Small towns in the countryside usually had their own personality. The place in question was picturesque, with green hills, nearby woods, and a small stream that turned into a river later down the road. Otterwesh used to be a small village that had started to grow after the war ended. The violent conflict with the neighboring country, the Kingdom of Soryn, had ceased very few years earlier, and people still had a lot of scars from that time.

Protected by sitting nearby the local noble’s castle, Scarwood Fortress, the town’s people were still gradually returning to their daily lives. Near Otterwesh Woodlands, someone was walking near the stream, moving into the woods. He carried a wooden staff, a bag full of herbs, fruits and mushrooms he harvested nearby and his cape occasionally got tangled in the bushes while he walked.

A small being was flying with him, a bird that seemed to like flying down the path, then return and circle the young man and then land on a nearby tree to wait for him. With his hood on and a slow pace, the man had a distant demeanor.

“One ‘shroom is falling!”, a boyish voice came from the bird that just took flight.

It grabbed the mushroom in the air with it’s talons as it fell off the bag, before letting out a loud excited chirp and keep up flying around.

“You didn’t have to.” The young man mumbled, stretching his hand to receive the food back from the bird.

The bird was wide for it’s size, looking like some odd species of owl. It’s eyes were big and expressive, with a sharp and curve beak. It’s feathers were black, with some variation of color and pattern on the chest. The owl gave back the mushroom and gained a long stare from the young man in return.

“Thank you Gillibert.” he said, walking away without looking back.

The bird flew in small circles for a bit, excited, before going together with him. They followed the stream, walking inside the woodland, going on the opposite direction of the town they now belonged to. Sometimes the bird would make some remarks about interesting things on their path: herbs, cute flowers, fruits, a treacherous branch, animal tracks. He usually didn’t get any response from the young man he followed and at some point they arrived at the center of the woodland.

Their new home was there.

It was way too big for them, having two floors, made of good quality stone, showing the damage from the time it remained empty. It had clear signs of abandonment, but it didn’t matter to them. The house was a gift from Count Wells and the young man were escorted there by a small delegation of knights, led by the noble’s very own first son.

A sign of the noble house’s favor towards the young man.

Near the house there was a path that led from the center of the woods back into the town. The owl broke the silence with a loud question:

“Master Isemberd, are we going to the city today? We’re running out of tea leaves.”

The owl had landed on an old barrel that was outside. His sharp claws ended up carving the wood while he balanced himself there, cracking the edge of the old thing.

“I don’t know.” The young man replied taking a mushroom from the bag. He bit the tip of it, with a thoughtful gaze. “I don’t actually mind it.”

“Oh-ho, but you like tea so much…” Gillibert said, gazing with wide-opened eyes. “Wait, wait! I have an idea!”

He left, flying away from Isemberd’s sight.

The young man entered his home, with a somewhat tired sigh. The place still seemed abandoned and haunted, with cobwebs still hanging on some places. He left his bag of food on a chair, took his muddy boots off and his cape. Isemberd was slim, but wasn’t tall and didn’t have the build of a warrior.

His short messy hair was blond and brushed to the back. It sometimes fell over a thin face with a squared chin. His eyes were of an uncommon gray and he had a scar in the side of his chin, another ugly one on his left eye. Isemberd had a single earring in his left ear, with a pretty green jewel, cut in triangular shapes and fit into a nice silver frame.

He raised his hand, two fingers crossed on top of each other. His eyes were covered with an orange glow, that resembled a flame, before things started to move by themselves around him. Chairs moving forward, the bag of food levitating gently towards the table, glass jars opening themselves and firewood piling up, breaking itself in small and easy to use pieces. Occasionally, it was possible to see a faint hint of a yellow glow around some objects, that dissipated quickly.

“Pretty! Pretty!” Gillibert complimented, entering by a window that opened to allow the owl inside. He had a few dark leaves on his talons, that were left near the bag of food. “I bought some leaves for that sleepy-tea you like!”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

Isemberd relaxed his hand and looked away, moving to hang his cape on a coat rack that moved to receive it from him, before flying back to a corner. The bird chirped a bit, flying around the furniture and tableware that was moving on their own.

“What are going to have for dinner?”

“I’m not sure.”

The mage was reading something on a small scroll piece that was over the table: a list of things he planned to do on that day. His arms also had various scars over them, signs of old battles. He seemed to not want to pay much attention to the owl.

“When are we finishing unpacking our things?” It insisted.

“Some other day” he replied.

“Are we going to buy more books?” the owl continued to pester him with questions, walking a few short hops towards him.

“No.”

“Are we visiting the town’s square today?”

“Not today.”

“How about tomorrow?”

“Maybe…”

“Oh, and seeing things at the bakery?”

“No Gilli!”

“But… But… they have that cream-filled bread!?”

Isemberd rubbed his face with his hand. The black bird jumped to land on his shoulder, cuddling to him. It gently pinched his hand.

“Did I spoke too much?”

“You did.”

“Sorry.”

The mage shook his head.

“Is fine.”

“You speak so little, but I like a lot when we’re chatting. But I don’t like to bother you. I also like when you’re reading.”

The mage took a glance at the big magic beast at his shoulder, that was looking at him with eyes way too wise for a pup of any kind of owl.

“Why?” he asked.

“You look less sad.” Gillibert answered, tilting his head a little.

The two went silent for some time after that, while the mage was checking other places around the house and making them start to clean themselves by magic. He had already begun to make two rooms on the first floor into a study and a small library. The furniture was old, but it was still useful. The windows opened when he passed by them and soon Gillibert was chit-chatting again, without answer from his guardian most of the time.

When the whole house was cleaning itself up, he went down back to the kitchen, where his stove was already lit and a kettle was there making noise. The mage took the kettle and finished his tea himself. After it, he sat down, to drink it, in the company of the black bird that gazed at him with a child’s excitement.

While drinking, Isemberd relaxed in the chair. He ended up sleeping there. When he woke up, it was already night. Gillibert was nowhere to be seen and the man thought a good idea to close the windows. With one wave of his hand, windows and doors around the house closed and locked themselves, except for the kitchen’s window. His tea went cold and the taste was bad now, but he drank it anyway.

Soon, the owl came back, flying fast.

“The bed upstairs is way more comfortable!” he said, scratching the table with his talons.

Isemberd yawned.

“Where were you?”

The big and usually friendly eyes of the bird went serious for a moment.

“Exploring. Hunting. Checking up the forest and protecting the house.”

The mage bent over the table, getting very close to the bird. He and the magic owl glared at each other for a long intense moment.

“Two things. First, do not eat more than you need.” he said, on a very serious tone.

“Yes, sir!”

“Second thing. Do not cause our neighbors any problem. Do I have to remind you of things that are not food?” He spoke slowly, with a calm expression, but there was something menacing in his eyes. “Pets, livestock, corpses, child...”

Gillibert blinked twice and interrupted him, waving his wings around, excited:

“Of course, master! Today I had tree mice and a fish. And a squirrel gave me a bit of his food after I left him go alive. I hid them to eat tomorrow morning. Oh, and I found about a very rude dog near the squashed down house.”

The small bird seemed very pleased with himself. Isemberd shook his head, before caressing the bird’s head and getting up.

“Good boy. Come on. Time to sleep.”

“Can I keep the fluffy blanket tonight instead of my roost? Is so cold!”

The mage gave him a look before doing a very short smirk.

“You can.”

Gillibert flew to his shoulder and they went upstairs, to the room Isemberd had chosen as his. He left the owl with a nice and fluffy blanket over his old rocking chair, laid on his bed and took a long time until he managed to sleep again.

His thoughts wandered to the bird and to the day he rescued him. He remembered the war and times darker than the present. Isemberd had a very poor sleep, with little rest, filled with fear of being conscripted again by the crown as the war hero that all the bards were singing he was.