But deep inside, I know better. If he was just out to save his own skin, he would have outrun me at the first sign of danger. As the old joke goes, he doesn't need to outrun the bear, he just needs to outrun me. That, he could easily do.

The vicious growl of a dog lunging makes me cringe. The men shouldn't be able to tell that Raffe is not human unless they strip his shirt or unless the wounds on his back open and bleed. But if he's getting torn up by the dogs, he will heal completely within a day and that will be a dead giveaway if they keep him that long. Of course, if they're cannibals, none of it will matter.

I don't know what to do. I need to help Raffe. But I also need to stay alive and not do anything stupid. I just want to curl up and put my hands over my ears.

A sharp command silences the dogs. The men have found Raffe. I can't hear what they're saying, only that they're talking. Not surprisingly, the tone doesn't sound friendly. Not much is said, and I can't hear Raffe talking at all.

A few moments later, the dogs run past my tree. The same two diligent dogs sniff at the bottom of my tree before running to catch up with the rest of the pack. Then the men come.

The one that made the hand signal earlier leads the group. Raffe walks behind him.

His hands are tied behind his back and blood runs down his face and leg. He stares straight ahead, careful not to look up at me. Two men flank him on either side, their hands on his arms as though just waiting for him to fall so they can drag him up the hill. The last two men follow, holding their rifles at a 45-degree angle and looking around for something to shoot. One of them carries Raffe's bag.

The blue blanket holding the wings is nowhere in sight. The last I saw, Raffe had them strapped to his bag. Could he have taken the time to hide the wings before the dogs reached him? If so, that could buy him a few more hours of life.

He's alive. I repeat this fact in my head to keep other, more disturbing thoughts from taking over. I can't do anything if I'm frozen by thoughts of what's happening to Raffe or Paige or my mother.

I clear my mind. Forget plans. I don’t have enough information to formulate a plan. My instincts will have to do.

And my instincts tell me that Raffe is mine. I found him first. If these testosterone-poisoned baboons want a piece of him, they’re going to have to wait until after he gets me into the aerie.

When I can't hear the men anymore I climb down from my branch. It's a long way and I'm careful to get my feet in the right positions before swinging down. The last thing I need is a broken ankle. The needles cushion my fall and I land without mishap.