Fire Arrow by Edith Pattou

her pack she found a spare tunic. She tore it into strips and tightly wound the largest around the bleeding wound. Then she took out one of her two remaining arrows and, breaking off the arrowhead, used the shaft for a splint, tying it in place with strips of jersey. She did the same with the last arrow; only the fire arrow remained in her quiver.
    After that Brie lay still, letting her pounding heart rest briefly. Then she shifted onto her stomach and began to drag herself along the ledge to where it tapered off. Perhaps if she could see around the corner there would be a way off the ledge.
    A grating sound assailed her ears. She stopped and listened closely. It was the braying of some kind of animal. She looked up.
    A goat-man stood on the summit above her. His goat face wore a gloating, toothy smile. He had seen her.
    Impossibly, he began moving down the mountain face toward her, finding toeholds she could not even see. Brie's heart hammered unevenly as she grabbed her bow. She tried to nock the fire arrow to the string, but her fingers were trembling too violently. The goat-man was only a few feet above her, on a minuscule edge of rock. He looked down at her, balanced and steady on his perch. His musky goatish odor wafted down, making Brie's stomach tighten.
    Please, oh please, oh please ... Brie silently prayed for her fingers to work. There. The arrow was notched and ready. The goat-man began to leap down, toward her. Squinting, Brie let the fire arrow fly.
    There was a searing, crackling noise. Sparks of light blinded her. Heat on her face, skin. She heard a hoarse scream. Through blurred eyesight, Brie saw the creature fall, its chest split open, flames spewing from inside.
    Then it was gone.
    Brie listened. Some time later—it seemed an eternity—she heard a far-off thud. Then she slipped into unconsciousness.
    ***
    She woke to the feeling of something soft rubbing against her eyelids. Slowly she opened her eyes and saw a blurry white ear. As she blinked several times to ease the blur, a pink tongue lapped her eyebrow and Brie found herself looking into the silvery eyes of a faol, an Ellyl animal from Tir a Ceol. Dumbly she wondered what a faol was doing in the Blue Stack Mountains, then the animal purred a welcome and rubbed her white furry face against Brie's.
    "Fara," she whispered in amazement. And the faol lovingly gave Brie's cheek a lick with her coarse tongue. Feebly Brie lifted her hand and ran it down the animal's back. "Well met, friend," she said, gazing at Fara. Faols were an odd hybrid of wolf and big cat, and this one had a gleaming white coat with a gold star burst on her forehead.
    Then Brie remembered the goat-man and her fire arrow splitting his chest with fire. The fire arrow was gone. She felt a wave of desolation.
    Sensing Brie's grief, Fara licked her again several times.
    But then the faol moved away, down the ledge to the end where it tapered off. She stopped, waiting expectantly.
    "I cannot, Fara. My leg is broken," Brie said almost apologetically.
    Fara didn't budge.
    Brie sighed, then began dragging herself toward Fara. Finally she reached the end, and—sweating and raw with pain—she peered around the edge. Approximately ten feet away was a moderately steep slope, made up of mostly loose pebbles and small patches of scrub grass. It was not as steep as the cliff face, but it didn't look particularly navigable, certainly not for one with a broken leg. Between it and the ledge she was on lay one narrow outcropping of rock. The rest was sheer.
    Fara ever so slightly beckoned with her head.
    "Now that is a very fine stepping-stone," said Brie to the faol, "
if
you happen to be a goat-man. But for a one-legged girl who has lost a fair amount of blood..."
    Fara sat on her haunches, waiting.
    "No." Brie shook her head. She could not.
    Fara began cleaning her whiskers.
    Brie closed her eyes. Then she opened them again. Because of a thick patch of taznie plants and the way the slope