Book Five: Chapter 154

The owl’s feathers rippled, sending a couple onto the ground. They were larger than her bird forms, and he wondered if her current size dictated how large they were when they fell off.

“I am poor at adaptation,” she replied. “When it comes to the hunt itself, I am fine. But that is instinct and planning. My spells take time to weave, for that is the cost of my magic.” She shuddered again, sending more feathers to the ground. It seemed to be the equivalent of losing hair when stressed. “I suspect yours is your unpredictability.”

“How do you figure?” he asked.

“When last we spoke, you did not carry such an earthen aura. You smelled of storms and lust, but now carry a certain heaviness. It is very much like the fae, but also the magic of the forest. Magic was never meant to be mixed in such a manner, for it generates chaos.”

“Story of my life,” he muttered. “So that’s what I have? Chaos magic?”

“Caretaker.” She clicked her beak for a few moments as if deep