A Girl's Guide to Guns and Monsters - Martin Harry Greenberg [101]
Even as I mentally set yeti characteristics up against the various great apes, the comparison feels wrong, the same way comparing a werewolf to a standard wolf feels off. The yeti encompasses more than a collection of ape-like characteristics, or even human-like characteristics. The silver-moon glow, the intelligent watchful eyes, the gentle way it looks at Bernie, stroking his shoulder, staying within arm’s reach . . . all speak to the “more.”
Then there’s the invisibility and telepathy.
The yeti returns my regard. The weight of his stare brings back my uneasy feeling from the woods. Despite my statement about yeti moving lightly through the world, his presence is tangible, a heavy aura surrounds him. Bernie is right about the yeti possessing deep magic. I’d go so far as “bottomless.”
The yeti’s hand settles on Bernie’s and its head dips toward him. Bernie wraps his gnarled fingers around the long, dark ones and returns the silent, companionable attention. Unexpectedly touched at the image they present, my throat tightens.
Bernie’s face darkens. “You best take a listen.”
Unsure what to do, I push up out of my chair. The yeti extends his right hand and I walk toward him. His dark eyes meet mine, and the world tilts. It’s like a large hand thrusts into my head and pushes. Unsteady, I reach for his offered grip. The cool skin surprises me, but not as much as the inherent gentleness. His fingers close on mine and gravity shifts again, sharper this time. I sink to the floor, knees buckling. The massive strength in his one-handed grip supports me down. I hear Dean in the distance, but the scraps of words fall away with my surroundings as night rises up.
Occasional shafts of moonlight shine through the trees, but mostly it’s just dark. I can’t believe the details in the shadowy recesses of the woods, though, the subtle shading along the spectrum of gray, all discernable to me. Scents fill my awareness, spring itself the most prominent bouquet. Earth like I’ve never smelled it, deep and dark, crawling with protein. Plants in every scent of green—scent of green? Yes, all the varying greens have their own smells, woody, sweet, bitter. Underneath hangs the reassuring scent of Family.
They slip out of the woods like ghosts. Pale silverwhite, dark reddish-brown, or some mix of the two, moving like gorillas, bent forward with knuckles on the ground. Dark faces watch me, intent and serious. They surround me. I shift my weight and the group moves out as one.
I move fast, faster than I’ve ever run. A cool night breeze sets my hair whipping, silky silver streams flowing over my face. The rhythmic sway of my body surprises me, the impact of my knuckles on the ground nowhere near as uncomfortable as I would have thought. Something burns, a hot stone in my chest, dangerous warmth where there should be only coolness. It pulls me forward, disruptive and wrong, until I break the tree line and see the houses of the Bare.
Head lifting to the wind, a scent like burnt matches floods me. Furious movement, a dark-on-dark image, and there—the little winged ball of death and destruction. My vision telescopes as my Focus narrows. I watch in exaggerated slow motion as chickens careen from one side of a fenced pen to the other, doing cartwheels in the air as they’re flung with astounding strength by vicious jerks from a tiny marauder.
The flat, serpentine head on a long neck snakes around to train disturbing yellow eyes on me. Dark wings spread then fold as it dives, the movement fast even in the slowed perception of Focus. A sharp curved beak drips black with blood. The head darts, beak sinking into a fat chicken with evident relish. It rises into the air and flings the bird to the ground.
Time springs back to full speed as I release my Focus and shriek. The little beast shoots upward then arrows straight for me. Hoots rise into the night. I stand, lifting my arms and shrieking as the thing descends. Family swarms from the trees.
The Winged Death hisses and spits, comes to a dead stop in midair