“I do not see why you need to wear it anyway,” he grins like we are friends. We are not friends.
“I wear it to not scare the younglings, and now the females.”
Any other male would take my answer and remain silent. Tryk is not any other male. “There was a female in your hut back there.Shedid not seem afraid.”
My steps halt altogether. “You will not speak of my female,” I tell him, my voice a low rumble, skin-stars racing all over my body.
Tryk’s eyes move to my chest.
Of course they do.
My tail flicks with irritation, and I find myself spreading my wings a little as if anticipating an attack.
Tryk’s head tilts to the side, his eyes flicking up from my star-less chest to meet with mine again. “Whatever you say, brother.”
I want to bite that we are no longer brothers as he is no longer of this tribe. He ceased to be a brother of mine the day he murdered his own father. But, I do not. The longer I stand here debating words the Shadow-Wing uses, the longer I am away from my Bea. So, I give him a blank look and keep on walking.
When we find my High Spear, he is part of a gathering around a cookfire with food. It is not a feast for the whole tribe, but a lot of the females are here, sharing food. Both Rynn and Mavyx stand the instant they see the Shadow-Wing at my side. Mavyx has little Nova strapped to his front, her plump little legs kicking out like an upturned shell-beast from the edges of our lands.
“Tryk,” Rynn greets, his voice clipped so as not to extend too warm a welcome for the outcast.
Ezryk and his female, Dove are seated amongst those at the fire. The former Shadow-Wing still bears his shadows, and Icannot help but notice how he shifts on his sitting rock, his eyes going from High Spear to our visitor.
Despite the cold greeting, Tryk bends to a bow. “High Spear,” he says, straightening with a smirk on his lips. “Second Spear,” he adds, dipping his head to Mavyx. Tryk’s eyes gleam when they land on Nova, the little one’s legs and arms having gone wild with their movements at the new arrival to the group. “Little feather-puller,” he finishes, greeting the youngling, too, this time with the deepest bow, wings flared for effect.
Mavyx, the large male that he is, only serves to make his daughter look even smaller, his stern expression making her toothless smile seem even brighter as she wriggles and gestures with grabby little hands toward Tryk. The Shadow-Wing is correct in naming her ‘little feather-puller’. He had found that out for himself on one of his visits to see his brother. Ah-Lanah had let Nova move with her clumsy steps toward him, allowing Tryk to catch her before she fell to the dusty ground. She thanked him by yanking out a tiny fistful of feathers - an action that many of my brothers and I have found makes our tribe’s first daughter laugh uncontrollably. I will not lie, the sound of the tiny female laughing is almost worth the sting of losing a few precious feathers.
Mavyx had not liked to hear that his mate had allowed a Shadow-Wing to hold his youngling, though. The mated pair had argued on the topic for a whole evening that day. If I remember correctly, little Nova ended up spending the night in the female’s hut so that her mother and father could properly make amends together… very loudly.Multiple times.
“Your last visit with your brother was not even a clutch of days ago, Tryk,” Rynn says. “I know we have not discussed the frequency of which you are to be allowed back at the village, but twice in one sevenday is more than some of our Protectors return to us from their duties out in our lands.” Some of theother Protectors shift where they stand close by, spears in hand, jaws tight as they eye the Shadow-Wing. My High Spear’s brow raises, “I trust that you have good reason for this visit.”
“I do,” Tryk answers, bowing his head. “I have information.”
Rynn stays quiet, allowing Tryk to continue.
Only, the longer the seconds of silence stretch on, the clearer it is that the Shadow-Wing will not give this information to us without an exchange. My feathers bristle, and my High Spear’s jaw hardens. Though, I cannot truly blame Tryk. As a tribeless male, cast out into the jungle, he has very little, and even less to be used in a trade. He must wring out every bit of value in everything he possesses - even information.
Rynn sighs. Sometimes I think my High Spear would welcome Tryk back to the tribe in a wingbeat, but then I remember his crime. “What do you wish for in exchange for this information, Tryk?”
The dark eyes of the Shadow-Wing flit over to where some of the females are toasting slices of pinkfruit over the fire to bring out their sweetness. His gaze lingers on Chaz-Titi in particular. His study of her lasts long enough for some of my fellow Protectors to get fidgety again. Though, the female in question is too busy laughing with her friends to notice. The red-haired female is touched by firelight as she tries not to scorch her fingers when she prizes the hot, sticky, pinkfruit from the skewer, completely unaware she’s being watched like prey by Tryk beside me.
“Shelter,” the Shadow-Wing finally says, tearing his gaze away from Chaz-Titi to address my High Spear again. “And food. Give me a full belly I did not have to hunt this night, and a place to rest where I do not have to stay alert to the sounds of the jungle, and I will share my information.”
High Spear Rynn takes a moment before he gives a single nod of his head, agreeing to the Shadow-Wing’s trade. “Come,”he says, issuing his mate a swift press of lips to her cheek. “Mavyx and Zyntarr, with me,” he grunts, walking off toward his hut. My tail flicks irritably. I do not care what information the Shadow-Wing has for us. I only care to get back to my Bea as soon as possible. Rynn only makes it a few strides before pausing and turning back to the small gathering. “Ezryk,” he says, “I would like you with me also.”
* * *
“Does the female youngling really need to be here?” Tryk asks as we follow one another into the High Spear’s space. His words had not sounded annoyed, instead, they had seemed amused. This is clear in the way the Shadow-Wing waves his tail in front of little Nova, making her squeal and lunge for it while still strapped to Mavyx’s broad chest, his heart-stars gleaming behind his daughter like a swarm of moonflies.
“Yes,” the Second Spear grunts, swatting the other male’s tail away. “Why? Are you afraid she will repeat the information you have for us?”
“Bah-ah-bah-ah-beebah!” Nova shouts, her arms and legs flapping to pair with her utter nonsense words. We four grown males then stand and watch her blow an odd noise from her lips, a drool bubble forming from her mouth that pops and then dribbles down her tiny little human chin.
Tryk’s brows knit together. “Are… are these human words?”
Mavyx huffs, offering one of his thick fingers for Nova to grab hold of. She promptly shoves it into her toothless, drooling mouth. “Yes, she says you need to hurry and tell us the information you came with before she starts ripping out more of your feathers, Shadow-Wing.”
Tryk looks from the youngling up to Mavyx, assessing the male for a moment or two. His eyes narrow as if he is trying to decide if my Second Spear is truth-telling or not. Ezryk and I shift uncomfortably, his heart-stars pulsing like they are calling for him to return to his female. It is then that I realize I am standing with the three males of my tribe who all wear their heart-stars as bright as clear night skies. Even here, in the dim eve inside my High Spear’s hut, none notice that mine are trying to make themselves known beneath my scars.
