black teeth. When he opened his mouth to speak, the voice was guttural rasp.
“For your crimes against our race, I hereby sentence you to…death!”
A cry of jubilation erupted around him and Phinnegan whirled to see that the previously empty hall was filled with hundreds if not thousands of the Aged Faë, each with the tightened crackled skin that had overtaken the juror’s face only moments before. They pressed in on him as they mumbled and crowed their approval of the ruling. High above, the judge’s voice rang out, and it too was now a guttural growl.
“So be it!” The judge rose to stand and lean over the edge of his bench. Phinnegan kept his eyes fixed on the judge, even as the masses of decaying Faë closed in around him.
“Phinnegan Lonán Qwyk, you are hereby sentenced to Death by the High Court of Féradoon.”
“By what manner shall we dispose of this criminal?” he continued, calling upon the masses to choose the form of execution for their prisoner. “Shall we take his head?”
Around him Phinnegan heard cries of yes as well as a few boos.
“To the axe!” one shouted.
“To the guillotine!” came the suggestion of another.
“Nay, neither is sufficient for this scum.”
“Hang him!”
The judge raised his hands to quiet the crowed, roaring in his guttural tone loudly to be heard above the fray.
“Some of you are not satisfied with beheading?”
Those in favor were now silent, as the naysayers called forth all manner of reasons that they preferred another form of execution. Phinnegan squeezed his eyes shut and did his best to ignore the screams around him. For a time, it had no effect. But then the voices began to recede and he felt his wrists lighten. He opened his eyes to see that his wrists were free. Looking around, he saw that he was no longer in the courtroom but was instead back in the middle of Darkwater Forest.
The forest was deathly quiet. No birds chirped, no rodents rustled in the underbrush and no breeze stirred the twisted branches of the tall, dark trees.
Phinnegan took a moment to scrutinize his arms for the wounds and blood that he knew must be there from his clawing, but he saw nothing. His arms were as smooth as any other day, and no spiders bubbled forth from his wrists. He reminded himself that he was in a dream, or at least he had been. Now he was back in the forest and the fantasy of the dream mixed with the last reality that he remembered.
Suddenly, the chill air returned and Phinnegan’s breath turned to an icy fog. A branch snapped somewhere behind him and to the left. His heart skipped a beat and he feared to turn towards the source. Then came the sound of heavy breathing, forceful snorts and a low growl. Faolchú. Turning his head, he saw a Faolchú larger by half than those he had seen earlier. He could not possibly survive a fight with such a creature. So he ran.
The Faolchú stood transfixed for a few seconds, allowing Phinnegan to introduce some space betwixt himself and the beast. But then with a loud bark and a howl, the Faolchú hurled himself into the chase.
Phinnegan ran faster than he had ever run before in his life. He leapt over felled trees and rocks. Once he stumbled over an unseen branch buried beneath the leaves, but he kept his balance and ran on. In his peripheral vision, he caught sight of other Faolchú that had joined the chase, now running even with him some twenty yards away on either side. They snarled and barked at one another, communicating like no animals Phinnegan had ever seen.
Although he sprinted, the chase was soon over. The Faolchú were too fast by a large margin and they closed the distance to their prey in a matter of moments. The hound that came from the left hurled its bulk into Phinnegan, knocking him to the forest floor with a grunt. Pain seared through his leg and he thought that a Faolchú had bitten him. But looking down, he saw that his calf had landed on a sharp branch that projected from the underbrush, and
“For your crimes against our race, I hereby sentence you to…death!”
A cry of jubilation erupted around him and Phinnegan whirled to see that the previously empty hall was filled with hundreds if not thousands of the Aged Faë, each with the tightened crackled skin that had overtaken the juror’s face only moments before. They pressed in on him as they mumbled and crowed their approval of the ruling. High above, the judge’s voice rang out, and it too was now a guttural growl.
“So be it!” The judge rose to stand and lean over the edge of his bench. Phinnegan kept his eyes fixed on the judge, even as the masses of decaying Faë closed in around him.
“Phinnegan Lonán Qwyk, you are hereby sentenced to Death by the High Court of Féradoon.”
“By what manner shall we dispose of this criminal?” he continued, calling upon the masses to choose the form of execution for their prisoner. “Shall we take his head?”
Around him Phinnegan heard cries of yes as well as a few boos.
“To the axe!” one shouted.
“To the guillotine!” came the suggestion of another.
“Nay, neither is sufficient for this scum.”
“Hang him!”
The judge raised his hands to quiet the crowed, roaring in his guttural tone loudly to be heard above the fray.
“Some of you are not satisfied with beheading?”
Those in favor were now silent, as the naysayers called forth all manner of reasons that they preferred another form of execution. Phinnegan squeezed his eyes shut and did his best to ignore the screams around him. For a time, it had no effect. But then the voices began to recede and he felt his wrists lighten. He opened his eyes to see that his wrists were free. Looking around, he saw that he was no longer in the courtroom but was instead back in the middle of Darkwater Forest.
The forest was deathly quiet. No birds chirped, no rodents rustled in the underbrush and no breeze stirred the twisted branches of the tall, dark trees.
Phinnegan took a moment to scrutinize his arms for the wounds and blood that he knew must be there from his clawing, but he saw nothing. His arms were as smooth as any other day, and no spiders bubbled forth from his wrists. He reminded himself that he was in a dream, or at least he had been. Now he was back in the forest and the fantasy of the dream mixed with the last reality that he remembered.
Suddenly, the chill air returned and Phinnegan’s breath turned to an icy fog. A branch snapped somewhere behind him and to the left. His heart skipped a beat and he feared to turn towards the source. Then came the sound of heavy breathing, forceful snorts and a low growl. Faolchú. Turning his head, he saw a Faolchú larger by half than those he had seen earlier. He could not possibly survive a fight with such a creature. So he ran.
The Faolchú stood transfixed for a few seconds, allowing Phinnegan to introduce some space betwixt himself and the beast. But then with a loud bark and a howl, the Faolchú hurled himself into the chase.
Phinnegan ran faster than he had ever run before in his life. He leapt over felled trees and rocks. Once he stumbled over an unseen branch buried beneath the leaves, but he kept his balance and ran on. In his peripheral vision, he caught sight of other Faolchú that had joined the chase, now running even with him some twenty yards away on either side. They snarled and barked at one another, communicating like no animals Phinnegan had ever seen.
Although he sprinted, the chase was soon over. The Faolchú were too fast by a large margin and they closed the distance to their prey in a matter of moments. The hound that came from the left hurled its bulk into Phinnegan, knocking him to the forest floor with a grunt. Pain seared through his leg and he thought that a Faolchú had bitten him. But looking down, he saw that his calf had landed on a sharp branch that projected from the underbrush, and
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