Nanowrimo 2022 - Day 7 Word Count and Best Bit (Patreon)

Today I added 2,156 words to my project, bringing my total to 13,003!

Before Jin Xia could fully process An Cheng’s cry, she found herself falling to the dirt, catching herself on her forearms just before her head made contact with the ground. She turned, scrambling up onto her knees as she took in the sight of An Cheng’s collapsed form. An arrow protruded from her side, piercing her flesh right below the ribs. Red was already staining her peach-colored robes as Jin Xia reached forward, pulling her friend’s head up into her lap. The girl’s face was pale, tears of pain gathered in the corners of her eyes as sweat began to bead on her forehead.

Wukong shouted down to their men, but Jin Xia could not hear it over the thundering of her own heart. Time slowed around her; her world narrowed to the point where the arrow disappeared into An Cheng’s body. Emotions warred in her head – fear, rage, and the desperate wish that this was a dream.

A medic came, called by Wukong no doubt. He spoke in soft tones to her, but again Jin Xia could not hear his words over the rush of blood in her ears. Gentle, skilled hands took An Cheng from her. She reached for her friend, a pitiful cry escaping her lips. How foolish she must look, she thought, a pathetic child crying in the middle of what soon would be a bloody battlefield.

The sound of a bird’s call, sharp and keen, pierced the fog in her head. The smell of burning grass reached her nose not long after. She whipped her head around, finally finding her way to her feet. Her camp was surrounded by fire, and above them soared that same red bird.

And then Jin Xia remembered the importance of red birds in the south.

She dove for the table, ripping the protective cloth from its lacquered surface to reveal the bow and quiver hidden beneath. She grabbed her bow, quickly notching and arrow to the string. She pulled the string back, the bite of it digging into her fingers grounding her. She waited only a moment, watching the bird circle up above, before releasing her arrow, willing it to hit its target.

No arrow could resist her command, and it struck true, piercing the bird where wing met body. It let out a pained cry, the fires around the camp dying down as it fell to the dirt below. Jin Xia let out an uncharacteristic swear, rushing down the hill to find the bird where it fell.

She had read, in those scant few paragraphs on the subject, that the sorcerers of the south kept red birds as familiars. That they could cast spells through them over great distances. She cursed herself for not remembering sooner, for not knowing the danger right in front of her. It took An Cheng getting hurt for her to see it. She hoped whatever sorcerer owned that bird felt its pain. Retribution for the pain her lady-in-waiting – her friend – felt.

Her soldiers found the bird before she did, huddling around it in a circle, making it impossible to see as she approached. Forgetting her decorum, she shoved her men to the side, pushing through the crowd until she sees not a bird, but a man.

Hair long and the same shade of red as the bird’s feathers, the man was dressed in armor that looked made for ceremony rather than battle. He clutched at his shoulder, glaring up at her through pain-clouded eyes.

“Where is the bird?” Jin Xia demanded from the surrounding soldiers.

“There wasn’t a bird when we got here, Your Highness,” one of them said. “Just him.”

“Forget the bird!” Jin Xia turned, seeing Wukong push his way through the soldiers to stand beside her. “This is a much better catch. Princess, might I introduce you to the prince of the south: Wei Xiang.”