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Grian
I gave them my name.
Why did you do that?
I don’t know…
It’s only been a week…what did they do that made you feel safe enough?
It’s a secret you kept down so deep. You were supposed to forget it, ignore it, never let it pass your lips nor anyone else’s again, and yet here you are hearing it again and again and again.
“Grian!”
He fought the urge to cringe as he lifted his head a bit. He was perched atop the front arch of the Swagon roof, which jutted forth almost like an inverted prow from a ship.
Not that Grian had ever seen a ship…he’d never even seen the ocean.
“Y-Yes, sir?” He looked down to see Mumbo calling up to him. The kind smile on the mustached face made something writhe and roil in his chest. He didn’t quite know what to do with it.
“You don’t need to call me that, bud. Remember?”
Remember?
Grian swallowed hard.
I was supposed to forget.
But being told to forget something made it wedge itself tighter, didn’t it?
“S-Sorry,” Grian mumbled the word as he dropped down from the rooftop, opening his wings a bit to send himself in a gentle spiraling glide that landed him in front of Mumbo. He stood up straight at attention, folded his hands beneath the roots of his wings, which he pulled into a tight coil as was proper when responding to his Masters summons.
Mumbo’s expression just stayed kind. Red eyes caught the early autumn sunlight in glints that expressed only fondness. Fondness just a week old, what was even happening here?
“Would you mind helping me out with something?”
“Not at all, s-…u-um…no. I can help.” Grian fumbled over the words even as he maintained perfect eye contact.
Eye contact was safe.
Eye contact meant he was being good.
Mumbo shook his head faintly with a bemused expression, and several terrorized stakes drove through Grian’s heart.
I made a mistake. He shook his head; that means I’m wrong. Bad. Should’ve said sir that time? But he just told me not to. Didn’t bow, but he told me not to do that either. Eye contact…bad? No, no, no, that can’t be it, um, um…
“You’re doing so much better already.”
One.
Two.
Three.
“Huh?” The noise came like a half-stuck chirp, and Mumbo chuckled again.
“Anyway.” He waved it off, leaving Grian with more questions than answers, and he really wished Scar was here. Scar was a lot clearer with his communication. Things made more sense coming from him. He was also better at sensing Grian’s small bits of distress.
But Scar was in the forest somewhere. He was meeting with an old friend, a goods provider…a smuggler, to be more accurate, but that was something that made perfect sense considering that as far as Grian could tell, his Masters made their livings off grifting and thievery.
Mumbo held up a small woven sack tied shut with a length of rough hemp cord.
“Scar was awful forgetful this morning…this is the pay for our provider. He didn’t even take it with him. Lucky we’ve known the guy about three season now, we started working with him right when he broke into the trade too, helped him get his foot in the door with some other folks who trade under the table, so he’s pretty friendly to us. Even still, he’s not going to be thrilled that Scar forgot his pay, and I know he keeps a tight schedule. Mind flying this out to them? I’d go myself, but we’re up to our neck in papers, which I still need to forge before we hit the next town, and I want to make sure I get the crucial bits done before we arrive. Shouldn’t be terribly far.”
He offered the burlap sack forward, and Grian took it with a few small bobbing nods. “I can do that, yes.” He said in a small voice, keeping eye contact, because thank the stars that was still safe.
Mumbo pointed. “There’s a spring just over that swell in the tree line; they’re meeting up somewhere near there.”
“Understood.”
Grian took a few steps back and then spread his wings.
He hurtled up into the mid-morning blue, and the air rushed through his pale brown hair as his two sets of tiny wings opened up and adjusted to keep his gaze forward, keep his flight path straight…it felt good.
Too fly.
Right now, it was technically on orders, but…well, not orders, of course not. They’d promised not to use such things against him, weaponize the collar buckled snug around his throat. He wasn’t sure if he fully believed them, not yet, but he liked to think maybe one day he could.
This was a pleasant flight, though. He could take his time, Scar had left not long ago, so he was sure the meeting would be going on awhile longer. It wasn’t even very far.
“Who said you could rest?”
His heart skipped, and his eyes widened. His grip on the burlap tightened, and he felt a shudder run through him.
What was happening?
His Master had sent him on a chore, given him a task, yet here he was treating this like some kind of leisure flight? Since when had he ever been allowed something like that, even back in the colony?
His mind felt fuzzy and vague like he wasn’t grasping the right details.
…just focus…
He let out a shaky breath and accelerated. His speed picked up beat by beat till he was little more than a colorful streak across the sky. He spotted the glimmering blue of the spring Mumbo had mentioned and swung his talons forward as he pinwheeled into a descent.
Landing with a bend of his knees for cushion, Grian’s dark eyes darted around to survey the area.
He didn’t hear Scar’s bright voice carrying on, nor did he sense the provider anywhere around. The leaves rustled softly in the early autumn breeze, plucking through them, and the water rippled lightly from the gust of air Grian beat up when he landed.
“S-Scar…?” He tried once, yet his voice felt trapped in his throat.
I took too long.
It landed in his stomach like a sinking stone…and maybe it had to do with what was already going through his head. He didn’t understand it; he didn’t see why they were bothering with all this, and all it seemed to manage was to make his stomach churn, his chest tighten, his wings bristle, and his heart pump pump pump…
He took off into the air again hard.
First, he criss-crossed close over the forest canopy past the spring, hoping to hear them. Scar tended to talk loudly, especially when he was amongst friends. Grian had learned that even after just a handful of days.
Yet he didn’t hear them.
I took too long.
Too leisurely.
Too comfortable.
Who had told you that was alright? Had they? Was everything they did implying it? You know you can’t trust those words, those intentions. They’re always dual-sided, and you know that you do, so why?
“Hnn…”
The distressed keen hummed in Grian’s throat as he beat his wings harder to arch up and over the forest leaves, spotting the spring again.
Did they go back?
That was even worse. That meant Grian had failed. He’d failed his task, which Mumbo had given him so kindly, so easily, and it was easy, so how could he manage to somehow take too long?
He streaked in a wild zig-zag, diving into the trees and hurling himself between the trunks with such intensity it made his wing roots ache. He clutched the burlap bag tight to his chest; his knuckles began to throb from the pressure, and with a sharp whip of his hips, he shot up from the tree line again.
Comfort.
Safety.
What was it? What was any of it?
The flight back to the Swagon took him a handful of minutes. When he approached, he saw them. Three of them.
Scar and Mumbo, and a tall broad-shouldered netherborn with a massive battle-axe strapped over his shoulder and a worn ragged yellow scarf.
He hit the ground in front of them with such force his knees nearly buckled beneath him. His talons dug into the dirt.
“Birdie, there you are!” Scar called to him; his tone seemed cheery enough, but Grian already knew he’d messed up.
“I-I’m sorry, sir!” It broke from his chest like a half-torn whine. He took two steps forward and then collapsed to his knees. Heaving with exertion, from the intensity of the frantic flight, it had scared him so badly, because he knew what was coming.
Didn’t he?
“Hey!” Mumbo was at his side almost immediately, a hand on his shoulder. “Are you alright? Did something happen?”
Grian lifted his dark eyes with a few gasps that stabbed hot daggers into his lungs.
“I-I…t-took too long…m’sorry…”
“What?” Mumbo said it incredulously, and then Scar was in front of him.
“Hey now, none of that talk, mister! You weren’t late…you did just fine. Silly ol’me, once I met Impy, I realized I’d forgotten the payment, and so we agreed to stroll back here the two of us to get it. You must’ve passed over us.”
Grian blinked once, then sat back onto his folded talons with another few gulps for air, eyes burning before he blinked it all down, held it all back.
“Oh.”
Weird.
He’d told them that aloud before, and Scar had merely laughed.
Mumbo’s hands were anxiously fluttering all over the place, grappling in front of his chest as his ruby-red eyes sparked with concern.
“I’m so sorry, bud! I shouldn’t’ve sent you off all of a sudden like that, I just thought you’d make it much faster, and enjoy the flight as well, I didn’t think Scar and Impulse would come back so fast…ugh! It’s all my fault! You didn’t do a single thing wrong, ok? I promise you!”
He was insisting hurriedly, his tone nothing aside from panic-stricken.
“Oh.”
Grian found the same noise escaping him again.
The netherborn who’d been standing beside Scar watched curiously and folded his arms over his broad chest, his dark shirt pressed with glimmering golden patterns of strange runes.
“Is…is he ok…?” His voice seemed awkward, yet kind, too.
Grian wasn’t used to hearing so much of it.
“He’ll be alright! A few cinnamon cookies and a nap sounds like just what he needs!” Scar declared, and Grian made an awkward sound at the notion.
His Master…his Master…quite literally giving him cookies and putting him down for a nap.
…what is happening?
He wasn’t sure he understood anything anymore.
Yet even still, he got himself to his feet, having caught his breath, and held the burlap sack of coins out. “H-Here.”
Scar beamed at him. “Thanks, Birdie. Great job!”
He took the burlap sack and then playfully ruffled at Grian’s pale brown mop of hair, which got another chortle from him.
Mumbo then stood up and gently put a hand on Grian’s shoulder again. “Why don’t we get you that cookie and then up to your nest, hm?”
Grian wasn’t sure how he felt about being coddled.
But as Scar turned back to carry on some sort of grandiose declaration to Impulse, who was smiling in this sort of fondly exasperated way, Mumbo guided him up toward the Swagon door to do just that.
And he found he didn’t mind it.
Even if he didn’t understand, he didn’t mind it at all.