Mechanical Failure

Max Klein · 09-14-2012, 03:06 PM

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(728)This is very tl;dr, the last paragraph is really all that matters Xx Sorrrrry.

After nearly a month, the wounds left from his fight with the cougar had all but faded. Emmanuelle was a competent healer and kept them from growing infected, and none were deep enough to scar badly. The most visible was formed at his shoulder, where four tracks lingered from the cougar’s claws. All of those had, after he and his companion had turned on the beast, been collected and sent away with the hopes of something new coming his way. Armor was something he didn’t need, and he could do better than some scavenged off Boreas no less.

The rest of the month had been slow, with Max working on perfecting his new trade. There was help with this from Maddox, and between the two of them grandiose ideas for the building were brought up. Some of them were more ridiculous than others, and Maddox had gotten furious and stormed off when Max and Remy took it upon themselves to imagine a catapult-styled contraption for the building, and even gone so far as to draw horribly crude designs on the table using a stick of charcoal.

He was still rather amused by the whole thing, and decided to take the scraps of food from the kitchen to Inferni’s noisy ravens. One in particular had begun harassing him almost as soon as he entered the forest, and Max had considered shooting him with the crossbow that hung from his side. Instead he had ignored the male and gone about passing out the goodies. When a somewhat cracked egg was drawn from the pouch, an older raven lit on his shoulder. Max started at this and stared openly. Most of the birds weren’t half so bold (unless shouting rude things was a sign of bravery).

“Egg,” the raven said in a voice like grit. Max put it aside and the bird awkwardly walked down his arm. He was not as glossy as the others nor did he move as fast—and watching him, Max felt a strange sense of pity. Even as he dumped the rest of the goods out, he kept an eye on the bird.

Gunther stomped into the forest behind him and stuck his head right near the food, as if it was meant for him. Max shoved him away as the birds fluttered up and away…all but one. His eyes narrowed slightly, in thought, as he shooed off his horse and went towards the bird.

“Not scared?”

“Not,” the bird echoed, and hopped forward. He seemed familiar with the ground, and carried one wing oddly.

“Well at least someone isn’t,” Max commented idly, and squatted down. “Is your wing hurt?”

“Hurt before. Not hurt.” Puzzled, the coyote cocked his head in a doggish manner.

“Can you fly?”

“Not fly good. Still look. Still hear.”

There was a dull sense of admiration for the idea. Max smiled and held out his arm. “I could use another set of both.”

After appraising him for several long moments, the old raven hopped and then climbed up to Max’s shoulder. His talons were sharp but not painful, and he settled there well enough.

“I’m Max.”

“Munin.”

It was oddly familiar. He wondered if he had heard it before, thought to store it away, and turned back to the massive palomino grazing behind them. With the bird on his shoulder the white warrior mounted and headed off.

The ride was slow, adjusting to Munin’s inexperience on the horse, but he soon settled into the rocking motion. Max talked and the bird listened, repeating back things, testing the words. There was not much to him; the injury had occurred sometime earlier in his life and not been an issue until recently. He was older than Max, which surprised the coydog. He also, as Max found out, was not fully incapable of flight—he simply found that long flights or those in bad weather hurt his wing more.

Their conversation was cut off when Gunther let out a loud whinny, announcing himself to the upwind animal. Max looked up sharply and found a familiar form near the animal, though it was hunched over and near a bleating sheep. Curious (and partially concerned) he urged the war-horse into a trot. To his surprise, Munin flew ahead…though he circled lazily until Max dismounted and quickly re-attached himself to the coyote’s shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” Max called.

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