Take control of the?—
“Fuck you,” I snarl.
With all of my strength, I swing my left fist, claws fully extended, punching through the nearest tree’s trunk.
The wood shatters and shards fly in all directions, a sequence of satisfyingcrack-crack-crackssplitting the air. The shards cut up my hand, biting back like a living thing, but with a single punch, my indestructible claws have achieved my intended purpose.
I’ve created a massive gash all the way through the right side of the tree.
Without hesitation, I strike again, widening the gash even as I sense the energy within the tree fighting back.
Such a strangely familiar energy.
It reminds me of my mother, but also not. Once again, I’m certain that even in some brief exchange, she must have told me about an orchard like this. Or maybe apples like these.
But what did she say?
Suddenly, it comes to me. That moment in time. Her golden eyes were downcast. Her left hand clutched around the leftover core of a red apple our jailer had brought to us.
“Even a sour apple is delicious if you’re starving.”
She was right. We shared that core, seeds, and all, and it was the sweetest thing I’d ever tasted.
Not these apples.
The tree creaks and groans and I jump clear before it topples and crashes into the next tree’s trunk.
Crack!Branches snap and apples fall.
I’m already leaping toward the next tree.
As I move, there’s a tearing pain in my back, my wings extend on instinct, and I gain enough air to raise myself higher, punching and tearing through the tree’s trunk, felling it with a scream of effort.
My wings clip a nearby branch, and, to my amazement, the edges of my feathers cut right through the wood.
They’ve never done something like that before, but then… I’ve never tried to use them that way.
I’ve watched Lucian use the edges of his feathers in a fight, and, even though mine aren’t tipped with stone, they’re metallic like my claws, so I guess it stands to reason that they could cut through things.
Well, damn. I guess my wings are useful for something, after all.
I ram my heel down onto the nearest apple, squishing it to a satisfying pulp, before I launch myself at the next tree in a near frenzy.
I tear and shatter and punch, cutting down the trees with my claws and my wings, breaking branches and shattering trunks.
Destroying this sparkling beauty, ripping it to shreds.
Until I’m screaming, but not from elation.
From pain.
Because no matter how many trees I cut down, and no matter how many apples I render to a pulp, I can’t bring my mother back. I can’t eat that awful apple core with her again.
I can’t get back the years I spent in darkness.
I can’t heal these wounds.
And, just as painful, I can’t get back the trust I gave the keeper.
