Fearsome Ch. 01 - 02

He came back. The animal hadn't moved. Its eyes shifted to the tool in his hand. He squatted, looking at it, doubtful. If it thrashed, it would tear its shoulders apart, an agonizing, fear-filled death for a wild creature. But if he couldn't remove the rings, it would be eaten by something else or just suffer, dying of starvation. He would kill it for mercy if that was the case, he decided.

"Let's see if we can't avoid that, though," he said, not letting the animal in on all his thoughts. "You're going to have to stay still. It's going to hurt when I remove them. Don't bite me." He reached slowly. It didn't move. He got hold of the wing, the animal panting, slipping the pinchers into the open link of the ring and drawing it open, widening it slowly, using strength. 

He was surprised again that it stayed so still. The metal was thick. The animal tensed and made a high sound, wavering, as the metal separated from the shoulder, tearing where the muscle had tried to heal, already swollen. But the animal didn't move as the ends of the iron rings opened, emerging from the animal's shoulder, top and bottom. 

He drew it back slowly, separating it, shaking the pincers to remove the metal. The thick ring landed on the ground not far, a small thud, the sharpened ends black with old and new blood. More blood was oozing from the animal's white fur, the animal making a sound of relief. The creature looked at the iron ring on the ground and its muzzle rippled, growling at it low. 

"I don't blame you, fearsome. I'd be pissed, too," he said under his breath. "One more."

He moved to the other wing and extending it, careful to be gentle. It let him manipulate its body.

He got the second ring and did the same, widening it, the sharp ends emerging from the other shoulder, the little animal panting in pain as he had to partly tear it out. It was worse than the other. He hissed a little in sympathy, amazed it was staying still for this. Its mouth opened, showing its teeth, a high cry. 

When it was free, he tossed the tool and the ring together into the grass. He straightened and stepped back, not crowding it, watching as the animal righted itself on its belly and slowly folded its wings in stages as it hadn't been able to before, he saw, still panting. The wings settled neatly against its back, looking more natural. It was shaking like animals did. He wasn't sure if the little creature was going to make it. It certainly wasn't going to survive out here. 

"We got them out, but you're not going to be able to fly until those shoulders heal. If you can't fly, you can't hunt, and if you can't hunt, you'll starve. Hold on, fearsome." Going to his pack on the horse, he pulled out a spare blanket. He returned. "I'm going to wrap you and pick you up so you don't hurt your shoulders. Don't bite me."

He put the blanket over the animal, watching it, and then reached, supporting it, lifting it slowly and pulling it to himself. It was hefty. It didn't move, watching him. He set it in the crook of his arm and walked to his horse, untangling the reins. The horse was skittish about the animal, Hawthe controlling it. He pulled himself onto the horse one-handed, heaving to settle the animal in front of him. 

He squeezed with his legs, turning the reins, the horse moving. He'd have a couple of the men come back for the wagon and the draw horse. They would store the contraband in the huge cellar at the citadel until it could go to a warehouse in Imber. 

After a time, he looked down at the animal. It was looking up at him. He touched its neck again and it laid its whole head in his hand, his mouth twitching. He stroked his thumb over its eye ridge. "You're welcome, fearsome," he said as its eyes got heavy. He watched as the animal relaxed, its eyes closing. 

It moved a little, a high whine of pain, and then it went limp, asleep. 

#

Anwen Citadel was carved into a face of a tall and sheer wall of granite, its slightly protruding straight lines fading into the rough profile of the stone, one door into it at the top of the road on the main plateau. In any part of the citadel, deeply inset windows offered a stunning view and a long drop.

When he returned to the citadel, he got off the horse, a man taking it. Hawthe twitched the blanket over the little animal's head. He went through the exterior door and up the stairs, opening the door there and passing through the alcoves and into the long room, getting reports. Some of his men were here, many of them still on patrol. The highwaymen had gotten away.

None of his men asked what he had under the blanket. They were curious, but they wouldn't ask. The hefty little creature had to be awake, but it didn't move in the cradle of his arm. He listened and gave orders for the retrieval of the horse and the inventory and storage of the contraband in the wagon. 

He was finally free. He walked up the stairs with the animal. He thought it might be dead, it was so still. Injured animals just died sometimes. But when he went into his bedchamber and set the rough wool blanket on the bed, pulling the corner back, it was looking up at him, its green eyes alert. It made a sound, just like a dove, cooing, so obviously a greeting that he smiled. 

A knock preceded Gunn coming in, Hawthe pulling the blanket back over its head, walking into the parlor. He wouldn't keep it a secret if the animal came out. Gunn would be interested, he was sure. But it didn't move, didn't make any more noise. Yes, it was smart. 

He and Gunn had supper, talking. Hawthe kept it short.

The food left on his plate was mostly meat--he didn't think the little animal ate anything but meat with those teeth--and when Gunn was gone, he returned to the bed and pulled back the blanket. It looked up at him again with those green eyes. 

"I've got food here." He lifted it gently, putting it in the crook of his arm, walking out and to the table in the parlor. It saw the food and chirped at him. It was so clever. He wondered briefly, reaching under it, feeling around, not finding anything. She was clever.

She growled at him and he grinned. 

"Sorry to grope you, fearsome. It's the only way I can tell if you're a female or male whatever-you-are." He looked at her as he set her down on the table. He still couldn't figure what she could be. You almost didn't notice her feathers when they were put away. She was so pretty. 

She looked at the food in front of her, her nostrils flaring, and then reached a claw, snagging a piece, sitting on her haunches, eating quickly, neat. He went and got a saucer for water, filling it with a shallow puddle. She stuffed herself fat before she finally stopped, only a few small pieces remaining. Hawthe watched with a small smile. She made a satisfied, pleased-with-things noise. She licked her claws carefully, getting them clean, and then licked her lips. She looked at the water. She walked over, that stiff, hurt padding, and drank for a long time. He refilled it. 

She finally put her paws in the water and actually began to clean herself like the small forest tree animals did, rubbing her face. She cried out, stopping. Her shoulders. No wonder she was so filthy. She looked like she was usually a clean little animal. 

"Slow down, fearsome," Hawthe said, going and picking her up carefully, trying not to hurt her. "I'll take you out to the plateau. There's a private spot there for necessities. You don't smell great, but I'll give you a bath after you're feeling a little better."

###

CHAPTER 2

Hawthe heard the door open and close. 

"Legatus?" Gunn said from the parlor. 

"Come in here, Gunn," Hawthe said from the bedchamber. He'd had her for a week or so. He had bathed the little animal and she had gained weight. She didn't look so scraggly anymore, her fur a clean white now. In fact, she was such a little beauty, even more graceful as she healed.

She was smart and curious. When he had first taken a book down and read by lamplight, she'd come and looked up at him until he'd reached down and lifted her, still too sore to jump.  She had inspected the book, nudging it with her nose, touching it with her claws, and then looked at his face. It was so easy to talk to her. He never felt like he was talking to himself. "It's a book," he had said, turning it, showing her the pages as she smelled it, his mouth curving as she gazed at the letters intently. "It has words written on it. Let me know if you learn to read."

He knew he was becoming attached to her. He'd never had an animal before except a horse, and at the Citadel he rode whatever horse they brought him. He had decided to find out how his men would react to the idea of letting her stay, at least until she was healed. Typically, they didn't have other animals here except those that were intended for meat. If his men objected, he'd have to respect their decision. He would find someone to care for the little animal in Imber if that was the case, at least until it could return to wherever it came from.  

Hawthe had put her on the bed where she blended with the Shapper fur bedcover. She was very still. 

"Sorry I'm late. Neander, the new man, came without gloves. I had to find some for him," Gunn was complaining as he came into the room.

Hawthe waited. 

Gunn glanced around, saw her, kept looking around, and then his eyes returned to her and he went as still. "What is that," Gunn said to himself, his voice always raspy, taking the toothpick from his mouth with his fingers, looking at her. 

"Don't mind the claws and teeth," Hawthe said, waving his hand. 

Gunn turned to him, pointing at the little animal. "What is that, Legatus?" he said.

"I don't actually know," Hawthe admitted. "I think it might be a monkey. I've read about them." 

The little animal coughed, a stuttering low sound following. She'd done it a few times since Hawthe had brought her back, mostly right after he'd said things, and he really wanted someone else to hear that and see if he was going crazy or if Gunn thought it was like she had just--

"Did it just fucking laugh?" Gunn said to him. 

"You hear it too, don't you?" Hawthe said. "I think she did."

They both stared at her. Her eyes shifted between them. She threw her wings open in a brisk movement, a wide span, and stood there, going still. She made the same cough, the same low stuttering, like she was laughing. She was stretching them, maybe. She folded them, rustling.

"It has wings," Gunn remarked to himself under his breath, having moved past the laughing bit. 

"Yes," Hawthe agreed, a small smile on his mouth. 

Gunn looked at him. "Did the monkeys you say you read about have wings, Legatus?" Gunn's eyes returned to her. 

"No," Hawthe said, watching her. 

She coughed again, laughing. 

#

They were in the long room. His men were talking. The very long table fit the men twenty-four down one side and twenty-four down the other, Gunn opposite the legatus at its head. The table was full of food and ale, clattering coming from the kitchen. Knosi had moved up a spot toward him on the side to his left, replacing Severis, everyone behind Knosi at the table also shifting one spot up. Neander's spot opened at the end of the table on that side as the youngest. They would miss Severis, but it felt right to be fifty again. 

The animal was padding down the length of the table, gracefully flowing around hands that sometimes reached because she looked soft. So far, she only allowed Hawthe to touch her. But Avinel had held out his fist and she had reached and pressed her nose to his knuckles and chirped, and she'd done it with any man who offered his fist after that. By the time she reached the end of the table, they were all offering their fists as she passed, men grinning. She was clever.  

None of them knew what she was, but Shay had seen a monkey once in the southern lands and said she didn't look like them. The men offered her meat sometimes, the little animal stopping to take morsels in her claws, coming up on her haunches and eating. She would chirp, licking her lips, and then preen. Hawthe was watching faces. She was pretty and neat, friendly. They liked her. 

Josue offered her a legume, limp, and she looked doubtful and slowly leaned forward and sniffed at it. Her muzzle wrinkled, a disgusted face. She gave a small growl, looking at him indignantly, Josue grinning and withdrawing it.

"Sorry, sweet," he said, trading it out for meat, the little animal mollified, chirping at him, taking it. 

"Can she really fly, Legatus?" Alec said about halfway down the table, tilting his head to look at her. 

As if she understood, the animal spread her wings, an impressive span, taking up that part of the table, Dow moving his head out of the way. She slowly flapped them.

"Fearsome," Hawthe said, a warning.

She ignored him. She rose above the table, the fanning wings ruffling their hair, her claws leaving its surface as they all watched. She settled, folding them carefully, whining a little in pain, crouching. 

"Fuck's sake, of course that's going to hurt," Hawthe said, gesturing to her. "That's the return for your pride."

She immediately rose and padded to him at the head of the table, flowing onto his lap, turning around, her front paws on the surface, her tail wrapping around his wrist. He looked at her shoulders carefully. They seemed all right, not swollen, the wounds healing. The muscles were still sore, probably. She looked up at him, a click and a long coo. 

"What's wrong with the little beast, Legatus?" Gunn said, all his men leaning forward to see her, all of them quiet. 

"The Scathians clamped her shoulders with sharp metal rings so she couldn't fly," Hawthe answered, the men looking at her, some of them making short noises of sympathy. "She stayed still and endured it when I removed them, but it tore the muscles. She wouldn't have survived. That's why I brought her here, so she could heal. If none of you object."

He gave them time to make the decision. They thought about it, some of them talking. He saw several of the men nod to others. They all could see how it was going. Dow held out a piece of meat and her head came up, alert, her pretty horns. She flowed down the table to take it. Pulling it into her claws, she touched her nose to Dow's knuckles when he extended his fist, chirping at him. 

"She's a lovely," Dow said.   

And that was that. 

#

Some of the men stopped what they were doing to watch on the main plateau when Hawthe brought the little animal outside to test her wings ten days later. The Fifty knew about healing, about coming back from injury that hadn't killed you, but had hurt you badly. She flapped and then rose, swooping out past the edge, but then she wavered, wobbling sharply and coming right back to him. Hawthe thought she wasn't strong enough yet to battle the strong winds this high. 

Over the next couple of weeks, she worked hard. She'd go out over the edge and get tossed around, buffeted by the winds, tumbling at times before she would right herself, more of the men coming to watch. Hawthe was a little worried, the gusts sometimes unexpected, driving her toward the rock face, but she'd find a way to avoid crashing into them. 

She drew more of the men's interest as she got stronger, climbing high and then diving, swooping above the plateau. After that, if he was out there with her, the men were gathered, watching her and commenting, sometimes calling out helpful advice like they could fly. 

One day, they all watched as she unexpectedly began to descend, flying down in loops, and disappeared into the forest under them. For the first time, Hawthe wondered if that was the last he would see of her, feeling a pang. Maybe she wasn't going to come back, some of the men evidently thinking the same, talking to one another, glancing over the edge after her, frowning.

They waited, more men coming to look over the side. A couple of them shook their heads. She didn't come back. 

Hawthe grinned as she emerged from the tops of the trees far below them, a fat rabbit in her claws, the men laughing, talking and pointing. She was having difficulty rising this far, getting tired, the rabbit heavy. She couldn't get enough height, the sheer granite face of the citadel high and steep, the men calling encouragement. 

She didn't give up, finally landing on one of the steppes, panting. Crouching, she rested there, and then took it up again. She moved up, little by little, sometimes resting in crags. Finally judging she was close enough, she took it up in her claws, flapping hard upward toward them, losing momentum.

She made the height but was struggling, fluttering and dipping as Hawthe walked to the very edge and leaned, putting out his hand. Her tail wrapped around his wrist. He pulled her toward himself, her wings flapping hard. She collapsed on the plateau, panting, still with the rabbit in her claws.

Hawthe was grinning. The men were. She finally got up, opening her mouth and picking the rabbit up in her jaws, padding, dragging it toward the front door of the citadel.  

"No, fearsome," Hawthe said. "You can't eat it inside. It'll make too much of a mess."

She dropped it, looking at him, indignant after all her efforts. She opened her wings, taking the animal in her claws again, flapping, lugging it straight up to the plateau in front of his residence. 

"Fearsome!" Hawthe called after her, the stubborn little animal ignoring him. 

"You better get up there before she goes in the window and tears it apart on your bed, Legatus," Gunn said, grinning. 

"Fuck's sake," Hawthe said, moving, hearing muffled laughter behind him. 

#

They'd had her for a few months now, the hot days of summer on them. She came with Hawthe wherever he went, content to sit through briefings and meetings with his men, through training and drills.

She never bothered Hawthe when he was working, although if he raised his voice to his men to be heard, she sometimes growled as if to reinforce the seriousness of it all, looking cross, which made it difficult for any of them to keep a straight face. Her growls would change volume and intensity with the volume and intensity of his voice, matching it, rising and falling, impossible to speak over.

The only time he hadn't just taken her with him was when there was going to be violence, but it hadn't mattered. She'd found him anyway, simply flying to him. But she stayed away while he fought. She would watch from on high and he would sometimes hear her growling and snarling at his adversary. She would catch up with him after, inspecting him, assuring herself, his men watching and grinning. 

They had to be making jokes behind his back. He would fucking make jokes about it, but his men were attached to the little menace as well, evening meals more animated, men laughing because she was fun to watch, the animal playful and curious and intelligent.   

#

They were at a public house in Imber, the small creature under his cloak. Hawthe could walk and ride and sit and she'd adjust, never hindering his movements.

Hawthe dug in to his stew, feeling her squirming under his cloak. He opened it, the creature's nose poking out. Her nostrils were flaring and he snuck her a piece of meat, one delicate claw emerging to take it and pull it back in. 

"I saw that," Gunn rasped beside him. 

"You have it with you, Legatus?" Neander complained. 

As soon as Neander spoke, a small growl they all heard emerged from under Hawthe's cloak, Gunn grinning around his toothpick. Hawthe kept his face carefully neutral. Neander gave Gunn a look. The little animal didn't like Neander for some reason. Technically, if any of them objected, the animal would have to go, but Neander wouldn't exactly be popular with the other Fifty if he ousted her. 

Hawthe opened his cloak, coaxing her out. She emerged and stood on his lap, her head rising on her long neck, the small horns on her head swept back, delicate beauty, her coat sleek and shining soft and white. Her front paws came up on the surface of the table, her wings folded, Hawthe stroking her side, her tail wrapping around his wrist. She looked around, her nose flaring. She looked up at Hawthe, green eyes.