1AD. Oh, did I mention his eyes? They’re probably my favorite of his features—a strange mixture of green, brown and amber that reminds me of the dappled light in an ancient forest.
Casper pulled the branch—and me—toward the bank. Despite his trembling arms, he made steady progress until my coat snagged on something beneath the mud. My hands slipped off the branch. I flailed around fighting to regain my grip and only succeeded in sinking deeper.
“Stay still.” Casper caught hold of a nearby shrub and leaned out over the bog. “Take my hand.”
His skin was slick with rain. My hand slid out of his once, twice. Then I got both hands around his wrist and locked on tight. Slowly he dragged me toward the bank. I was within reach of safety when the effort became too much for his weakened body. He shuddered and swore, losing his balance and pitching forward into the mud. He landed on top of me, forcing us both below the surface.
We were only inches from dry land, but it would take a miracle to untangle our limbs and reach the surface before I drowned. I was giving it my best shot when my hand hit a rock. It took a chunk of skin from my wrist, but I didn’t care. This was my way out. I put one foot on the rock and pushed upward. My head broke the surface. I grabbed a nearby branch and hauled myself out of the bog. Safe on the bank, I looked around for Casper. Not in sight. Ah, crap.
I hooked my legs around the same shrub he’d used to anchor himself, and leaned out over the bog digging my hands deep below the surface. When I couldn’t feel him, I plunged my head under, eyes closed, and felt around. The first thing I got hold of was his hair. This was no time to be choosy or kind. I tightened my grip, dragging him through the mud until I could slide my hands under his arms and pull him onto solid ground. That’s when I threw up a river of mud and who-knew-what else. Casper sprawled on the ground beside me, coughing and choking.
“I’m sorry,” he said, when he stopped retching. “I couldn’t hold you. My arms...”
“Don’t speak. Rest,” I said. He fell backward, flat on the ground, and didn’t move.
In Spain, Casper and I had joined forces to defeat an evil spirit. Although we’d been successful, the battle of good against evil had left Casper extremely weak. Last time I’d seen him, a few weeks ago, he’d needed a walking stick for support. Nothing much had changed. The walking stick was in easy reach, but Casper hadn’t moved. Raindrops pattered onto his closed eyelids. His chest rose and fell very slowly. The fury of the storm had diminished with the departure of the pooka, but the rain continued, washing some of the mud from my face and clothes. It might be summer, but an Irish summer isn’t known for its hot nights. I was wet through and Ronan’s soggy coat was making me colder.
“We have to get inside. Somewhere dry,” I said. When Casper didn’t respond, I asked, “Can you hear me?”
“Yes.” He didn’t open his eyes.
“Can you move?” Inch by inch he struggled into a sitting position. I asked, “Can you fly?”
“It’s easier than walking.”
“Great, you can fly me back to Ronan’s place. It’s the big house just outside Dingaleen.”
“Didn’t I warn you not to get into danger until I’d recovered?”
“Who knew the pooka was going to throw me?”
“Oh come on. It’s what they do.”
“Look, I couldn’t say no, okay? It threatened Ronan.”
Casper didn’t have the energy to reprimand me further. Everything he had was focused on getting to his feet. I helped as best I could, handing him the walking stick when he was fully upright. He leaned on it heavily. Then closed his eyes, focusing on making his wings appear. They sprouted through his clothes as they always did, but the golden feathers no longer shone brighter than the Queen of Fairyland’s dewdrop tiara.
I tried not to stare at his drab plumage. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I’ll be
Casper pulled the branch—and me—toward the bank. Despite his trembling arms, he made steady progress until my coat snagged on something beneath the mud. My hands slipped off the branch. I flailed around fighting to regain my grip and only succeeded in sinking deeper.
“Stay still.” Casper caught hold of a nearby shrub and leaned out over the bog. “Take my hand.”
His skin was slick with rain. My hand slid out of his once, twice. Then I got both hands around his wrist and locked on tight. Slowly he dragged me toward the bank. I was within reach of safety when the effort became too much for his weakened body. He shuddered and swore, losing his balance and pitching forward into the mud. He landed on top of me, forcing us both below the surface.
We were only inches from dry land, but it would take a miracle to untangle our limbs and reach the surface before I drowned. I was giving it my best shot when my hand hit a rock. It took a chunk of skin from my wrist, but I didn’t care. This was my way out. I put one foot on the rock and pushed upward. My head broke the surface. I grabbed a nearby branch and hauled myself out of the bog. Safe on the bank, I looked around for Casper. Not in sight. Ah, crap.
I hooked my legs around the same shrub he’d used to anchor himself, and leaned out over the bog digging my hands deep below the surface. When I couldn’t feel him, I plunged my head under, eyes closed, and felt around. The first thing I got hold of was his hair. This was no time to be choosy or kind. I tightened my grip, dragging him through the mud until I could slide my hands under his arms and pull him onto solid ground. That’s when I threw up a river of mud and who-knew-what else. Casper sprawled on the ground beside me, coughing and choking.
“I’m sorry,” he said, when he stopped retching. “I couldn’t hold you. My arms...”
“Don’t speak. Rest,” I said. He fell backward, flat on the ground, and didn’t move.
In Spain, Casper and I had joined forces to defeat an evil spirit. Although we’d been successful, the battle of good against evil had left Casper extremely weak. Last time I’d seen him, a few weeks ago, he’d needed a walking stick for support. Nothing much had changed. The walking stick was in easy reach, but Casper hadn’t moved. Raindrops pattered onto his closed eyelids. His chest rose and fell very slowly. The fury of the storm had diminished with the departure of the pooka, but the rain continued, washing some of the mud from my face and clothes. It might be summer, but an Irish summer isn’t known for its hot nights. I was wet through and Ronan’s soggy coat was making me colder.
“We have to get inside. Somewhere dry,” I said. When Casper didn’t respond, I asked, “Can you hear me?”
“Yes.” He didn’t open his eyes.
“Can you move?” Inch by inch he struggled into a sitting position. I asked, “Can you fly?”
“It’s easier than walking.”
“Great, you can fly me back to Ronan’s place. It’s the big house just outside Dingaleen.”
“Didn’t I warn you not to get into danger until I’d recovered?”
“Who knew the pooka was going to throw me?”
“Oh come on. It’s what they do.”
“Look, I couldn’t say no, okay? It threatened Ronan.”
Casper didn’t have the energy to reprimand me further. Everything he had was focused on getting to his feet. I helped as best I could, handing him the walking stick when he was fully upright. He leaned on it heavily. Then closed his eyes, focusing on making his wings appear. They sprouted through his clothes as they always did, but the golden feathers no longer shone brighter than the Queen of Fairyland’s dewdrop tiara.
I tried not to stare at his drab plumage. “You sure you’re okay?”
“I’ll be
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