Brown eyes bore into emerald, a rare blink the only break in their contact. Neither participants of this strange contest had moved since Bruce had first noticed the other, seven minutes ago.
The bird was strange, definitely not a local species with the variegated black-blue plumage. the beak shape was wrong for a crow, or at least any crow Bruce had ever seen.
Sunlight filtered through the dried grass screens, lazily stroking the foreign bird frozen on his only piece of furniture. If he didn't know any better he would say there was writing on its feathers, but who would write on a bird in iridescent paint, who here could even afford paint?
But the strangest thing, out of all the strange things that had happened to him lately, was that held loosely in the bird's beak was a plastic covered package of medical supplies. From here he could see medical tape, Bandages, wound sanitizer, Ibuprofen, and if his eyes didn't deceive him a tiny bundle of Advil.
Bruce didn't know what to think.
It wasn't everyday you got medicine delivered to your house by bird.
Was this how all of his other mysterious 'gifts' had appeared? He wasn't exactly sure how a bird, even one as big as this one, would be able to carry an entire outfit of clothes seventeen miles into the jungle.
Judging by it's size and talon shape, he could make a learned guess that this was a carnivorous species. Though it didn't look like anything he had seen in this area.
Both participants of this impromptu staring contest remained frozen, the only movement in the hut being the slow rustle of feathers in the breeze.
Should he say something? No, no that would be ridiculous it was just a bird, it's not exactly like it could respond. Though if it was trained well enough to deliver packages, it may know voice commands? Did it have a collar, or the bird equivalent? What was the bird equivalent? a tag on it's leg, that's what he had seen scientist's do to birds on television. There was no tag on its leg his quick glance to make out.
Old questions bubbled into his conscious. Who would send him, a someone who moved around too much to make that much of a difference, medical supplies. They would, obviously, have to know he was a doctor, or a functioning stand in for one. But how did they find out where he was, he had covered quite a bit of ground since the supplies started mysteriously appearing, and yet they kept up with him even when the military couldn't, or he hoped they couldn't.
Could that be their motive, or was he just paranoid. Did they want something else from him, If their plan was to make him feel indebted enough to them he would bend to their will they could forget it, his stubbornness was what had gotten him into this mess to begin with. If it was a government of some kind he could see them getting their hands on a trained predator bird of some unknown species. He could even see some of the more persistent ones breeding a new species just for this purpose.
His eyes narrowed involuntarily, he was so caught up in his thoughts he missed the bird lowering its body closer to the chair that served as its temporary perch, its wings spreading to ease any sudden take off it might need to make. He didn't want to leave, the shadows were already too close for him to stay comfortable in his sanity for much longer, leaving now, before he had his fill, would only make it worse.
Bruce was almost to the stop in his train of thought that would convince him to grab the bird, chain it to the bed, and run.
But before this situation could play out, a harried knock broke both beings from their worries.
"Ḍāktāra, āmi ḍāktāra praẏōjana. Ēṭā mariẏā karuna" a strained voice called, the Bengali almost too rushed for Bruce to understand under normal circumstances was indecipherable now. what made him leap from his palate to the door was the broken desperation from the other side.
The bird stilled, and in a most un-birdlike fashion, widened its already saucer shaped eyes. Ruffled feathers sorted themselves into a semblance of order, and clawed feet edged from side to side, in an almost human display of agitation. Crisp eyes wavered from Bruce to the unknown person as Bruce questioned the voice coming from the other side of the light wood door in broken Bengali.
"Āmi ḍāktāra praẏōjana. Āmāra mā asustha. Daẏā karē, samasta sēkhānē chuṭē gēlē!" the voice, obviously a child's now that it had slowed enough to be understandable, begged in a voice weak from exhaustion and dusty roads. Bruce, satisfied with the vague answer, it was the best he would get, opened the door. standing there was a boy of undefinable age covered in dust, and with dirt on his wrists and knees, he had most likely fallen in his rush to get here.
"Āmāra mā kamē gēchē. Āmarā kala yakhana sē uttara nā ēbaṁ sē kampanēra haẏa. Śiggira āsachi karuna" desperate slim fingers tugged at Bruce's arm, dark naïve eyes begging. begging for the life of their mother, the light of their home.
"Yadi āmi karatē pāri āmi sāhāyya karabē. Āmi āmāra ōṣudha pētē habē." replied as fast as he could form the words. spinning on his heel he threw on a loose shirt over his sleeping pants and, checking that his heart monitor was still in place, he turned to his small medicine cabinet to gather his rather meager supplies. Only to find the bird sitting on top of it, his travel bag packed and waiting in its beak.
It only gave him a second to freeze in shock, ice coursing down his spine, before it leapt at him. The sound emerging from his throat higher pitched than he would admit to anyone in the retelling of this story. His hands and left leg rose in defense of what could only be an attack, his hands going to protect the vulnerable areas of his head, but the bird merely landed on his shoulder.
For the second time that day brown eyes bore into emerald with a silent question, and swallowing bitter nerves, Bruce turned to the door.
"Take me to your mother. Cala yā'i"
Bruce was already sweating by the time his small entourage reached the home of the boy he now knew as Dax. The sun was higher than he originally thought.
It had been a week since Dax had come to his small home, pleading for his mother, and in that time the strange bird hadn't left Bruce's side. it had clung to him as he raced through busy streets after the desperate child, hoping to reach his mother in time. It had crooned softly in his ears as he panicked slightly at the sight of the not so young woman lying bereft on the dirt floor. even as he moved the woman to the thin palette he saw from the door he could hear the bird rustling through his supplies and placing what he would need next to him.
The children of local families had begun to call it Riya, which meant singer in Sanskrit. they said that until Bruce chose a name this would be the birds Daak naam, or nickname. The bird, Riya, seemed quite happy with his new name and would preen before the children's attention, trilling soft melodies that in encouragement to their giggling and fawning. Bruce himself never joined in on this behavior, but he would watch the children when he could, and had taken to carrying a small pouch of nuts, of which he didn't know the name, from a shop near Dax's house for the children to give Riya.
One particular trio of children had begun following Riya and himself throughout the city. They would wait at his doorway for him to leave his hut in the morning, and follow him until noon when Mira, the only girl of the group had to return to her home. they would wait outside the houses of those he would visit, or play simple games in the dirt roads. At first Mira had been very shy towards Bruce, he would find her sitting quietly with Riya on her shoulder nibbling on a strand of hair that had escaped her tight braid, or watching the boys as they fought over who truly won that game. Gradually she was opening up to him. her father was an American who had visited India for the culture, and stayed for her mother. sadly her mother had passed birthing her younger brother, who had survived without fault. her father taught her English, but she didn't have anyone to practice with as her friends had not begun learning it in school as of yet. instead she would quietly question him on Riya's habits, wanting to know more about the bird who helped the healer.
"How does it sing?" she had asked one day. this promptly opened an entire new pathway of conversation for the two, Bruce leading the inquisitive girl into the world of biology and anatomy.
The boys of the group were more interested in the trade of rumor. the elder one, Gaish, would walk proudly behind Bruce as if he were an escort. His eyes would judge passerby as if on the lookout for pickpockets or those hoping to pawn medical wares.
one day Gaish stepped forward as Bruce turned to call a tired looking Riya to his shoulder. His strange companion was becoming increasingly weary, Bruce was beginning to think it wasn't just a reaction to the harsh climate of the city. When he perched he would keep his eyes closed, and his feathers were beginning to thin. When he turned again to face the children Gaish was holding his medical bag, the look in his eyes a hidden sort of pleading, a need to be useful to someone he admired. it was a look Bruce remembered giving his teachers at school when his school life had worsened.
Without saying a word he had nodded to the boy, turned, and walked off towards his first patient of the day.
Now, two days after this practice had begun, it seemed natural to hand the boy his bag and set off. Even Riya seemed pleased at the action, the animal took great pleasure in making a great show of jumping off his shoulder and onto the child's. Though he usually only stayed there until the littlest began to pout. The littlest hadn't been named yet. It had come as a great shock the first time Bruce heard that in Bengali culture children were named when the right name was a picked, a practice that could talk all the way till the child's seventh year, sometimes longer. Gaish called him Babloo as his mother did, while Mira knew him as Chotku, which as far as he could gather meant something similar to shorty.
Bruce glanced over his shoulder at his small entourage and smiled. Gaish was giving the little one another speech on the greatness of a man, and how important a doctor was.
"A doctor is not only one who can heal. they are a person who has honor enough to help those in a lesser state than himself. They are very important Babloo, remember that" Bruce knew that wasn't exactly what the boy said but the tone of sincerity and heartfelt regard gave the man pause.
The boy was one of the better off families in this area. He knew what it was like to go with little food, but his parents obviously had some kind of learning to pass on. He had never met the child's parents, he should probably do that if they were going to continue following him.
His eyes drifted to the bird on littlest shoulder, a frown etching itself on his features. Once glossy feathers were dulled and ragged, he had to flap twice as often simply to lift off the ground. No longer would he fly between Bruce's bag and his patient, ferrying supplies to him. Instead he would find a perch by the family of the ill, trilling softly in cool melodies. In the mornings Bruce often found himself regretfully waking his companion instead of waking himself to the heartening sound of his friends singing to the sunrise.
Something was obviously wrong, he just couldn't tell what. There weren't any veterinarians near here, and even if there were he wasn't sure he could afford to take the frail creature for a visit. He barely survived off the payments he got, and that was with the locals kindness.
Shooting a worried smile at his unlikely friend, Bruce shook himself from his stormy thoughts.