There was no easy way up the bluff. It wasn’t as tall as the Sirdian Sheercliff, nor as steep, but there was no marked trail up it for miles. Pirin and Gray climbed without a path to guide them, scrambling up the sides of boulders and leaping from ledge to ledge.
It would have been easier if Gray could fly, but she hadn’t even flapped her wings since they crashed. Pirin needed to take a look at her wounds. They needed to reach the top of the cliff and hide away in the forests beyond, though, or they risked someone spotting them.
He led the way up the bluff. For another ten minutes, they clung to the layers of rock and pulled themselves higher. Gray was never far behind. Even with her injured wing, could hop from stone-to-stone with the dexterity of a sparrow.
By the time they reached the top, Pirin’s arms ached and his fingers were sore. He brushed the snow off his hands, then shoved them in his pockets before they started shivering.
There was no time to waste. The sun was dipping, and he wanted to find shelter before it got dark.
Still, there was no road or trail to follow. He and Gray plowed through the snowy undergrowth. In the summer, the Aerdian forests grew thicker, and in the winter, there were plenty of dried, dead bushes that they had to push through.
Almost every step, Pirin glanced back over his shoulder, staring at No Man’s Land as it disappeared further and further behind the trees. Aerdia had a healthy helping of pines, but also many leafless skeletons of deciduous oaks and ashes.
As soon as Pirin couldn’t see the wasteland behind him any more, he bent down and scooped up a handful of snow. As they walked, he used it to wipe the mud off his face and hands. He did his best with his clothes, but there wasn’t much he could do without bathing in a river. And in the middle of the winter, he didn’t want to chill himself any more than necessary.
By the time the sun had set completely, they found a small, shallow cave. A natural archway of roots marked its opening, and patinated sandstone ruins lined the walls. He ducked under the entrance, then beckoned Gray to follow with a wave of his hand. She barely fit through the root archway.
There was room inside for the both of them to sit, but not much for anything else. Pirin rested back against the base of an old, half-buried and forgotten statue, and Gray huddled in the corner, preening her feathers.
Pirin’s legs didn’t feel tired, not physically. Walking and running wasn’t a foreign activity to him—he’d spent plenty of time in recent years trekking around the capital, or running along the walls and training his body in hopes that it would somehow help his magic. He couldn’t remember any specific instance, and the harder he tried, the more seemed to slip away, until the front of his head began to ache, but he knew he’d done it.
But, while his legs weren’t tired, his mind wanted to shut down, and he wanted nothing more than to sleep. He indulged his instincts for a moment and nearly nodded off—and he would have, if not for a frigid wind that blasted into the cave.
It wasn’t as cold here as it was in Sirdia, and the air was slightly warmer, but it was still winter. They needed a fire. He forced himself back to his feet.
This time, when he gathered firewood, he stayed low and kept his footsteps as quiet as he could. They hadn’t strayed too far from the Varioch Mountains, and there might be gobbarts on this side as well.
Having any sort of fire would be risky, but they were sheltered in a cave, and no one would see. It was a risk he’d take for heat.
Pirin returned to the cave and started the fire by scraping a rock against the hilt of his sword. The twigs caught after a few tries and quickly blossomed into a blaze, filling the cave with warmth.
Next…came the issue of Gray. She was injured, and if they ever wanted to fly in the near future, he would have to do something to help her. There was no telling what kinds of trouble he could get himself out of with a gnatsnapper who could actually fly.
Pirin approached Gray slowly, careful to stay in her sight the whole time so she wouldn’t panic. An injured gnatsnapper, no matter how friendly, wasn’t to be messed with. But once he drew within an arm’s reach, he stopped. How was he supposed to fix a damaged wing or an injured leg?
He stood completely still and unmoving for a moment, until finally, his mind glazed over. His hands took over, just like they had when he had wielded his sword against the gobbarts. It wasn’t an unconscious choice—he wanted to help Gray—but he also couldn’t think about it too much, or he knew his memory would fail him.
He had known some minor healing tricks before. Nothing magical, but enough to keep them alive.
He just needed to use them.
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First, he gathered snow, and in his hands, he melted it over the fire. He washed his hands and wrists again. Once they were as clean as they could be, he grabbed another batch of snow and melted it. The second handful, he splashed onto Gray’s wing.
He walked back and forth from the mouth of the cave to the fire, gathering, melting, and using the snow. Slowly, he washed the mud off of Gray’s wing and leg. Every time the frigid water touched her, she flinched. Once he was certain the wounds were clean, he took a step back.
A gnatsnapper’s flight feathers regrew fast—a month or two, maybe. That wasn’t Pirin’s concern. Her wing hung at just a slightly wrong angle. It was dislocated.
He blew out a puff of air, then put his hands on his hips. If he didn’t fix it now, it’d only get worse. But it also wouldn’t be pleasant. If he put Gray to sleep like he’d done with the karebain, it would be easier. But no matter what, the discomfort of pushing the dislocated wing back into place would wake her up.
He needed the Whisper Hitch.
He had to try, and there was no better time to start. After a few failed attempts, he gathered Gray’s thoughts up into a swirling ball in his hand. He delivered a little poke of Essence, and with a soft thud, she collapsed. Her sides still rose and fell.
Now for the hard part. With only one good arm, he had to set a dislocated wing—and, while he was at it, he had to replace any thoughts of pain she had so she stayed asleep.
He breathed deeply, cycling his Essence through his body. With his mind firmly aware and concentrating on his magic, his subconscious took over the problem of the wing. He leaned his shoulder into Gray’s wing, lifting slightly and pushing upwards. A gnatsnapper’s bones were lightweight, but anything added up if it was big enough.
He held his hand up. After a few attempts, he claimed hold of the unconscious gnatsnapper’s mind. Already, the soreness Gray felt bled into his mind.
It was too late to back down. Whatever his healing instincts were, they wouldn’t give up on Gray’s wing. He kept pushing and lifting.
Pained thoughts simmered in the bottom of Gray’s mind. Pirin fed neutral, calm thoughts into his Essence and pushed it into his hand. As soon as they filtered up, they traded places with the pain.
Slowly but steadily, his back started aching. Then his shoulders, and his left arm. The ache became pain. He kept absorbing more and more of the pain—as much as he could. He ground his teeth together, until he decided that it would be better to bite down on his sleeve. But the fabric in his mouth didn’t stop him from screaming through his teeth.
He couldn’t tell if it had been minutes or hours. He had to restart the Whisper Hitch two times (when his Essence fought back too hard) and in those moments, Gray nearly woke up. Pirin’s heart pounded, and his arms trembled.
Finally, a hollow pop rebounded through the cave. In response, relief surged in Gray’s mind. He released his hold of her mind before he absorbed any of it, then fell back onto the cave floor, panting.
He spent the next hour cleaning the tails of his coat and ripping them into bandages, then using them to patch the rest of Gray’s wounds. It was the least he could do, after she had certainly sheltered him during their crash.
Gnatsnappers were loyal to their rider, sure. But this loyal?
That would be harder to explain. He crossed his arms, then let out a frustrated puff of air. If he could recall more than just vague motifs of Gray in his memory, he was sure he could explain it. But he couldn’t.
There had to be a way to fix his memories. He just had to figure out how.
As he stood up, he yawned. If he had been on the verge of sleep before, he had to fight to stay awake now.
There was one last thing to do before he could rest.
He pulled his map out of the haversack, then his eyeglasses. They needed transport. They needed a reliable way across the Tallas-Brannul Lake, and he wouldn’t find anything out in the wilderness.
First, he estimated where they were. He tapped the map with his finger, then traced a line to the southeast. The nearest city, Rootmine, would have riverboats that he could charter. If he and Gray spent all of tomorrow walking, they could make it to the city before the day was over.
Pirin folded up the map and stuffed it back into his haversack, then leaned back against the cave wall. The moment he shut his eyes, he fell asleep.
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The next morning, Pirin woke up with an ache in his back. He rolled his shoulders and rubbed his eyes. The fire had gone out, and now, morning sunlight poured through the cave’s entrance—along with frigid morning air. He tightened his coat around his neck.
Already, Gray had stood up. She walked around, testing her newly-bandaged leg and moving her wing slowly.
Pirin picked up his haversack and pulled it over his shoulder. He checked to make sure nothing was left behind, then he tossed snow over the embers of the fire until it didn’t even hiss anymore.
They stepped outside. Pirin took a quick glance at the rising sun to catch his bearings, then began to trudge again. He kept an eye on Gray, but the constant crunch of undergrowth and snow beneath her talons assured him that she was keeping up.
They travelled all through the day. Pirin processed the manabulbs’ power as they walked, cycling it and increasing his techniques’ strength. By now, there were only three bulbs left, and although he wasn’t sure how much Essence he had accumulated, it almost…well, it almost felt like double what he’d started with.
Not that that was saying much. If even the best resources of Sirdia couldn’t get him past the Kindling stage, what hope did he ever have of becoming powerful enough to rival the wizards of Aerdia? Or worse, the wizards across the sea?
He shook his head. He’d go as far as he could. If he gave up at the first sign of trouble, he’d never be strong enough to challenge the powerful wizards across the sea.