Eek sat cross-legged on a small hillock outside Thurmaster, watching a young harvest sparrow select its favorite amongst the rye seeds spread on the grass. Only few handspans away, a tiny frosted finch hesitated as the sparrow drew near. The finches normally deferred to the larger songbirds, but this time there were so many seeds that most of the feeding customs were set aside. The finch’s extended family barely glanced that direction, although an enormous raven’s attempt to land amid the flock provoked some consternation. Around them, hundreds of birds in every variety (many of which the pixie had never seen) hopped and chattered while enjoying the feast
Eek had laid out for them. They spoke of seeds and plumage, of nest-building and borrowing, and many of those who had followed from the forest regaled their cousins with tales of strange bugs and the enormous thermals one might catch over the rock-strewn land to the east. But mostly they spoke of Olean the Druid with her pack-less wolves, and of the pixie who had enlisted the birds’ help in an urgent search for her. This last bit made
Eek smile to himself – the birds would not remember anything long that was not frequently repeated, but other creatures of wood and plain certainly would. Perhaps word of him might make its way back to pixie lands sooner than he could return himself. Rozlyn would be disappointed not to hear anything until the next Meet, but
Eek had yet to meet a courier who could be trusted to deliver a message to a place so far from human settlement as Kuristan.
“Why did we leave flock and fine nesting-places to look for the forest-wanderer?” inquired the recently-descended raven.
Eek peered into one of the glossy red eyes for a moment before answering, a little surprised at this one’s manner – ravens typically cultivated a sense of haughty aloofness, and few had deigned to participate in the foreign pixie’s improbable mission.
“Our flock-member was very sick and about to die. He needed Olean’s help,”
Eek replied.
“Those old enough to sicken will perish when the frost comes anyway,” the bird suggested. Such animals viewed sickness and death as inevitable, and certainly less objectionable than being consumed by a hawk or cat.
“He is not old. He was harried by tiny foes which he could not fight or escape.”
“Olean is larger than our flock-mate, and so are her wolves. But they are all very unusual” the raven admitted.
“They are,” agreed
Eek, “They are more like you than me. But she speaks the tongues of plant and sickness, and she was able to save our flock-mate from them. I could not have found her without your help.” He gestured to the grains and birds scattered around them. “You have earned eating-rights from me.”
The raven pondered this for a moment, and then bobbed its beak down to swallow an oat resting near its feet. “Our flock will not demand them,” it replied, acknowledging that the debt was singular, among peers, and satisfied. This was well, for the ravens would remember and settle any disputes or embellishments among the lesser songbirds. “Our flock will enjoy this story,” the avian decided aloud, “I will tell it.” It hopped forward and snapped its wings out, ending the conversation in the abrupt fashion birds were accustomed to and causing more than a few outraged chirps from small ones bowled over when it took off. That was fine, too – ravens were very possessive with new stories, and being part of it was more than enough for
Eek.
Sensing an opening in the conversation, a pigeon took the opportunity to start telling him how very nice her eggs were and what each one looked like. Such were the perils of letting birds know that you could speak with them.
