Copper Hawk

His wings sliced through the sun rays. He turned, shifting his body to angle more sharply, and continued his descent. He gave them a quick snap to propel him even faster.

Cries split the air; the sound filtered up to meet him. Metal screeched against metal. He could even hear the sparks bounce to the ground and crackle away as they cooled.

The blur of the ground’s colors sharpened the closer he got. He shifted again, this time turning himself around, with his feet first instead of diving face forward.

His grunt was caught in the rushing winds, lost in the noise whipping past his ears.

His toes cramped, a bone-shattering pain exploded up his legs. He could feel them, twisting, curling, stretching. His nails extended, sharpened and curved.

At the center of his heel another digit grew as well, pulling the skin until the sharp talon split through, breaking the calloused ball. He hated that part most.

He pulled his knees up until they almost drew level with his waist and leaned back into the wind. His feet now more bird-like than human.

He lifted his arms back as if to grab the sun from above his head.

His red-gold wings stretched far up, now vertical with the ground as he ripped through the air.

He sped to the ground even faster, the pressure pulling him down.

The sounds rose up to meet him and he crashed through the ranks; his feet leading the way.

His force drove a line through the enemy army. Men were thrown aside, pushed and jostled into one another from his rush through. He grabbed one man with his taloned feet, and hauled him into the air tossing him further into the lines of the Thracian’s.

He spun, flapping his bronze wings, the metal shining, gleaming like solid gold in the bright, hot sun. He watched as he blinded a few of the enemy, enabling the soldiers of the Thracian army to strike them down.

Faelin was a special Thracian. Very few were born with the powers he had. His wings grew from his arms, starting at the wrist. An extra joint appeared, only when he took flight and from it, his wing tips grew out, long and curved. From his wrist to his elbow were the longest of his feathers and then they began to diminish in size as they got to his shoulder, stopping before going over his back.

His wings were even more incredible as they were made of bronze. Those born with metal wings were the rarest of special Thracian’s. And only three were ever born at one time. Their wings were the rarest and not of feathers, but of pure metals; bronze, silver and gold.

He was called the Copper Hawk, for the more orange blazing to his bronze feathers.

He stopped and hovered, his wings flapping to keep him in flight. He looked to his right and flung himself into a blazing ball of gleaming fire. He shot over the heads of both the enemy and the army toward a circle that had formed around three fighters. His sharp eyesight had caught who was caught between two enemies, fending off both. He could see they were staggering.

Blood gushed from her right arm. As she swung around he saw why.

And then he was beside her.

He brought his right arm out wide, his bronze metal feathers stretched far and wide, tingling as he stretched them as far as he could. And with one sweep of his arm, his right hand traveling to his left, and then mimicking the same motion with his left arm sweeping in an arc toward his right, bronze feathers shot out.

They dug deep into the two she had been struggling with. His metal feathers, knife sharp flew straight. One sunk deep through the eye socket of one Starian, three lodged in the neck and chest of the second. But both dropped in a matter of heartbeats.

With a moment to catch her breath she sank to her knees. Faelin dropped beside her and gently, as if she were made of glass took up her left arm to stare at the red gouge from her wrist to her shoulder. The blood had seeped into the sand at their feet and down her side, tarnishing her chipped armor.

Vabelle brought her right arm around, that silver wing still intact. Her feathers were beginning to recede back into her skin as they did once one chose but not before they’d disappeared completely, he noticed the Starian’s had even managed to pull out some of those feathers.

Faelin looked around them as the circle was starting to shrink and saw silver feathers littering the ground. How had he not seen them?

“How did they get you?” he asked.

Even with the shouts, and cries, and slamming of swords and metal smashing around them in thunderous waves she could hear his lowered voice perfectly.

“They caught me with one of those grapple rods they have,” she said. Her eyes were cast down, and then went to the drops of blood patterning the skirt of her armored outfit.

“You’ll be alright. I promise.” He tilted her chin up until their gold eyes met. His voice lowered again, this time almost a whisper, but he moved in closer, careful not to touch her wounded arm. He wrapped his wings to shield them, the world around them seeming to fall away until it was only they.

“I promise to take care of you. I made you that vow those years ago. I will keep that vow.” He brought a hand to his heart, a finger against his plate armor, his right wing letting in the sun as he moved.

She smiled up at him.

But first he had to save her, before he could promise anything else.

“I’m going to bring you back behind our lines,” he said shifting so she could bring an arm around his neck.

She nodded when she was set and had a grip around him. Slowly he stood, testing to make sure she didn’t slip. His eyes roamed her face. Her skin that had a normal shine to it seemed dim in the sun, much duller than usual. He gritted his teeth. If he had been here he might have prevented her being hurt.

He looked up, bent his legs and then shot into the air, his arms out and flapping wildly.

He would get her well beyond their lines, back where she would be safe. And then he would return. And he would destroy the Starian Army.