KINDER TO THEIR OWN
Nonononono. This is soo not happening…
Rod'n-i M'Kai scrambled up and over the crumbling wall of the abandoned cottage in the erstwhile human village, his frantically scrabbling fingers barely able to find purchase, his wobbly legs far too untrustworthy for his stubby bare toes to even to begin to grip the rough, flaking adobe. He considered unfurling his inordinately stumpy wings, but knew he would only succeed in tangling them up, and in so doing, tumble gracelessly from a dizzying height.
Rod'n-i was by now far too nervous and far too hungry to do anything right. After all, it was mid-morning. He was barely able to run, let alone fly. He felt horrendously light-headed, and his peripheral vision began to gray. Dark sparks dashed chaotically before his eyes, and he blinked and shook his head in an attempt to shake them off like those annoying floaters he was so often plagued with.
Humans! Here! Aaagh!
Since he couldn't conceivably flap his uncooperative wings any time soon, he resorted to flapping his hands instead.
Rod'n-i began his awkward ascent. As he scrabbled, a smaller, slightly less befuddled part of him yearned to simply flutter his weary way up and over reasonably gracefully, and drop down the man-made brick chimney - his team's standard entrance into human edifices, but he lacked sufficient honey-laden foodstuffs in his belly, having not eaten since early that morning, an oversight on his part. Without a decent sugar rush, he didn't trust himself to raise his flabby body sufficiently high in order to make the short trip up and over.
Down would nevertheless be easy. He would, essentially, plummet. No surprises there. Like his arms and legs, his wings were not in proportion to his torso, making flight a chore. Of course, Jo'on would never have a problem, with his ohhh sooo perfect proportions, and neither would the delicate little Te'eylaah, for that matter. In fact, neither would Ro'onon, for all his bulk. Ro'onon had a huge, disproportionate wingspan. Not that Rod'n-i was in any way jealous, as brains beat brawn any day, and not that anything else about Ro'onon appeared inordinately huge... Nope, size didn't matter. Rod'n-i sniffed in disdain.
And yet, Jo'on et al would flutter up and over and thereafter down quite nimbly, and land four-square, ever the unflappable, limber acrobats, never once falling into the ash and soot, which still decorated the human-forged hearth even after many decades, untouched by any draught Nature might wantonly cast their way. Plus, his other three team mates could oddly oftentimes go without food for days, and would eat to live, rather than live to eat. Pah. An overrated concept, he conceded, as he felt his stomach rumble.
Rod'n-i continued his manic yet dedicated scramble up the brickwork, the coarse surface gouging and reddening his sensitive toes the while.
Knock on the window. Knock on the window. No, don't knock on the window. They'll neither spot you nor hear you. The window is grimy, and the door is on the other side, where they are!
They. Them. Such a cliché. But they slash them were real. Humans. Four of them. Rod'n-i scraped his paunch in his haste to inform his team mates of impending doom.
Humans. Humans! Here. Here! Right here! Not just sort of here, but actually here! Right here and now! Present! Hello?
Rod'n-i mentally rolled his left hand in anguish. There were four of them. Just four. Thank the stars. Rod'n-i sighed with relief. Just maybe he and his team could remain undetected, and just maybe these four humans were nothing more than some innocuous scouting party, in search of food and trading partners, much like the four of them were themselves.
Rod'n-i landed heavily in the sooty hearth, and remained crouched in a heaving, blustering heap, expecting the other three to awaken in an instant, and thank him profusely, vehemently even, for his vigilance and diligence, slapping him on the back, but nooo. His lackadaisical team lay in a communal swoon, sprawled nonchalantly across the feather mattress in every which direction - a mattress fit for a child, a baby, a human baby at that.
Their current bedding was an abandoned cot. Rod'n-i eyed up the cozy dent in his allocated portion of the softly yielding mattress, and yearned for it, his mind mentally pounding and flouncing his own comfy spot. Rod'n-i sighed once more. Said dent had been his nest for half the night before it had been his turn to keep watch. Said dent looked rather warm and inviting, bathed as it was in gentle sunbeams streaming in through gaps in the steadily crumbling roof. He took in several deep breaths in an effort to regulate his breathing. Sleep was well underrated.
"Humans!" Rod'n-i ground out with an emphatic pant or two, with a couple more hand rolls tossed in for good measure, as was his wont. He slouched, and rested his hands on his knees, sweating the while. "They've returned! They're – out there! Gah!"
Rod'n-i went cross-eyed, rolled his head melodramatically, and let his voice go all sing-song.
"They're heeerrre... "
He had to rouse his team mates. Any which way. He scurried over to Jo'on, and poked his bony, bare right shoulder twice. Jo'on's long legs actually trailed over the longer edge of the rectangular crib and through those purported safety bars, one bare foot kicking, the other creepily still. The latter being the erstwhile broken left leg. Rod'n-i cringed. He hated reminders.
Jo'on often twitched and whimpered in his sleep these days. Rod'n-i knew the night terrors were finally diminishing, but every now and then, he and the rest of the team caught a glimpse of Jo'on reliving his ordeal, his sorry scrabblings in an abortive attempt to get away from them. And they were far nastier than those pale-haired, life-sucking Goblins. Rod'n-i fervently hoped that Jo'on was right now dreaming of flying, or of clambering joyfully and recklessly up some crag, or had even hitched a sweet ride on a flat stone skimmed across a pond.
Jo'on sighed deeply, and stretched. The one-legged scrabbling ceased, for which Rod'n-i was beyond grateful. He hated to be reminded of the state in which they had last found him. And Rod'n-i had found him first. He'd had a terrible vision of Jo'on, writhing and flailing and kicking and sweating and bleeding and screaming, yet oddly safe - go figure - deep inside a mousehole, where they couldn't reach him. He had hoped much of this vision was false, that he had exaggerated Jo'on's condition in his sordid mind's eye. Despite his prescient warning, Rod'n-i barely stifled his own scream with one slightly chewed fist shoved in his mouth when he first saw the bloodied mess that used to be his best friend.
Jo'on was still recovering. Watching Jo'on inadvertently re-enact aspects of his captivity at their hands was beyond alarming. Rod'n-i looked away, then back. He had to face this. After all, he wasn't the one who had been hurt by their thankfully very distant relatives. Humans. He hated them for what they did to Jo'on.
Even now, Jo'on looked oddly vulnerable when he slept. They had lost him on many a jaunt. Lost and regained. Regained? No, often barely hauled back in one piece.
Rod'n-i relied on his scout leader and friend. Now more than ever. Starvation was often at hand, until the serendipitous discovery of the Fallowfields. Supplies duly located, Rod'n-i et al were now never at a loss to help ply Jo'on with healing foodstuffs, poultices and medicines after a mission gone wrong. Missions often went south, and Jo'on, as team leader, was usually the one to suffer. Rod'n-i almost hated himself for thinking 'Rather him than me.' Almost. Well, high pain thresholds came into play here. Rod'n-i's was inordinately low as Jo'on's was inordinately high.
"I- I nearly twisted my ankle trying to get here in good time. I nearly tumbled from my perch twice," Rod'n-i mumbled. He was not prepared to even almost suffer in silence.
"Then you skipped your balancing exercise class, I take it?" inquired Te'eylaah.
"They might pass by any moment!" Rod'n-i shrieked.
"Who?" Jo'on sprang up, glowered, and sat back on his haunches.
"Pass the class?" growled Ro'onon, looking perplexed. Rod'n-i though he might have heard a follow-up grunt.
"No, you - bloody idiot!" - Rod'n-i was sooo projecting their healer, Ca'arso'on - bloody Sko'ot. "Humans!" and Rod'n-i ground out the word as if it expended all his painstakingly-acquired energy. He sagged, and the left corner of his mouth tipped angrily downwards. It was a genetic thing, one which he almost refused to stress over. Unless he consulted said Ca'arso'on, he of the hoity-toity, double-barreled apostrophes.
"Why didn't you say so in the first place?" Jo'on swept both arms outwards, ending with a frown, a pout and an emphatic wave of his hands.
"Duh, I said, humans, they return? As in, they come back? As in they are here? Right here, right now, under our very wings?" Rod'n-i emphatically shook his left hand towards the locked door, and looked as exasperated as he could possibly summon. He rolled his eyes for good measure, and took in a heaving breath or two. He often had to deal with fools and minions, acolytes and subservients, lackeys and underlings, but these three… sometimes he seriously wondered why he had chucked in his lot with them instead of dedicating his brains to the Cause, wherein his quick mind was for the most part respected and revered. Exalted, even. And, yet - he loved being with his team. He belonged. But, sadly, Jo'on had changed, and that had marred them all. Drastic change of team member meant drastic restructure of team dynamic.
Jo'on's happy-go-lucky mien was lost long ago, coinciding agonizingly with the loss of Lizab'th, their May Queen. Jo'on often flickered to a deep, dark purple, nearly midnight black, almost on a daily basis, then he would snap to in an instant, becoming a neutral hue, for the most part a standard autumnal green, like now. His regular somber color change was never lost on Rod'n-i.
Jo'on fluttered with obvious difficulty over to the keyhole in the door, and frowned as he bobbed his head for a decent view. Rod'n-i hated the fact that Jo'on still limped as he walked, and often stalled as he flew. Jo'on could barely fly in a straight line these days, though none of them dared voice such a crass observation. He, who once playfully berated others for their lack of flying skills. It embarrassed Jo'on big time, this he knew. Perhaps this was why Rod'n-i liked being part of a team. He could finally read others, without the use of words. Well, he could read Jo'on at least. Ro'onon and Te'eylaah, not so much. He could easily read Ra'adek Z'lenka, mind you. Rod'n-i snuffled, then smiled. Not that he had a soft spot for Z'lenka. No way. Not happening. Rod'n-i barely had a soft spot for Jo'on, and even that came after a stack of soul-searching.
"There are four of 'em," Jo'on hissed. "Out front. They're looking around. I don't yet know what we're up against, though I sense no malice." He scratched his head, his other hand gripping the edges of the keyhole to steady himself. "We'd better get going. Through that back window, and out into the forest. Move out." Jo'on reinforced his order with a double shake of his first and index finger in one smooth, accomplished gesture.
Rod'n-i duly grabbed the sack of supplies, but first snagged himself a nutty travel bar, folding it over and shoving it in his mouth even as he hoisted the cumbersome sack up and over his shoulder to rest between his shoulder blades, deftly avoiding his wings. Jo'on, Ro'onon and Te'eylaah snatched up their knives and crossbows, tucking them into their belts and other convenient bodily hooks, nooks and crannies. Especially Ro'onon. How he could hide upon his person weapons practically twice the size of his limbs was beyond Rod'n-i. Must be some Sa'atedan magic to which he was not yet privy.
He shook off inane thoughts, and plunked his small weapon of choice, a catapult, into one of his myriad vest pockets. As only one of their two only items of clothing, their vests served the purpose of storage rather than as modesty or insulation. He never felt the cold, as was common with his kind.
Rod'n-i took a deep breath, narrowed his eyes, and followed the others to either safety or to even more impending doom.
Jo'on cautiously lifted the faulty window latch, wincing as the thing creaked loudly, and clattered against the window frame. Jo'on chose instead to sidle out through a broken pane. He grasped the rough edge of the makeshift awning, and after a quick twist of his lithe body, scrambled up, finally balancing himself on a long metal bar which most likely once served as part of a locking mechanism. After drawing in a deep breath and jiggling his rear as if to pounce - not without a lop-sided grin of course - he launched himself unto the ether. Te'eylaah then Ro'onon followed suit, and Rod'n-i brought up the rear as ever.
A glide and a soar later, and they were all safely in the canopy of the forest, fluttering from tree to tree, stalking the very giants who endlessly broke and mended compacts between their races. Except instead of glowering at the four humans, Jo'on looked down upon them wistfully. After what their kind did to him? What was that about? Oh, nononononono. Jo'on was most likely 'reading' them, and as always, despite Jo'on being a math genius, two plus two as ever probably equaled five.
Jo'on, Rod'n-i, Te'eylaah and Ro'onon perched in a squat on a low-slung branch. Although they came from disparate backgrounds, they had since formed an alliance based on trust, and had settled together, communing out of necessity, finding a common goal in battling a mutual enemy far more sinister than those gigantic humans.
Rod'n-i knew Jo'on hated that enemy. They all did. Life-sucking Goblins. He knew that Jo'on hated them even more than he hated jesters and Iratus mites. There was no coming back from a face-to-face encounter with any of them. Well, apart from Jo'on. He'd even made an ally of To'od, a disgraced Goblin leader, and had come off relatively well, after creepily aging and subsequently rejuvenating as if nothing untoward had ever happened. Apparently, Jo'on was variously The Indestructible, The Destructor, or even He Who Always Came Back Intact…
Except Jo'on was never truly intact. He merely survived. Rod'n-i sighed, rolled his eyes once more, and mused. Their kind had learned long ago to blend in with the local flora, if not fauna. Being scantily clad at the coldest of times, it was up to them to change skin tone and never clothing by way of camouflage. Their differences in style often fell by the wayside when it came to blending in. So, green they were one moment, brown the next, and sometimes black or white, or even neon. Changing out skin tone came with merely a thought. The actual clothing took longer to fix, but it was generally kept to a neutral shade for everyday wear, at least.
Today, they were all frog green, with patches of fall orange, dashes of deep ru'us wine red at their extremities, and an overall aura of purple. Their tough clothing matched for scouting purposes. Ceremonial and festive wear, however, was always more flimsy, not to mention iridescent and diaphanous and scant. Not that Rod'n-i did scant all that well. Too revealing. No, that was clothing best left to Sa'am Ca'ar-ter and other hot, short-haired blondes.
Oh, yeah…
Moving on.
From their treetop vantage point, the foursome watched the humans vacate the abandoned village, and stroll naively towards them. If they were heading for the human settlement, it would take them the whole day if they wished to avoid the briar patch. It seemed they'd opted for the circuitous route, which was the clear path along the edge of the forest. In between lay the Fallowfields, and that was not an easy passage, much like said briar patch. Several hold-out, raggletaggle crops and root vegetables still produced despite not being tended, and had grown rampant, producing tangled yet bountiful overhangs of peas and beans and grain and the like. It was near harvest time. They would take home some supplies, and come back in force in a day or so for more.
The little scouting party was always eager to establish trading partners, find new sources of food, and was generally game enough to encounter challenges. Sometimes, their policy worked to their advantage, sometimes not, but there was never a reason to give up, except when it came to Jo'on. There were times when his risk of life and limb made carrying on too hard when he either didn't come back, or launched himself into some fray he had little chance of surviving. It never stopped him, and there were times his team wasn't sure he would come back to them in one piece, especially after his latest escapade.
Rod'n-i sighed.
Jo'on had thrown himself at those humans, distracting them from a severely injured Te'eylaah, thereby giving the rest of his team a chance to get her to safety. The humans had ensnared him. In a cap of all things, hoisting him away like some mindless butterfly that had no sense of its own prospective, even imminent, demise. Or of torture.
"Funny looking," muttered Rod'n-i. He had to distract himself.
"Whuh?"
"They're funny looking. Especially their leader, the one with the spiky hair. Seriously. And his ears rival yours."
"My ears? What about my ears? Huh? I don't get - "
"They look a great deal like us, only they are bigger, yet are sadly quite wingless," stated Te'eylaah flatly. "We are all clearly related. And their leader - he is without a doubt part fey."
Rod'n-i balked, and nearly peed his breeches at the idea of inter-species fraternizing.
"Part Lepresomethingorother, like you, Jo'on," he said with a knowitall grin.
"If you say so, Rod'n-i," Jo'on drawled, without taking his eyes off the human foursome.
"Spiky, Shaggy, Tressy, and - oh, look! - here comes another one!" Rod'n-i was on a roll, despite Jo'on's latest snub.
That last comment earned Rod'n-i a light cuff on the back of his head. Ow! How did Jo'on do that without ever even taking his eyes off those humans? Sometimes Rod'n-i really hated him. Jo'on was still focused on that other foursome, barely able to rip his gaze away. Then Jo'on sighed, turned to Rod'n-i, and pierced him with his fierce beansprout green eyes. Rod'n-i froze.
"That's it," Jo'on growled after a pause, his eyes darkening to a deep forest green. The pause stung Rod'n-i almost as much as the cuff. "It's official," Jo'on squealed. "You never get to name things again. Ever." He lifted a right forefinger, then drew it sideways in front of his face in emphasis.
"Good aim," mumbled Ro'onon. Moments later, he grinned toothily.
"I aim to please," Jo'on drawled, lowering his right hand only to absently rub his left wrist. He slowly flexed his left hand several times over, staring at it the while, as if it somehow no longer belonged to him. Then he flexed his right. Rod'n-i had to wonder what that was about.
"You didn't aim to please me overly much. You just aimed. Seriously, what's wrong with you career scouts and that whole 'must whack things'… thing?"
Ro'onon merely snarled. "Guess that one's Baldy," he growled.
Bringing up the rear, red-faced and panting, was a short stocky male. The loose-limbed leader, Spiky, was grinning at him, his hands resting on the upturned handle of some long, vicious-looking projectile weapon. The petite, graceful female, Tressy, smiled gently at the third and last male. The hulking one, Shaggy, glared as he jigged impatiently from one foot to the other.
Short attention span, that one, thought Rod'n-i with a huff.
Shaggy snarled at Baldy, in a manner oddly similar to his own Ro'onon.
Throwback, thought Rod'n-i. One in every bunch.
Te'eylaah smirked, raised one eyebrow, and nodded in approval. Rod'n-i guessed that Shaggy's snarl was attractive, in a primitive, macho, other speciesy sort of way. Ew! Wrong. Wuh-rong. Sooo very wrong, on so many levels. Rod'n-i ran his left hand through his receding hairline.
"Is being a hirsute a sign of virility on your ex-homeworld, then?" Rod'n-i's pitched his voice too high, and regretted it, especially as he sort of squeaked that last word.
Ro'onon grunted, which Rod'n-i took as a yes. Over the years, he'd learned to read those grunts a la Jo'on, which meant either 'yes', 'no' or the ever delightful 'kill you/feed me'.
"Oh," he replied, having nothing else to offer in response. "I should drop a bomb on them," he added quite vehemently.
Te'eylaah rolled her eyes in disdain."I do not honestly think that will be necessary, Rod'n-i," she said in a gruff tone.
"What? Do you think I meant - ?" Fling poop? "Nononononono… Rotten fruit! Nuts! Not - the other... stuff…"
"Sounds good to me," stated Ro'onon, deadpan.
This time, it was Rod'n-i's turn to roll his eyes. "Well, it would, wouldn't it," he added, feeling disgusted and affronted and empowered all at once. "You poop flinger, you." Rod'n-i ducked just in case. Incurring the Wrath of the Ro'onon was not a good idea. He hadn't yet met another Sa'atedan, but he suspected they were equally scary.
"They dress weird."
"Ro'onon? Buddy? Kidding, right?" Jo'on's eyes were wide, his hands on his hips, and his slack-jawed expression morphed into his erstwhile lop-sided grin, as he looked Ro'onon up and down. Rod'n-i guessed that Jo'on's hipbones were less tender than yestermoon. He was healing nicely. Or so he hoped. It was rough seeing their team leader all too often in pain or discomfort. They had cracked his hipbones, his ribs… and had broken his leg without remorse.
"Just because they do not wear vests and breeches, and do not go barefoot, nor adorn themselves with flowers?" That earned all and sundry a raised eyebrow from Te'eylaah. "They come in all shapes and sizes, as do we," she added brusquely if not somewhat superciliously.
"The better to distinguish between them, should there be trouble." Jo'on's eyes narrowed and darkened to near black, and he dug his fingers deep into the branch, his knuckles turning pear-white. He rubbed one hip - and reached for his back, but most likely since he still couldn't claw and rake and relieve his various healing injuries, he settled for rubbing the nape of his neck, where several scabs remained.
"They will not catch you again."
"Can you be certain?" Jo'on shot Te'eylaah a wan smile.
"We will find you. We always do."
Jo'on jerked his head backwards, sighed, and resorted to staring at his hands and feet. He wore wristbands and anklebands these days, made of leather, most likely to conceal the still vivid scars made by harsh restraints. His waistcoat hid more scars, far nastier than those on his wrists and ankles. And, oh, his poor wings! At first the healers doubted Jo'on would be able to fly again, but as ever, he proved them wrong.
When Ca'arso'on and Ke'eyt had finally managed to wring the information out of Jo'on, they found out to their horror that he had been set up like a game piece on an actual game board on a giant refectory table, and had been endlessly flicked or jabbed in his back by vast human fingers, pinged backwards and forwards until he could no longer stand. Then they had pinged him in his hips and flanks, sending him sprawling, and crashing into inanimate game pieces. It seems they were too soused to sensibly play any kind of game, taking their drink-induced stupor out on Jo'on instead.
They had crumpled his wings, and had nailed them down to the table, spreading them wide. then spreading his arms and legs wide, bound as he was by a ball of their string tied around his wrists and ankles, knots in the string also nailed down. That held him in place. String to them was rope to him. They slashed his wings with jagged toothpick halves. They had poked him endlessly with the selfsame toothpick halves, thankfully missing his eyes, ears and nose, while he writhed and bucked, struggling to get away from himself, even from his own wings. Then he had stilled, waited, bound and terrified that they might ultimately choose to impale him, having prodded and slashed his rear a few times, but it seemed they had just wanted to mar his bare skin and draw blood just for the fun of it.
He had nearly drowned when one of the humans pulled out the nails slowly but surely, grinning at him, then dunked him by the human string around his wrists in a mug of ale. He had been desperately thirsty, but had somehow managed to neither imbibe nor breathe in. Then, as he had lain draped and gasping on that table, one of them had seen fit to tie weights to his ankles, and toss him into the air. He had plummeted, and upon landing, his left leg had snapped like one of those toothpicks.
For three days they had held and tortured him for no reason. They had done it because he was small and helpless, and - because they could. He had been denied food, not even a morsel, while the humans had eaten in front of him, wasting food, tossing it willy-nilly, cackling and toasting each other the while, and abortively attempting to play board games or cards. They had taken particular delight in eating meat dripping with fat. The smell alone had been torture. They would throw tidbits to their mouser, preferring to feed another creature than recognize him as kin with real wants and needs.
They had ultimately tired of their plaything, since it finally quit its groaning and writhing. It had become quiet and unresponsive and dull, and they had left it on the table top to die.
Jo'on, however, had not been prepared to die. Not without a fight. He had barely summoned the energy to drag his broken body towards a solitary breadcrumb, a blob of congealed animal fat and a welcome spill or possibly even spit of water. He had consumed the lot within moments.
Feeling invigorated, he had finally managed to splint his broken leg with half a toothpick steeped in his own blood and a single loose thread of string, and had somehow found the wherewithal to glide to the floor, despite his battered wings. He'd always been good at flying, and on this occasion, his skills had been needed more than ever.
The mouser had taken a swipe at him, and, to Jo'on's amazement, it had almost missed; its claws had only gouged him, ripping a swath or three of skin across his forehead, his left cheek and chin. The 'cat scratches' had bled minimally, and in no way belayed his escape. Things were looking up, and he had resolved to stay positive. His team would find him. Without a doubt. Jo'on had crawled away to the relative safety of a mousehole, to some abandoned warm and cozy nest, while the humans overhead were still passed out drunk.
There he had remained, hurting, while several teams hunted for him for another three days. Rod'n-i had found him, feverish and half dead from his injuries, and from lack of food and water. The bruising had been horrific and extensive, according to Ca'arso'on, as were the horribly infected wounds. Giant, filthy fingernails had gouged deep into the skin of his back, leaving crescent-shaped scars the size of his shoulder blades, but since he couldn't see for himself, he'd had to take Ca'arso'on's word for it, or so he had informed them all. His wrists and ankles he could see, and Rod'n-i knew that the constant reminder offered neither respite nor dreamless sleep. How could it?
Because Rod'n-i could still barely get through the night himself without nightmares. About humans. Chopping up his best friend, and feeding him bit by bit to a mouser. Starving him, until he could no longer be distinguished from Goblin kill. Slashing him, until nothing more than crimson shreds remained. Tossing him, until he withered to dust upon impact on the dirt floor.
How much worse must it be for Jo'on?
Rod'n-i could barely shake off those thoughts of his friend scrabbling to get away. Plus, those scars were still red and angry looking. Just maybe Jo'on would lose the band accessories once the wrist and ankle scars turned silvery. Just maybe. But what about the scars on his psyche? On each of their psyches? Rod'n-i couldn't help but shudder. Jo'on couldn't exactly slap a band upon his mind to hide what happened to him. None of them could.
"They are heading for the human settlement," Teyla offered. "Maybe humans are kinder to their own… " she added quietly.
Jo'on gasped, and nodded upwards twice more, this time more slowly, and this time, Rod'n-i cringed.
"Just maybe," Jo'on forced out on an exhale. "Let's hope," he added softly. Then Jo'on frowned and pouted. "I'm staying."
"What? Seriously? Nonononono! Why?"
"I gotta watch out for those humans. They mean us no harm, even after spotting us, because spot us they did, even if they thought we were either bats or birds or rodents. They - care… I know it. I can tell. You know me, I can always tell. It's just - something I do. One of those things. Part of my - " He shrugged boyishly, clearly lost for words. "I mean to watch out for them," he continued helplessly, squirming the while. "I might as well stay here and await Lo'orne and the others, since I need to supervise and help with the Harvest. That's my -"
"Jo'on! We must head home! Take our spoils! We have what we came for. We know nothing about these humans!" cried Te'eylaah, interrupting him.
"- job! No! I - I can't rest, Te'eylaah! Not until these humans return home. Safely. I sense nothing ill, nothing untoward, nothing bad emanates from them, not like those others in the settlement, but I- "
Jo'on's voice had developed a squeak, an urgency, which told Rod'n-i that he would never back down on this one. Jo'on could be stubborn, especially when it came to protecting others, even those of another race or species. He probably didn't even resent the blasted mouser that had tried to kill and eat him.
"Do you honestly believe their kind means us no harm?"
Jo'on hesitated, and rubbed the back of his neck even as he juddered his bedraggled wings. "Honestly? No. But they are as we are. A team of four, not unlike ourselves. Benefit of the doubt."
"That has lured you into endless trouble, my friend," growled Ro'onon.
"Yeah, tell me about it, but -"
"We could just warn them."
"Doubt they'd listen."
"They are not of our race, and yet you worry yourself inordinately over their safety?" cried Te'eylaah once more.
"They are our counterparts." Jo'on looked her fiercely in the eye. "This is me, Te'eylaah… " He shrugged, then grimaced. Te'eylaah gasped, her eyes wide, flashing sun yellow as Jo'on's flashed sky blue. At that, Jo'on put on his best chipmunk eyes. Typical. He was adept at the whole large pupil, small iris thing, and used it against not only on Te'eylaah, but once upon a time, on Lizab'th.
Jo'on scowled. He was no doubt thinking about their May Queen, too. Lizab'th was long gone, stolen away by the Soulless, and used. Discarded, she was, not even resting in some eternal dreamless sleep in a glass casket per tradition. Lizab'th was doomed to float mindlessly, out there in a vacuum beyond the stars. Rod'n-i knew Jo'on regretted not being able to safely bring their queen back to them, to reign supreme once more. He had, after all, been her protector. Di'ik Wo'olz-i was a good enough leader. Exceptional, even. But Wo'olz-i didn't quite cut it. No-one did, not even Sa'am, much to Rod'n-i's chagrin. Plus, Wo'olz-i was sooo not a hot blonde.
Nuh uh...
Moving on. Again.
Then for some reason Healer Ca'arso'on's buxom assistant, Jen'fer, came to mind. Hm.
Rod'n-i was torn from his musings when Jo'on let out a heartfelt sigh, then reined in his emotions as usual, his expression back to unreadable. Jo'on flickered from head to toe to a dark, bruise-like purple, then back to a generic shade of autumnal green as did his eyes. Rod'n-i noticed how he rubbed his deeply scarred ankles with a wince. It was yet another oddly vulnerable gesture, and so not Jo'on. He was always 'good'.
Ow… That hurts. That hurts - me…
"Those four humans are heading for trouble," Jo'on announced flatly. "This I know." Jo'on squirmed, and rolled his head. "I can't go home!" he cried, his voice finally cracking. "At least, not yet. Not until I know they're safe. Those other humans are - " and Jo'on bowed his head, unable to continue. He scrubbed his face. "I'm - I'm staying. Stay - or leave. I'm giving you the choice," he ground out, and with a grimace and a backward toss of his head, he gingerly settled his clearly still tender back against the tree trunk, and absently began to rub his mutilated wrists.
It looked like he was wringing his hands in despair, and - quite pathetically - Jo'on began to rock. Slowly at first, but then with such vigor that Rod'n-i found himself rocking in counterpoint. Rod'n-i wanted the old Jo'on back, and he looked over to Te'eylaah, who nodded serenely, then rested a gentle hand on Jo'on's shoulder. Ro'onon merely grunted, his fierce gaze fixed on Jo'on. Rod'n-i got it. Maybe watching out for the human foursome would give Jo'on some closure.
The team squatted together in companionable silence. From their vantage point, Rod'n-i watched the departing figures as they skirted the Fallowfields and that ominous briar patch, and sauntered purposefully towards their own kind, along the forest trail. He hoped for Jo'on's sake that they weren't heading for certain doom, but he would wait with him. They all would. This was how they were, and this was what made it all worthwhile.
Yet, as ever and right then and there, Rod'n-i had a terrible vision. Those Goblin-blasted things would hit him suddenly. It was one of his many so-called gifts, apart from being a genius. It - hurt. Rod'n-i gasped. Those new, naïve, hopeful humans - oh, nononononono - it cannot be! - after a nasty turn of events, some misunderstanding, something to do with human magic - human magic! - one of their number would be held to ransom, but would attempt an escape through the briar patch, beaten and bloodied, only to bloody himself further amongst the briars, in a sorry attempt to seek refuge.
Spiky.
They needed to stay, Rod'n-i and his team, to be instrumental in returning said human, Spiky, to his team. They would locate first him, the human, thereafter his team, and flap and flutter and draw attention to his whereabouts, like a bunch of irascible birds or bats or rodents, thus saving the man's life before he bled to death. Save a human's life? When did that ever become part of the plan? Go figure.
Rod'n-i loathed his prescience at times. It was what made him so grumpy. Knowing what would happen well before it happened - he often had to struggle through a day he had already lived in his mind's eye. Yet, the 'gift' - hah! - was random. Otherwise they might have saved their team leader and friend from his recent horrific ordeal, not to mention other terrible incidents, which somehow never deterred him from attempting to save the day.
Find closure, Jo'on…
Rod'n-i hunkered down with his own precious team mates. They waited together in yet more companionable silence for the upcoming scenario to unfurl quite hideously per Rod'n-i's unwelcome vision, which precluded Jo'on for a change. Yet, it would all be worth it. It was always worth it.
Rod'n-i knew without a doubt he could yet again save his beloved Jo'on. Just by being there for him. And maybe - just, maybe - Rod'n-i bowed his severely balding head in contrition – he could perhaps even help save someone else's Jo'on, and maybe - just maybe - thereby find his own closure, or even perhaps with the luck of Jo'on's kin, those pesky, pointy-eared Lepresomethingorothers, finally move on.
His own Jo'on smirked at him. A lop-sided smirk with accompanying single raised eyebrow; a smirk full of hope and promise. Yes, it was all worth it as ever, he decided. Until next time. Rod'n-i proffered his own acutely hopeful, slightly hang-dog grin in return, and he and his ever mysterious Jo'on transfixed each other momentarily. Then together they stared at and pondered upon the stars. At least, that was Rod'n-i's take. Maybe Jo'on even hoped he could retrieve Lizab'th one day.
Hope was a funny thing, taking them all to the brink - or even to a broken window latch on some tumble-down, human adobe cottage or perhaps one day to the stars themselves - and back again.
oooOOOooo