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inbabylontheywept · 3 months ago

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Kartchner Caverns

The first time I traveled to Tucson I was in a car full of zooted children. I would've preferred being one of those children, but alas, any medication that makes me sleep also makes me sleepwalk. And after an incident where I tried to climb out of the car while it was still going sixty (thank God for seatbelts), I was condemned to a childhood of car trip sobriety: No more poor-man's time travel. No more ambien. One less morally ambiguawesome parenting decision from my crazy-ass dad.

I was talking with him when it happened.

I can't remember exactly what we were talking about - something to do with our final destination in Mexico. But at some point, we woke up my little brother.

(Nothing good happens from waking the dreamer. Best case scenario, the dream ends. Worst case, it doesn't.)

I remember starting when I felt one of his small cold hands reach up to grab my shoulder. Our dad did the same, and it jerked the car a little bit - startling someone whose hands are on the steering wheel has its risks. Dad and I both turned to look at him, but he wasn't even looking at us. He was leaning over the console, staring into the red and purple sunset ahead, watching the rolling skyline of Tucson like it was drowning in dreams. Like he was drowning in dreams.

We waited for him to speak. It took a while. Normal social conventions don't apply to people when they're unconscious. The fact that he could talk was just some broken line code in the fabric of the world.

"Wow," he said at long last.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" my dad replied. And my little brother shook his head like he just heard the silliest thing in the world.

"It's terrible," he said. "Awful. Is Mexico always like this?"

"We're still in America," my dad said back.

My little brother squinted into the sunset, doubt and derision etched into his face. After a few seconds, both emotions softened, and he nodded in wonder.

"Eagle feathers," he said, chuckling softly. Like he'd just solved some clever little riddle. Then he fell like an angel into something deeper than sleep.

𓆙𓆙𓆙

(There is a word for angels that fall.)

𓆙𓆙𓆙

The second time I went to Tucson, I hid from the sun.

You'd be surprised how easy it is to do down there. Society accommodates it in ways you just won't find anywhere else. When it's 109 outside with single digit humidity, of course you stay indoors. Of course the outdoor markets open at 6 pm, and of course they don't close until 11. Of course. You make the sun mean enough, and everyone becomes a vampire.

So I roamed the streets at night, kicking up red gravel, watching coyotes wander in between the sea of strip malls. Strip malls are such an Arizonan atrocity. Nobody bothers to build up because there’s nothing to be gained from density. The city will never be walkable, because the problem isn’t infrastructure. It's the sun. And you can't solve the sun, so you might as well lean into driving. Mash the whole city flat and crawl through the dust like rattlers.

(I met a man once, by the canals, that said the strip malls were some sort of American curse upon the inheritors of Johnny Appleseed. There's one God in this world, he said, and it's the god of don't-eat-apples. But then we invented apple pie and gave it to everyone. So this is our hell.)

Still. It made the days long down there. Lurking at night and hiding all day gives you something like cabin fever. I needed something to do outside. Something that was outside, but also, somehow, inside. What's inside and outside at the same time? What kind of klein-flask ouroboros nonsense fits that bill?

Kartchner caverns.

𓆙𓆙𓆙

I wouldn't say the caves were like walking into Dante's hell - more like finishing the journey. At some point in my life, I'd blown past limbo, lust, gluttony, greed, and anger. I'd spent two decades plus change living in the fires of heresy. Every layer past would only get colder.

And each step into that cave did.

My tour guide and psychopomp was a friendly old man. Familiar in the way that all old people feel familiar to me. I view the world more as a pile of metaphors. He viewed it primarily as water-soluble minerals.

It was a good work dynamic.

"These here," he said, gesturing to a long, slender series of impossibly frail stalactites, "are called soda straws."

They were beautiful. I can wax poetic at the keyboard, but in real life, my exclamation of wonder is primarily Hot Damn.

"Hot damn," I said, and he nodded good naturedly.

"They're pretty fun aren't they? Took a few eons to make 'em but I think it was worth the wait."

I was charmed by the way he talked. I knew it was just a fluke of tenses, but there was something funny about the way he described them - as if he personally oversaw each of the dainty little spires. We went further, and he pointed out more formations as we came across them.

"Behold!" he said just a few feet further. "Fried eggs!"

And I had to admit: There were fried eggs.

"Behold!" he said further still. "A shield!"

And lo, there was a shield. It didn't look terribly shieldlike, but who knows - maybe he made the shields first and got better as he went along. The eggs were beautiful.

We kept walking, deeper, and deeper into the cave. At the surface, it had been hot enough for my sweat to dry into a stinging white powder. Down there it was cold enough to see my breath. The feeling of descending into hell was replaced with the feeling of being swallowed by some ancient, fossilized snake.

"We call this serpent-stone," he said, gesturing to an expanse of wall.

And then all I could see was the snake that was swallowing me.

Now, I want to bring something up right about now. At this point, you might be tempted to write off the unease that I was feeling as claustrophobia. Which would make sense - caves unsettle a lot of people. But not me. I'm borderline claustrophilic. When I was a child, I didn't feel comfortable reading until I was wedged somewhere. Behind a shelf, or in a cabinet, or even underneath the beanbag my parents had intended for sitting. Those were my happy places. I liked being crammed into tight spaces.

I did not like that cave.

The section of serpent-stone narrowed the further we went. The room started off maybe six feet wide, but eventually it narrowed down. First to five, then four, then three. Two. And it didn’t stop at one.

The old man put me in front at that point. Said that if I got stuck, he could just push me forward. Didn't occur to me until I'd gone another hundred feet forward, sideways, that maybe getting dragged out would be better. But I was strangely reluctant to bring it up. I’d already let myself get cornered. There was nothing to be gained from letting him know my thoughts.

But the only way to keep them secret was by going forward. So I poured myself through the crack, slick as slip.

There's a grain to the scales of serpent-stone, both in the shape of the formations and in the texture of the individual pieces. They're metamorphic, but there's enough sediment left to ‘em that they have a grain. They bite when you go one way, and slide when you go the other. It felt like I was ratcheting myself in. Even if I could slip forward more, I didn't think I could go back. Not without wearing myself down into something skinless and screaming.

Water began to pool up in sections. It was cold enough to avoid the stink that still waters normally carry, but things stranger than algae festered in the waters beneath my feet. The puddles felt thick, almost slimy. A dozen steps later I saw little ropes of the stuff trickling down my feet.

Eventually, it got so narrow I couldn't turn my head. I could still hear the old man behind me, but only through little things - the occasional sharp inhale, or steps just an eighth of a beat off from my own. But never words. I remember stopping at one point, just to get pushed, just to know he was there. And he refused. All I heard for fifteen minutes was his breathing behind me.

He'd called my bluff. There was nowhere to go but forward.

𓆙𓆙𓆙

I don't know why it took so long to get dark down there. I wasn't carrying a flashlight, and if the old man had been carrying one, I'd have seen it bob with his steps. There was a sort of soft glow to everything but that had faded hour by hour. Eventually it didn't matter that I couldn't turn my head sideways - I wouldn't have been able to see the man if he'd been two inches in front of me. I walked, and I walked, and I walked, and just when I was about to get stuck for real - stuck in a way where I wouldn't be able to step forward, where I'd have to be pushed (or dragged back along the sharpness of the scales) - I popped out of the serpent stone crevasse like a cork from a bottle.

Plunk.

I can't tell you the relief that I felt at that moment. It didn't matter that I didn't know where I was, or how I got there. I'd never been claustrophobic in my life, but at that moment, I couldn't stand even the proximity of the crevice. I scrambled forward, stumbling over the rough cave floor, desperate and eager to find the next wall. To get some sense of where I was.

I never did. Even as I calmed down, even as the relief of being free of that infernal vice sat upon me like a crown, I never found another wall. Anywhere. I walked until fear made me crawl, as low and blind as any worm. I crawled until my pants tore and my knees bled and my spine ached.

And I found nothing.

When the vastness of the space truly sank in, when I realized that leaving that first wall had been a mistake, I turned back. But some choices can't be unmade. There were no walls. Not anymore. No matter how far I crawled, how hard I tried, there was no end. There was nothing but perfect darkness, broken stone, and endless snaking trickles of cold cavern water.

I dipped a finger in one of the rivulets. Just to feel it. Just to ground myself in something. I felt the waters slither past, and I found something like sight in their motion.

Water always goes down. Whatever else I lacked down here in the stone, in that moment, I knew up and down. And for the first time in hours, I had a choice. A real choice. No instinct or panic or too late realizations: Up or down.

I went down.

𓆙𓆙𓆙

I’d visited a rope factory once. Watched the threads dance and spin and weave into something mighty. I got a blind man’s sense of that from my trickle. I felt it meet more of its kind, braiding into them like thread. I liked pretending it was still my rivulet, but eventually, I had to admit it was lost in the mess. Picking out one thread from a rope would be easy, compared to picking out one trickle from a river.

Funny how water can drown in itself.

The first contaminant to the water was iron. I could smell it in the air - strong as blood. It should have unsettled me, but I’d smelled water like that before. My grandpas well-water stained everything it touched rusty red. His sinks, his showers, his fields. Even his teeth. He was wealthy enough that he could've wiped the stains off decades back, but he told me once that he liked the way it made other people uncomfortable. The way it reminded everyone who saw him smile that by sacrament or soil, they too drank of god.

The next contaminant was the thick water from before. Apparently, the stagnant pools weren’t as still as I’d thought. Somehow, over strange eons, they too could seep through the stone and make their way into this deep river. It was scentless, but I could feel it catch around my ankles on some steps. It seemed like a memory from a different life. I just didn’t feel like the same person that crawled through the serpent-stone crack. I was just some stranger wearing his shed skin.

Then at long last came a smell of deep sulphur 🜏. It was an odd contrast with the sharply cold air, and the strangely warm waters. It was the least pleasant of the bunch, but I endured it well. I followed until the tears streaming down my cheeks felt as normal as breathing. Until the rush of the river was replaced by the pounding of waves.

I’d arrived on a beach. I couldn’t see the ocean in front of me, but I could hear how vast it had to be. There was a terrible stench, worse than the sulphur - the smell of some vast death. Godly carrion. A wound in the world long left to fester.

I sat there on the beach of that ocean. Afraid to let those dark waters touch me. Thinking and waiting and worrying about what would happen next.

A voice spoke just twenty feet behind me. I recognized it. I never would’ve recognized it before, but there was a knack to the way this place wore me thin. Like a razor getting sharpened instead of a shirt going ratty.

“You’re very close,” the old man said, and I remembered him from all those years ago - sitting cross-legged in the moonlight by the bank of the canal. Looking up at me, eyes dark, and calling me over to tell me a secret.

There's one God in this world, he said then. One God. And it's the god of don't-eat-apples. But then we invented apple pie and gave it to everyone.

So this is our hell.

𓆙𓆙𓆙

I turned around. I don’t know why. I shouldn’t have been able to see him. I shouldn’t have been able to see anything. But I could see the outline of where he was on that shoreline. Not as a bright thing, but as a darker shade of absence. A little hole in the dark.

I could have run. But that would’ve required taking my eyes off him, and at that moment I couldn’t bear the thought. He was the only thing to see down there. The only reason I had eyes. But somehow, more important than the joy of seeing was the feeling that as long as I kept my eyes on him, he was trapped. Pinned to this world like a butterfly on cork.

There was a half second pause. The voice was a memory, but seeing through the gaps was new to me. The thing in front of me wasn’t an old man. It wasn’t even good at pretending. I was oddly embarrassed that I’d ever been fooled by it. What I was looking at was something older than this cave. Something trapped down here so long it could not bear the thought of light. The dream of something dead. The sloughed skin of a snake.

The first apple eater.

I could see shades of absence. More than the hole in the dark. I could look at the thing and feel the place where its wings should have been. Its first ones, at least.

It lunged for me.

I’d forgotten it could do that.

It slammed into me like the water from the bottom of a dam. The power was nothing compared to the cold. I couldn’t see a thing, but what I could feel made bile climb up my throat.

It was melting. Running down itself in little streams, like snow melting in the sun. Like the river I followed all the way down here. A hand ran over my face and I could feel it pouring into me, and in my fury I did the only thing I could think of: I reached up, and I wrapped my hands around its neck, and I clenched so hard that I could feel the tendons in my wrist sawing up through my skin, taut as piano wire.

It was like squeezing wet clay. It deformed under my touch, stretching longer and thinner and smoother even as the muscular length of his impossibly long body wrapped around me. At some point the fists beating on my chest turned into wings. Stolen wings, to replace the ones that were stolen from it, and there was a scream in the cave it was so awful that I prayed it wasn’t mine.

It was a terrible race. We were killing each other the same way. There was no question about someone dying here in front of the empty throne of god. I just didn’t want it to be me.

Eventually, it could stretch no more, and my hands could crush more than just nightmare and shadow. The wings beat on me weaker, and weaker, until eventually some cartilage in its great neck snapped under the pressure of my thumbs.

It was like cracking a glow stick. There was a flash of light, brief as thunder, and I could see the waves in front of me. An ocean of rotting meat and bones. The outline of some great, dead serpent, fifty feet tall. And a tower of dead bodies, stretching back to ages that I could not recognize. The only corpses I could recognize were those at the top, with their strange helmets and iconic breastplates.

Conquistadors.

When the light went out, the body went with it. Most dreams don’t leave anything behind. Even when they’re made by gods.

𓆙𓆙𓆙

I don’t know how I left the cave.

I followed the river up. At some point, it stopped being the river I followed down. The tributaries feeding into it spread out like a fan, and fool that I am, I kept picking left. It shouldn’t have worked. Part of me wonders if I somehow bent the river to my will. Filled in for the dead thing bobbing in the lake, or the echo that I strangled on that starless shore.

Or maybe I just got lucky.

I can remember finally breaching the incline and seeing an exit into the desert. Not the one I stepped in through, but good enough. I can remember getting closer and closer, before stepping out into the burning sun. I thought it was finally over.

I thought wrong.

I can remember looking into the bright blue sky and seeing exactly what my little brother saw on that drive all those years back.

I don’t know what I killed down in the cave. Some dead thing in the dark, dreaming it was alive. An altar of blood and bone, designed to hold a fragment.

But the real thing sat there in the sky. Curled up so tight and so smooth, you could mistake it for a ball. Waiting, and watching, and hating. Alive but dreaming death. The mould that stamped out the form of what lay in the cave.

Quetzalcoatl, I learned later. The feathered serpent.

I moved the month after that. Went somewhere north, somewhere cold, somewhere that a snake wouldn’t follow. Most days now, I look up, and I just see the sun. A flaming ball of gas. A little, red, star.

But only most.

𓆙𓆙𓆙

𓆙𓆙𓆙 𓇳

Thanks to @qsatisfaction and @foldingfittedsheets for being my editors on this piece. And thanks to @dr-robert-chase-apologist for providing the prompt.

#babylon-fiction #weird memories and outright lies mishmashed together #kartchner caverns #wish there was a way to highlight in yellow #but orange works in a pinch

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ltwilliammowett · 8 months ago

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Joseph Thompson

Joseph Thompson (died 1719) was a pirate from Trinidad, Cuba and was one of the 209 pirates on New Providence who declared to Captain Vincent Pearse their intention to accept an offer of amnesty and pardon made in 1718. Together with Charles Vane and several others, he soon returned to piracy. After hiring an additional crew for his sloop Eagle, he captured and plundered several ships in the area. In December 1718, within sight of Port Royal, Thompson captured a ship called the Kingston, whose cargo was worth over £20,000. The ship owners complained to the Jamaican governor Nicholas Lawes, but there were no Royal Navy warships available.

Instead, Lawes commissioned two sloops in the harbour and promised them a share of the pirates' treasure in addition to the rewards King George had promised in his proclamation of September 1717 to combat piracy. The two sloops set sail before the end of the year and encountered the pirate ship and another captured vessel. The pirate ship under Captain Thompson hoisted a black flag and proceeded to attack.

Thompson's ship passed alongside one of the pirate raiders and ‘threw a large number of powder flasks, shells and stink cans into the ship, killing and wounding several and causing others to jump overboard. ‘The other pirate raider collected the survivors, whose accounts of the fight ‘so disheartened the men on board the other ship that they made their way back to Port Royal.’ Thompson's crew of 150 men, ‘bandits of all nations’, abandoned the remaining sailors in the Cayman Islands.

Jamaica's merchants again appealed to Lawes to take action against Thompson. Lawes, with the help of the merchants, commissioned four more sloops with 10 guns and 80 crew and, after refitting another sloop in Port Royal and the arrival of the fifth-rate frigate HMS Ludlow Castle, divided his forces to protect the arriving merchantmen and hunt down Thompson. Four of the sloops soon cornered Thompson's ship, killed him and salvaged the Kingston. Some of the surviving crew members were captured to await trial in Bermuda, where they were found guilty and hanged in 1720.

Little, Benerson (2010). Pirate Hunting: The Fight Against Pirates, Privateers, and Sea Raiders from Antiquity to the Present

Fox, E. T. (2014). Pirates In Their Own Words

Woodard, Colin (2008). The Republic of Pirates: Being the True and Surprising Story of the Caribbean Pirates and the Man Who Brought Them Down

#naval history #joseph thompson #1719 #pirate #pirate hunter #age of sail #pirate history

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yey56 · 3 months ago

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Eagle Flies x Foreign Reader (Hispanic)

Summary: reader (female) is friends with eagle flies and part of the van Der Linde Gang.

Eagle flies decides to attack the us army with his people and the gang. When he's about to get shot, you receive the bullet for him...

(mentions of canary island culture: the jump of the herder)

You met Eagle Flies 4 years ago, it was pure fate that you got to know eachother. Nonetheless, your friendship started strangely at best.

You came from another country, your father had sent you to America trying to give you a better chance at life since there where no better options in your homeland.

He managed to get you into a job on a mansion on Saint Denis. But unluckily for you, this mansion was at the outskirts of the city, therefore easier target to robbers.

The men who robbed the house also took some servant hostages to either sell them or just have fun with them. In that group, they included you and a few maids.

You had seen them kill your coworkers so while they were sleeping and summoning all of your courage and will to live, you managed to kill one with a dagger and the other one with a gun you stole from the corpse. After that you run away.

Eagle Flies found you in the middle of the night while he was getting back to his tribe. You were bloodied, with an exhausted look, running as if your life depended on it. He didn't know how to react when he saw a girl his age running through the fields like a madwoman.

Against his better judgement he approached you. He was mounted on a horse so the moment the steps of the animal started getting louder you stopped, grabbing the gun you had just acquired.

Being a foreigner, an immigrant your English wasn't the best. You had only been in America for a year so you didn't really had time to properly learn the language, just some phrases and key words

Eagle Flies catched quicky on the language barrier so he started asking you several questions and you answered with incomplete phrases and with hand signs in an attempt to articulate the message.

"Hey! You can drop the gun I won't hurt you" he said trying to calm you. He looked right into your scared and frantic eyes and realised you must have scaped from something bad. "Are you ok? Do you need help?" He still didn't let his guard down, just in case.

"¿Que?" He heard you mumble "H-Help" you chocked out your voice cracking a bit but still trying to appear confident. "People- They! eh... Bad people!" you were trying to articulate a coherent phrase and communicate him the nightmare you just went through "I don't English-very little English " you were praying that he would catch on your message and luckily, he did.

"Hey hey, it's ok." Eagle Flies came down from his horse trying to reassure that you weren't going to be hurt by him. "Where do you live?" He talked slowly, making sure you at least got the important part of the message "Not here, not American" you replied

You were now much calmer. Even though a stranger was not a wise decision but this boy seemed nice enough and you had no better option.

Eagle Flies offered to take you to the nearest town and that's how you arrived to Valentine.

He wanted to pay for a room for you but you denied it, telling him that you were grateful.

Eagle Flies could not take you out of his head: your thick accent, your scared look, the way you looked like you were going to collapse.

It had been 5 months since he last saw you and he was already accepting that he would never see you again. Until one day, while he was coming back from hunting, he recognised you on the side of the path with a big stick in your hands and a flask tied to the stick.

You looked way better than the last time, sane. You recognised him and greeted him, seemingly happy to see him.

He stopped his horse to talk to you. Your english had improved a lot, you accent was still there but your sentences were more coherent and made some sense.

You presented yourself as Y/N, you explained him what happened that night and how grateful you were of having found him. In valentine you had been able to work and get some money and after a few months of hard work, you decided sedentary life was lot for you so taking your risks you used your saving to buy food and improve the gun you still had from the kidnap.

You sat on the grass of the forest and talked for hours.

"Why don't you have a horse? Valentines ones are very docile." Eagle Flies wondered why you were so insistent on waking, you had told him all of your travels have been made by foot and so far you had already visited both Strawberry and Rhodes.

"I enjoy the journey. I draw the landscapes, animals, plants... And that I don't know how to ride so I have to work with what I have" Your personality was more extroverted and friendly. "Is my stick and me against the world"

"And the gun" He added chuckling a little "And my gun" You replied laughing back.

"Right now I have to take this back to my people but if you come by here tomorrow by the morning I can teach you" He offered. The man didn't knew why was he so drawn to you. Your personality, the way you had adapted to your situation, your pretty voice.

Just as promised, the next morning he arrived at the same place. You came a little later, he saw you walking towards him from the top of an uneven hill. Instead of going down trough the path, you used the large stick you had to jump from the tops to the nearest flat surface until you reached the ground.

He was completely amazed by what you just did. Smitten even. He praised whatever you just did and admired the creative technique used to descend from the hill.

You explained that it was a technique used back in your home, the Herders jump. You offered your stick to him encouraging Eagle flies to try it himself. He failed to do it as effortlessly as you but still had fun trying.

He had brought his horse alone so after lending him the stick, you took the reins of the animal.

You learned quickly and that was something Eagle flies admired from you but of course there were still things to perfectionate. For example your absolute horrible ability to slow down, but hey! You will do it someday (he hopes)

Your friendship continued to develope and grow each passing day. Some weeks you were completely missing and later you would just reappear with new stories and little trinkets to give to him. At some point you started sending him letter telling him where would you go so he wouldn't worry so much.

One day Eagle Flies presented you to Paytah, his best friend and you actually got along very well. He was also curious about your sporadic journeys so now whenever you wrote to Eagle Flies, Paytah got send your rewards and a funny sketch of a silly animal.

After being made aware by your new friends the abusive situation they were in thanks to the army, you started getting directly involved in helping them.

You would take jobs as bounty hunting lower criminals or just cleaning tables at saloons so you could afford medicine and other essentials for them.

Eagle Flies always insisted on you not overworking yourself and tried to deny the money you were offering him but you were always so insistent. You just always needed the last word so it was useless to argue with you.

You sympathise with their situation, the crisis on your country had been caused by a war with the Unated States some years prior therefore you understood what lack of resources could course to a community.

He even presented you to his father as his dear friend (even Rains Fall knew that his boy had a huge fucking crush on you). You got along well with his father, he appreciated that his son had such a wise friend and well traveled friend. He also liked that you knew well the world around you, it helped you understand everything better.

(He was fully prepared to accept you into the family fr 😉)

Eagle Flies couldn't help himself, you were so curious, so full of live and so hungry for knowledge. You always had an explanation for things.

Trivial conversations such as how the silly new invention, the camera or cinema, worked; or maybe just why the higher classes were so despotic even if they should represent a whole nation.

You always had an explanation, you always knew it. It was like the world was nothing but a book you were reading. You always explained it to him with such a exited tone and such a sparkle in your eyes. That witty and sassy attitude that matched his, you were just such a good team.

He couldn't help but fall in love with you. And both his father and Paytah made known that they knew. Paytah went as far as organising a hang out between the three of you only to disappear on last minute.

After two years of a strong bond forming between the two of you, eagle flies started yearning to accompany your in your travels. But his people were his priority and he was already grateful enough that you helped him with his conflict even though you weren't even American.

You always send him letter when the journey got to long or to hard so he wouldn't worry about your well being. Travelling alone as a woman was no easy feat. But there was one time that he didn't received any letter from you in almost 5 months.

The people around him noticed how something was bothering him. Eagle Flies was worried. Not just worried, afraid.

He was already imagining the worst and was ready to mount on his horse and go search for you until a letter under Tacitus Kilgore surprised him.

Apparently and as you explained in the letter you had some trouble with the lawman to the point that you now had a small bounty under your name. The letter recalled the events like this.

Dearest Eagle Flies:

I'm aware I haven't written in a long time and both you and paytah must be worried.

I am fine, well, as fine as someone can be with a 20 dollar bounty on their heads on the state of New Austin.

After a little trouble I had with the lawmen I managed to hide myself and I have found a decent enough group of people, a gang that is willing to take me in.

We are near Blackwater by now. I hope you understand that I will not be able to visit you as often anymore but I promise that as soon as we get out of here I will write to you again and tell you everything in person.

Rewards, your friend, Y/N.

Apparently you were now part of a gang. He was glad that you were alive and ok, but he still felt disappointed about the new situation.

While he was still adapting to the news, you, on the other hand were trying to adapt to your new companions.

You've been with the gang for two month before writing to Eagle Flies and you have gotten along with everyone just fine. The girls were quick to welcome you. Miss Grimshaw was quick to put you to work. You've also made good friends with some other members such as Jenny, Mac, Lenny, Sean and Little Jack, who seemed very curious about your travels.

After the blackwater incident (6 months after you joining the gang), everything went downhill. You survived by divine luck. The gang had lost a few people on the way but you were finally on Valentine.

You didn't sent a letter to Eagle flies, you went straight to see him. When you arrived he was not there. His father, who very happily greeted you, told you that both him, Paytah and other young men were patroling the area since the army's grasp on them had become tighter.

Rains falls accompanied you while you waited for his son. He had grown very fond of you over the last years. You once confided in him that your own father had spent his life savings only to get you an opportunity for a better life and that you hoped that someday you can save enough money to bring him to America with you.

He had been the nearest fatherly figure you had had over the last years and he was more than willing to take that position. He liked you for his son and he respected you as a person. It gave you a feeling of acceptance that you didn't knew you needed.

Finally Eagle Flies and the other young men came back. The moment he spotted you he quickly came down from his horse and turned to give you the strongest and tightest hug someone has ever given you. You almost fell back because of the force he had.

He would never admit it in front of you (not anyone) but he almost cried when he saw you waving at him.

"What the hell did you do! 20 dollars? They could had you hanged for that!!" He was holding your shoulders, grounding himself, using you as an anchor.

"Two men! They tried to rob me and attacked me. Can you believe it!? I have a gun for a reason, I just defended myself." You explained to him.

He hugged you once more, being interrupted only by Paytah who greeted you, also happy to see you.

After that, days, weeks and months passed by and while the gangs situation was getting way more dangerous, the natives conflict was becoming unbearable.

The gang had been reduced by several lawmen and various internal conflicts to the point that even the oldest members of the gang such as Arthur or John or Abigail were starting to question themselves the integrity of their leader.

Both you and Charles had worked hard to help the natives, with Arthur starting to collaborate not to long ago.

When you were back in camp you tried to convince Abigail to run away with her son. You had become good friends and you knew that this was a downfall ride.

Finally an as the cherry on top, Eagle flies, who had became bolder in the last month's started hearing Dutch's advice and making not so good decisions.

Arthur, Charles and yourself were aware that Dutch would only make the situation worst and warned Rains fall about it.

Rains Fall had tried to warn his son. He had pleaded you to help him see reason.

"Please, Y/N, he will not listen to me. I am nothing but a weak man in my son's eyes but he might listen to you." He asked while holding on your shoulders.

You had already talked with Eagle flies several times. Dissuading him to act impulsively but it was not enough anymore.

The worst of all had been after being kidnapped and tortured. He still wanted more war. He was convinced that he either died in honor or lived in misery.

Rains Fall made a last effort of persuading his son to drop the violence to no avail. Eagle Flies rode to the oil fields with his men while you stayed back with Rains Fall.

"He is going to die, all of them are going to en up dead" He lamented to you, a tired and sad look on his face as if already imagining his son's corpse

You took his hands in yours and looked him in the eye "Rains fall, I swear to you, I will bring him back, whatever it takes."

He looked at you afraid that you would do something you might regret but the only thing you did was getting your horse and riding to the battle.

You were no fighter. You were decent enough with a gun but that's it. You felt a pit in your stomach, a remainder of your most primitive instincts shouting at you not to go.

You ignored the fear, thinking one last time about your father and how you would probably not see him again. That made a single tear drop but you weren't willing to loose the person who had helped you and accepted you the most just because he was an impulsive wreck.

By sheer luck you managed to not get shot by the military men. You saw Eagle Flies near the oil factory with the rest of the people. You quickly approached him and as soon as he noticed you he looked panicked.

" What are you doing here!!" He got closer to you searching for some injuries in your body.

"Trying not to get you killed" you took his hand on yours" Eagle flies, why are you so insistent on dying when you have people to live for-" you were interrupted by the sounds of three soldiers attacking someone.

Both you and Eagle flies ran to see what was happening and while eagle flies was able to kill the three men that were kicking Arthur, he failed to notice the man with a gun in hand behind him.

You saw his intentions clear. Without thinking you jumped on that men and fought for a few seconds for the gun he had until...

A shot was heard against the cold walls of the place. You left out a squeak and a weak cry falling to the floor while your abdomen was turning red with your blood.

The dry sound that your body did when hitting the surface made Eagle Flies react. Arthur from the floor shotted the rich man that had shotted you.

"Y/N!!!" He took you in his arms, pressing on your injury to try and stop the bleeding. His hands were now a deep wet red. "Nononono!" Some tears started to pool out from his eyes onto your face.

You were still weakly crying trying to breath as much as you could while dealing with the horrible pain.

Both Eagle flies and Arthur took you and helped you on one of the horses. Charles, Sadie, Bill, Javier and even Dutch looked perturbed by your injury.

You had made yourself a place in the gang, you've made friends and established respect with most of its members so your deathly wound was not a nice sight to anyone present.

Eagle Flies was in the same horse as you, mounting quickly to the tribe so they could try to heal you. Arthur and Charles accompanied him.

You had became quiet, whispering and whining desperately some things in Spanish he didn't fully understand. "Papa-" "Papa" " Lo siento, papa" "perdón, perdoname" Your cries could be mistaken for the ones a child made when very scared and that unsettled him.

Just as you were about to arrive to the tribe the uneven terrain made you fall form the horse. Eagle flies followed you quickly basically throwing himself from the horse and took you on his arms while trying desperately to keep you awake.

"No! No, please hold on!!" He was fully crying now fully aware that the bullet was for him" Y/N! Stay awake please, we are already here. Wait a little more please" His begs and cries warned his father whose face dropped at the scene.

"Oh no" Was the first thing that fell from Rains Fall lips when he saw his son hugging your bleeding body. "Dad!" His sons call was desperate, his crying face showing the deep care he had for you "What happened?" He knelt down next to you and his son, helping him to add pressure to the wound.

"It was for me- the bullet- it was for me and she took it!!" Rains Fall watched in horror as he understood the last words you said to him. Whatever it takes....

You were still saying faint "papá, perdon" very quietly and very fast, as a last prayer. But at least it indicated you were still alive.

Charles and Arthur helped Eagle Flies carry you to his tent where some people who knew about medicine started treating you trying to save you.

Paytah looked completely speechless. Eagle flies injured and completely unconsolable, refusing to get away from you, and you, the unexpected but dear friend he had made years ago at the verge of a painful death.

The night settled and while Charles stayed to keep an eye on you and ensure that you were ok, Arthur had some matters to discuss with Dutch.

————————————————————————

It had been four days since you were shot in the abdomen and it had been three and a half days since you fell unconscious.

Eagle flies had been there when your pleas for your father had finally shut down. He had a meltdown, thinking you had died but thankfully you had just became unconscious.

He stayed at your side, feeding your sleeping body and helping with the change of tissues that were covering the wound.

He barely slept, keeping himself awake and talking to you at night about anything and nothing trying to distract himself.

Your breathing was the only reassurance he had that you were still there, with him. The faint pulse on your wrist also was an anchor for him.

He had only gotten out of his tent, in which you where, to get you food from Paytah and the moment he came back in he found your head turned to the door and a very cracked voice.

"A-gua- Ag-ua" Your quiet tone of voice was evidence of your weak state.:"Water...please"

He immediately got out from his shock and guessed that you were asking for water.

With shaky hands he held your head and let you drink very slowly from a vase

You stopped drinking and coughed a little, whining as you felt your wound. His hands didn't let your head and face.

"Your awake" He mumbled "You're awake!" He said now as if convincing himself, amused that your eyes were looking at his.

You couldn't summoned the strength to talk but instead you cried. Relieve tears after your almost death, relieve of seeing him alive made it all worthy it.

"Whatever it takes" He heard you mumble very silently.

He didn't leave your side for one moment. The rest of the people discovered that you were alive because Paytah entered the tent and saw you sat down on the floor leaning on Eagle flies for support while you ate slowly.

That way you were able to contact Charles who quickly came to see you accompanied by Sadie.

Both of them were going to move away from the place after what happened to the gang. They told you to do the same, wishing you the best and giving you some of the money so you could start over if you wished so.

By this point, Eagle Flies had already told you everything about his feeling, not willing to let you go ever again and you of course corresponded (as if taking a shot for him wasn't enough prove)

After a few weeks you could stand up, Eagle flies always insisted on you using him for support and always was near you, paying attention to see if you showed any signs of relapse.

Eventually the tribe decided to move to Canada since the army was not to be trusted no more, not that they ever were.

You went with them, the tribe had known you for quite some years now and with Rains Fall blessing your relationship with his son there was no better place for you.

Finally after all the years, you wrote to your father, telling him all about what happened for the last year and finally sending him the money to by a ticket to go to Canada.

You didn't knew what life had prepare for you and Eagle Flies but you knew that whatever it was, you would deal with it together.

#eagle flies #rdr2 x you #rdr2 #eagle flies x reader #x reader #fanfic

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lamemaster · 6 months ago

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Kidnap Fam Gets Kidnapped

Request: @asianbutnotjapanese Listen LISTEN!! Maedhros is my favorite Alright But this is so unsettling, disturbing and the anxiety?😨 At first I was like okay it's fine ZombieMae but then I was like?????! Oh God I don't know if I love it and bury it down and forget about it.

Genre: Zombie au

Pairing: Maedhros x gn Reader

Summary: Stories told of the first of the ships arriving from Aman, its golden flags shimmering in the sunlight. Soaked in the ichor of the Valar. That was how it began, the first corruption. The last of the great eagles had spoken of it, their golden blood staining the shores of Aman.

AN: First of all sorry for how long this took. Second- this isn't the traditional zombie au but it's got the spirit. I hope you like it! I did not intend for it to be this goofy but boy do I like crack fic humor lol (somehow zombie Maedhros is pookie-coded)

The coying scent of a decaying bog filled your nose, followed by the sharp tang of monsoon pine. The contrasting smells teased at your senses, threatening to overwhelm you with a migraine.

Forests were like this, deceitful and alive with memories. They still clung to the Firstborn, their cherished ones who once walked beneath their shadows.

But this was no longer their sanctuary.

Cloaked in the dark of night, you crept through what had once been elven lands. That was before the plague. Before the disease hollowed out the dwindling numbers of the Firstborn who remained in Middle-earth.

Men, it seemed, were untouched by the plague.

The elders whispered that it had been the work of Mandos himself, the God of Death, corrupted by the relentless passage of time. Once the Prophet of Doom, Mandos had become doom itself, plunging Arda into darkness again.

Stories told of the first of the ships arriving from Aman, its golden flags shimmering in the sunlight. Soaked in the ichor of the Valar. That was how it began, the first corruption. The last of the great eagles had spoken of it, their golden blood staining the shores of Aman.

Now the Firstborn had returned to these lands, but they were no longer the elves who had sung to the stars. Their vacant eyes hid the will of Mandos.

You crouched low behind a bush, wary of the trees shuffling suspiciously nearby. Away from sight, you pulled out your map. Rivendell had to be close.

Elrond’s map was your only guide, the closest thing to an accurate depiction of the region.

The faint rustle of the Bruinen confirmed it. You had come closer than anyone had dared before.

The mission was supposed to be simple, or so you kept telling yourself.

Kidnap the minstrel son of Fëanor, the one luring the Avari into Mandos’ lair.

It sounded straightforward enough.

You groaned, forcing down your doubts with the liquid courage in your flask.

While the plague could not touch men, its victims had no such boundaries. Villages had been raided. Children and cattle taken, along with women. Only cold, lifeless carcasses were left behind.

The plague had changed everything.

Elves who once wept for felled trees had turned cannibal, their cruelty surpassing even the orcs, creatures that had once been twisted forms of their kind.

The most terrifying among them were the Feanorians.

Bound by their unbreakable oath, they were Mandos’ fiercest servants.

Many had tried to kill the Seven Doomsmen. Fire, swords, poison, even sorcery had failed. Death was Mandos’ domain, and death could not stop the plague.

The only solution had been imprisonment. The weaker ones had been chained, bound with the hymns of Varda to soothe their rage. But these methods failed against the sons of Feanor.

None of them had ever been captured.

Until tonight.

From your pouch, you pulled out the lock of Elrond’s raven-black hair, placing it in the clearing.

If anything could stir Maglor Fëanorian’s conscience, it was his adopted son, or so Elrond had hoped.

The scent was sure to draw him in. All you had to do was wait, acid ready in hand. A splash to his eyes would cripple him long enough to bind and gag him. After that, you would run to the nearest town, where your party awaited.

That had been the plan.

But the elf you picked up felt far larger than what Elrond had described.

No. This one was missing a hand.

A curtain of red hair brushed against your face, and the realization hit you. This wasn’t Maglor. This was someone worse. Maedhros.

Nelyafinwë.

There was no time to hesitate. Hauling the wrong elf onto your spooked mare, Leia, you whispered a promise to treat her later.

Maedhros, draped awkwardly in a cloak, groaned and ripped at Leia’s mane in his pain. The mare, impatient with his antics, snapped at him hard enough to draw a yelp.

“Good girl,” you muttered, gripping the reins tightly as Leia trotted through the night, her breaths sharp and uneven.

Elrond was going to kill you.

Of course, that was assuming the mountain of an elf in front of you didn’t do it first.

For now, Maedhros seemed more preoccupied with rubbing at his damaged eyes. The acid would leave him blinded for a week. A week of pain for him, and perhaps a moment of peace for you.

With his suffering eyes hidden behind a blindfold, Maedhros was still the very picture of elven beauty. The plague had failed to strip the Firstborn of their otherworldly grace. If anything, Mandos had enhanced it.

Elves were what men could never resist. With their predator’s allure cloaked in perfection, they were a trap for the Secondborn, captivated by flawless features and haunting charm.

Sitting across from Maedhros, you tried your best to feed him lembas, the closest thing to calming his mind. Yet the stupid elf kept going for your fingers, snapping like a feral creature.

Leia, your ever-patient mare, turned out to be a better disciplinarian than you. With one sharp, annoyed snort, Maedhros froze. After a reluctant pause, he finally opened his mouth, accepting the morsel of lembas.

“I know this is no substitute for Vala blood,” you muttered, guiding another piece toward him, “but trust me, you’ll want to be sober to meet Elrond.” He chewed, his movements finally more controlled.

“ You lot have traumatized him enough already. He needs a parent,” you said, your words tumbling out in a nervous ramble. “Maglor would have been better, but I think you’ll do. Maybe. Hopefully.”

You sighed, shaking your head. “Let’s just hope he doesn’t kill both of us. You know what I mean?”

The question hung in the air, rhetorical. Or so you thought.

Maedhros answered it with a sickening pop of his shoulder, the sound sending a shudder racing down your spine.

Bound and subdued, Maedhros listens to the voices curling through his mind. They come in layers. His lord’s commanding presence, intertwined with the ghostly, persuasive echo of his father’s voice.

He remains pliant under your hold, his every movement deliberate, his compliance masking the storm within. The whispers weave themselves into him, insidious and unrelenting.

“Do not run, my son,” Feanor’s voice purrs, brimming with a chilling mix of affection and command. “Find their weakness, my dearest Nelyo. Uncover the fault lines of Arda’s last hold for our lord.”

This is the way. Maedhros will obey. He will do whatever is required to restore his father’s glory. Feanor, alive again, is no longer a memory but a shadow of the brilliance he once was. This existence, this chance, is a mercy granted by Mandos.

And for that mercy, Maedhros will give everything.

“Follow the mortal,” Mandos commands, his voice cutting through the whispers like a blade. Maedhros freezes mid-step, his sudden stillness sharp enough to make you glance back warily.

“You will be our mole,” Mandos continues, his tone crackling with malice. “The doom of men is near.”

The whispers grow louder, swelling until they drown out Maedhros’ thoughts completely. They dull his mind, sinking it into the numb, blissful haze of his lord’s power. This borrowed peace, stolen from the dominion of his brother, blankets his every sense. It is comforting, suffocating, and absolute.

“Bring us the fall of the Peredhel, Maedhros. Do it.”

The words burrow into him, deep and unshakable, sealing his purpose.

And so, he follows you.

In the fractured world cloaked in darkness, hidden within the fortress of doom, Mandos had unearthed the means to ensnare the Secondborn. The boon of death lay cradled in his palm, a gift as cruel as it was powerful.

The final mystery of Arda rested within his grasp, and the Children of Eru were now his. His to own. His to toy with as puppets. Mandos was no longer merely the keeper of souls; he had become the master of Arda itself.

Yet, as with every tale that shaped the fate of Arda, this one came with the most unlikely of heroes: a broken elf haunted by whispers of the past, a weary mortal clinging to the last threads of hope, and a horse whose temper could rival Tulkas himself.

#the silmarillion #silmarillion x reader #silmarillion #tolkien elves #maedhros x reader #zombie au #canon divergence #hehe #fall event #idk how to tag this people #🍂🍂🍂

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maehwajuuuu-chu · 7 months ago

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[Seiren • Starsilver Sparrow]

“Eula, how would you feel if I suddenly get amnesia, hm? You know like Vetur finally having enough of me and shoving me off the balcony—" “Sister, Sir Meier would have a stroke if he were listening to our conversation,” Eula briskly piped in, lowering her chipped teacup with a delicate clink before shooting an eagle-like glare at her older sister. “However, more importantly why would you suggest such wretched events? Is Vetur being bothersome, once again? I thought he had become responsible and stopped after I had made him slip on his own clothes—MMF.” The older sister groaned, plucking another biscuit from the tray and warningly held it up to the younger’s girl’s indignant glower as she menacingly munched.

“It’s only hypothetical, you funny little lemon. I’ll get a mirror - you’re all blown up like an angry pufferfish.” She tapped the biscuit against Eula’s scrunched up nose and slowly pushed it into her mouth. “Keep this up and you’ll only get porridge for the next week, you hear me?” - - -

Pain rattled through her gritted teeth as a gloved fist yanked her up by her knotted hair. Smouldering eyes of glowing coal glowered down resentfully at her behind a cracked mask, with the distant groaning curses of fallen Fatui heard in the background as they attempted to crawl out from pieces of rubble and jutting stalagmites of golden creedite.

“What the hell is this?”

She smirked, blood smudged across her battered lips. Past the shattered frame of the tavern’s window, the hilt of the scythe glinted in the flickering broken light and Adrik’s hand curled over its blade in a last futile attempt.

How bloody damn hilarious.

“Hey! What are you gawking at?” The agent jerked onto her hair, his fire-water tinged breath spewing against her face, “Damn it, are you deaf?! Listen to me, you knight fool!!”

Blunt spikes dug into her cheek as a gauntlet slammed against her face. She spat out a hoarse curse, blood spattering from her lips and she venomously fixed a glare at the bloodless grin. Knees immediately slammed to the rocky ground, as the agent dropped her to the ground. Gloved fingers reached to peel away the draped bloodied locks of hair from her face, crooked teeth stretched.

“Now, I can see my punching bag a bit more clearly.” He leered, flicking a strand of copper with deep chuckle rumbling from his throat, “Oh! Look at this blood - So young and vibrant!”

Acrid burning crawled up her throat, eyes dilated in trembling rage. She smacked away the lingering touches, letting wisps of hair tear out from her bloodied hairline.

“Get ya damn mitts out of my hair.” she hissed out, defiance sharply flashing across her glower, “And just get this over and done with, you bastard.” The agent coughed out a surprised laugh, flexing the stained brass reinforcers with eager clicks. He stepped back as he pulled the flask from his jacket and popped its lid off, swinging its contents down his mouth. He wound in his fingers into an anticipating fist while he drew it back. Bracing for the impact, she closed her eyes as she tightly held her vision in her bleeding hand.

“I’d rather die remembering the lifetime we spent together, than not recognise your face when I see you again.” - - - YIPPEEE finally was able to finish this phew. Anyways say hello to Seiren, my chaotic little limb-hogging treasure hoarder! She's one of my older guys, she's been in my brain since 2022! She's one of Rai's old friends and I can't wait to yap about her, about her wife and about her daughter, and also yap about the whole Aster's Oath. She's one of the characters who are highly important to the main storyline! (Yes I did look at the genshin treasure hoarders and went what if murderous lesbean. and yes that is how she was birthed) Ok lols I'll stop rambling, but please keep an eye out for her in future stuff! :D

-> Got the drip marketing background from @/chie_zuu on twitter!

#genshin impact oc #genshin oc #genshin impact #oc: Seiren #Mondstadt #FR WANTED TO LIKE SHOW EVERYONE WITH RAI IN THE FIRST POST HERE #is ok I can do one at a time #art #oc

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kidasthings · 1 year ago

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Echoes of Eden by Kida

Noa x Mae - #mommaknowsbest

Chapter 3: https://www.tumblr.com/kidasthings/751031002718240768/echoes-of-eden-by-kida?source=share

Next Chapter: https://www.tumblr.com/kidasthings/751482584388829184/echoes-of-eden-by-kida?source=share

Chapter 4

They made it back to the Eagle Clan village at daybreak, just as the first rays of early light touched the earth and migrated through the trees above. It painted the ground cover with a dappling effect, shifting penumbras and warming daisies.

Mae walked among the apes wisely sticking close to Noa. Anaya gave her a wide berth all the while, nervous eyes flicking her way when she strayed too close. Soona was much the same, save for the steady eye contact when they did trade looks. The rest of the small contingent remained at a respectful if suspicious distance; only Noa seemed moderately comfortable with her in his immediate vicinity.

The welcome party at the village consisted of a few curious ape children and Dar, Noa’s mother. She threw her arms around her son, gave Mae a curious look, and then patted Noa on the back before speaking in hushed tones with Anaya and Soona. Mae stood awkwardly, highly aware of being the only human amongst sentient animals. There was still the chance one or more of them might try to assume issue with her for the flood she set upon them, and for this her guard remained up. The village, despite her paranoia, buzzed about her without fail. Apes were climbing half-built structures, connecting beams, and the young ran amongst a small herd of horses at pasture in a clearing dotted with wildflowers. Their shouts and hoots of joy reached beyond the treetops, unmarred by the fact their clan had barely survived the year.

Because of her.

Eventually Noa returned to her side, gesturing for her to follow him with that world-weary look he usually sported. Relieved, Mae followed and found him leading her off to a crude shack that resembled the one in which they had first met; it seemed these were used primarily to store fish. This one, however, had a different purpose.

Inside the raw-wood walls was a cache of human weapons and supplies. An ape of stature stood posted at the door, nodding at Noa but glaring balefully at Mae as they simultaneously ducked inside.

Everything was abandoned on the floor in a haphazard pile: a few rucksacks, dented weapons, sharp hunting knives, a canteen or two, rope, and other random oddities. There was not much, admittedly, but what Mae sought wasn’t exactly of size.

Mae drifted down to her knees, alighting on the packed dirt floor. “Is this everything?” she asked Noa without losing focus on the heap before her.

“Yes,” Noa confirmed.

“I see.” She floated her palm over the pile, mimicking a scanning device. Her hand hovered over the first brown knapsack, travel-worn and rusted at the buckles. Gingerly, she touched it and ran her fingers over the flap. It was secured by a simple button from the top, zippers being an exotic novelty rarely seen anymore. Carefully, she opened the bag and rifled through the contents.

Nothing caught her eye at first. There were three small knives, a few canned rations, a water flask made of animal bladder, and something that looked like –

Mae pulled out a crinkled piece of faded paper and held it up before her face. Dust motes floated lazily across an old illustration made by the hand of a child. Pastel paints depicted two stick figures, one larger than the other, holding hands. The taller one sported short blonde streaks, likely a representation for hair, and the shorter one had longer hair of the same hue. Both were smiling; simple lines curved their two-dimensional mouths upward to their dots-for-eyes.

Sucking in her cheeks until they were hollow, Mae refolded the paper and placed it back into the bag. She continued, patting down the sides and coming up empty save for a small silver key on a thin ring. She could hear Noa shuffle his weight from one foot to the other, indicating he was growing impatient. Utilizing the soft sound to her advantage, she surreptitiously used a sleight of hand technique to slip the dented key into the inner pocket of her short jacket.

Mae hazarded a quick look behind her; Noa was still staring at her back, arms folded, but there was no recognition on his face that anything was amiss.

The next bag proved more interesting. This one, black and made of canvas, contained an array of pistols with silencers. Pushing past those, the brunette located a dark metal container at the bottom of the bag. It turned out to be a lockbox secured by a small gold padlock looped through a latch on the side.

The word MASTER was emblazoned on the front.

Mae ran her thumb over the worn word in the metal, realizing it was a remnant of the world before.

Reinvigorated, she turned the box this way and that, examining the angles. Inside, something rolled back and forth in a reassuring, cylindrical way. Mae pitched her chin inward towards her collarbone and a few errant wisps of hair disconnected from her braid and swept forward, brushing the sides of her face.

Her pupils rapidly dilated behind the curtain of her hair.

Silence.

Without fanfare, Mae returned the box back to the bag and made a small show of picking up other various artifacts in the human-made heap. She stood and turned around when Noa made a small sound.

“Thank you,” she told him quietly, shoving her hands in her pockets. “I’m done.” Her voice, quick and clipped, followed the path of her footsteps as she carried herself outside of the ape-made hut.

Noa’s green eyes tracked her as she swept past him, the lower lids tensing at the edges. Finally, he nodded and removed himself from the structure to follow her out.

“Are you leaving to … follow them?” he called after her.

Mae stopped in mid-step, now well within the village proper. The ape posted outside the door traded curious looks with Noa as both watched the long line of Mae’s rigid back.

“I should,” she told him, voice muffled while she remained turned away, “but if you would allow me to remain a few more days, I can rest before returning.”

This caused the villager standing watch near Noa to silently reveal long canines, but Noa just shook his head at him before approaching Mae.

“I will … speak to the council … about it,” he told her, that stilted way in which he spoke comfortingly familiar. “For now … stay at the edge of the … village.”

“I can do that. I left my horse tied up over there.” Mae pointed off to a stand of trees to the south. “Hopefully, she isn’t too thirsty by now. I need to check on her.” Her expression remained stony and shuttered.

“Something … wrong?” Noa asked, tone too low for the other villagers to catch.

Mae’s head made a small adjustment in his direction. “No, I am just tired. Thank you for letting me look. What do you intend to do with all of it?” She was not settled with the idea of leaving human weaponry with the Eagle Clan. Her body turned halfway, her profile perfectly in view.

“We will … look through it,” Noa stated grimly. “It is ours.” He looked off to the woods, where both could hear the distant whinny of a frustrated equine. The breeze picked up, stirring the fur along his low forehead. “She sounds … hungry.”

“She had plenty of grass around. Water is more important. Do you have any nearby? I saw a lake to the north…”

Noa nodded, finding comfort in the discussion of logistics. Logistics were emotionless, effortless. He rolled his gaze over to hers, holding it. “We have a … pond in the meadow … she can drink from.” He pointed east, where the villagers’ horses were at pasture.

“Better yet.” Mae flashed him a too-tight grin, and then startled when an ape woman in a new blue shawl approached them.

“Noa, a word,” the ape said, her tenor deep and calm.

“Yes, mother.” Noa turned to Mae once more. “I will return later.”

Mae smiled then, a short spread of her lips with a quick nod. “Right.” She spared a second to and gave a once-over of the ape Noa had addressed as “mother”, and the object of her focus did the same. No words were exchanged, save for a small incline of the head on Dar’s part.

Mae spun on her heel and made off for the woods before slipping between the trees. Once the human was out of sight, both mother and son turned back to their conversation.

“Are the echoes gone … from here?” Dar inquired, now that they were passably alone.

She received a firm affirmative in the form of a grunt.

The older ape’s eyes slipped over to the ape standing next to the weapons hut, and then she motioned with her hand for Noa to follow. “Come.”

Noa trailed obediently and without objection. The pair winded their way through a gaggle of giggling ape children watching two older apes practicing fish retrieval with their newly hatched eaglets. Noa thought he spotted Soona’s long stare as she tended to a nest of eagle eggs nearby, but he could not be sure.

Eventually, they ended up at the entrance to one of the two rebuilt sky towers. Dar passed through a beaded partition, beckoning her son inside.

Within the structure a wooden ramp led to higher levels, spiraling well above their heads, but Dar paid it no mind. “Let’s speak of … the echo,” she said firmly, taking a seat on a woven mat near the back of the main floor. She patted to a place next to her, offering Noa a shallow cup of water made from a hollowed oyster shell. “Drink?”

Noa had no issue understanding who she was referring to. His thoughts would not detach from that echo. Dar’s son sighed, and accepted the shell gingerly with two hands, palms up. He took a small sip and set it aside on an overturned basket. Dar gave him a reassuring smile and placed her long forelimbs before her in a pleasant mien. “Tell me what ails you, son?”

“I do not … know what to … do,” Noa admitted, lost.

“About the echo?”

“Yes,” he replied haltingly, expecting immediate censure.

To Noa’s surprise, Dar did none of that.

She signed, “I can imagine.” Her smallest finger glanced off her forehead, shooting up with her left hand. Then, switching to words, she added, “Do you … think she is dangerous to … us?”

“Not right … now,” Noa returned, although he cast his gaze over and down, indicating doubt. “I believe … she feels bad … for flood.”

“This is good,” Dar told him, nodding in apparent acceptance.

“She wants to … stay, rest,” Noa said quickly. “Could you ask … the elders if she can … stay a few … days?”

Dar thought about that for a moment or two. Her warm toffee-colored eyes scanned Noa’s face, seeking a truth he would not voice. At last, she nodded and leaned over to place a hand over the ball of his shoulder. “She saved … Soona, yes?”

Noa nodded, “She put us all … in danger, but she saved … Soona’s life first.”

Dar considered this information, an internal debate roiling about in her head as a distant expression took up residence on her face.

Finally, she gave a short nod. “I will speak to them.”

For that, she was awarded with a small smile. “Thank you, mother.” he signed.

She signed back, “Of course. For now … keep an eye … on her.” The ape matron lifted a gray-brown index finger to one eye, illustrating her words. “Could be … trouble yet.”

Noa blew out a quick exhale before his mouth made a moue of distaste. “I fear this.”

Dar nodded, mollified by her son’s suspicions. It would do him well to have them. She gave his shoulder a good-natured shake before releasing it. “Go, you have much … to do.”

“Thank you, mother,” Noa replied.

Dar nodded. “Before you see her … call on Sun. He may … help.”

“I will.”

“Good.”

They took their leave, Noa standing slowly before exiting the tower. He looked to the south, where he imagined Mae to be, and pondered over her loyalties before calling to his eagle in the way of his clan.

A cry sounded from above, his winged companion never too far away. As the bird alighted on his wrapped forearm, Noa snorted and welcomed the pain of the talons as they dug into his hide. The bird’s watchful, amber eye flicked towards him, head snapping this way and that, wings partially extended and at the ready.

“Sun,” he began, as if there were some secret between them that only they knew, “keep watch over Mae.” The bird, somehow understanding although it was impossible to believe it so, gave his handler a look of avian scorn. Its razored beak parted, clicked shut, and a shrill cry emanated from its trachea.

“Calm,” Noa told the bird, giving his bonded’s back one pat with his long fingers. The bird fluffed its feathers, appearing momentarily larger, and then dropped into a temporary crouch before launching himself from Noa’s arm. The heavy weight of the raptor now released, Noa watched it circle once overhead and wished it could also do the same for the weight on his chest. He rubbed his clavicle with his hand, trying to distill the phantom pain he felt there.

He might have a chance to rectify that when he spoke with her later that night. For now, Sun would keep watch. Noa watched until his eagle disappeared over the tops of the trees, momentarily wishing for the gift of flight.

How easy it would be, to fly away, he mused.

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