by Alex Rey
“We shall never be apart,” heard Pesstian as he made his way down to the ground. Before him was an elderly owl of a likeness he had never before encountered. The image he held consisted of a feathery pelt of brown and a head of two horns.
Failing to keep his temper under control, Pesstian snapped at this old owl, “What are you doing with that?” To his surprise, however, no response came from the elder—resulting in his rage’s acceleration.
“Hey!”
“What do you want?” the owl responded, his eyes locked on Pesstian’s blade. With a sneer on his face, he snuggled Pesstian’s weapon closer to his heart.
A heartbeat of hesitation came between the two owls before Pesstian sighed, “That’s—my blade.”
“It’s not your blade!” the elder growled. “If you really cared for it, why did you fall asleep on it?”
“What are you talking about? Do you really expect me to stay up all day holding this thing?”
“That’s what I did,” the owl snickered in response. “I love this little thing; why don’t you?”
His ears twitching with infuriation, Pesstian grabbed a hold of his blade while commanding, “Give me that back!” Every muscle in his legs tensed against the surprising strength of the elderly owl in front of him. How anybody of his age could have held such a grip on such a heavy object was beyond his understanding.
With a grunt, Pesstian released his grip on the sword. It was then when he asked of the elder, “How did you even carry that, anyway?”
“What are you talking about?” A pause occurred before the strange owl continued, “Do you think I’m too old to pick up something as simple as a big rock?”
Such words sparked embarrassment in Pesstian’s head. How was it that an elder held the strength necessary for picking up this blade when Pesstian needed Leyai to help him pick it up? Had this owl also drank the pool’s water?
“But—I found that first,” he protested.
“And you lost it!” the elder retorted.
Pesstian’s blood drew to a boil at these words. “I didn’t lose it! You took it away from me!” He was truly amazed how anybody could have been as hard-headed as the owl in front of him.
While he hadn’t expected the elder to show any sympathy toward his words, Pesstian took witness of his blade being set free from the strange owl’s grasp. Such a sigh put an agape look upon his face. Why would he do that?
Before Pesstian could have asked the question out loud, however, the elder owl simply snorted at him, “Don’t talk to me ever again, little boy.” A flap of the owl’s wings sent him far way from Pesstian in the blink of an eye.
Just what was that all about? With a shrug of his shoulders, Pesstian sighed and picked up the open, free blade.
--
As quickly as it had come, the magically-reflective pool vanished from existence—shrinking up until all that was left was a puddle the size of Pesstian’s foot. Such an event happened below Pesstian’s gaze and above Leyai’s nonmoving stare.
From then on Pesstian had done nothing but simply fly through the sky, forgetting all about the humans’ existence. He left behind him his old friend, his old home, and almost all his hopes. Only his spine and his blade remained of what little he had left.
A blade in hand and a scar glowing shades of scarlet and maroon, Pesstian flew further and further away from the destructive beasts. What will happen to me now? wondered he. I can’t run away from the humans forever. They’ll find me; I just know it!
Such thoughts continued to screech about in Pesstian’s mind until a rumbling in his stomach interrupted his thoughts. Oh no, he resented, holding his only free talon over his stomach. When was the last time I ate something?
After a moment of silence, I haven’t eaten all day!
Exhaustion suddenly enveloped Pesstian’s body and mind at this thought. His wings and blade grew heavier in a most gratuitous manner—only causing his rage to accelerate. A sigh escaped from his beak before he decided, I better get down to the ground—now!
Words turned to actions with a quick dive down to the snowy ground below. No such things as trees or shrubs existed in this barren excuse for a land—and it would have been a miracle of any type of rodent roamed about in this place.
A series of panting expelled from Pesstian’s beak upon hutting the ground. “Whew!” sighed he, resting his blade below his feet. Along with the sound of metal clashing with soil, spreading throughout the air was yet another cry from his rumbling stomach.
How am I going to do this? wondered Pesstian. If I keep the blade here, somebody will probably just take it away again. So then it was decided; Pesstian was to take his weapon along with him on this hunting trip.
With a sigh, he picked up the sword from the ground and trotted off into whatever land remain in front of him. It was then, however, when his scar flashed a golden color—interrupting his thoughts all the while. A pause drawing to his feet, he predicted, This thing is either leading me to food or that insane owl again.
Against every urge in his body, Pesstian ignored the flashing light atop his head and continued through the barren land ahead. All he hoped for now was that his sword in hand and the scar on his face wouldn’t draw any attention to the prey he so desired.
His mind drew back to the sword when suddenly a brilliant idea popped up out of nowhere. His idea was: if he used his sword like the humans did, he would most likely kill off any nearby food. The only problem he could think of in such a situation was his stealth.
With such a heavy object lugging behind him, a massive amount of speed was taken away from Pesstian’s feet. In addition to a loss of speed, he couldn’t imagine what would happen had he lost a grip of the sword. Such an event would have warded off all surrounding creatures for sure.
Every step Pesstian took, every breath he heaved, seemed to bring more possibility of prey discovering and running away from him. The more such occurrences commenced, the more he felt as if he would never be able to wrap his talons around food for the remainder of the night.
Then a rustle in what seemed to be dried up leaves was taken in to Pesstian’s ears. What was that? asked he. Taking a low crouch and a quick scan of his surroundings, he came to notice a small lemming hiding about in a nearly-deceased bush. I’ll just swing my blade at it—it’ll be no problem at all!
A moment of hesitation came to Pesstian’s feet as he waited for the right moment. Three, two—
Screaming and swinging his weapon all around and about, he rushed from his former resting place. Blood coming to a boil, he swung blindly throughout the air. Within heartbeats did he realize such attempts were futile.
Hurriedly, Pesstian’s escaping food retreated from his grasp—squealing all the while. Resulting in such an unfortunate coincidence was the acceleration of the owl’s blood temperature. “No!” he swore, slamming his blade to the ground. Regardless of how many animals he may have scared performing such a deed, Pesstian still remain more frustrated at his failure as a hunter rather than toward his tendency to increase the consequences of such situations.
Even in exhaustion, Pesstian spent the next chunk of time trying to capture whatever littler animals he could find. With the sense of exhaustion aching at his stomach, however, caused him to yearn for fun and relaxation.
--
Time passed on by without any warning until Pesstian found himself in the midst of a small, snow-covered meadow. How did this place get here? wondered he. I don’t understand. Regardless of all confusion, he still pressed on in hopes to find a bite of food.
Another rustle vibrated about in his ears. While not as noticeable as the ruffling in the leaves he’d heard earlier, such noises caught his attention nevertheless. He lifted his sword from the ground, ready for the unexpected.
Where is that little thing? Pesstian silently growled. Eyes peeled and bones chilled, he waited and waited for the right moment. Without any warning, a small speck of fur showed itself unto Pesstian’s eyes.
Taki
ng no time to hesitate, the little owl immediately hurtled his blade toward whatever it was he’d come to face. Despite whatever risks he was taking by throwing his sword at somebody else, he ignored all thoughts of consequences—all worries to be heard of—for the sake of curing his hunger.
Did I do it right? he wondered. But the sight and sound of death assured him he had succeeded. A squeal expelled itself into the air as multiple blades of nearby grass and clumps of snow turned red.
Excitement pulsated into Pesstian’s heart as he rushed over to the blade. It was upon pulling his weapon out of the ground when he took sight of a deceased lemming lying on the ground. The sight of such a creature warmed Pesstian’s heart—but he hoped it would warm up his stomach even more.
At this moment Pesstian took flight, a blade in his talon and food in his beak. While pleased with the food now in his presence, he found himself irritated at the sensation of water falling on his feathers. I better finish this off quick.
Without a moment to spare, Pesstian gouged the lemming with his beak. Hastily did he gulp chunk upon chunk of the meat—hoping to leave before the storm could have grown any worse. Come on! Soon did a time come when the precipitation pummeled the eating owl.
Come on! he repeated. Larger and larger did his stomach grow—up until Pesstian couldn’t hold anything more in his system. I can’t do this anymore. Now with an aching stomach and skin bruised by the raindrops, he decided to take to the sky.
The wind blew in his ears; the breeze penetrating just as deeply as the heavy rain. Within heartbeats, he took witness of the sky and the dark aura it expelled into his eyes. Such a sight took him to great lengths of confusion and curiosity.
It seemed almost as if the clouds above were being sucked into one giant vortex. Where’s that coming from? With further investigation did he discover a mass of something black and somewhat revolting clinging onto the top of a mountain. Taking sight of such a phenomenon, he stopped in midflight just to investigate.
Such a mass looked like it was tens upon hundreds of years old. Bubbles seemed to emanate from its core—giving off even more repulsion in Pesstian’s mind as a result. He even began to wonder if the black in front of him was alive or not. But was the puddle truly alive or were the bubbles coming off from the raindrops?
As one with the tree in front of him, this black pool stuck to a spike of snow-covered rock—only to drip off around the mountain’s cone-like shape. As a result, the more these pieces of the black matter fell, the more it seemed to strain to hold itself together all in one piece.
A sense of curiosity enveloping his mind, Pesstian reached out toward the puddle with his blade and touched the mass of black with it. It seemed to bubble even more than it did before as a result. With a lift of the sword, he took notice of part of the puddle of black, liquid-like matter stick to the human-like tool—then slowly fall back into the puddle. The puddle then started bubbling stronger and much more ferociously than before as a result.
The little owl was unsure of what he was supposed to do to protect himself. Should he attack or retreat—he was unsure. As a result he froze; thinking of nothing else but the black in front of him. As a result of freezing, Pesstian’s wings stopped him from hovering over the black pool—all without warning.
Before his very eyes did a party of stones appear. Wind brushing through his ears and tears streaming from his eyes, Pesstian stood there without any thought coming to mind. His blade nearly came out of hand—and the sheer looseness of his grip on it made him realize he had gone mentally cold.
A scream coming to his beak, Pesstian resumed his tight grip on the blade and gave his wings a great flap. His heart raced with such intensity; he wondered how his body could have taken all the fear just now placed into his mind. Regardless of whatever emotions or events plagued his mind, he managed to softly touch the rocky ground with no expense to his one open foot.
Now under the watchful eyes of several towering stones, Pesstian relaxed as the precipitation seemed to die down a bit. It was then when he wondered, How can it be raining at this temperature? On top of that, none of the surrounding snow seemed to meet its death when contacted by the rain. How any of this was possible frustrated Pesstian to say the least.
Now with the rain dying down, Pesstian was now able to relax—or so it had seemed at first. Within heartbeats rain was replaced by what felt like pebbles falling from the sky. A look up brought one of these pebbles to come in contact with one of his eyes—confirming what these pebbles truly were. Hail.
He knew he had to find someplace to hide now; it was either that or become pummeled by ice. Panic overturned his thoughts at that moment. Where he was to go and what he was to do seemed to become a matter of life or death.
I remember hearing that humans used to live in caves, a thought suddenly appeared in his head. And that those caves were usually in mountains, right?
Pesstian lay low to the ground, gliding all the while. He constantly alternated his view from straight in front of him to the mountain’s base—taking extra precautions all the while. At the same velocity did the incoming hailstones rain down on him without any warning.
Finally after what seemed like decades of searching, the little owl found himself in the midst of a cave’s presence. Taking no time to hesitate, he sped into its maw before the weather could have hurt him any further.
At long last Pesstian felt at peace with himself. His aching legs and stomach demanded a rest—as did his bruised skin. With the night drawing to an end, he sat his blade upon one of the cave’s walls, watching as it towered over his head.
Hopefully nobody takes it this time, pondered he, deciding to rest his head next to the sword. Sleep enveloped his body and mind, taking over any thought to work. With a final yawn, his eyelids grew heavier and heavier until nothing but darkness clouded Pesstian’s gaze.
--
This place looks familiar, Pesstian realized. He was in the midst of a vast, ever-expanding city filled to the brim with skeletal creatures frolicking with one another. Only this time, however, did Pesstian not find any kind of sympathy toward them. He merely watched as they passed by.
“Hello?” he asked of the passerby skeletons. Much to his dismay, not so much as a single wink was given to his direction. “Hello?” he repeated louder than before—but to no avail.
It was then when Pesstian decided to walk in front of the skeletal figures before him. Waving his wings out and about in the air, he strained to catch their attention—but again to no avail. Instead the skeletons saw right through him as their continued to make their way forward. With time they even passed through him without any problem.
They can’t see me—or feel me? Pesstian panicked. What was going on? Never before had he felt so small—so nonexistent—as he had right now.
Earth’s giant clock continued ticking. Tick-tock, tick-tock, in Pesstian’s head. It was then when he noticed his scar was no longer glowing as it had been earlier. Whether he should have been disappointed or relieved was beyond his knowing. He wasn’t even sure how a scar could have been useful in any way; the whole idea seemed entirely illogical in his mind.
Turning his gaze away from the unaware skeletal creatures, Pesstian made an attempt to draw his mind off the subject of his scar. As if his mind weren’t already boggled up enough, he caught sight of an enormous castle sitting right in front of his beak. Such had happened so quickly; Pesstian wasn’t even sure he had seen it before.
He wasn’t sure what it was—whether it was his scar or just sheer curiosity—but something seemed to lure him toward the castle. No, it can’t be the scar, he assured himself after taking no witness to any source of light.
“Help me!”
“What?” Pesstian responded toward the sound of the cry for help.
“Save me! Please!”
“Where are you?” he shouted—only to find silence his only response. I have only one option. Against all possible scenarios, Pesstian witnessed one of the castle’s windows and fl
ew right through its mouth.
Much to his relief, no one stood at the entrance waiting to tell him off. There was nothing in this room but dead silence: just what he was hoping for. Without another word, he stood upright and started exploring the vast indoors in front of him.
All around were there trophies, treasures, and scriptures he could not read—plastered all over the walls. With a castle and all these valuables, it was now obvious to Pesstian that he had entered a superpower’s territory. He could only imagine the consequences toward so much as breathing on one of these valuables.
These thoughts in mind, Pesstian carefully trudged his way around the many obstacles lying in his path. He kept himself at a peace of mind—only to be interrupted by yet another, “Help me!” from the other side of the castle’s halls.
Such a worrisome sound drew Pesstian to literally force himself to keep from responding. He could only imagine what would happen after releasing a scream through the castle. He could only imagine how well such a scream would have echoed throughout the castle’s brick-based walls.
The scarred owl heard footsteps—raising his heart-rate as he witnessed these thumps of death. He had to hide somewhere—which was nothing short of a simple task. Given his adorably-tiny stature, Pesstian would be able to hide under anything with ease.
But then there was the problem of his blade. Oh no! It was at least two to three times his size. Where he could hide it, he wasn’t sure—so at the last moment he decided to leave it out in the open. Hopefully the owners of this place would pass it off as one of their treasures.
Pesstian sat back as a robed being walked into the room. Nothing was exposed; not skin, not a face, or even feet for that matter. Pesstian would have guessed this creature was a human—because of its stature and shape—but without a glance at any true anatomy, he couldn’t come to any true conclusion.
The being upon Pesstian seemed to mumble to himself while strutting around the room. All the while did this creature occasionally glance at his own treasures. Egotistic much?