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Broken Wing
Chapter 6: The Weapon that Spits Fire

Chapter 6: The Weapon that Spits Fire

Before starting your journey, you look back at the cave that has protected you for the past days. You bow, thanking the earth for providing for you, despite being a child of the skies. But you do know that the earth does not see differences in whoever walks on its surface, only the similarities, and that they all exist in the same place. That is more than enough.

The kid stares at you during your ritual but does not say anything, waiting for you to finish.

Then, together, you walk away.

The forest greets you once more. The crowns of leaves towering above do not scare you this time, not with the sunlight filtering through and making yellow patches bloom on the grass.

The boy is walking next to you: he moves with confidence. It is not his first time in the wilderness: his eyes are attentive, his footsteps calculated, he barely makes noise on the grass.

Unlike you.

You look like one of those children of men trying to stand on their legs for the first time. The tentative steps they attempt to take, hands outstretched towards their parents in case they fall.

You look at the boy: humans, despite their vast array of weaponry, are as scared of wild beasts as you are, so they minimize the risk to meet one.

And so can you.

You start slowing down a bit, but the kid does not seem to notice. That is ideal, you think, as you try to move your legs just like him. You put careful weight on each of your claws at the end of your feet to minimize the noise. The kid avoids leaves and branches, and you start doing the same.

After a while, the kid turns around, while you are in the middle of repositioning yourself.

He smirks, looking at your claws. Then he mutters a few words and diverges from the path you were walking. You raise your head, following the gold of his hair amongst the tree trunks, but sense no malice in his intentions. You follow him.

You do not know how he navigates the forest. There are no paths in the grass. Do earthbound creatures possess a sense that allows them to see invisible trails, like how stars can see sky paths?

Star Menders have learned to track the ones of your brethren: you saw them, with their giant glasses, looking at your kin and predicting your movements. But you do know that the knowledge is theirs alone: too dangerous to let the Star Hunters be aware of them, despite your kin finding strength in numbers and in the constant movement.

Should stars start learning humans’ movements too, to predict their journeys?

You could predict those of the Star Hunters.

These thoughts fill your head when your companion stops in front of a tree. It does not look different from the others, but the kid seems interested in this one in particular. A smile is on his face as he looks at the gray bark and you follow his eyes.

There is a mark. It’s barely visible, but you can make out two lines crossing one another at the center.

The kid crouches in front of the roots and starts digging. You move closer, eyes brimming with curiosity as to what he is so interested in - the secrets of the ground had always been the one thing you stars had no knowledge of - until something shiny appears among the moss and dirt.

He pulls it out with a smile on his face.

You cannot believe your eyes. Your chest tightens, as a primordial fear envelops you.

He has a weapon in his hands. You do not know its name, but you do know how it is used. You know the noise it makes when it flashes. You know how quickly life leaves its host when it hits its prey.

A weapon that spits fire.

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You do not have time to react, before your beak acts for you: you hiss at the kid, baring your claws.

The kid’s eyes widen at you, before his head whips towards the weapon in his hands.

He shakes his head, uttering words you cannot hear nor understand, but the sense of panic overwhelms you.

His panic.

He is panicked because he has scared you, and he did not want that.

He is panicked because he is afraid he will have to defend himself, and he does not want that.

He does not want to use the weapon.

You blink, once, twice, while your chest steadies. You lower your claws and close your beak.

The kid looks at you, slowly moving the weapon downwards. Its mouth points at the ground, silent.

And then, you remember.

The bear. The flash that exploded in the forest. The noise that made your enemy scutter away in the middle of the night.

It was a weapon that spit fire.

You look at the boy and the item in his hands. Could he be...?

You want to ask him, so you take one of the branches on the ground and start dragging lines on the dirt. The kid watches with curiosity in his eyes as you move a few leaves to make space for your depiction, and you try to depict a bear.

Then you look at him.

The kid squints his eyes, looking at the lines you just dragged on the ground, then his eyes go wide with the realization.

He smiles, and nods.

This boy saved your life that night.

He holds the weapon in his hands, its mouth pointing down. You are wary of it, but, for some reason, you know that it won't spit fire at you as long as he is the one holding it.

And, with a nod of his head, he invites you to continue your journey. He takes a few steps before he stops. He looks at you, waiting for something.

You wait for your heart to calm down, before standing on your legs again.

The forest brims with noises of life. The birds’ wings reverberate through the leaves: a pang of jealousy hits you as you see the tiny animals leaving for the sky. Your body aches to fly again, but you are stuck here, on the ground, with claws grasping at the uneven earth.

The rustling of grass alerts you once in a while, but the kid does not seem to mind, and keeps walking. You do not know how knowledgeable he is about the dangers that lurk in the forest. But he does know of bears, so he must know what he is doing.

But even so, you still give a look around whenever the grass rustles. You stay still for a moment, trying to find something in the shadows amongst the bark, and resume walking only when nothing meets your eyes.

You see no bears, and you are glad.

From far away, the sounds of water reach your ears. You briefly try to recall any rivers from the tree you climbed many days ago, but the trees were not kind to your sight.

The boy seems very secure of his steps, walking ahead without the minimum hesitation. You think you have underestimated him.