Tuesday, April 2, 2013

45 - Feral? Or Tameable?


 
I'm sitting here, listening to this and at first all I can think is ‘oh good, I’m going home.’ Then I realize.  I’m feeling homesick for here at the same time, that’s so odd.  That’s... is that right?
 
It’s a war pa and stepapa are talking about.  A war... a fight on our level.  Problems that we understand.  Things that can be solved with words and birds and swords, not weird, ancient old codes, half of which are crumbling or trying to erase us.
 
I look around the throne room and Mother Thriti nods at me, as does Zon Amardad ... the school... There is so much that this stupid war is going to interrupt.  The wind that blows through the room is mostly cool... mostly damp, from the mist curtain but there’s enough furnace hot that it’s like a threat across my face over the veil. 
 
“Pa.”  He and stepapa look at me.  “I should stay here and keep working on this problem.  The boys... I don’t know if it would be better for them to go off with you to the negotiations.”  To get blooded if things go terminally dry.  

“But I could work with the zardukar... their zon... and keep working in the code. The kids just got here because everybody thought we’d be staying with Papa Kyrus.”  He smiles at me and I just have to smile back.  You can see a smile even through a thick veil, if it reaches people’s eyes. 

“We’ll be here, safe. You can take the bees to grow your own lins so you can write us and we’ll be able to write you.” 

“Hmm.”  Pa has that crease between his brows again that he got right after Ma died.  I miss her still, but Pa marrying stepapa made him happier.  But now there’s this threatened war.  “I’d feel better with you a full month’s travel away from our border.  But the Nads...”
 
“You’ll make them listen to reason, Pa.  Or you and Stepapa and all the Asses of Lainz and every Milar tsingy warrior will make them.”
 
That made him laugh.  “Of course.  Hara... you surely get your smarts from your mother.”  He’s obviously thinking of ma too.  He and stepapa have their hands next to each other, on the armrests... hands just touching.  I’m relieved that Ky and Werfas are probably going to be going off on this adventure.
 
Does this make me a bad person?  I don’t think so, but I bet Ky and Wer both find new bed friends on this trip. Ky thinks I’m the love of his life, though I know we’re good friends... the three of us work well together... but I don’t know if I love him or not.  Werfas is still crazy in love with Ky and won’t tell him because of all that Lainz nonsense he’s got to unlearn.  I want to find out if I do really love him.  We’re not even grownups yet, and after all, they’re boys and right now if it isn’t warbirds, swords, other pretty girls (and boys, even though Ky doesn’t say anything, he still looks) its fart, butt and penis jokes.
 
**
 
The egg rocked violently and Dag found herself hovering over it.  The first egg in a set to hatch was usually the biggest and the strongest.  It was also the likeliest one to show if this generation of warbirds was finally going to be tameable.
 
The shell cracked in half and the wet bird lay with its rear still in one half.  Bulbous eyes and scraggly feathers plastered to its body, its ribs and wing stublets pumped like a bellows as it breathed.
 
It opened its eyes, that were bright, bloody red with a black bar across them, second and third eyelids blinking them clear.  It staggered to its feet and hissed at her, which was a good sign because it didn’t instantly attack her.  It wobbled sideways and cheeped.  A ridiculously tiny sound. She dangled a worm over its head and it reached up and snatched, crunching and gulping the wiggling thing down its throat as fast as it could swallow.
 
Dag held her breath as it clicked the razor beak once, twice -- gulped a half dozen more times to make sure the worm was thoroughly swallowed.  It shook itself again, already drying off in the heat, turning from a slimy, leggy thing with hook and talons to a ball of yellow and orange fluff. Those disconcerting eyes turned to her and the bar across them narrowed then widened. Feral? Or tameable?
 
It cheeped again and then did something that no chick had ever done before.  It bobbed over toward her hand, but slowly and then bunted her fingers with its head. “What?  You approve of me?”
 
The chick crouched on the table, flung its head back, mouth open, winglets shaking and began the most awful screeching. “I understand.  I’m sorry.” She was laughing as she began feeding the long strands of its first full meal down its gullet just to shut it up.  It head bunted me.  Oh, this looks promising.  Even if I don’t like birds.  This looks very good.


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