Wake up!

The voice cracks through my skull like a whip striking flesh. It jolts every muscle and I seize, startled. Too frightened to breathe, I just lie in the gloom and with wide eyes and register that there's only the sound of the waves slapping the rocks far below and the whistle of sea-breeze. So, not a person then? Have I developed psychosis along with pointed ears?

"Great." I groan and arch out of the uncomfortable curve of rock, pressing cold fingers to my temple.

Muscles bite and pull ... sore, but not immobile. Which, given the near-death stunt of passing through reality itself isn't half bad. I sit up and wriggle my feet and legs. My shoeless foot is cold but not frostbitten, like I imagine it should be, and apart from a few bruises there's nothing misshapen or missing. I can walk, or it least it feels like I can.

Leave. The voice cuts through my roomie mind. Once more I startle at the clarity, and once more I scowl at the unbidden command, unsure how and where it manifested itself. I'd like too. I push the thought back, feeling a little ridiculous that I'm having an incoherent argument with the voice in my head. Maybe it's only a sign of madness if I start talking out loud, or is that wishful thinking?

Find him. That voice curls around my thoughts, like it's really not mine but a root weaving around and reordering my thoughts until it presents me with an image of a beautiful, blonde, cherub. Oisín. His name is definitely my own conscious voice.

Immediately I pat around the dark space of this little crevice cut in the rock face, but there's no sign of the child. He was right here. He fell asleep right in my arms ... I think? A sickness gathers in the pit of my stomach and a pounding starts in my head. My fingers crunch through matted hair, a mixture of sweat, salt, and probably dried blood. There's an increasing chance I've been hallucinating this whole time. I mean, come on, Fae? Seelie? Tír na nÓg? I bet an overactive imagination and a really high fever is to blame here.

Except, those are still delicate points to my ears. I let the pad of my index finger trail down the slightly elongated shell. A not unpleasant shiver tingles through my spine, all the way from the base of my skull to something a little lower than my gut. My throat goes dry and tight all at once, my fingers quickly find themselves held prisoner in my lap. Well, at least I know all bodily functions are in working order. Makes sense delicate ears should be an erogenous zone ... perfectly normal ... yup, totally expected. I swallow, and I swear that secondary voice in my head chuckles in amusement. I ignore it, because that's the best way to deal with unwanted voices—pretend they aren't real—and they aren't. None of this can be.

But what if it is?

Not sure if that's my conscious voice, or the psychotic one, or both.

A plan. I need a plan of action. Yes, got to keep a clear mind, what would Bear Grylls do? Probably find fresh water, and see what resources are at hand. Right, let's see what I've got in my pockets at least, and better check for any hidden injuries.

Carefully, I unzip my coat and lay it out on the ground. My muscles are sore and protest a good bit but it's nothing worse than the day after a hard session at the gym, granted it's been awhile since I frequented one of those, for precisely this reason. Still, the pain is manageable. I draw my tee up and press around my ribs, apart from a few bruises there's nothing untoward. My ripped jeans are in complete tatters, as is the coat. None of it offers much protection but it's coverings at least. I'm still shoeless on one foot, but I remove the sock so at there's some form of protection and heat. Now, food, there's bound to be gum in one of my pockets.

Rummaging around in the inner pockets of my coat, the usual hidey holes for on-the-go snacks, I'm bitterly disappointed to unearth a destroyed tissue and what looks like a bus ticket. In desperation, I cram my fingers deep into the small inner pockets, hoping something got caught in the fraying seams. True enough, my fingers catch something solid and stuck deep down. It takes a firm tug but I dislodge the item and yank it free.

Even in the grey gloom of the cave I can see exactly what it is. The rich lustre of an emerald gem held in silver claws that twist and weave into the shape of a ring—Odhran's ring.

My back hits the rock behind me with every puff of air leaving my lungs in a rush. Knees curling to my chest, I hold the ring in a trembling, clawed hand away from my body—like it's poison, and it might well be—but my other hand clamps around my lips, preventing the scream gathering steam deep down in my chest. Tears squeeze free and drip down my chin.

It's real. This. Is. All. Real.

The old man with his too bright eyes and perfect smile. A rouse. A Seelie illusion. You hear the folktales of young women and children being snatched by malevolent faerie folk, but I just assumed those were comforting stories to hide human horrors. My father ... I choke on his memory ... my father isn't crazy then, just driven crazy.

I study the ring in my hand, on closer inspection it's far prettier than I'd first perceived. Beautiful diamonds that look like tiny stars, and catch the light even in the darkness, glitter from around the weaving branches to frame the bold emerald. It's a weight, likely a jewel belonging to someone important. Except, if the stories are anything to go by the Fae don't give away expensive, supernatural trinkets without a cost—a mark—I've been marked by Odhran.

What in the name of all the Saints would I—a complete nobody—have to offer a Fae lord? I've no immortal beauty to speak of, and they like pretty things. I've no unearthly talents bar being slightly above average with a paintbrush? The stories, there's always a reason, unless there isn't? Oh god ... I'm just fodder aren't I? Some live prey for a sleeping monster.

I need to leave. That psychotic voice is right. Time to go. Maybe if I can retrace my steps I'll find something, some way back? A tiny part of me registers there's likely no going back. Odhran made some veiled comments about more than one life being lost, and misplaced faith, and referring to a female. Ugh ... bloody Fae and their riddles. I should've known there and then. Note-to-self, stop feeling sorry for strangers, it's gonna be the death of me ... or, maybe that ship sailed.

A bizarre giggle erupts, and I jump at the sound, realising a tad too late that it did indeed come from me. Crazy—I'm going crazy. Figures. Well, if I'm dead, or as close too, then there's nothing to lose trying to escape. Gathering my coat and zipping it up, like it might be some kind of armour, I take the ring and shove it deep into one of the insides pockets. Either it'll be the thing that gets me killed, or it'll be a good bargaining tool should someone try to enslave me. But, first things first; fresh water or something to eat, because I'm not going to get far dehydrated and half-starved.

It takes a few careful manoeuvres but I manage to get off the ledge and then start the climb down from the cave mouth. It's light outside. An overcast day hugs the horizon and it's hard to tell the difference between sea and sky. Thick billows of mist roll in on the tides and even though I strain my eyes I see nothing beyond. No land mass, no clue that there's anything beyond the sea. A shale beach stretches for miles and tucked up against it are these towers of black cliffs. It's like the edge of the world.

Standing at the cave mouth, letting the brisk breeze whip up my hair, I consider that maybe there's nowhere to go. I could walk miles and still just find beach and caves. There's greenery on the very top of the ledges, I can spy that at least. That would mean climbing up, and going further inland. Something about that unsettles me, but it seems more promising than walking these lonely shores.

So will it be up, or down?

As if in answer a draught bellows down the cave and sends a shudder through my bones, circling a mixture of rusty coloured leaves and the smell of evergreen. Up. Go up.

I lift my gaze following that trickle of leaves and enticing smell. Up it is.

Before I can question the sanity of following my psychotic voice, I trudge toward a base of large rocks that appear flat topped, and therefore the easiest to try and traverse my way upward. I'd love to say I'd been committed to maintain my core strength since leaving school, or that I'd ever been committed to fitness, but that's a lie. A lie that's never been more evident now that I try to heave and shove my way up boulders that just get bigger. I'm a badminton playing, yoga posing, disco-dancing kind of girl, and none of that has prepared me for life or death scenarios. Nobody mentioned this is in school. By the time I'd dragged my sorry ass up a particularly large rock, I've come to the conclusion that adrenaline saved me before, and I've clearly tanked. Shaky arms, trembling legs, and lungs that seem to be on fire remind me that I am very much alive and if I should survive any of this I will never take for granted a warm bed, and a hot bath, both of which I'd kill for right now.

I plop down on the flat-topped rock, and settle my head between my knees for a minute. Breathe, that's the trick ... phew. But, try as I might every scratchy whistle of air through my teeth hurts and without some water soon the wobbly sensation in my brain is only going to get worse, and I really don't need to fall down right now. With that thought, I sit up and dare to shuffle as close to the edge as possible. The beach and waves seem further away than I imagined, and part of me is quite impressed by my efforts, whilst the other part works to stop my head rolling off my shoulders. I'll just take a little rest here, get my bearings, stop the dizziness, and it'll be fine. Totally fine.

Distractedly, I watch a tiny spider clamber over the dips and peaks of the rock. Those little divots in the boulder must be like valleys and mountains to the little guy. I lower my pinky finger, letting him crawl onto it and give him a helpful lift onto the face of the higher rocks above us.

"There you go," I whisper, watching as he pauses mid scurry. "At least one of us might reach the top, eh?"

"Clara?"

I straighten out of my hunched position and stare at the spider. Am I hearing things now? Holy crow the hallucinations are getting worse, the spiders are talking.

"Clara ... over here?" The high-pitched soprano voice echoes a little closer and swivel onto all fours, leaning back onto my calves I peer up, and there's a familiar bob of blonde hair.

"Oisín." I can't help the gasp as I scramble to my feet and stagger to the next closest rock to climb up. "Is that you?" He's real, not a figment of my imagination, I'm not crazy.

"Of course, silly." He giggles and after a few seconds he hops down the large boulders as if they're nothing but pieces of foam sponge, like he couldn't possibly plummet to his death. "I was bringing you breakfast."

"I thought you'd gone," I say when he lands on the long stretch of rock with an easy thud. "I thought ..." I glance downward toward the cave mouth. "Did you climb this all by yourself?"

"Mhm. It's easy." He nods and wanders up to me, proud grin in place, presenting me with a folded over waxy leaf. "Here, for you."

"Thank you." I take the bundle out of his hands, carefully unfolding the large fingers of the leaf to reveal a stash of berries and nuts.

My tongue congeals and my stomach growls. The empty clang in my belly so painful that I automatically sit and begin popping a few purple fruits, that look a little like oversized raspberries into my mouth. The moment I bite down a lush, sweet, juicy flavour squelches through my teeth and hits my throat. A thrill tingles from the tip of my head, through my jaw, and all the way down to my belly when I swallow. A groan drags itself from me and I close my eyes before popping another two in my mouth to chew.

"Oh god." I sigh, throwing my head back. "These are amazing, way better than—" I suck in my lips and cringe, I forgot about the child, "better than anything I've ever tasted, where'd you find these?"

He giggles at my theatrics and plonks himself down beside me. "In the forests, there's loads of bushes with jemberries. They're my favourite. Niamh makes the best jemberry jam, better than the Palace chefs. She always sneaks me some."

"The palace, huh?" I've already scoffed at least half of the contents of the leaf. "Is Niamh your friend?" I waggle my brows. "Like a special friend."

"No!" He barks and grabs his belly in a fit of laughter. The sound so infectious I can't help joining in. "Niamh is Papa's friend ... was ... she works in the Palace."

"Oh, so she was your Papa's special friend?" I cock a brow and push the leaf under Oisín's nose, I know he's been eyeing up some of those jemberries. He smiles and shyly shakes his head at the offer. "Oh go on, I can't eat all of them by myself." Lies. I could. I could eat my weight in jemberries.

"Thank you," he says and pops a few into this mouth. He chews them in tentative silence for a bit before he swallows and glances at me. "I don't think Papa was a good friend to Niamh, friends don't leave and not say anything. I know he made Niamh sad ... and cross ... she says if he ever comes back she'll box his ears."

I have to bite my lip to prevent the laughter that would be clearly inappropriate in Oisín's very serious revelation. Clearly men are still men in any reality, even Fae ones.

"So," I say and pick up a nut; it's soft like a cashew but smells like a hazelnut. "What happened to your Papa? He must be very important if you live in the Palace?"

"You don't know who I am, sure you don't?" His little brows pick up and he looks almost relieved that I don't.

I shake my head. "No, I don't know anything about this place? I washed up on the beach after ... well ... there was an accident and I fell."

"Into the ocean?" Oisín's little mouth pops open, horror paling his already alabaster features. "That's horrible, you might've got hurt."

"Right." I nod, realising that despite how horrendous it was for me, I clearly don't look as bad as someone who just got resurrected should. "Anyway, I'm really far away from ... well ... from home, and I don't think I can get back, but it's a good job you found me. I'm very grateful."

He smiles, a sudden, bright thing that melts my heart and has me grinning back. But, as quick as it appears it fades, and in its place a frown. Oisín lowers his head, and stares into his lap. His little shoulders sag and part of me wants to reach out and wrap an arm around them. He's too little to carry such heavy thoughts.

"I'm sorry you're lost, Clara," he eventually murmurs, peeking up at me with those heart-breaking baby blues. "If you're really from Eire, I don't know if there's a way back, I've only ever read about it in story books."

"It's okay." I smile and bump his shoulder with mine. "Maybe it won't be so bad being lost here with you, right?"

A little shadow of that smile from before reappears. "Yes, we can be friends." He sucks in a breath at the statement and looks down at his hands again. "Well, only if you want to be."

Oh my poor, aching, heart. This child is killing me. How can a supernatural race of mean-spirited, human-haters, produce such a kind, innocent, child? Maybe that's why he's a runaway—too pure for their demonic ways.

"Of course we're friends," I say and grin. "How can we not be friends after you bravely rescued me."

"True." He laughs again, and I'm relieved to see the lightness return to his eyes when they sparkle with a little bit of mischievousness. "You are indebted to me."

"Sure." I chuckle and so does he, but a thrill of fear flickers in the back of mind. He's fae, he probably has the right to claim just that. "Well, here's to friendship." I swiftly raise the leaf of berries up in air, determined to banish as many dark thoughts as possible.

"To friends!" He crows in unison and jumps to his feet. He catches the leaf in my hand in a little high five and we both grin at each other.

It's silly but he gives me hope, that maybe there's a reason I'm here, and maybe not all the stories are true. That's probably wishful thinking, but that's literally all I got left ... wishful thoughts.

"Oh, here," Oisín says, ducking to untie something from his belt. "I figured you'd be thirsty."

He hands off what I assume as a water skin. I gratefully accept it and nearly squeeze every last drop of the cool, fresh water down my parched throat. He watches me carefully, like I might be a wild animal that eats him up too, and that's when the proverbial penny drops. Oisín is just a wary of me as I am of him. So, I make a promise to myself and whatever sanity I might have left, that I'll keep my crap together for the sake of this little munchkin. It certainly looks like we're in this mess together.

"Thanks, kiddo," I say and return the skin. "You're a real little gent, I bet your Papa would be proud."

Oisín titters and scrunches. "You've got funny words."

I laugh and nod. "Yes, I probably do." I slap my hands on my thighs, feeling remarkably better with the consumption of some food and water. "Well, if we're going to find your Papa, then we better get going, and find some more fresh water."

"I know where to find that," he replies and points up. "The river is not that far, and I know Papa's treehouse is near the river. That's what I'm looking for, I think that's where he'd be ...or, at least, where he'd imagined I'd look for him."

"Do you think you're Papa wants to be found?" I guess it's a question that needs asked, I'm still pretty convinced there is no Papa, at least not anymore, but I've also the distinct impression that if there was one, he doesn't exactly sound like the present kind of father. I can relate.

"Yes." Oisín says the word so firmly that I'm nearly ashamed for thinking poorly of this father. The child brazenly crosses his arms and lifts his chin. "He wouldn't leave me on purpose. He wouldn't leave any of us unless ..."

I tilt my head, observing tears that gather in his gentle eyes. Those invisible weights on his shoulders again. "Unless?"

"Unless something was wrong." Oisín lifts a sleeve of his little green tunic, and rubs it along his eyes, trying and failing to hide tears. "They won't tell me what happened, they just say he can't come back, so I'm going to find out why?"

"Oh, Oisín." I sigh and contemplate stretching out a hand but I think he senses the truth, or at least the potential of that truth, floating in the silence between us. And, I don't want to be the one to take away that hope form him.

"You'll help me, yes?" He holds my gaze with such conviction it's hard not to look away.

"I promise," I reply in a tiny voice, because I don't' trust it to not break.

"Good," he says with a triumphant grin, the heaviness lifting, like I might be the magic ingredient. "Then we better get going, we don't want to run into any Formorians. They like to live in the shadows, they come down from the mountains and up from the sea, those are the creatures you heard in the caves."

"Oh ... oh." The memory of the snarling and snapping sends a chill down my bones and I nod. "Yes. I mean. No, I don't want to hear or see them ever again."

"Don't worry," Oisín says with a bold little wink. "Grandpa is guiding us, he'll make sure Papa knows and keeps us safe."

"Sure." I nod, not really knowing how to argue with that, but if the thought comforts him that's enough for me.

Oisín starts the scramble up the rocks. Embarrassingly, he does have to stop and assist me every so often. He thinks this is hilarious that I seem to lack balance, speed, or any kind of physical ability. But, like the little angel he is, he dutifully helps without complaint and his patience seems limitless. What a strange little boy?

* * *

A few hours of walking brought Oisín and I to the fringes of a forest. A great woodland that stretches to the foot of a mountain, and then far beyond it rose another, like a smoky smudge.

From what I could tell, stretched on my tippy-toes, at the top of the cliffs before the land gently slopped back down toward glades, there were uncountable number of trees. Just clusters upon clusters woven like a thick blanket of greens, golds, and coppers that swallowed up every inch of land and tucked the great mountain into place. Oisín told me it takes three days to reach the first mountain on foot. The other was too far away that he couldn't imagine how long it might take to walk all the way there.

This, he told me, is the Great Northern Woodland Realm. It stretches from the far northern cliffs, our current location, to the Western Gate. I didn't know what that meant, though he said it with some reverence that I assume it to be a spiritual, or holy place. There's a valley just east of the Western Gate, and that's where the woodland territory ends and the Valley folk live. Oisín wasn't quite sure what was to the East, he'd heard stories of a warmer climate, with bright colours and strange animals. He's Papa and Grandpa would have wine and spices brought from there. When I asked about the South, where the other great peak loomed, Oisín said only one word that prevented me from asking anything further ... Formorians.

True to Oisín's word a river did wind through the forest, it's mouth opening up to huge, splaying, waterfalls that crashed down the cliffs in various sections. Oisín had taken me to a point close enough to see on our ascent up the cliffs. We'd cut across the glades to meet up with the river and follow it back into the forest. Now, on the fringes of the wood, in the afternoon sun, something uneasy clawed in my gut.

"What's wrong Clara?" Oisín asks, skipping ahead by a few feet, stopping every so often to pick up colourful river stones, or point out a bug. He likes pointing out the bugs, only because he finds my squeamish squeak hilarious.

"Nothing." I smile down at him but twist my fingers in tight knots in front of me. "Just, the forest seems quiet ... I've never heard such a silent forest before."

It's true. The earlier sounds of twittering birds, rustling leaves, and the general symphony of the outdoors seems to have hushed. The only sound is the odd creak of a tree bough rocking in the breeze. It's like something hushed the forest. An icy tingle spider-walks my spine and I go rigid, gaze darting from shadow to shadow in the trees ... there's something there? I know it.

"It's listening," Oisín answers, casually kicking a turf of dirt. "The trees they are great big gossips." He snickers. "Bet they're talking about you."

"What?" I scurry to keep up with the child, eyes still fixed on the shadows between the trees and in the branches. "Why would they be talking about me?"

"Because you're new?" He shrugs.

"Can you understand them?" I bristle at an eerily loud creak.

"No." He shakes his head. "Least not yet, Papa can though, he's gonna teach me when I'm older ... if I have the gift."

"The gift?" I clutch my arms tight around my chest, hugging myself.

"You don't know about the gifts?" He spins to look me up and down like I'm mad ... and, I can't argue with him, so I just shake my head. "Do the chieftains and king's in Eire not have gifts?" Again, I shake my head. "Then, how do they know who Ériu has picked to lead them?"

"We ... vote, I guess," I say and watch his face scrunch. "Erm, well, we all get together and say if we like a bunch of people who think they should be the leader. The one with most votes wins ... sort of ... it's complicated."

"But, leading isn't about winning?" He tilts his head. "It's about defending the people."

"Uh huh." I nod and suppress laughter. "I won't argue with you there, but we don't have gifts, least I've never heard of them."

"Hm," Oisín seems to consider this revelation. "Gifts are unique, we all have them, some of us have special more powerful gifts. Papa is ..." his little brows scrunch together as he thinks through the best descriptions, and I think it's incredibly cute, and even a little humbling to watch a little kid try and simplify something for me—the stupid human—or ex-human, oh god. "Papa's gift," he starts again, mercifully interrupting my existential crisis. "He's very strong, he's like the forest, like the forest is inside him."

I don't fully grasp what that means but it sounds pretty impressive, and it's Fae magic were talking about here, so it's likely whoever his Papa was he could snap me in half with a thought. Oisín can see the befuddlement in my expression and just shrugs, so I do the same.

"Wonder will I have a gift?" I muse aloud, changing the subject, the question making him titter.

"Well it's not climbing, or running fast." He out and out laughs now, a really belly-ache, especially when he spies my scowl.

"Oh you think so!" I plant my hands on my hips and stare him down. "I bet I could beat you in a race."

"No way," he replies and playfully shoves my waist. "I'd beat you, I'm faster than Niamh."

"Just because your boy doesn't mean your faster." I stick out my tongue and her roars with more delighted giggles.

"I bet I am." He crosses his arms. "Bet I could beat you to that tree." He points to an unmistakable tree in the distance, one with a wide trunk, it's circumference twice the size of my house. "Last one there has to give the winner all their jemberries."

"Mmm, quite the bet." I tap a finger to my chin, and he narrows his eyes. "Would that be all the jemberries on that bush." I point behind him and he predictably turns with greedy eyes. The minute his backs turned I take off. "Gotcha!"

Oisín gasps and then yells, "that's cheating!"

I laugh out loud when I hear his little feet stampede behind me. He tries to catch my coat and pull me but I dodge out the way and kick up leaves. He sputters, and we both launch into a game of aggressive tag. He tries to trip me up. I catch him around the waist. He throws pinecones. I duck and toss them back. We do this for so long that we forget all about the bet and find ourselves tucked into the tree roots sharing our spoils from a jemberry bush raid.

"I know what your gift is," Oisín says between bites of a particularly large berry. Purple juice runs down his chin and he slurps at his stained fingers.

"What?" I smirk, chewing my smaller portion with just as much gusto.

"Your gift is you're fun," he says with a triumphant smile. "The best fun."

My heart swells a little, no one's ever called me fun. Then again I don't remember the last time I laughed, let alone allowed myself to be silly.

"Then yours is being messy." I lean forward and snatch at his nose, inconspicuously using my coat sleeve to mop up the juice from his chin. He wriggles and swats me away, but I laugh keeping a firm hold of his nose.

"Ah," he quips nasally. "Give me my nose back."

"What, this one?" I hold my fist out, with the tip of my thumb peeping between two knuckles. "Hmm, nope, I think I'll keep it."

"No!" He howls and clambers over me to wrestle.

"Alright, alright." I laugh and nip his nose back into place. He grins but stays plonked on my knee. "You tired, kiddo?"

"A little." He nods and fights back a yawn.

"We'll need to find somewhere safe to sleep soon." I pull us both up into standing and glance around the woodland, considering could we climb a tree, and would it even be safe?

"I'm sure the treehouse must be near here," Oisín says, though I'm unsure if it's more to himself than me.

"Can I ask a question that's been bugging me?" I glance down at him as we start to amble through the woodland again. He just nods. "If you thought your Papa would be at the treehouse, and you're from the woodland clan, how'd you end up all the way out in the caves?"

Oisín drops his head, and I don't miss the tear that rolls down his face. "I got lost," he mumbles.

"Lost?" I raise a brow, it more or less confirmed my suspicions. Oisín doesn't know where we're going, he just wants me to think he does. He's just as frightened as I am, but such a brave little boy to try and protect me.

"I was looking for the treehouse," he says, his eyes never leaving the ground. "Then there was the storm, and the Formorians were in the forest. I just kept running until I found the caves, but Papa was helping me."

"Oisín." I sigh, a heavy one, "do you really think your Papa is here? If he was helping you don't you think he'd show himself?"

"You don't understand." His words bite and he stops dead to glare me, those gentle eyes flashing with silver flame I'd never noticed in them before. "He can't. He's hurt. But I know it's him ... I can hear him."

"Hear him?"

Oisín looks me over, studying my reaction and deciding he doesn't quite know how to answer. He just shakes his head. "I just know ... why does no one believe me?"

He angrily kicks the earth, his little hands drawing into fists.

"Oisín." I hold out my palms in a peaceful gesture. "I do believe you."

"No you don't," he shouts back and punches the air. "You all think he's gone and never coming back. He wouldn't leave me. He promised."

And with that my only companion in the whole world takes off at a sprint into the wood. Ugh ... well, that's what you get for offending him. Well done, Clara, you upset and scared off a child. Honestly, why do I have to open my big mouth.

"Oisín," I cry and start to jog after him. "Oisín, come back. I'm sorry."

How the hell does someone so small move so fast? I try to follow the faint sobs but the echoes in the trees obscure the direction, and it takes me longer than it should to find his footprints in the disturbed bed of fallen leaves.

"Oisín." I groan when I find him in a tiny glade with his back to me staring into the darkening wood. The light is beginning to leave us, and as twilight dawns I'm not sure how long we can stay out in the open. "Oisín, I'm sorry, okay? I wasn't thinking." When he doesn't respond, and all I see is his little shoulders rising and falling quickly a cold sweat breaks on my brow. "Oisín ... what is it? What do you see?"

"C-Clara?" His body tremors as he takes a full step back.

A howl rips through the woods, followed by another, then another. The snaps and growls, hoots and hollers of voices that are tinged with ice and make every hair on my body stand on end. I'm already chasing the distance between us, my arms colliding around his little chest and pulling him back with me.

"F-f-fom—" he stammers, his wide eyes wheeling up to look at me. Undiluted fear shrieks up from their depths and sends a chilling sensation through my bones. Formorians.

"Quick." I order in a voice barely above a whisper. "Back to the tree, you can climb it."

The sounds of boots and claws tear closer as I run with Oisín to the edge of the glade. He keeps a vice like grip of my hand until the very last second when I wrangle it free.

"No. Clara." He reaches for me, arms wrapping around my middle. I sink down beside him, clutching his shoulders tight.

"Listen. Listen to me," I hiss and stroke a hand through his hair. "You run to the tree, and you climb, and you don't stop climbing to your high up and out of reach, do you hear me?"

"No, you have to come." Great, watery sobs push from his eyes and wrack his chest as he viciously shakes his head. "Please, don't leave me."

"I won't. I'm going to find you," I say, still pushing him back into the shadows of the forest. "But I have to lead them away, okay?" He shakes his head more violently before, like the very suggestion is absurd. "Oisín, I promise I'll come find you, but you have to go." Another yowl breaks the glade and I frantically push him into the forest. "Run," I hiss as he staggers backward his wide eyes never leaving mine as those little legs pick up stride. "Run as fast as you can." He nods and there's another snarl, and twigs breaking under foot. I watch him streak like lightening into the darkness. "Run," I beg, "oh god, run."

I close my eyes for a brief moment, swallowing hard. Stupidity mingled with hard-headed stubbornness has me turning in a swift circle to face the glade. I might be a nobody. I might be just a waitress. I might even be crazy ... but I'm not a coward ... and I'll give that little one every shot. There's someone out there who'll him. Someone out there needs him.

My eyes peel open, just in time to see the creatures that prowl into the glade. Grey skin, slick like scales, with slit eyes and flat noses. Reptilian is the turn of phrase in my mind, there small mouths pulled back to bare sharp teeth, their limbs long and ghoulish. I resist the urge to bring up the contents of my stomach, or lose control of my bladder, because they certainly incite that level of fear. I don't have the luxury, I've to think of Oisín.

"A she unprotected. Alone," one hisses, their voices thick with phlegm.

"A treat," another growls, then makes a keening whoop of a noise and the others join in. More hollers in the tree alert me that there's more than the handful in front of me.

Run.

That commanding psycho voice barrels throw me, loud, like it roared right in my ear. It startles me into action and I take one last glance at the monsters, then hurtle in the opposite direction of Oisín.

The thundering of their feet behind me is at least a small comfort. None of them have picked up any trace of Oisín. I just have to stay alive for as long as I can, and get them as far away from him as possible. Though, the staying alive part is not exactly my best skill set.

The urgency helps my feet to fly, and that burst of primal adrenaline batters through my muscles and sinews again, driving me forward at a rapid pace. The forest hurtles passed in a blur of grey and green. At times I hear snaps close to my ear, or clawed hands scratch at my waist or arm. In those moments that commanding voice bellows faster and I obey.

I duck and dodge, taking zig-zag paths to throw them. It seems to be working, until I take a sharp right, my legs pumping so fast that I skid across the ground and catch my feet in the roots. I slam into the earth, frantically kicking myself free and trying to get up, but the trees are dense here and running made impossible. I catch my feet again and end up slamming back into the trunk of a tree. Winded, I cough and bite down a yelp of pain from my ankle. I try to put it beneath me but it hurts. I sprawl forward onto all fours.

My assailants stampede into my line of sight. Their yellowed eyes gleaming in the dying light. I can almost feel their anticipation of the kill. A deer. That's what I am. A deer caught in the hunt. With frantic, burning breaths I shut my eyes tight, and send up a silent prayer that there's enough distance between them and Oisín. That I did enough with what little time I had.

It's in the breath between that prayer and what thought to be my last moment alive, when a whoosh of wind blasts out from behind me. It's strength so sudden and strong it sounds like a hallow roar. The gush like a gale, it clean knocks me forward. The trees groan overhead their branch cracking, creaking, and some falling. I cover my head and duck.

When my eyes flash open, shocked by the force that whips a tunnel of debris to ring in me and the Formorians, I make out a shadow. A blurred image that has my assailants hissing and snapping as they cower back. I scramble around the trunk of the nearest tree, trying to catch an outline of whatever force that seems to terrify these creatures, and work out if I can escape it too.

The shadowy outline moves like a man—or, is a man—but my eyes can't focus through the flying debris and the wind tunnel that screams so loud it forces me to cover my ears. One by one I watch those Formorian assailants leap at the shadow that moves with feline speed and breaks them apart with deadly ease. I hear the rip of flesh, the snap of bone, and I cower on the forest floor. The weight of the wind and the power emanating from the shadow pinning me in place. Even if I wanted too, I couldn't escape.

The fight doesn't last long. Minutes maybe, and then that roar of wind that came like a lion vanishes and the echoing silence is equally as disorientating as it is terrifying. But, the weight in my limbs lifts enough to move.

I sit, trembling as I push off the broken boughs. It might be a stretch to believe it but they almost seem like they fell as a deliberate barricade. Some kind of natural shield. I shake my head at the thought. It's impossible. But ... the shadow in the centre of the now devastated patch of woodland is possible.

Not a shadow, but a man ... or, Fae, I suppose. Tall but bent over, his whole body tremoring from the exertion. His skin exposed through brutal rips of his shirt that may as well be nothing but ribbons draped over broad shoulders.

Blood. The smell and sight of it assaults my senses so fast it spurs me to limp forward. He's hurt. Bad.

He starts muttering something. Hands lifting to his chest and neck, where the blood flows thickest. He turns then, enough so I see his outline. I almost scream. Almost dive back under those boughs that shielded me.

Instead of the fabled, frightening beauty of the Fae, there's a being ravaged and scarred. A mouth twisted down, and an entire left side of his face, neck, and chest mottled and twisted into something beastly. I can't see the other side to know if it's any worse, but something destroyed him. No ... something tried to destroy him, and he lived. This is no ordinary creature.

Morbidly curious and somewhere between terrified and awestruck, I reach out. That hypnotic lull in the breeze, the smell of the pine, the rustle of leaves. I can imagine how I'd paint him. The wild. The beast in the trees and ...

... a twig snaps under my foot. He goes rigid. He turns but the wrong way, his head moving everywhere, but his gaze not fixed.

Blind. He's blind.

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A/N: YAYAY!!! Thank you everyone for coming along to read! No. 3 in Irish mythology and No> 30 in Faerie ... wow ... and we're just getting started. Again, thank you so so much to everyone voting and reading. To the old readers coming from the fanfic side, what do you think? Do you like the new changes? It's definitely going to be a little different.

Anyway, please feel free to hit that star if you enjoyed the story and add it to your library to enjoy regular updates. 

Talk soon everyone.

Love CJ xxx