Luke positioned himself length wise in the tunnel and then concentrated. He could feel movement in the flesh of his back. Again he concentrated—willing his body to listen to his command. The wind rose up and swooshed around him, lifting him upward. Thrusting forward, he could feel the force that would take him to Mary. He rose until he was clear of any interference, like a sonic boom, he zoomed past them. Carefully keeping his wings at half extension to maneuver through the tunnel, he felt rage consume his thoughts. For the first time in seven months, he knew he was capable of murder. It didn't matter to him that Mary's captor is human, or rather, was human. Whatever it was now, he had no problem ripping its head from its neck. Everything was happening so fast, and yet his mind could process with no problem. It was like he could formulate and categorize everything in his brain. Priority—get Mary, then kill the thing. Help the others, and finally resume their journey. Very clear, and precise. He would use the hate and anger coursing through his veins to complete the taking of lives, and it would be okay.