Chapter 3: Solidarity
A quarter moon had come and gone since Kyla encountered the amicable Timothy. After much deliberation, she decided that achieving Guardian status was not a goal she aspired to fulfill.
The Southern Kingdoms were no doubt overflowing with splendor; the quality of life there must be outstanding. For all its riches and allure, the lush, bountiful realm beyond the Ice Narrows was simply too foreign.
From the moment of her conception to the present day, she'd been surrounded by the glistening expanses of water, snow, and ice that defined the Northern Kingdoms. Their essences had infiltrated her spirit, suffusing the very root of her being, and become irreversibly bound to it.
She could never forsake the land she'd always known for one so warm, colorful, and bubbly.
The Southern Kingdoms are hardly my cup of tea, though I don't mean to discredit the Guardians' legendary home.
A permanent stay was out of the question, but she did not shun the prospect of a temporary sojourn.
Such an excursion would not occur for many moons, however. The plucky saw-whet owl reaped ample satisfaction in doing what she loved most: sculpting.
After reveling in a wonderful, seemingly endless dream Kyla stirred, bringing herself back to reality.
She yawned and used her third eyelid to wipe the blurriness from her vision. She then stretched her legs and wings in succession.
The circular shaft of moonlight beaming in through the hole in the ceiling illuminated the cave nicely.
Kyla inspected her feathers and found not a single unkempt patch. The accents on her wingtips and tail were a rich and vibrant sapphire hue; the color had faded over time so she'd re-stained them the previous night.
She strolled out of her burrow and surveyed the oh-so-familiar landscape of Stormfast.
The night sky was clear, save for scattered clouds drifting southward. The sea was as smooth as polished ice, the reflections of the glinting stars clearly visible on its surface. A torrent of mercurial light radiated from the full moon, which had recently initiated its voyage across the inky black dome.
Gilded by the orb's brilliant glow, the island appeared even more magical than usual.
Kyla breathed deep, flooding her lungs and air sacs with the frosty air. The influx of cold gases momentarily chilled her core.
She fluffed up her plumage to counteract the drop in her body temperature, turning into a veritable ball of feathers in the process.
"Ahh… what a wonderful sensation. No matter where my wings carry me, this will always be my true home…"
Kyla flopped onto her back and proceeded to hunt down the constellations floating high overhead. It took only a few minutes to locate and trace the shapes of every single star pattern.
Feeling accomplished, she stood and shook the powdery snow from her feathers. Kyla pondered how to best spend the remainder of the night and swiftly thought of a solution.
Scampering back inside her abode, she loaded up her botkin with a quill and a couple parchment sheets, sealed it, and strapped it on. She then dashed outside and immediately took flight.
After climbing to a decent altitude, she leveled out and flew on a heading of 75 degrees. There was no headwind to oppose her, yet there was no tailwind to give her a boost either.
Hunger pangs arose as she approached the fragmented calving region of the H'rathghar Glacier. She paid no mind to the churning of her empty gizzard, for her affliction would soon be cured.
She banked to the left, adjusting her course to a heading of 45 degrees.
Her destination manifested in the distance, a noticeable irregularity projecting from the glacier's uniform crust. As she continued northeast its features gradually came into focus: huge masses of rock erupting at an angle from the glacier, their snow-clad tips pointing directly at her. Nestled in the center of those crests was the maw of an impressive pit extending into the ice.
The nefarious-looking rock formation was none other than the Pirates' Lair, the stronghold of the kraals. They were a clan of mischievous owls that trekked all over the N'yrthghar in the hunt for loot, especially that left behind by the long-extinct Others.
As she approached the kraals' not-so-inviting retreat she executed a spiraling dive. The arched entryway rushed towards the tiny owl as if intending to devour her whole.
Kyla zoomed past the antique banners dangling from the rim, her turbulent wake setting them aflutter. She braked hard and plopped onto the firm earthen substrate.
Before her lay the Lair's heart, an impressive chamber that functioned as both a banquet hall and social space. Owls of all different species and colors populated the rocky cavity.
Those who weren't milling about were busy eating, drinking, chatting with clan mates, or testing their luck in games of chance.
As she headed for the dining table, the kraals showered Kyla with not only vocal greetings, but physical greetings as well. A female snowy owl with pink-tinged feathers willingly surrendered her spot and Kyla took a seat beside the massive stone slab.
The pirates issued a collective cheer of recognition, then shifted their focus back to their respective activities. A male boreal owl who'd stained his feathers light brown approached.
"Ah, the renowned kraal artist has arrived. Interested in something to eat and perhaps drink?"
"Two voles and some milkberry wine, please."
"Excellent choices. Would you like your voles cooked or raw?"
"Cooked, but not excessively so."
"Of course, my esteemed and attractive guest."
"Flivling with me, are you?"
"Flivling, no. Complimenting, yes. But, if I was a saw-whet owl, I would be."
He flashed her a wink and walked off to speak with the cooks. Kyla playfully rolled her eyes.
Her request was given top priority; the cooks worked expeditiously to prepare the meal's components. The boreal owl delivered them mere minutes later.
Her hunger peaked and she wasted no time in satiating it with ragged chunks of warm, nicely seasoned rodent flesh. The milkberry wine helped the meat slide down her throat.
Though intoxicating in sufficient qualities, the small amount she imbibed left her feeling composed and slightly fuzzy inside.
Once she'd had her fill, Kyla stepped down off her seat. Meandering towards the rear of the chamber, she spotted a male short-eared owl she didn't recognize.
Intent on striking up a conversation with the lone owl – whose ivory feathers sported crimson highlights – she fluttered over to him. Her sudden intrusion into his field of view grabbed his attention; he peered down at her with piercing yellow eyes.
"You must be Kyla, the Northern Kingdom's most famous saw-whet owl."
His speech featured an obvious Krakish accent, a clear indication of his ancestry.
"Indeed I am. What might your name be?"
"Call me Kristof."
"That name suits you well, fellow kraal."
"As does yours."
"Thank you."
Kristof cleared his throat and said, "There is something I am eager to discuss with you."
"Is that so? We should find a quieter place to speak."
The kraals ventured down one of many corridors leading deeper into the stronghold, the merry cacophony fading steadily. They hung a right at the first side path and stopped, picking up nothing but the sounds of their breathing.
"Ah, much better. Now then, what is it you wanted to discuss?"
"Your ice sculptures are mentioned and praised in grog trees all over the Northern Kingdoms. Would you be willing to create one for me?"
"Certainly. Perhaps we can arrange a trade."
"What is it you are currently seeking?"
"Decorative items for my home, preferably ones made of cloth."
"I am friends with a kraal who owns a stockpile of fabrics. I can easily gather what you desire."
"Excellent. Do you have a certain subject in mind?"
"A life-sized reproduction of my mother," he stated matter-of-factly.
"I wasn't expecting that. Such a sculpture won't be easy, but I am up for the challenge."
"I am an artist as well, but I express myself with quill and ink."
"I never would've guessed. I know of no other kraals who pursue artistic hobbies."
"Neither do I," he said with a chuckle. "I can provide you with a portrait of her I drew as a reference."
"That would be most helpful."
"Now that we've sorted things out, we should return to the main chamber."
"After you."
The artistic duo made their way back to the hideout's core and assimilated with the horde of boisterous owls. They spent a significant portion of the night mingling with their fellow kraals, catching up on the latest goings-on in the Northern Kingdom and listening to personal accounts of raids.
When the night grew old, Kyla and Krystof bid their companions farewell and traveled to the latter's abode. He lived in a fir grove nestled between the Bitter Sea and Hrath'ghar Glacier.
Once there, he produced a detailed, almost-lifelike sketch of a female short-eared owl.
"This is a drawing I made of my mother, Ilona."
As Kyla studied the figure, she commented, "You bear a fair amount of resemblance to her."
"Indeed. My sister, however, more closely resembles Elias, our father. It's odd, to put it mildly."
Kyla shrugged.
A female short-eared owl swooped in unexpectedly, almost bowling the tiny saw-whet over. Her plumage was modified with purple accents.
"Speak of the hagsfiend," Kristof said gleefully.
The two owls embraced one another.
"Good evening, brother."
"Greetings, sister. You chose the perfect time to visit."
"Why is that?" "Kyla, meet my elder sibling, Viktoria. Viktoria, meet Kyla."
"The Northern Kingdoms' most well-known artist? It is a pleasure to meet you."
"The pleasure is mine," she replied.
"There are several things I would like to ask you. We can talk over dinner."
Viktoria produced eight cooked mice from the botkin slung over her back, dumping them onto the floor.
"I won't have to hunt tonight, not that I mind doing so."
"Thank you for supplying us with food."
"I am more than happy to share. My brother's friend is my friend as well."
"A thoughtful kraal? Unheard of," he teased.
"The majority of us are, but I have heard, and seen, things that would do away with your appetite. I'd rather not discuss them."
"That is a sensible choice. I'm hungry, so let's eat!"
And eat they did, with an appropriate level of fervor.
Viktoria and Kyla dominated the conversation, speaking in between bites while Kristof listened. She posed many of the same inquiries he himself intended to ask, hinting at the similarity of their thought processes.
Kyla ate the smallest mouse but could handle no more, as her gut was preoccupied with digesting her earlier meal. The short-eared owls however, with their larger gut capacity, easily consumed the rest.
The aging of the night rendered the owls drowsy and Kyla expressed her desire to leave. Prior to departing, she measured key aspects of Kristof's body, jotting them down on a spare piece of parchment.
She and her trade partner then worked out the details of their subsequent meeting. The trio of kraals exchanged fond goodbyes and Kyla flew on home.
She was more than confident that she could recreate Ilona out of ice, despite the complexity of the project.
She fought off her fatigue long enough to fabricate a mold in the shape of a hollow rectangle. Its dimensions exceeded the measurements she recorded by a factor of about twenty percent.
The inflation factor represented surplus ice to be stripped off to assure the end product's dimensions were correct.
Kyla neatly packed snow into the mold and exhaled on it repeatedly, converting it to water. She then added more snow until the mold was filled to the brim with liquid, completing the first step in the process.
She plodded lethargically to her nest, whereupon she collapsed onto the mat of soft feathers. Her eyelids sealed shut in seconds and she dozed the day away like an owlet.
She awoke an hour past sunset, rejuvenated and clearheaded. She ventured outside to relieve herself and hunt, as she performed best on a full stomach.
She liberated the hunk of ice from its mold and immediately got down to business. Being an owl of short stature, it made sense to leave the ice block in a recumbent position.
Kyla's strategy was to divide the process into five distinct phases.
In phase one, she trimmed off the excess ice from the corners, converting the rectangular block into a perfect cylinder.
For phase two, she shaped the outlines of the facial disk and wings, formed the subtle division between the head and body, and laid out the basic shapes and positions of the legs, feet, tail, and eyes.
Phase three required the greatest investment of time and effort: Kyla granted the model a realistic cloak of feathers and finalized the appearances of all its anatomical constituents.
At this point she took a break, as the repetitive scraping and hammering had fatigued her. She read for nearly an hour, then resumed working on the sculpture.
In phase four, she scanned over it thoroughly from all angles, adding fine details in select spots and correcting any rough edges.
For the fifth and final phase, she rolled it closer to the entrance, stood it up, and polished its surface to a lustrous shine.
Kyla was impressed by the degree of craftsmanship exuded by her own creation, and she knew Kristof would be as well.
Great artists are usually those with humble beginnings, she mused to herself.
The chilled air wafting past the statue gradually lowered its temperature, hardening it and heightening its durability.
Afterwards she struck out for the Pirates' Lair, yarping up a pellet in flight. She'd fulfilled her end of the bargain; it was Kristof's turn to reciprocate.
On the way there her anticipation swelled, swamping out all other feelings. She couldn't wait to lay eyes on the decorative items he'd acquire for her.
