wonder filling my eyes and making them larger despite the painful light. There were UFOs, robots, giant furry things painting the robots, baby dolls-

Wait, giant furry things painting robots? What the-?

I squinted closer at them and saw fingers holding the paintbrushes; they were Abominable Snowmen- or, at least, Svalgo's children, Yeti, as they were smaller than Svalgo and the rest of his kind. I'd met Svalgo a few centuries back when I was exploring the Himalayas and we'd formed a decent friendship for such different creatures.

What were Yeti doing painting toys?

"Is interesting that she looks at everything but us, no?"

The whisper immediately snapped my eyes down, above the ground, not so high that I wouldn't be able to see where the voice came from but not low enough to make eye contact. Four beings were in my line of sight. I lowered it a foot or so; make it five.

"Good going, north." A different voice said at a louder volume. North? North was one if the cardinal directions, compass points, was it not? Were we traveling?

An unfamiliar curse reached my sensitive ears. "Strewth, she heard us."

I raised my head to look at faces. To my surprise, two beings were not humans, but animals- at least, partly- and the remaining three were humanoid. And I say humanoid because one was floating and looked to be made of sand, while the second was impossibly tall. The third one looked fairly normal, although his choice of clothing was odd, not that I was one to talk, and he carried a stick that was longer than he was tall.

The two animal-like ones were the size of humans, one flying on iridescent wings and the other tapping a large hind paw on the floor impatiently. My eyes wandered up the pawed creature, and my eyes froze at the sight of bluish tribal markings on the gray fur. Wow, I mouthed noiselessly, my lips forming a perfect 'o' shape around the word. A Pooka. My next breath was heavy in the moment afterward and I quickly silenced it. I stood on wobbly feet and looked straight at the creature. It had very large ears that were laid half-back casually, and I was surprised to see a sharp-edged boomerang and brightly-colored eggs strapped to a holster over it's torso. I didn't think they were real.

A small tug on my cloak distracted me momentarily from whispers I couldn't discern, making me glance back down at my feet. An elf-like thing had an oversized hummingbird clasped in it's hands tightly and it offered it up to me like a prize or a trophy.

I bent and pried it's fingers away from the poor struggling creature, shaking my head disapprovingly. My message was conveyed with my eyes. Shame. We do not catch birds.

The little bird flew free and landed delicately on my wrist, ruffling it's feathers. They were beautiful, turquoise and green and magenta. A few feathers fell to the floor and I frowned at the red being, batting at it's eager hands and feeling oddly pained as more feathers unstuck themselves from it's fingers to drift gently to the ground. I carefully ran a finger over the hummingbird's back, preening and cleaning and straightening the downy wisps. At first, its little body stiffened, but relaxed into the small motions. When it turned it's head to look at me, my eyes widened drastically as the only sign of my surprise. In place of a feathered face was human skin in a heart shape, large female eyes and a hummingbird beak above her mouth along with a teensy birthmark under her left eye. I almost 'aww'ed out loud, she was so adorable. She actually had human hands and feathered feet instead of claws, and her wings weren't feathered, but instead were fairylike in appearance.

She shook herself off once the preening was done and flew away, chirping happily before going over to the second animal-ish figure; they looked like a larger version of the hummingbird, with everything but the beak and birthmark, plus gold feathers resembling earrings, bracelets, and anklets. She was gorgeous, and my jaw dropped. Pretty, I mouthed.

She was staring at me with her large violet eyes, her head tilted slightly to the side, no longer part of the conversation, and I straightened hastily, brushing remainders of dirt off my clothes. I really wanted to make a good impression for some reason. "Guys? She can hear you."

I nodded at her statement and added my own. Why don't you talk to me directly? My hands went to my hips and I put a healthy dose of sass in my posture. Too important to talk to the little kidnapped girl? I then realized they probably couldn't see my mouth and just crossed my arms in frustration, gray feathers blooming around my wrists that I quickly tore off, wincing.

The feathered woman flew a bit closer, rather cautiously. "Hello? What's your name, sweetie?"

I cupped my hands and pressed them together, focusing most of my energy and taking it away from the healing process in my foot. After three minutes of intense silence accompanied by my ragged breathing, the Pooka threw it's opposable forepaws up in the air in frustration, speaking in a heavy Australian accent. "That's it, I say we shake it outta the sheila-"

"Whoa! It talks!" the gray Pygmy owl in my palms squawked as I took a step back. "And hey! That wasn't very nice!" I shook a disapproving finger in his direction. "If this is how you treat all your kidnapp-ees, no wonder you had to find a more patient one!"

"Wh- what the bloody-"

"Ah ah ah, no cussing!" the bird in my hands declared as it fluttered up to my shoulder. "Or I might just have to set my pet on you!"

The boy with the stick started. "The person is your pet?"

I laughed, a scary sound coming from the beak of a bird. "Don't be ridiculous! The owl is my pet, my creation, my companion. I am the one talking." I remembered they didn't usually deal with me and rolled my eyes at myself in annoyance. "Sorry, it must be confusing, but I'm talking through my bird."

The woman flew straight up to me and tugged my hood down, but my hand shot up and gently stopped her. "Please don't, I prefer to keep it on unless I have to take it off, to prevent freak-outs. But, if I may ask, why exactly am I here?" I smiled gently, trying to ease the shock of an owl talking for a girl. You're pretty, I mouthed with a larger smile. And I simply adore your primaries.

She beamed. "Thank you!" She caught sight of my red, raw wrists and gripped my hand, stretching my bare arm out so the men could see it. "What's this?"

"Part of the reason I keep my hood up." In my anxiety, a few more feathers sprouted at my elbow and I ripped them out, small pinpricks of blood showing on my tan skin. Seeing their baffled and concerned looks, I further explained through my owl. "I feather and molt when I get... emotional." Another feather popped up and promptly fell out.

"Well, that's nice and all, but could you tell us your name?" A scowl crossed the boy's face.

I snapped my teeth audibly, and my owl did the same with it's beak. My mouth moved in sync with it. "The sarcasm is not appreciated, young'n. I don't share my name with just anyone." The sound dropped out. Names have power. The owl found my voice again. "But could you explain why I'm here? And where 'here' is?" I yanked my arm back and clutched my cloak around me tightly, wincing as my foot touched the ground. I tucked the offending limb up against my other leg in an almost flamingo-esque position, eliciting a few stares that I ignored.

"Well, you are at the North Pole!" The large man spread his arm wide in a grand gesture, his Russian accent so strong I could barely understand what he said.

I cocked my head to the side. "Oh. What is this place? It's so-"

"Amazing?"

"Cool?" The boy with the stick balanced it on the ground and crouched on the top, almost weightless, and I marveled at the sight. How did he do that?

"Not half as nice as my Warren?" The Pooka received a smack upside the head from the large man for that.

I was going to say bright, and I gotta agree with the first bit, it is pretty awesome. I looked to the boy. Did you mean cool as in cold or subzero temperatures, or did you mean as in awesome? Because it's pretty warm in here. I hastily had the owl speak for me, remembering they couldn't see.

He shrugged and the fairy-bird-woman's fingers twitched when he grinned. "Both, I guess. How'd you like the sack?"

"I prefer other methods of traveling..." I trailed off as I spotted the Moon, massive and glowing brightly, through an enormous skylight. I walked over to stand in the moonlight, my tread light yet heavier than usual because of the unfamiliar floor and foot wound. Moon? The owl fluttered off my shoulder as my body trembled in fury. My hands fisted and unfisted, clenching so tightly my knuckles went white. Why did you put me here? Why are you showing your face now? What the heck is wrong with you? I demanded silently, tendons in my neck standing out. And who? I stomped my good foot in frustration. Why are you showing yourself to me? Especially now? Who are these people?

Calm, my child. All good things happen in time, and you will find out on your own. I do not give answers freely.

I froze in place, my hand pausing mid-shake at him. "Pardon?" the owl said breathily.

Good things come to those who wait.

And his voice faded away.

I screamed silently, my wrists growing new feathers with my fury. The feathers fell into a soft pile on the floor and I knelt to gather them in my arms, not breaking my gaze with the Moon. I stuffed the feathers in my pockets and waited for further words. When none came, I took a deep breath and turned to face my kidnappers. "Care to explain?" the owl said testily. "Because I want to know why the Moon is telling me to wait when that's all I've done my whole life."