See Prologue (A) for Disclaimers

Sharak glided on air-currents far above his friends on the ground.  He swooped, banked, glided a bit more, all without thinking.  His thoughts were elsewhere.  Almost absently, he slipped into a thermal and rose a bit higher, using the vantage point to survey the forest that stretched out before him.

Ricenne's forest.

Curupira had spoken the truth, he realized: it  had been over a thousand years since last he had been in these woods.  He wondered now, as he had not allowed himself to wonder before, how she was, if she would be glad to see him, how she had changed . . .  Not physically, of course.  Both of them were the same physical age they had been when they were cursed, the age they had chosen to be when they still had Power.

Sharak sighed inwardly.  So many years.  So very many years, lifetimes, and gone so terribly different than either of them had ever thought or dreamed or planned.  He had been angry at her for a few of those first years, but the more he had thought on it -- and the gods knew he had time to think as he traversed those many miles -- the more he had grown convinced that the betrayal the Ancient One had told him of had never truly happened.  He remembered her eyes that fateful day, the anguish and despair in them, remembered the friendship they had shared and the childlike innocence she had shown towards such a thing.  No, the Ancient One had been lying -- but it was several thousand years before he had a chance to tell her that.

He recognized her before she even saw him.  Same long brown hair, same soft green eyes, same slender form.  But there was a weariness in her face now, a sadness that made her look almost old despite her apparent youth.

He gave a loud skreee!  and swooped down towards her, landing on a branch a short distance away.  She looked up, startled, and stared at him for a long time.  For a moment, he thought she recognized him, but then she continued on her way.  Frustrated, Sharak followed, hop-gliding from one branch to another.  She was lost in her thoughts, but finally she noticed.

She stopped, looked at him, and then slowly approached.  "It can't be you," she whispered.  "After all this time . . . all this wandering . . . it can't be you."

Sharak tilted his head and cooed softly at her.  It is me,  he wanted to say.  It is.  I'm here, my friend.

Ricenne came closer and reached a tentative hand towards him.  "Sharak . . ."  Her voice was a bare whisper, as if she dared not believe it.

Before he could try anything to communicate with her, before she could convince herself otherwise, an animal's roar of pain sounded loudly in the forest.  Ricenne whirled to search it out; when it sounded again, she ran towards it.  Sharak followed.

It was a large white tiger, female, her odd pale eyes glittering with fear and pain.  She scrabbled against the ground, one hind foot caught in a thick rope that was trying to haul her into the air.  Her front claws had found purchase against a gnarled root, but they were losing their grip.  Her body twisted in a way that was sure to do her harm.

Sharak looked down as he flew over her, and saw that there were men in the trees.  They had set up the trap and then settled into the high branches that the tiger could not reach.  They had arrows nocked and ready to fire.  This was no hunt, Sharak thought in disgust as they laughed at the tiger's struggle.  This was sport.

And Ricenne was walking straight into the path of their arrows.

Sharak dove at one of the men, hitting him from behind with closed talons, his weight like a rock on the man's back.  The man gave a short cry and fell out of the tree.  Ricenne leaped back slightly as he landed, her eyes narrowing as she looked up into the screening branches.  Sharak swooped down and glided right over her head on his way to another branch.

Ricenne saw one of the archers aiming an arrow towards the eagle, and another aiming at the tiger.  She growled low in her throat.  "Oh, no, you don't."

She was no longer a Sorceress, but her powers had still grown over the centuries since she was cursed.  Not as great as they had been, but certainly more than the average Witch.  She drew on a strand of Power and cast it into the shape she desired, a levinbolt that hit the branch above the two men and sent it crashing down on them.  There were still three more hunters in another tree -- she became aware of that when one of their arrows hit her shoulder.  She went down with a grunt but kept her concentration.  Another levinbolt flew, this one striking the branch the men crouched on.  It crashed to the ground, scattering their bodies as they fell.  They hit the ground hard and lay groaning.

Ricenne grimaced at the pain in her shoulder and reached back, pulling the arrow out with her free hand.  She cast it aside in distaste, then looked up as Sharak screamed.  She smiled and all the weariness disappeared from her face in a warm glow.  "You are  Sharak," she said.  The shapeshifter let out a short scream of approval and relief.  She nodded.  "Thank you, old friend.  We have much to . . ."

She stopped, remembering that they could not  talk to one another now.  She shook her head, leaving the sentence unfinished, and turned to the tiger.  "Let's see to you, first, eh?"

The tiger, though she was aware that a battle had occurred, did not know Ricenne as an ally.  She growled and snapped at the human, forgetting the rope as she tried to slash at the invader.  Ricenne stepped out of the way of those claws as the rope pulled tight and drew the beast up into the air.  She frowned at the swinging shape and said, "This is not going to be pleasant."

She rummaged in her carry-bag and withdrew a small leather purse.  Untying the cord at its neck, she dispensed a palmful of ground yellow dust, then swiftly aimed it towards the tiger and threw it in the beast's face.  The tiger took a nice big whiff of the stuff.  Slowly, her struggles eased.  Ricenne smiled and turned her attention to the rope.  A much smaller levinbolt snapped it in two and the tiger, since levitation was unfortunately not among Ricenne's skills, hit the ground.  Fortunately, it remained fast asleep.

Ricenne approached the animal quickly, her hand slipping a long dagger out of a sheathe at her hip.  She didn't notice the odd figure that had appeared between the trees behind her: a girl who seemed to be only seventeen, with golden hair and strange, backward-turned feet.  Sharak did notice, and was quite startled.  He knew who this was -- he had heard stories about her . . .

The demon Curupira looked at the interlopers on the forest-floor with a snarl on her pretty features.  One of them, a woman, was kneeling over the helpless tiger, a knife in her hand.  Curupira screamed in rage and summoned a wind that knocked the woman off of her feet.  She advanced faster than one would have thought possible, reaching out to grab the woman by the hair and pull her up.  She would teach these killers a lesson!  She lowered her mouth to the woman's, sending her Power forward to drag out the human's life-force.

An eagle screamed and suddenly talons were in the long tail of her hair, pulling her up and back.  A male voice shouted in her mind, Get away from her!  She was trying to help, you stupid, blind . . .   hreesta!

Curupira didn't understand that last word, but the eagle's mind gave the impression of bloody- idiot/ fool/ child  as a rough translation.  The combination of attack, wording, and translation sent Curupira enough off-balance so that she stumbled back and stood gaping in indignation and confusion as the eagle released her and landed near the woman.  The eagle glared at her while the woman shook her head and turned to look at Curupira.  They stared at one another for a long moment before Ricenne said lightly, "So I take it you're not after the tiger."

And that was how a friendship of several thousand years began.  Ricenne had used her herbs and her Power to heal the wounds inflicted on the tiger by the sharp edge of the rope and the female's own exertions, while Curupira watched, both curious and wary.  As the animal slept, Ricenne answered the demon's questions about herself, about the eagle, about why she had helped the tiger.

Curupira had been satisfied and somehow touched.  She had never cared for humans before, but the woman's interference and sadness gave her an idea.  As thanks, and without truly thinking of how much it would mean to both of them, she gave the woman some of her own power.  Just a little and very exact: she gave Ricenne the ability to understand animals.  The witch couldn't stay in her woods -- for one thing, immortality tends to make one want to wander -- but she would be able to speak with her friend, Sharak.

And they had.  They spoke for hours, weeping, consoling, remembering.  When Ricenne left the forest, Sharak accompanied her.  They traveled together for over a year, until they reached the Wood and found a situation similar to that of the tiger.  But this time it was a magickal creature.  Ricenne tended to it, befriended it and promised safety.  She had fulfilled that promise, and the next, and the next . . .

And so she became the guardian of her own Wood, and found some measure of peace.  Sharak, who knew that she still blamed herself for his curse though he had told her not to, out of some belief that it would be easier for her if she did not see him every day, decided to leave.  He wandered for another century and eventually found himself back in Curupira's forest.

She had found a mortal human whom she trusted this time, and given him the same ability she had granted Ricenne.  But this time, there was a duty attached.  The human was BeastMaster now, and Sharak decided to stay awhile and see what he could teach the mortal.

Lost in his thoughts, Sharak glided low over the treetops.  Dar, Tao and Miren had been discreetly joined by Ruh, and were now getting rather deep into the forest.  Sharak remembered the tavern-keeper's words: "The only ones who have a bad time of it in that Wood are the ones who enter with ill-will."

That has to be Ricenne's doing, he thought.   She said she would make it a sanctuary . . . she must have put up wards of some kind.  And after so many years, how many creatures, magickal and otherwise, must have taken refuge in those trees.  Surely they must guard themselves as well.

Still, it was the words of the little boy that kept returning to him, filling him with worry and some inkling of dread.   The Mad Witch, they call her.  Why?  Ricenne, what has happened since I saw you last?

Had the Ancient One found her?  Had he decided to somehow make the curse on her worse?  Or was this another way to protect her forest, a myth circulated by her planning to make the people who had settled so close to the Wood stay away?  He prayed it was the latter.  If it was not . . . in this form he had no Power, no way of helping her, or even of seeking revenge on the Ancient One.  It was what had made these millennia of his curse so terrible: he could not truly aid those he cared for.

He felt it every time a friend had faced peril -- even now, every time Dar fought, he could only circle above and hate his form for the limits it imposed.  He had been a shapeshifter once, a prince among his people.  He had used both human and avian shape, using each when he needed or wanted it.  He had always loved the feel of the air beneath him as he flew.  Now, there were times when he hated it fiercely.

Caught up in his thoughts, and in memories of the past, Sharak missed the slight tingle along his skin that warned of magick being cast.  It was a warning tingle at first, and then suddenly he found the change he had wanted for so long coming over him all at once.  Startled and amazed, all he could do was stare at the wings that had suddenly become arms, feel the unaccustomed weight of his body -- and then the trees were suddenly much closer.  He went through the first branches blindly, too stunned to even try to catch himself.  And then, when he did, all he felt was pain as the world rushed up from below, dragging him down as he plummeted faster and faster. . .

He hit the ground hard, felt pain explode through his right leg, arm, and ribs, ricochet through his head until it coalesced into fragmenting shards of brilliant light.  Then the light dissipated, and everything went dark.

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