Moon Burning - By Lucy Monroe Page 0,1
as ghosts in the forest but breathed air just as any other man or animal. The Éan were no myth; they were ravens with abilities beyond that of merely changing their shape.
And they trusted the Faol of the Chrechte (the wolves) less than the wolves ever trusted humans.
Chapter 1
Come, the croaking raven doth bellow for revenge.
—WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
Donegal Lands, Scottish Highlands
Twelfth Century AD
The raven flew high above the earth, her keen vision spying five Donegal hunters in the forest below.
The red and black of their plaids peeked through the trees, leaving no doubt to the true number, but she could only hear three of them. Two were silent as they stalked their prey. Even her raven hearing, honed sharper than her talons, could not detect the sound of their movements.
They had masked their scents as well, showing they had better control of their Chrechte nature than the others. These two Faol of the Chrechte were dangerous.
No wolf could be trusted, but one who mastered his beast was one who must be watched most carefully. He would not be easily taken in by the tricks of the Éan. It was good her raven family had set her to this task. Another, less seasoned fighter could fail too easily with wolves such as these.
Sabrine had been protecting her people since her fifteenth summer, a long seven years past.
She circled lower, preparing for her landing. This had to look natural, but she did not relish taking human form merely to fall through a few tree branches. She was still a good distance from the men, though closer to the earth, when an agonizing pain pierced her left wing.
Her first instinct was to pull her wing to her body, but she forced herself to keep it extended so she could coast lower rather than spinning out of control. She would not die before saving her people from the wolves’ treachery.
As she neared the earth, she let her raven fall away, taking on her fully human form, just as she had planned to before the foul arrow had pierced her wing. Tree branches scratched at her body as she tumbled toward the ground.
She ignored the minor pain for the larger purpose. She would use the wolves’ thirst for blood against them. Their own actions would make way for her to find welcome in their clan.
As a helpless human female.
Dark amusement rolled through her with the pain of her landing. She grabbed the arrow, broke off the tip, gripped the other side, and yanked it from her arm.
As her world turned black around the edges, she threw the offending weapon as far from her as possible.
Barr’s big body spun silently at the sound of an arrow leaving its bow. Rage rode him harder than an English-man’s seat on his horse. No visible sign of the wild boar, there was no damn excuse for using the weapon.
Muin’s attention was focused on the sky, not the forest where it was supposed to be, the youngest in their party standing with his bow still lifted as if prepared to shoot again.
It would be easier to train the English, Barr thought with a snarl he made no attempt to suppress. He’d known Chrechte cubs with better hunting instincts.
“What the hell was that, boy?” Barr demanded in quiet tones meant to get his anger across but not to carry.
“I saw a raven,” Muin whispered fervently. “My gran-da says they’re bad luck and to kill them on sight.”
“Oh? And did your gran-da also teach you how to hunt?” Barr demanded with barely restrained wrath. “Did he teach you to warn our prey of our approach?”
“The boar would not have heard the arrow.” Muin’s attempt at defense carried no weight with Barr.
He moved so he towered over the beardless boy. “What happens when you kill a bird in the sky?”
Muin swallowed, his face twitching despite the fact he so obviously tried to hide his nerves. “It falls to the earth.”
“That is right. Do you suppose the bird will show us the courtesy of landing without sound?”
“Nay, laird.”
“Nay.”
Not for the first time since coming to the Donegal clan as acting laird and Chrechte pack leader, Barr wondered if he had the patience for the task. He’d liked his position as second-in-command for the Sinclair just fine, but the king had requested this favor. Barr wasn’t swayed. However, his former laird, Talorc, had seconded the request, adding to it his own that Barr train the Chrechte among the Donegal clan. Naturally, Barr had agreed.
He knew Talorc