AYANNA G. LLOYD
(After Shivanee N. Ramlochan, Duenne Lorca)
Shelagh paused in mid-flight, her belly low to the ground, talons gripping the softened earth. She sniffed the air: Blood and iron. There, just there. The next turn. She’d find her at the next turn in the path. The warm wet pounded in her belly, down her thighs. Her ears pricked up, catching the edges of a small voice, calling, urging her on:
‘Just there! Just ahead!’
She knew that if she just followed the voice, it would tell her where to go, that all would be right again.
But before she could get there, she woke. The forest was gone. There was nothing but the beeping of metal things, the bars of the bed raised against her, the whiteness of the room and the faint taste of iron in her mouth.
