Scraps

He grabbed out the pieces as she requested them, passing them over. He grabbed another flask of water, and a dish, so she could dilute the trillium as desired. In this, he was acting as assistant as his knowledge of healing was enough only to get someone off the battlefield.

She began to chew one of the herbs, she seemed quiet and obedient. She had not asked a single question about who he was or what he wanted from her. He could only assume someone had beat inquisitiveness out of her. He did not want a mindless slave, but someone willing to think for themselves. With luck, perhaps she would begin to show some initiative.

The Kea’s clever beak, often used for mischief, began to unlock the chain that bound her. Sirius had stood in silence until she broke it with her question. He glanced at her soft lilac eyes, and thought to himself that perhaps there might still be a little spirit left in her yet. Just a spark. “Sirius, or Warlord, as my people call me. You are one of my people now, little one. You are in the Armada, here you will adhere to our rules, and we will be fair to you.” He promised her. He would coach her on how to care for Deathbelle later. First, he needed to get her into a condition fitting of serving his Phoenix.


"Sirius Fatalis"