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It was a little shimmering bird of pure white, the one that had sprung to life from my tattoo.
Its chirping filled the air, creating a symphony of distraction.
Sneik’s grip on my arm loosened as he tried to make sense of the situation. “What the—?” he started, but I wasn’t waiting around for him to finish.
With one final surge of adrenaline, I pulled free and ran in the direction of the tweeting, praying it would lead me to safety or better yet, to Ashale.
The tweeting continued, guiding me, urging me on.
And as I followed the sound, a renewed sense of hope welled up within me.
I had managed to summon the bird — my bird — and I was grateful.
But it was going to take a lot more than a cute bird to stop Sneik.
For in the darkest of moments, even the faintest glimmer of hope can light the way.
* * *
In this surreal, pulse-pounding moment, with Sneik’s sinister form looming over me, I was oddly transfixed by the bird.
My little bird.
A delicate creature that had sprung to life from ink and skin.
It danced around Sneik’s head, chirping and flitting, each tweet a note of defiance.
Sneik’s normally collected visage twisted with annoyance as the bird dive-bombed him, its tiny beak jabbing at him, its wings beating so fast they became a blur.
The feel of the cool metal against my back reminded me I had nowhere to go; my only ally was a small bird battling on my behalf.
I took in the sweet chirps, letting the music soothe my panic, if only momentarily.
The softness of its feathers, and the slight warmth it emitted, made my heart swell with affection for the creature.
I silently urged it to stay safe, even as it bravely distracted Sneik.
As the bird lunged and swooped, the corridor echoed with the cacophony of Sneik’s frustrated growls and the twittering of the brave avian.
My taste buds tingled with the tangy aftertaste of adrenaline; fear and hope combined in a bitter cocktail on my tongue.
Sneik, driven to fury, swiped wildly at the bird.
His efforts, though clumsy, were relentless.
As much as I tried to mentally steer the bird away from his grasp, there was a heart-stopping moment when Sneik’s hands clapped together, trapping the bird.
A muffled chirp.
A soft crunch.
A wave of pain, albeit a small one, rushed over me, making me gasp.
My heart ached at the loss, yet the hurt I felt was surprisingly minor, as if buffered by some unseen force.
The ink on my skin, where the bird once resided, tingled with a dormant energy, leaving a trace of hope.
Sneik, triumphant, opened his hands to reveal the lifeless bird.
