could save time skimming above the forest. Aradria had promised Haldrissa that they would get the report to Darnassus as swiftly as possible, and she and Windstorm had every intention of fulfilling that promise. Besides, they had a reputation to keep among the other riders and mounts.
The hippogryph’s powerful wings beat hard. The miles vanished behind them. Aradria left it to her companion to judge where and when he would need to rest; experienced riders never assumed that they knew better than the hippogryphs themselves.
The cool wind felt bracing to the night elf, and she knew that it touched Windstorm the same way. Peering at the landscape below, Aradria made a judgment call as to a change in direction that might cut down their time even more. She tapped the hippogryph on the left side of his broad, muscular neck, using a short series of touches to communicate what she thought. Such a method was far better than trying to shout against the wind.
Without warning, the hippogryph rocked violently, his wings flapping in an awkward, jolting manner. As she clutched tight, the night elf glanced at one of the wings.
Two thick bolts had pierced it, right near the muscle. Blood stained the brilliant plumage and also sprinkled the treetops below.
Aradria looked at the other wing. There, a third bolt had likewise punctured the appendage, and more blood streaked across not only the feathers but the sky behind.
The shots were expert, so much so that the wounds kept the hippogryph from maintaining altitude. Windstorm’s talons and hooves raked against the trees as he struggled to stay aloft. Torn leaves and bits of branches assailed the courier as the mount’s battle against descent faltered more and more with each passing second.
“Ungh!” A stray branch as big as her arm hit the night elf in the chest. Aradria lost her breath, then her balance. She fell back.
Windstorm crashed among the trees. The collision was the final straw for the Sentinel, who tumbled off the saddle.
If not for the thickness of the forest canopy here, Aradria would have been dead. As it was, she slammed through one heavy branch after another, until the accumulation of debris falling with her created a barrier that put an end to her fall. She lay there, stunned, with her head and left arm hanging down.
The wounded hippogryph became tangled in a mass of trees just a short distance ahead. Instinct overwhelming thought, Windstorm twisted and turned in an attempt to free himself. The saddle, caught on some of the branches, held him fast for a moment, until brute fury enabled the mount to rip free of it. The saddle dropped several yards farther down the tree.
Aradria heard the hippogryph’s frustration and caught glimpses of his struggles as she pulled herself up to a sitting position. From her shoulder she removed the bow, broken in the fall. Scratched, bleeding, and with one smaller finger bent at an unlikely angle, the night elf nonetheless thought only about her companion and the pouch. Pausing just to reset the finger in order to better her grip, she moved nimbly toward Windstorm.
She had barely begun when the hippogryph, still turned awkwardly despite having freed himself from the saddle, broke through the stressed limbs holding him. The massive beast let out a squawk as he violently descended through one level of branches after another, finally vanishing from Aradria’s sight.
Her desperate gaze fixed on the saddle some distance below. Though she still wanted to help the hippogryph, Aradria knew that her duty was to retrieve the pouch. With one last glance in search of Windstorm, the night elf leapt toward the saddle.
The branches held her, but barely. Even those not directly near where the hippogryph had crashed had been damaged by the falling limbs. Aradria made a swift calculation as to which would best suit her, then jumped to it.
She landed just a few scant yards from the saddle. Only then did she see that the larger pouch was empty. The small one containing the missive now lay somewhere farther below, perhaps even on the ground.
Aradria retrieved her glaive, slinging it on her gauntlet. After a moment’s consideration, the Sentinel also took the quiver of arrows along.
From far below came Windstorm’s angry cry. The night elf began leaping down from branch to branch. At last she spotted a patch of ground . . . and the pouch.
“Praise Elune!” Aradria murmured. Ignoring the pain in her finger, she grasped another branch and descended farther.
An arrow shot