The Meeting of Odd

*Bhaire* · 12-18-2013, 12:43 AM

Bhaire's soul ached for the fate of this forest. Once so full of life, of sounds, was now nothing more than a pile of cold ash. The scent of death and bitter smoke clung in the air like Raham's shroud. The goddess of death is strong here indeed, he thought to himself as he navigated around the charred skeleton of a fallen pine. There were no cobwebs in it's nooks, no moss along it's length. Truly, this forest was forsaken. For all that the congested air choked him, so too did his sorrow. Bhaire had never seen such a lonely land.

He came to the top of a ridge, one he had been climbing for the better part of the day. It was not so terribly tall, only challenging to navigate with a web of charred flora baring his way. How could the gods be so cruel? The question came unbidden, and he forced it back down once again. Who was he to challenge their will? He could not expect to understand the grand design they had for the world. Bhaire dragged his wandering mind back down to the present. He had mounted the rise in the hopes of seeing some speck of green. Some speck of hope... But there was nothing. Grey, black, and steel toned skyline, and... white? Bhaire's eyes narrowed. He had not seen a speck of snow since leaving the north a moon or so ago, yet far beneath him was something that did not belong. His curiosity rose, blotting out his pain, if only for a moment.

The speck lay far below him, and did not grow much as he approached. It was somewhat easier going down than up, but his burning curiosity made every obstacle seem twice as large. He had come to the valley floor at last, but could not see his destination for all the brush and debris. He began picking his way along, growing ever more frustrated. He was on the brink of cursing aloud as he leaped over yet another trunk, but ended up skidding to a halt, sending a cloud of ash up around him. His curiosity was sated, but his intrigue was not. The white speck, so indistinguishable from on high, had transformed into a barn owl, but it was like none he had ever seen before.

All tyto owls he had seem up to that point, and that had not been many, had been tawny of wing with pale chests and faces, and dark brown eyes. This owl was like none he had ever seen before. It's feathers were pale white and cream, the shoulders and tips dusted with the lightest of amber and ochre. It was speckled with grey, lightly on the breast and shoulders, but whether that was ash or not Bhaire did not know. It's eyes were closed, and for a terrible moment Bhaire wondered if the bird had died. This, it seemed at that moment, was far more devastating than the graveyard around him. This bird was so beautiful it took his breath away, yet there it lay before him, sprawled across the ground.

Bhaire sat down to mourn and contemplate the cruelties of the world, and how fragile life was. Had he not still been marveling at the color of the owls feathers, so pristine against the soot, he might not had seen it's breast rise and fall. Bhaire gasped as jumped to his feet. "C-Can you hear me," he asked, voice weak with surprise. There was no response, and Bhaire wondered if he had not willed the sign of life into existence. And yet, I cannot risk it. Bhaire stepped forward and, ever so gently, scooped the body of the fallen avian into his maw. Ash, bitter and sour, filled his mouth as well but he could not spat it back onto the ground. He had to move.

Bhaire had never run so swiftly, so smoothly, as he did then. His path, before so cluttered, now seemed free of obstacle. He imagined as he ran that he could feel a faint heartbeat within the body of the precious life of the creature he cradled in his jaws. The forest of ash seemed to go on forever, and Bhaire grew ever more desperate. He did not know where the border would be, only that they could not stay here. He had to help the small owl, he had to. That feeling was as strong within him as the urge to gaze at a clear night sky, or to breath. He simply could not ignore it. His paws felt drawn to the horizon, nor more or less than they had when he was drawn down from the north. He must save this owl.

As if he were coming from sleep into wakefulness, from the dark into the light, slowly the landscape around him changed. Spurts of life, brown instead of black, began to peak up through the soot. The large brown wolf would have sighed in relief, had he been able to. Farther along, he saw sprigs of green, and finally he broke through the barrier of the burnt world entirely. The strange, tropical, eastern trees crowded in around him. The next valley over wore into his, and with it came a thin trickle of water. Bhaire padded through the cold stream, feeling a need to fully leave that horrible place behind. Gently, ever so gently, he lay the owl down upon the ground.

Bhaire turned, knowing his job was not yet finished. He scoured the river bank for a certain leaf, one that grew a fuzz atop it's leaves. He knew it favored damp soil, and that it must be nearby, it must. He was beginning to grow frantic when he brushed aside a large fern, and there! He snapped the herb up and pelted back along the water's edge. The owl had not moved from where he lay it, but unless he was deluding himself, it's aura had changed. It seemed that just having left the dead land had rejuvenated it some. Bhaire stripped one of the fuzzy leaves from it's mother stalk and dipped it into the cool, clear stream. It collected the water in droplets, and he brought the leaves to the owl's beak.

His will for the owl to live was as strong as his own. Why he had become so passionate about it's life so suddenly, he could not know. It simply seemed like the right thing to do. Please, he thought, with no small measure of desperation. Please, you must be alright, you must wake up! Water dribbled into it's mouth. Bhaire could not know what ailed it, but he had a strong feeling that this would help. He himself had ash in his throat, and it brought about strong nausea within him. Had it ailed this creature as well? Bhaire dug his claws into the muddy bank, his body tensing as he tried to will the owl's recovery into being. You must...

It was a stirring breast, at first, a motion so small Bhaire thought he had mistook it once more. He was ready to throw the leaves into the stream, and the avian corpse along with it, when it moved again. He was sure of it this time, the owl had taken a breath! It's right wing stirred, it's foot twitched, and then, to Bhaire's indescribable relief, the owl coughed. Bhaire could only be stunned for a moment, but when the creature began to flail and struggle, Bhaire knew he could not stand still any longer. He gently nosed the creature over so that it might turn right side up. It was too weak, by the look of things, but this was a start. It's beak gaped and grasped.

Bhaire ran back to the stream, gathering more water on a new leaf, and returned. It was easier now with the owls cooperation. It lapped weakly at the liquid, and after a time, Bhaire was able to assist him to the water's edge so that he could drink as he liked. He lives! It was all Bhaire could think, and he crowed it in his mind again and again. Finally the owl collapsed, wheezing in deep breaths and coughing every now and then. Bhaire was wracking his mind, trying to think what the owl could need. He had healed his share of wolves, but never an avian. He had never felt the need.

The owl looked to him, and blinked a long, slow blink. Bhaire was struck then by the color of it's eyes. It was not a deep brown, but a startling blue green, flecked with gold. It opened it's beak, and in a strongly accented, very weak voice, said, "You are kind beyond measure, wolf." Bhaire could only gape. The owl spoke? But how! Bhaire had never understood the speech of birds before. "How is it that you speak?" He finally asked, quite blunt. "Are you truly an owl?" The bird narrowed his eyes, opened his beak to respond, and then... nothing. He looked down at his talons, beak working around words that would not come out.

Bhaire and the weak, pale owl spent the rest of that day and the majority of the next talking. The last thing the owl could remember was flying over the forest, searching for the towering tree that had been his birthing hollow. A gust of wind had send a cloud of ash into his eyes and mouth, choking him and bringing him to the ground. Beyond that... nothing. He was quite weak from his near-death experience, and Bhaire felt more than responsible for his life. Bhaire smiled at the small creature and said, "Well it seems you have some recovering yet to do. I will watch after you, if you'd like. I am always in want of companions. Why don't you come perch on my shoulders, and we shall find you something to eat, eh?" The owl gave him a long, lingering look, and then made a clicking noise Bhaire interpreted as laughter. "I accept your offer with gratitude, even if it does make you a rather odd wolf." Bhaire laughed as well. "That cannot be denied, I am much odder than most! You are not the typical owl yourself, you know. What is it I should call you, odd owl?" The owl thought over it for a long moment, then seemed to shrug. "I quite like the sound of that, actually. Call me Odd."

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