Rannok coughed out the smell of black powder and waited for the air around him to clear. His hands shook. The sounds of people screaming rammed against his eardrums, a low cacophony that he couldn't block out no matter how hard he tried.

A woman dragged a child covered in streaks of black powder out of the blast. His clothes were torn off and the skin hung from his back and arms in strips. Rannok resisted the urge to vomit on the ground and tried to keep his eyes somewhere else, but there was nowhere safe for him to look. A man whose lower leg had been blown to bits tried to hobble to safety, a red trail of blood snaking out behind him. A marked one laid crumpled on the ground beside him, green wings stuck out in odd directions.

It was his turn to light the box and hear it pop. Rannok stared at the box and the wick stared back at him like a symbol of his inadequacy. He flicked the piece of flint in his hand against his sword and the wick crackled to life. His stomach churned as he watched the sparks consume the rope. The wings on his back opened as he readied himself for takeoff.

A man dressed in rags appeared through the clouds of acrid black smoke. He let out a scream and lunged for Rannok. His body twisted and Rannok barely missed the tip of his sword as he launched himself into the air, the man screaming behind him. A massive roar shook the air and another cloud of smoke rose in the already-thick air. Rannok couldn't bear to turn and look at the damage he'd caused.

The market tents below him were splintered like toothpicks. Their canvas stuck out between them like shattered teeth. Broken bodies laid between them interspersed with pieces of pottery and food and fire. Rannok kept his eyes on the horizon and tried as hard as he could not to think about it. He didn't even stop to think that maybe he should be down there fighting with the others.

Out of the corner of his eye he caught something. A woman, dressed in a long robe, brown hair matted with blood. Rannok's heart skipped a beat. He landed lightly outside her still-intact market stall. She had to be alive, for Wren's sake. He would not allow another person she loved to suffer because of his inaction.

He shook her shoulder. She rolled off the stack of boxes she'd been propped up against and onto the ground. Rannok turned her over, then let go immediately as bile rose in his throat. Meria's glassy eyes stared up at him. A long gash stretched from ear to ear. She was very clearly dead, and past the point that he could think of any way he might be able to help her.

The screams of angry men got closer and closer behind him. There wasn't time to worry about this now. He had to get out of here before it was too late. He took off into the air again and began flapping his wings at a pace so frantic it made his heart race and his shoulders burn. 

He drew close to the marketplace entrance, where a crowd of merchants pushed and shoved at one another to fit through the narrow space between the outer tent walls. One man tore at the canvas with his sword. The crowd spilled like beads out of the opening. Rannok let down near them and tried to steady his breath. His shoulders ached from the effort of flying so fast.

No one seemed to notice him as he stood intermingled with boxes and clouds of ash as they pushed and shoved and tore at one another for a chance to escape. He knew that most of them would die. There was no food or water or help in the desert and if they got lucky, one in ten would make it to Agatine before they died of exposure.

A flash of lilac caught his attention and Rannok turned his head just in time to see Wren running in the opposite direction of the merchants. Rannok's heart rate picked up again. He had to get her and get out of here, before one of them or both of them got killed. He kicked off into the air and took off like a shot after her.

"Wren!" he screamed as she turned her head. He landed a few feet away from her. Her eyes were bloodshot and wild, and the featherlets on her wings stood on edge, like a scared cat. She regarded him for only a moment before she turned to run off again. He grabbed her wrist.

"Let go of her," someone else demanded, and he socked Rannok hard in the back of the wing socket. Rannok swore and batted Elyn's arm out of the way.

"It's not safe, we need to leave!" Rannok shouted over the roar of fighting and explosions. Wren wrenched her arm out of her grip and looked back and forth between him and the fighting, eyes filled with indecision and brimming with tears.

"My mother," she said, "I have to find my mother. Help me!"

Rannok's heart sank. He remembered watching Wren and her mother from their table as a child, back before he'd grown up and become the local menace. How Meria smoothed her hair and made sure she had enough water and that they would make sure to come back before dark. He could only imagine how much he was about to hurt her.

"Find her later, there are men out here with swords. A lot of people have already died," Rannok said. 

"Haven't you already cost me enough?" she replied, voice on edge, like she wanted to punch him. 

The boy with her put a hand on her shoulder. Wren swatted it off. She was breathing so hard Rannok could see it. Her face was splotched with red and she looked exhausted. 

"He's right," the boy said. "We need to get out of here. If your mother's safe she'll come find us in Agatine."

For a moment, Wren looked like she might turn and run from them both. Then her shoulders slumped and her eyes pricked with tears again and she nodded. Rannok gestured toward the side of the caravan and started moving as quickly and quietly toward the edge as he could. They needed to find a wagon if they wanted to make it out alive, and fast.

"Where are we going?" Wren asked.

"Toward the camels," Rannok said as they snuck past another merchant's stall. A man sat lifeless at the counter. His head was covered in bruises and blood pooled from his mouth as he slumped across wooden countertop. Rannok tried not to look at him as they passed. 

Wren let out a noise and moved closer to Elyn, who shifted a little closer to Rannok. They stepped over a fallen over tentpole and drew ever closer to where the livestock were kept. The area was deserted except for the bodies that lay all around them and the deadened sound of shouting from the other end of the caravan, where the fighting had moved to. Rannok was glad for small favors.

Rannok's breath hissed out of his chest as the camels finally came into sight. They sat blissfully chewing their cud, oblivious to all the conflict around them, and for a moment Rannok wished he could be one of them. He grabbed one and threw a rope around its neck, then opened the pen and led it outside.

"We need a wagon," he said.

"No problem," the boy Wren was with replied as he disappeared behind one of the storage tents. Wren and Rannok followed him. He weaved between the livestock tents until he came to a wagon loaded with boxes. Rannok furrowed his eyebrows. There was no time to worry whose stuff they were stealing, they had to go.

The other boy took the camel and hooked it up to the harness. The beast looked at them with impassive brown eyes as he put the final ties on and waved them aboard.

Wren climbed into the back and curled up in a corner. Rannok felt sick as he followed her in. He sat as far away from her as possible and tried to avoid her eyes. She stared off into space for several seconds, knuckles clenched to her mouth. 

"My mother," Wren said, and her voice sounded broken. Rannok realized that this was the first time since she left that Wren didn't look angry at him. He had to tell her. It wasn't right not to. He opened his mouth and looked at her, and she shot back a look so full of pain that he closed it again.

The wagon lurched forward and Rannok could hear the boy clicking it on until they were moving so fast that the desert streamed out behind them like a sea as the horizon swallowed up the caravan. He swallowed hard and looked at Wren.

"I need to tell you something," he said.

"What?" she replied, and her eyes regained a little bit of that venom. He knew all too well that it was about to shatter again.

"I...found your mother already," he said as he watched the desert continue to rush by until the wagon slowed and they couldn't even see the caravan anymore.

"Is she okay?" Wren asked breathlessly, her eyes so full of hope he almost couldn't bring himself to shatter it.

"There was nothing I could do," he said, and he watched her face crumple like a wet piece of parchment. He resisted an urge to reach out to her. It would only make the situation worse. He expected her to cry, but instead her face hardened. She stared vacantly out of the wagon into the endless expanse of nothing that followed them.

There were no more words for several hours as they traveled. Rannok's heart started to ache for home. He wondered how his own mother was doing. If she still cooked dinner over the fire every night and gathered everyone around the table to play Arka before she served it. If his brother still got mad when he lost and tipped the board everywhere, and if his sister still yelled at him for doing it. He wondered how tall they were and if they hated him for leaving.

Maybe his father missed him, or maybe he regarded Rannok's absence with the same cold indifference as his presence. At any rate his father certainly didn't want him back. Rannok only hoped Kana and Hael didn't suffer from the same fate Rannok had. He was proof they were cursed with the same blood that ran through Rannok's grandfather's veins. The blood that gave them wings. 

Eventually his eyes closed, and his thoughts reduced to dreams of his old world, the one in which he knew his place and had people that cared about him. He smiled at the thought. 

---

Rannok doesn't seem very bothered by what he saw. Do you think this is likely to change later on? Would you feel right about stealing someone else's things and running? Let me know in the comments!