He tugged again. Something knocked against the woman’s nightgown, rising and then falling like a cartoon heartbeat.

Go, I said. If you can get through that hole, just go. Now.

Brenin considered. Then his hind paws dug into the earthy floor as he steadied himself. Muscles bunched, he crouched, still holding the corpse by the leg. Then, with a tremendous yank, he jerked the body back. As he leapt over the corpse, it exploded, and it felt like a dozen fists slamming him square in the stomach.

As he fell, I saw the melltithiwyd bursting from the woman’s rib cage, tearing through her nightgown, shrieking as they flew at the hound. And Brenin flew right back at them. Grabbed one, chomped, threw it aside. Grabbed another, chomped.

The rest attacked in a frenzy, truly like piranha, swarming, biting and ripping both the hound and their fallen comrades. Ioan shouted for Brenin to retreat, just retreat. The hound clamped down on another and threw it into the wall, and I felt the force of that throw, his head whipping, the bird flying free…and me flying with it, flying and hitting the wall, the world shattering into darkness.

—

I passed out for only a moment, coming to as my body executed what felt like a barrel-roll dive. I opened my eyes to see exactly that—the earth spinning toward me. I braced for impact, but my body changed course, as if on a bungee cord, the air whistling past as I flew upward.

I opened one eye. I was upright now, flying on a roller-coaster course, hearing the sharp flap of air hitting wings.

Melltithiwyd.

I was a melltithiwyd.

My gut seized, every fiber in me exploding in sheer panic.

Turned into a melltithiwyd. My soul consumed as I became one of the sluagh’s bird slaves.

My first impulse was to kill myself. To rush at the nearest tree and splatter my brains. The very thought stopped my heart cold with its suddenness, its ferocity. I’ve never even contemplated suicide, and here it was, bursting into my brain as the most obvious course of action, the only course.

Except even that wouldn’t work. I remembered Stacey Pasolini’s words, that the melltithiwyd died over and over, only to come back. Trapped in a hell that could not be escaped.

Panic flared again, and I flailed, my limbs sailing out as I expected to fall in another spiraling plunge toward the earth. But I just kept going. Calmly flying, surveying the earth below.

If I’d become a melltithiwyd, wouldn’t I be able to control my body?

What if I was simply inside one, like I’d been inside Brenin?

At the thought of Brenin, my gut seized again. Had I just been thrown from him? Or had something happened?

Had he died? That’s what I meant, of course, though I flinched at the word.