Chapter 16- Coming to Grips

Yet another pair of weeks had passed since Clockwerk had found the wretched cat, and, much to the continued frustration of the bird, no progress was being made into deciphering anything about the creature. Whatever his ordeal may have been, it had left him with a badly damaged left arm that had large portions of muscle seemingly ripped from it, leaving only skin to cover the bone. Apart from this, as well as a few deep scars across his chest and a clearly malnourished body, the creature seemed sound enough. Hell, at this point though, Clockwerk was beginning to believe him deaf.

'Or maybe just a blasted idiot' he thought.

Wearing a series of pronounced scratches into the smooth stone floor of the main room with his constant pacing, he ruffled his feathers in an exasperated manner and then redirected his path towards what he had come to know as the kitchen. A swatch of fresh bear fur was strung from the ceiling that reached down to the floor, and acted as a barrier against the main room. Pushing it to the side with a wing, he entered.

A rectangular patch had been hewn out of the rock wall just inside and to the right to form a small platform that could be used to prepare what little food was available. This, alongside a small basin for storing water and another alcove that held a few smoldering coals in a rough approximation of an oven, made up the entirety of the small room.

The owl paused and let the curtain fall back into place behind him, silently gliding along the feathers on his back. Directing his eyes to the right, he let his attention descend towards the shelf in the rock, as well as what was lying upon it. He let out a disgruntled sigh as he rolled his eyes across the body of the sleeping creature. It had been two weeks, two blasted weeks, and he had yet to coax a single word from the pathetic animal. It always acknowledged him when he spoke, but with nothing more than a flick of its dark eyes in his general direction. This simple act of willing disregard infuriated him more than simple silence ever could, but, despite Clocks ever-growing displeasure, it did prove that there was a mind behind the creature; a mind that understood him.

If there was one thing that his father had taught him about life, it was that fear could break even the most tempered of minds, and if a mind could understand, it could understand fear.

'You have claws for a reason, fool,' came the voice of his father from no less than six different locations at once. Not one to disregard sound advice, despite it coming from questionable sources, the bird tread carefully forward in a bid to make sure the animal did not awaken, and then lifted a set of his still bloody talons from the ground. He carefully brushed against the neck of the creature with the back of one of his devices, and then closed his grasp around the throat of the nameless creature. He didn't intend to kill it, but what the cat didn't know wouldn't hurt it.

Or perhaps it would. Could be fun, after all.

Its eyes sprang open the instant that Clockwerk clamped down on its fragile throat. He struggled against the oppressive claws as he lifted a badly damaged arm to try and rid his neck of them. Pawing madly at the cruel objects, but unable to rise up due to the pressure being exerted down on him, he darted his eyes upwards, looking directly into those of the owl for the first time since he had been found in the deeper parts of the caves.

What Clockwerk saw pleased him. To look into the eyes of someone who expected death was to look into their very soul, and this cat believed himself to be very much dead. The owl moved his head closer to the gasping presence in front of him, sadistically delighting as he watched it try to escape his gaze. He parted his beak to speak, but stopped as he saw the slowly draining specimen before him try to form words. Clockwerk loosened his grip slightly and allowed the cat to steal a sharp breath from the smoky air of the kitchen. Despite the pleasure of knowing that the cat was finally going to speak, he spoke first so as to leave no question of who the dominant force in the room currently was.

"It is because of me that you are alive," he began.

"Lii non drevon na," replied the animal. Clockwerk increased the pressure slightly. "I do not… fear you," hissed the cat, much the other's surprise.

Clockwerk cocked his head to the side, keeping his expression level in an attempt to hide his conflicting feelings. Despite the unsettling blockage that had now presented itself-

'idiot.'

-and despite the dozen or so voices of his father, he decided to make the most of the situation. Still applying a discomforting amount of pressure to the throat of the rudely awoken presence in front of him, he leaned in even more, closing the distance between their two faces until they were separated by mere inches. He could feel the labored breaths of the cat beneath him increase in frequency as he drew near. This was a good sign.

"You should."

The cat's eyes narrowed slightly as they tried to block out the hypnotic stare of the bird that held his life in its claws. "Fale Ignii." As soon as he said this, the grip on his neck completely shut off his air supply once again.

Clockwerk's voice dripped with malice. "I'm sorry?" He didn't understand what language was being used, but the delivery of the phrase told him that it couldn't have been pleasant.

The suffocating creature let out a whimpering gurgle, still desperately trying to clear his throat. Perhaps telling the homicidal owl in front of him to 'go to Hell' was beyond his better judgment.

"You should be afraid of me." Clock's voice dipped into a growl as he voiced the word 'afraid'. He relinquished his grip somewhat to where the cat could breathe freely, but not lift his head. "What are you called."

"Croo?" The other's voice was raspy, and his labored breathing was making it difficult to speak.

Clockwerk cocked his head slightly, narrowing his eyes. "You are called Crew?"

"Chi spiik yen Ambrik."

"For your sake, I suggest you begin to use words that have meaning, Crew."

The cat coughed a couple of times, his windpipe still tight. "They… I am called Ambrik."

Clockwerk removed his grip from the other's throat entirely, and took a step backwards. "There now, that wasn't too difficult."

Ambrik let out a string of coughs, the act of forming words was now physically painful for him.

The owl turned around sharply and began to head for the exit of the kitchen, leaving Ambrik to recover and to… think. He dipped his voice back down to a low growl as he pushed aside the grisly barrier between the rooms. "You now twice owe me your life."

He was answered with another bout of coughing.

…

Clockwerk had long since lost track of anything that even remotely resembled time. He could finally feel the shackles of ice that had trapped his mind in place beginning to break free as he recovered more and more physically with each passing day. Or perhaps week. Or year. He hadn't been stricken with any particular desire to go outside, and the cave he called refuge itself didn't have any windows. He ate when he hungered, drank when he was thirsty, and took care of other deeds when the need arose. Despite the fact that the creature sharing the residence with him now had a fairly good reason to want him to stop breathing, he slept peacefully. If he were to be murdered in his sleep, then so be it. All it would do is afford him quick passage away from this icy prison that was with each passing… moment… beginning to look like it was going to become his inevitable tomb. He tried to keep his mind active by formulating far-off schemes to escape and trudge back to his home knowing full well that none of them had an icicles chance in hell of working, but since this particular hell that he had found himself in was, in fact, icy, he allowed them passage through his thoughts.

He had begun his daily (or perhaps weekly) ritual of pacing a groove into the path of stone in front of the fireplace in the main room. Without any new hare-brained schemes to mull over, he found himself the hostage of rage. There was no use in being this angry at what was in and of itself a completely helpless situation, but for some reason, it felt… right. If it weren't for his damned father leading himself out on this fool's errand to the pole, he would be at home right now in his rightful place. He could be eating a hot meal and absolutely flooding himself with warm wine to try and drown out the insignificant problems of the world as it passed ignorantly around him. He was only one person, right? No sense trying to get caught up in the workings of a world that doesn't care about you. If you were to try and make a difference, be it with noble intentions or bad, you would end up like-

The Coopers, you idiot.

-the Cooper family. The stupid raccoons that thought it was their calling in life to make ignoring the world he found himself in even more difficult than it already was. They always went around stealing this that and the other from his family's stores.

It is because of them that you are here.

If it hadn't been for that stupid family, he wouldn't be here.

It is because of them that you are dying.

If it hadn't been for them, he would be thriving in his sanctuary.

It is because of them that I am already dead.

It was because of them that his father was dead. They were the ones that pressured him out onto this expedition. They probably never truly intended to go to the pole. Their twisted view of the world, convoluted by generations of thinking they were better than they actually were, must have convinced them that this was an easy way to get rid of the nasty family of owls that plaguedthe entire continent of do-gooders that they had decided needed their protection.

They must have snuck into the cave that he and his father had retreated to. They must have poisoned him and killed his father. Yes, he remembered it. They chopped him into little bits and forced him to eat his family. They killed both of them.

It was because of them. All of this was because of them. It all had to have been because of them.

A sharp noise from behind him drew him out of the recesses of his mind and back to, more or less, reality.

"Lii fale strot."

The owl's eyes seemed to glow with a fire all their own as he turned to face his new 'friend'. "Meaningless words," he answered dryly, a crooked smile playing on his features. This cat probably hated the Coopers as much as he did. They must have-

"I… we need to leave here," voiced Ambrik, sounding slightly timid. He was in no physical condition to fight his captor that had already proven himself capable of taking life.

"I agree."

Ambrik took a deep breath. This owl was clearly crazy, but he had no other choice but to work with it if he wanted to escape wherever he was now. "Do you know how we might... be able to?"

"It involves a lot of walking, and a lot of cold."