Entry 69: Chased by birds

by Hayley Thomas

Dear Diary,

The next morning, we didn’t waste time with breakfast. The air was warm, the sky washed in that never-ending fey dusk—neither day nor night, just golden in-between. With a whisper of command, our feymounts surged forward, hooves tearing across the open grasslands. We rode hard, due east, chasing the fading line of horizon where Whitewail waited like a ghost on the edge of memory.

The landscape flew past, a blur beneath our mounts’ swift strides. The grasslands, once slow and difficult to cross on foot, parted easily for them—fluid, almost welcoming. I leaned into Liliana, her steady presence grounding me against the strange perfection of the world around us.

After a while, the green of the fields began to dull—first to a sunbaked orange, then a deeper brown, until at last the land wore a cloak of gold. The transition was subtle but constant, like the turning of a leaf under a warm hand. Riding through that golden sea beneath a sky frozen in eternal summer twilight did something strange to the senses. Time felt like a forgotten thing.

That’s when we started noticing them.

Tiny orange flowers peeked from the grass—at first a scatter, then a wave. Their petals shimmered faintly, like they held their own little piece of the sun. And dancing between them were creatures that looked like hummingbirds, but weren’t. Their wings glittered like stained glass, shaped more like butterfly wings than feathers, and their long needle-like beaks gleamed with unnatural sharpness.

We barely slowed as we passed them. They followed.

At first, we assumed they were curious—drawn by the scent of magic or the rhythmic thunder of hooves. We didn’t give them much thought. Fey creatures and weird beauty were part of the daily norm by now.

But we were wrong.

The shift came suddenly. One moment the flowers were orange, and the next—red. Vivid, pulsing red, like drops of blood blooming across the golden field. And as soon as the birds crossed into that red-flowered stretch, they burst—not in gore, but in a brilliant flash of light and feathers, as if they’d shattered into sparks.

We pulled up short, startled.

Then the feathers began to twist, curling inward, shaping something new.

From each floating cloud, a new bird emerged—larger, sleeker, still shimmer-winged, but unmistakably changed. The air around them buzzed with barely contained magic, and something in their glinting eyes hinted at awareness. Not sentient exactly, but not mindless either.

They hovered, watching us.

Then they followed.

And this time, it didn’t feel like curiosity.

It felt like purpose.

We should’ve been more cautious—should’ve read the signs. But our eyes were fixed on the horizon, on Whitewail, and we let our guard slip. When the next shift came, it was just as sudden as the last. The bright red flowers bled into a rich, bruised purple. The moment we crossed that invisible threshold, it happened again.

A flash. A rush of feathers and color. And where the starlings had once flown, there now hovered fey owls. Silent. Watchful. And massive.

Their wings shimmered like gossamer veils, patterned like butterflies, but their round eyes held none of the wonder. Just empty curiosity.

Liliana reined in our mount, raising a hand in greeting. “Hello?” she called, her voice calm, maybe even hopeful.

Nothing.

Gael tried next, asking if we were trespassing, if we’d somehow offended the land. Still silence. The owls blinked slowly, their heads tilting just enough to be unsettling.

I reached out with my mind, extending a thread of thought toward them on a hunch I’d hoped to be wrong about.

But no—there was no spark of higher thought. Just instinct. Simple, hungry curiosity.

Animals. Strange, magical ones. But animals nonetheless.

We kept riding, though unease clung to our shoulders like a second cloak. Eventually fatigue started creeping in, and we looked for a place to make camp.

Unfortunately, we’d just passed through another barrier.

The owl swarm had mostly roosted, settling among the purple flowers in eerie silence. But four of them had followed, drifting above like sentries. When they crossed the invisible line, they didn’t just change—they transformed.
They exploded, like before—but this time they didn’t come back with delicate wings or silent stares.

They came back as monsters.

Massive owls, eyes burning red, feathers sharp as blades, and wings wide enough to blot out the stars. And now their curiosity was gone—replaced with hunger.

We fought fast and hard. The four beasts were vicious, clawing and screeching, but we held our ground. Until the stirges came.

They burst from the underbrush in a screeching cloud of bloodlust, drawn by the chaos. Suddenly we were in the middle of a three-dimensional battlefield—air thick with wings, claws, and stingers. Everything was noise and movement.

Then I saw it. In the distance. The rest of the owl swarm—dozens strong—had taken flight. And they were coming straight for us.

Luke and I didn’t hesitate. We let loose fire and radiance, wave after wave of magic carving through the sky. Most of the owls fell, the others scattered, wings smoldering.

And then the real nightmare rose from the flowers.

It started as a sound—an angry, echoing roar that didn’t belong in any bird’s throat. A storm of birds shot upward, spiraling into the sky before twisting into a shape. Not a creature, not really. A face. Huge, made of countless tiny birds, screeching with rage. A claw formed next, stretching toward us, sweeping low over the ground like a scythe made of wings.

“Go!” I shouted, scrambling back onto the goat as Liliana spurred it forward. We galloped east, the land rushing beneath us, that living storm roaring behind. Every time it crossed one of the invisible seasonal barriers, it grew. The birds changed—larger, faster, more brutal with every transformation.

But we were faster.

I pointed at the landscape ahead of us, a mirage of twisted terrain and flickering shadow. We steered out mounts into the illusionary terrain. The birds, confused by the trick, veered off course—vanishing into the dusk beyond.
We didn’t stop until the last sound of wingbeats faded into silence.

Finally hidden, finally safe, we dismounted and collapsed into what barely passed for camp. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. We’d earned this sliver of peace.

For now.

Fifth "night" in the Neverhold

Morning crept in slow and cold, but we were already awake. Above us, dark shapes circled the sky—several of the massive birds still hunting, still searching for a glimpse of us beneath the shifting terrain. They hadn’t forgotten. They wouldn’t.
But then we saw it—salvation on the horizon. Whitewail.

A jagged, snow-covered mountain that rose like a broken blade from the earth. It dominated the eastern skyline, its white-capped peaks piercing the perpetual twilight of the Feywild. The sight of it filled us with new urgency.
We didn’t wait.

I cast quickly, weaving illusion and glamour over us and our feymounts. Our shapes shimmered, softened, and took on the shapes of the denizens of the Feywild—just enough to fool even a predator’s eye. Gael stayed behind for just a few heartbeats longer, summoning a wild distraction of thrashing vines and flickering lights that burst in every direction.

Then we ran.

Our mounts thundered over the fields, hooves tearing through the golden grass and scattered petals. For two long hours, we pushed forward. The landscape blurred, flowers bending beneath our speed, wind slicing at our cloaks. Behind us, the sky shrieked. The birds closed in again—wings outstretched, red eyes glinting like embers—but it was too late for them.

The moment we crossed the threshold into Whitewail, everything changed.

The golden fields vanished beneath a blanket of frost. Grass turned to snow. Warm air gave way to biting cold. And as if some ancient line had been drawn in the land itself, the flock stopped short.

With a final screech, they scattered—blown apart by a gust of winter wind that rose from the mountain’s base.

We slowed only when we were sure they weren’t following.

We’d made it.

Whitewail awaited.

Continue reading...

Entry one: The trials

Entry two: The bramble

Entry 3: Rosebloom

Entry 4: Hearts and Dreams

Entry 5: of ghosts and wolves

Entry 6: Hillfield and Deals with Fae

Entry 7: mysteries and pastries

Entry 8: The scarecrow ruse
6th of Lug, 121 Year of the Tree

Entry 9: A betrayal of satyrs
7th of Lug, 121 year of the Tree

Entry 10: The fate of twins
8th of Lug, 121 year of the Tree

Entry 11: Cursed twins
10th of Lug, 121 year of the Tree

Entry 12: Loss and despair
11th of Lug, 121 year of the Tree

Hayley's rules to being a Witch

Entry 13: the price of safety
12th of Lug, 121 year of the Tree

Entry 14: A golden cage and fiery tower
13th of Lug, 121 year of the Tree

Entry 15: A trial by fire
14th of Lug, 121 year of the Tree

Entry 16: Keralon
15th of Lug, 121 year of the Tree

Letter to Luke 1

Letter to Luke 2

Letter to Luke 3

Letter to Luke 4

Letter to Luke 5

Letter to Luke 6

Entry 17: I shall wear midnight
1st of Nuan, 126 Era of the Tree

Entry 18: peace in our time
2nd of Nuan, 126 Era of the Tree

Entry 19: Caern Fussil falls
3rd of Nuan, 126 Era of the Tree

Entry 20: I see fire
4th of Nuan, 126 Era of the Tree

Entry 21: Cultists twarted
10th of Nuan, 126 Era of the Tree

Entry 22: Ravensfield
14th of Nuan, 126 Era of the Tree

Entry 23: The Hollow Hill Horror
15th of Nuan, 126 Era of the Tree

Entry 24: Burn your village
16th of Nuan, 126 Era of the Tree

Entry 25: Ravensfield burns
17th of Nuan, 126 Era of the Tree

Entry 26: There will be blood!
21st of Nuan, 126 Era of the Tree

Entry 27: A happy reunion
22nd of Nuan, 126 Era of the Tree

Entry 28: The embassy ball
23rd of Nuan, 126 Era of the Tree

Entry 29: The fate of Robert Talespinner
24th of Nuan, 126 Era of the Tree

Entry 30: A royal summons
28th of Nuan, 126 Era of the Tree

Entry 31: of Dogville and Geese
29th of Nuan, 126 Era of the Tree

Entry 32: A boggle named Pim
30th of Nuan, 126 Era of the Tree

Entry 33: A deal broken
1st of Aran, 126 Era of the Tree

Entry 34: The cost of doing what is right
2nd of Aran, 126 Era of the Tree

Entry 35: A dish best served cold
9th of Aran, 126 Era of the Tree

entry 36: Cornu returns?
10th of Aran, 126 Era of the Tree

Entry 37: A letter from Amarra
11th of Aran, 126 Era of the Tree

Entry 38: The case of the (not) missing villagers
14th of Aran, 126 Era of the Tree

Entry 39: A curse broken
15th of Aran, 126 Era of the Tree

Entry 40: Into the Lorewood
18th of Aran, 126 Era of the Tree

Entry 41: Cabin in the Woods
19th of Aran, 126 Era of the Tree

Entry 42: Myrdin and Anaya
20th of Aran, 126 Era of the Tree

Entry 43: Into the Immerglade
21st of Aran, 127 Era of the Tree

Entry 44: A tale as old as time
22nd of Aran, 127 Era of the Tree

Entry 45: The truth
23rd of Aran, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 46: Luke's Ordeal
24th of Aran, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 47: The festival
26th of Aran, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 48: Trouble at the Cathedral
2nd of Brigan, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 49: Quinn's court
4th of Brigan, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 50: onwards to Latebra Velora
5th of Brigan, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 51: Where is my cow?
6th of Brigan, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 52: Here be dragons
7th of Brigan, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 53: Dragon hoard with a side of scarabs
8th of Brigan, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 54: Leave the basilisks alone
9th of Brigan, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 55: Return to Ravensfield
10th of Brigan, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 56: The needs of the many...
11th of Brigan, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 57: Dreams of Sister Willow
12th of Brigan, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 58: wetlands be wet
13th of Brigan, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 59: Baron Perenolde
14th of Brigan, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 60: Talebra Velora and the lady Morenthene
15th of Brigan, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 61: Cypria
16th of Brigan, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 62: Dragon takes Knight
17th of Brigan, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 63: Return to Talebra Velora
18th of Brigan, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 64: Your presence is “requested”
19th of Brigan, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 65: I stand alone
20th of Brigan, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 66: A day of normalcy
21th of Brigan, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 67: Into the Neverhold
22nd of Brigan, 128 Era of the Tree

Entry 68: The Warg King

Entry 69: Chased by birds

Entry 69: Chased by birds

Continue reading...

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