32. But we’re not dead #2
He opened his mouth to say something, but then the birds stopped chirping, and the wind died. Even the trees' whispering was silent.
Cypress could have sworn she heard them say “Do not harm it,” though, before everything went quiet.
With her heart in her ears, Cypress whispered, “We aren’t alone anymore, are we?”
“No, Lass. We aren’t,” Torren confirmed, voice pitched low.
“Did the Dryaads say not to hurt it?” Cypress asked. “…Whatever it is?” Her eyes darted around the circle, but she needed confirmation he’d heard the words, too.
“Aye,” Torren said. He stood, head on a swivel.
The horses did not seem alarmed; the pair were still munching on their grain contentedly. Their tails swished back and forth to flick at flies.
Then, from between the trees came a low, rumbling growl.
Cypress’s heart skipped a beat, and her breath seized in her lungs.
A large, speckled black and tan paw stepped out first. Followed by the other paw, a great big barrel chest with a white patch on the breast, and then the face of the beast. It had sooty black fur with a splash of tan across the jowls, and in a pair of near-perfect circles upon the brow.
Four enormous wings sprouted from its spine, tips peeking out between the treetops.
The Hound stood halfway into the Faerie circle, amber eyes glowing in the half-light, and they were set directly on Cypress.
“Is that?” Cypress started and took a half-step backward. Her hand found Torren’s wrist and gripped him like a lifeline.
If this were a winged Hound of the Hunt, there was no need for the Dryaads to warn them not to hurt it. The Hound would kill her and Torren before they ever laid a finger on it.
The beast took another step into the Faerie circle. Cypress heard Torren swallow thickly, his voice hoarse as he drawled, “Aye, that is a Winged Hound.”
“We’re fucked, aren’t we?” Cypress asked, eyes still locked with the amber eyes of the Hound.
The beast shook its fur, and the large wings on its back fluttered for a moment. A gust of wind blew her hair back.
“I’m not sure I have the time to fuck ye proper right now, Lass,” Torren drawled.
Cypress swatted him with her free hand. “Now is not the time!” she hissed.
Had Torren had ever said anything remotely helpful about what to do if they were to come across one of the Hounds of the Wyld Hunt? Cypress struggled to recall.
“That's what I was saying!”
“Torren,” Cypress growled, then took a step toward the horses.
The Hound growled, and its large, fluffy, almost bat-like ears flattened against its skull.
“I don’t think it liked that,” Torren said, then mirrored her step toward the horses.
Cypress waited for it to pounce, to growl, raise its teeth. But the Hound did nothing, amber eyes still only locked on Cypress.
She took another hesitant step toward the horses. The Hound growled once more and lifted its jowls around long, sharp teeth.
“The Hound doesn’t like it when you move, Lass…” Torren said.
“Thanks for exhibiting your grasp on the obvious,” Cypress retorted, then tried merely reaching toward the horses, as if she were going to pet them.
Again, the Hound growled, but it did not move from its perch, only just inside the Faerie circle.
Torren took another step toward the horses, but the hounds' glowing amber eyes never strayed from Cypress’s face.
“Torren,” Cypress started. Her mind worked overtime as she tried to formulate a plan.
“Lass,” he responded while he inched closer to the horses and his escape.
“Why does the Hound only care about what moves I make?”
Torren didn’t respond. Cypress’s heart pounded faster.
The Hound abruptly stood to shake out its inky dark fur and massive black wings.
Again, she heard the whispering of the leaves in her ear, the ephemeral voice urged Cypress to be kind.
So she did the only thing she could think of.
Cypress took a hesitant step toward the beast. Only a flick of the feathered tail indicated the Hound noticed her approach. Then, she took another and another until she stood just before the great Winged Hound.
“Cypress! What are you doing?” Torren hissed while he tied the two horses together.
“Making friends,” Cypress said and tilted her head to examine the beast more thoroughly.
“I don’t think the beastie wants to be friends, Lass,” Torren cautioned. “I’ve got the horses, just be ready to hop on.”
Cypress shook her head. “No, I’m not running. If it found us in the circle, who’s to say it won’t hunt us down outside of it?”
Torren made a sound of annoyance, but didn’t say anything else.
“And anyway, you’re just a curious thing, aren’t you?” Cypress said, now speaking to the Hound.
Sharp amber eyes framed in the darkest black fur Cypress had ever laid eyes on stared down at her, head cocked to the side.
Cypress took another step forward. “What are you doing in here, pup, hmm?”
The Hound was as large as some of the cottages she’d seen during her travels, likely large enough that the beast would be able to see clear over the roof without leaving the ground.
It was no pup, but Cypress didn’t know what else to call the beastie.
The inky feathered tail swished once, then again, hesitantly.
If experience had taught her anything, the beast’s body language did not speak of aggression or fear.
She’d always wanted to keep one of the many strays of the Keep as her own, but life as Cade’s guard did not afford the kind of free time she felt it required to care for an animal companion.
So, she’d made friends with the strays. Fed them scraps whenever she could.
Cypress knew that a dog that was afraid of you would not sit calmly in front of you and do nothing at your approach. The Winged Hounds of the Hunt were just hounds, really. Hounds cursed to herald the Hunt forever.
So, she now thought it was unlikely that the beast was going to kill her. It was just… cautiously curious. About Cypress specifically.
She took another step forward, hand outstretched.
The Hound lifted its lip for only a second, but Cypress’s heart leaped into her throat, and her breath seized in her lungs when it moved toward her.
Cypress squeezed her eyes shut and expected to be dead any moment now.
Only, her death never came. Instead, the Hound’s warm, soft head pressed against her fingers.
When she opened her eyes, the beast pressed itself firmer into Cypress’s hands and nuzzled its head into her entire body.
Cypress went down with a laugh.
Then, the Hound laid down, each of its front legs on either side of her body, while the feathered tail wagged happily in the air behind it. The hound’s head was bigger than Cypress, snout long enough that it could probably swallow her whole, the longest of its teeth as long as her forearm.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Torren muttered from somewhere behind her.
“So…what do I do now?” Cypress asked Torren, laughing as the Hound nudged her with its nose, which she assumed was an effort to get her to look at it again.
Torren blinked at her. “You think I know what to do with,” he waved his hand in their direction, a horrified, yet bemused expression on his face. “All of this? No one will fucking know what to do about this.”
“We’re not dead, though,” Cypress remarked, and scrubbed the Hound’s forehead. Her entire hand disappeared in the depths of the beast’s thick fur, surrounded by warmth.
“Not yet anyway,” he retorted. Torren stood before them and rubbed the back of his neck.
Cypress turned to the hound once more. “You won’t kill us, will you, puppy?” She asked, her voice lowered into a tone similar to one she’d use with a small child. “You’re a good puppy, aren’t you?”
“Lass, that is not a puppy.”
“It was once. And it still is, aren’t you puppy?” Cypress asked and spread her arms wide to grip both of the hound’s cheeks, then kissed between its eyes.
The hound flopped over onto its side, and the enormous tongue lolled out of its mouth. Cypress stood, dusted herself off, and then walked back toward her companion.
“What should we name it?” Cypress asked, a grin stretched wide across her face.
“You are not keeping the Winged Hound, Lass.”
“Rude. She found me. Of course, I’m keeping her.”
“Her? You know it’s her now?” Torren asked, fingers pressed into his eyes.
“I mean, assuming when they were turned into some spooky thing for the Hunt, their genitals weren’t swapped, yes, I can plainly see she’s a girl when she does that,” Cypress said, and pointed toward the Hound who was currently lying on her side, practically already sleeping.
“You cannot keep the Hound, Lass.”
“I don’t think you can tell her that, so what shall we call her?” Cypress asked, giving him a smug smile with her arms crossed over her middle.
Torren sighed dramatically again. “I imagine ye already have something in mind?”
She beamed at him.
Torren hung his head in defeat and asked, “What’s the name?”
“Deja.”
The hound’s ears pricked forward at the name, a small harrumph leaving her chest.
“Yeah? Do you like your name?” Cypress cooed, thrilled with the prospect of the hound accompanying them, despite the fact that she knew that this hound likely participated in previous hunts with fervor.
Again, Torren sighed dramatically, but began preparing a meal for them without a word. They’d only just stopped for the night, hadn’t even fully unpacked the food before Deja had appeared.
Cypress busied herself with setting up their bedrolls while Torren cooked.
What other wonders would the Wylds hold for her when all of this was over?
The large black shadow of Deja had trailed after Cypress and Torren high in the sky and then disappeared some time ago. Despite her size, the Hound flew practically silent through the air, even more so than a hawk.
Or so Torren said.
Cypress couldn’t say if she had ever paid attention to how silent a bird flew.
“Are the Wylds shifting around us for this journey?” she asked her companion while she stretched her neck.
“Not nearly as much as would be convenient,” Torren drawled, looking back over his shoulder at her.