The Art of Flying in the Snow

[Balmafula]

By Noonahootin

He had to get back. He had to get back to Yew.


Terrible things had happened.


It had been the screams that had alerted him to the collapsing road short hours ago. His feet had not doomed him to fall with the earth as had the rest of the caravan, and his wings had kept him safe from pain, death, and fear. Noonahootin had looked down, peering through the thick blanket of heavy snow that flurried about him, and gasped when he saw the road simply crumble away and drag his Yew comrades and their charges down with it. He had been still for a moment, shock ripping through him and creating a painful pit in his chest that gnawed through him even still. When his senses had returned, he had searched fervently for any survivors, using the dimming daylight to aid him as it did when he hunted.


The results had been disappointing. With the dead far outnumbering the living, the Yew scout had gone raw in the throat from crying out to anyone who might have been alive, screeching and hooting to let everyone who had survived know he was still there. Captain Flax had not been found, nor had the Dew Hurst leader Pyracantha. Noonahootin had searched for any sign of movement by the ruin that was the road, and yet had only seen two other Yew guards along with some faceless riffraff whom he had directed towards the cave up the way. It was the same cave Flax had intended for them to camp that night. They had gotten so close to safety, ...


Thinking back on the last survivors he had managed to find, Guardsbeast Vanessa Fern and Corporal Istvan had been the only other Yew Guards to live. He had discovered Istvan conversing with a ferret, the otter?s paws bloodied from slitting the throats of those he had found dead. Forcing himself not to react at all towards the strange religion, Noonahootin had figured that at least Istvan had been doing something he felt productive, even if it was...disturbing to someone who wasn't a fellow practitioner of the doctrine. The otter was strange in his beliefs, sure enough, but had never come across as truly dangerous and so the Captain, as the highest ranking officer left, had given Istvan something even more productive to do in being a leader. In doing so, Noonahootin had chosen to trust Istvan with the lives of the survivors. He deeply hoped that the corporal would not let him down.


Guardsbeast Fern, however, had been a different story. ?Poor thing...? Noonahootin breathed heavily when he finally found it within himself to speak. His words came out airily, and he realized he had been holding his breath since he took off for Yew.  The road collapse had rattled the veteran to his very bones, and although the battles he had fought within his years had shown him true gore and the violence of beast hurting beast, nature had always proven to be the most devastating of all forces. At least in battle, when your friends and comrades fell, they could be remembered with pride having gone down in glory. The ottermaid had lost her only true friend in Guardsbeast Kent, and would forever remember her friend's end in sadness.


Where had the tremor come from? Noonahootin had not felt the earth shake from the air. His wings didn?t afford him that experience. Nor had he seen any signs of recent avalanches or rock slides in the mountainous region. It truly was as though nature had been waiting for them. The owl shuddered, distraught with the idea of his dead comrades buried under the road?s ruin. Captain Flax had been wary about such dangers, and now the vole was somewhere beneath a boulder, back broken and blood painting the snow. The poor fellow deserved a proper burial, risking life and limb for this expedition, and Noonahootin couldn?t even find his body. Lord Aster would be disappointed in him when he got back to Yew.


Wings flapping furiously, muscles aching beyond anything, and ears ringing with a fading choir of panicked screams, the Yew Captain's attention was suddenly snapped away from him. In his natural surroundings of darkness, motion had caught the scout's eyes and so Noonahootin swooped a little lower, flying against the snow that still lightly crumbled from the sky. Below, but still on ground higher than the road the caravan had been travelling on, was a gaggle of...somethings. At first glance, the owl thought they were travellers, perhaps some mice and shrews, but as he got closer to the beasts he realized they were moles.


Diggers! Champion! They can help dig out survivors come daylight! Noonahootin's beaky lips curled into a broad smile, and the owl hastily made his way towards the moles. He screeched once to let them know he approached, and as he glided down, he couldn't help but notice how the six-strong troupe of moles scattered before collecting themselves again.


?Hoo-HOO, hello down there!? the owl bellowed, hoping he sounded more jovial than desperate. ?I hail from Yew, I won't harm you! We need help!?


The moles reacted, and Noonahootin saw one load a sling at the mention of Yew. It was peculiar but nothing about the moles, from their drab green and grey raggedy clothes to their painted faces, registered as nefarious. The scout had seen this tribe before, but most of what he knew about them had come from the reports of more grounded scouts; they were very solitary, and rarely even spotted in daylight let alone at night. In the darkness that had snaked into the mountain pass, the sling was whirled and the stone flew right at the Captain, glancing off of his left foot and shattering a toe on impact. Noonahootin squealed painfully, fiery amber eyes narrowing as he diverted course and dodged more stones, flying over the moles instead of landing. His turned his head around, looking over his shoulder at the tribe, and just below his tail feathers he could make out the moles aiming arrows. Quickly, he gained height, narrowly missing a wayward bolt. From the ground, he heard a distinct screech, high-pitched and very, very loud. A mole, larger than the others and wielding a wooden whistle, gestured to his comrades and the tribe animals scattered in an instant, disappearing into the rocks.


Confused at the moles' aggression, the Yew scout circled the area once more, trying to understand what had happened. Perhaps the simplest of explanations, he thought, was that the moles figured he was there to eat them.


?Terribly gamey things, never touch mole myself. HRAUFF! Much prefer pan-seared green frog...with a nice dry white wine...perhaps a summer Muscadet.?



Yet...the more he thought about it, the more Noonahootin came to realize that theory didn't match up with what he already knew about the tribe. The moles must have felt the earthquake as well, and their terror had driven them to attack a beast that had never threatened them. The few times Noonahootin had seen the moles, they had always been curious, poking their tiny heads out of their hiding holes to better see the grey owl, and always in day.



?Savage little blighters!? Noonahootin spat while curling his foot with its broken appendage closer to his belly, letting the soft feathers bring the talon some semblance of comfort. Indignation filled his chest, and the owl had half a mind to go back, pick one of the little devils up and drop them from a very great height. Noonahootin closed his eyes momentarily, taking a slow, heavy breath. He reminded himself he had suffered nothing compared to the poor earth walkers. Those who had suddenly ceased to be, crushed by debris or buried alive and far too deep to ever be dug out before suffocation took them in the darkness and cold. Noonahootin felt so very, very raw thinking about those who died the slow deaths. How terrifying and powerful the land and fates could be. He shook his head sadly, and instead focused his attentions on discovering the fastest path the rescue efforts could take back from Yew and bring everybody home.



The winds were silent, Noonahootin lamented, and the air was very thin in the mountain heights. The ledges that spanned the vast valley were covered in snow and many had caves carved out by erosion and time. There were great patches of intensely green grass poking up through heavy snow, and great tall trees were bent double in some places from the recent storm.  It was hauntingly beautiful, Noonahootin mused, yet terrifyingly treacherous. There was a sort of entrancing magic about the old Northern Mountains in the winter when one got to view them from the skies.


He had been meaning to teach young Wingchut these winter passages. It was easy to get lost in the beauty. Perhaps that is why Noonahootin did not hear the wing beats until they were right behind him. His swivelled his head, looking as far over his shoulder as he could, and his eyes widened to the size of tea saucers. 


Talons black as the night were stretched out towards him, and her wings, vast and reaching, were pure white save for a few black specks along her primary feathers. The snowy owl's black beak was wickedly sharp and her eyes, yellow as fear and as wide as full moons, were set upon him with deep, fixed hatred.


Her talons locked into his shoulder where his wing met with his body, and one snagged his cheek, ripping the flesh and snagging painfully on his cheekbone. He hastily kicked out, hoping to gouge the large snowy owl while screeching in her face, but only managed to trap his broken toe within the white wraith's feathers.


?I'M NOT HERE TO HARM YOUR NEST! I'M-AUUUG-JUST PASSING THROOHOO!?


The female clenched her talons and braked hard in flight, her legs stretching out with the inertia. Noonahootin broke from her, losing a chunk of feather and flesh from his shoulder, his broken toe on fire with pain, and his face slit to the bone. The tundra bird would not let up her attack, slashing at him with her talons, and with great alarm Noonahootin realized the female was not defending any nest.


He barely had his wings folded to quickly dive into the trees and she was after him again, eerily silent save for the sound of her wings faintly slicing through the air. Noonahootin twisted, first his head to check his position and then his body as soon as he felt he had gained a distance he was comfortable with. Determinedly, he had remained close to the white attacker but still far ahead enough to have a chance to breathe and, when she grew too close, he beat his wings as hard as he could against the pain to charge at her, screeching a distressed battle cry. She met him a second later, her body colliding into his and knocking the wind out of both predators. Noonahootin grabbed her leg within his talons, beating at her face with his beak, stabbing at her with his wounded foot. She lashed back at him with her wings, scoring blow after blow, and together, spiralling uncontrollably, they fell.


Noonahootin leaned back to unlock his nails from her, and the snowy owl suddenly spread her wings to abruptly slow their descent, jerking the captain up and unlatching his grip from her prematurely. She flew up and Noonahootin followed, but felt a sudden seize in his wing as he tried to pursue her. The silent white owl noticed his hesitation and swooped down, tackling Noonahootin out of the air. He tumbled, quickly slamming into the top branch of a tall spruce tree, and barely managed to right himself enough to glide wobbly into a small open patch of grass. The snowy owl passed above him, intent on doubling back and making sure the job was done. Noonahootin took the brief opportunity to drag himself into nearby brush cover at the foot of a tree, and flattened himself against the trunk, staying stalk-still. His striped feathers hid him against the bark of the tree, and there is where Captain Noonahootin remained until the snowy owl began to search broader circles around where he had gone down, a sign that she was confused and could not find him. Eventually, when the darkness became thicker and the night had a firm stranglehold on the mountain, the snowy owl hunting above him deserted her search in favour of returning home.


Thanking his stars that she was a day-hunter and probably exhausted from the night battle, Noonahootin dragged himself from his hiding place within the shrubs and stumbled stiffly out. He brushed off the snow he had compacted upon his wounded shoulder and toe, flexing very daintily. The captain then tested his wings, flapping them but once before he quickly hissed in pain and pulled his wings tight against his body. He hobbled upon his feet, broken toe making every step send a shooting pain up his leg as he paced uncomfortably upon the ground. He hated the ground. The ground was a scary place.


There was no other choice, though. He had to get back, but now he was not sure where he had to get back to. He would never make it to Yew if the snowy owl managed to find him again, but he still had to bring help to the survivors of the road collapse. A painful realization struck Noonahootin that, as the only flying beast left of the ill-fated caravan, he was the only one capable of meeting the ghostly harfang in battle. Istvan had his blade, sure enough, but he did not know if the otter or even Guardsbeast Fern were game enough to take on the huge white monster. Neither was truly battle-tested, and the captain highly doubted any of the remaining Dewhurst players or the merchants would be able to fight for themselves. They were maids, and the one other male left was a ferret who had been skinning a rat. As resourceful as the ferret appeared, his behaviour was not entirely trustworthy.

With a deep resigned breath, Noonahootin spread his wings and then paused, bracing himself. The deep scores and loose flesh testament to the snowy owl's prowess felt like they were on fire and his whole body ached, but he would not be swayed.


He had to get back. He had to get back to the survivors.


The captain beat his wings, and took off.


A moment later, the owl settled wearily upon a branch near the top of a pine tree, heaving great, desperate breaths, greedily sucking cold air in and breathing it out in fiery blasts of white mist. His eyes, always wide in a predator's gaze, were stretched over half his face, and his ears were standing stalk-straight upon his crown. The short flight had hurt far more than he had been ready for.


?Ooh, curses,? the owl moaned heavily, and braced himself yet again, not looking forward to his time away from a comfortable, safe perch.


The night remained cloudy and with no moon to guide him the Captain flew slowly. The silence once again haunted Noonahootin in his flight and he shuddered in the cold despite the heat of his wounds. He sincerely hoped that Corporal Istvan had gathered the rest of the survivors and found a few more alive as he made way to the cave. Hopefully, there would be a warm fire to rest by when he arrived, although he grimly wondered if a fire, while necessary, would attract any more enemies that night.


Short hours before dawn, the long-eared owl finally located the cave, half a mile up from the road just as Flax had said. For the first time in what felt like a long time, Noonahootin felt relief. Gliding past the mouth of the grotto and into warm firelight, Noonahootin stumbled before collapsing onto his belly, amber eyes wide and desperate as he looked at the startled group.


?One, two, three...four, five...what? Only eight? There's only nine of us? There's no one else?? Slowly, the captain pushed himself to his feet, leaning heavily upon his good foot. He looked to Istvan, and asked very softly, ?There's truly no one else??


The otter silently shook his head, compulsively wiping his knife clean on his coat before sheathing it pointedly. The owl sighed, and then pulled himself up as much as he could to give heed to the rest of the small band. Most of them were still shivering and damp with snow; some were tending to their very fresh wounds. Noonahootin realized they had only just managed to assemble themselves in the cave a short time ago.


?Well...I...I suppose this will have to do,? the Captain muttered, coughing and clearing his throat. ?CAPTAIN Noonahootin, reporting! Thank-you, Corporal Istvan, for your assistance. I'd like to speak to you and Guardsbeast Fern, over here please.?


As Istvan dutifully picked himself up from where he had been sitting by the fire, Vanessa for once hustled. Her gaze trained into the depths of the fire, at the sound of her name she snapped from a reverie and quickly joined Captain Noonahootin's side, saluting. The Captain painfully returned her gesture.


?Terrible things have happened.? Noonahootin looked at each of the remaining Yew Guard. He took a slow, steady breath. ?I was attacked no less than twice whilst trying to reach Yew. We are in very grave danger. Important decisions must now be made.?


?What? An' 'oo would go'n attack ye, Cap'n?? Vanessa leaned in closely. Even Istvan cocked a brow.


?The first time,? Noonahootan began, lifting his foot into the air so they could see his sadly broken talon, ?was from a local tribe of moles. It was very peculiar. They're usually a passive bunch, solitary-like. They started slinging stones and shooting off arrows as soon as they spotted me.? The owl shifted on his feet uncomfortably, the flat cave ground grating against his curved nails. ?I've never seen them in daylight, nor head reports of them being spotted at night.?


?Moles?? Vanessa seemed unable to move past the tribe's stock.


?Yes,? Noonahootin barked, unimpressed with the guardsbeast's incredulous expression. The ottermaid shrunk back, though maintained a dismissive air about her slouching form. 


?Moles?? A new voice, as skeptical as Vanessa had been and with far more femininity to it, spoke out.


Noonahootin turned his head right around, fluffing himself up as he did so, and looked petulantly at the pine martin jill with wide amber eyes. ?Impudence! I do not tolerate eavesdropping, madam!?


?That's Madam Blackbriar to you, sir,? the pine marten shot back, and took up a place right beside Guardsbeast Vanessa as if she belonged there. ?Never heard of an owl being attacked by its supper before, but if it's dangerous, than it's bad for us.?


?Alrright,? Vanessa said quietly, at last accepting.


?The first time, you said? You were attacked a second time, Captain?? Istvan spoke while glancing sidelong at the pine marten, sharing his superior officer's disdain for the beast.


?Zevka?? A small ferret lass, standing tall enough to just meet Noonahootin at the hip, was slinking slowly towards the group, and following in her wake was the ferret who had previously admitted to skinning the rat carcass.


?Nyika is talking to herself. I don't want to be around her if she's...? the little ferret then twirled her paws about her ears, twitching her face spastically.


The pine marten sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.


?It is not insanity that haunts her,? Istvan quickly corrected the young ferret. ?The All-Mother has given her a gift, and like all beasts she does not yet appreciate the gifts she has been given. Now then, Captain,? Istvan turned to the owl. ?What happened after the moles attacked you? What else is out there??


?What?s this, then? Moles attacked the owl? I?d love ter see that, eh!? the older ferret cut in, and behind him the rat who had been rescued by Vanessa and a toad Noonahootin had not seen before suddenly lifted their heads in interest.


?Now, now,? Noonahootin hissed, swatting weakly at the ferret and then putting his large wing around the kit's shoulders, blanketing her. ?Child, just go to sleep. It has been a long day, and I'm sure this 'Nyika' is just sorting through what she's been through.?


?I'm not talking to myself, and I'm pretty sure I have it worse'n her.?


?Poko, just go to sleep,? Zevka said through a frustrated sigh.


?"I'd like to but it's kinda hard when  that crazy cat over there won't shut her gob. Can't you make her-?


?MISS Poko!? Noonahootin boomed sternly, his wings spread wide and every feather splayed as his circular eyes locked with the suddenly very nervous jill. The pain sliced through his shoulder, however, so the owl quickly folded his wings back against his body, drawing a deep breath. He smiled at Poko, and nudged her in the direction of the fire.


?Go stay warm, then. Everyone will be to bed in a tic.?


The male ferret, his champaign coat gleaming gold in the firelight, had been about to jump to Poko?s defense at Noonahootin?s hard-nosed tone, and so she looked to him hopefully to give her permission to stay. However, when the other ferret saw there was no real issue and remained passive, Poko rolled her eyes and scowled, hunching over unhappily. The action made the spikes upon her hedgehog costume stick up indignantly straight and, sensing it was wiser to simply do as she was told than to argue, Poko turned and made her way back to the camp fire, grumbling moodily as she went.


?Sorry ter interrupt, no wait, that's a lie, what about savage moles?? the rat had made her way over to the group of adults, the toad following after her in a slow crawl.


?Oh, bother,? Noonahootin groaned, finally accepting defeat. There would be no privacy with his fellow Yew guards now. ?WHOO are you, then??


?The rat twitched her whiskers. ?Gashrock.?


?And YOU?? the owl looked to the remaining ferret.


?Call me Cookie.?


?Greenfleck,? the toad introduced himself with a small curtsey.


?Fine, fine,? Noonahootin nodded curtly. ?I did not want to start a panic, but there is a local tribe of moles that live in this area. I fear they have been traumatized by the earthquake and, as a result, are on full offences. They attacked me.?


?Moles?? the rat said slowly, running the word along her tongue like a thick broth.


?Not just moles,? the captain sighed, exasperated. ?After the initial attack, I continued to Yew to fetch help. Shortly after, something far more deadly descended upon me,? Noonahootin continued, pointedly ignoring the dubious look the rat was giving him. ?This,? the owl scout gestured to his shoulder and pointed a talon at the deep gouge down his face, ?was not done by any rodent.?


?Could've been, looks like blade cuts. What was it, then?? Risk asked loftily, his beady eyes scanning the bird?s shoulder wound.


?This was the work of my kind,? Noonahootin said while he pointedly clacked his good toes against the stone floor, his tone dangerously low, ?Only bigger.?


?What?? Gashrock gasped, shuffling away from the mouth of the cave. ?Yeh mean there's more ruddy birds out there? Ah, Hell's teeth!?


?Indeed,? the captain said, his tone stern. ?This one is fierce, and deadly as well. When she first attacked me, she came up from behind in an ambush, silent as smoke. I thought she was protecting her nest, but it's not hatching season and she wouldn't let up after I informed her why I was no threat. It was astounding; after the light had gone, she kept circling! Even after I was downed from the air, she continued to search for me, like I was some...some sort of prey.?


?Hmph, did she now...? the rat growled.


The owl looked at the group assembled before him, his brow creased in worry. ?I don't know if the moles will continue to threaten us, but this harfang poses a serious threat.?


?Wot should we do?? Vanessa blurted out, and then quietly and unexpectedly added, ?Captain.?


?For now, we rest,? Noonahootin said decisively, squatting in the mouth of the cave, his feathers fluffed up as he dutifully attempted to block out the cold and keep the light from the fire hidden. ?It has been a truly devastating day for all of us. Let us take the time to lick our wounds, and try to get some sleep. Come daylight, we shall have to decide what course of action to take.?


?Return to Yew, obviously!? Vanessa spouted, but Zevka's expression contorted at these words.


?No, we should keep going. We should continue to Carrigul.? The pine marten?s tone was insistent.


?We're not going anywhere tonight,? Noonahootin snapped, sensing tension and the firing up of tempers. ?Tonight...? the grey owl sighed, ?Tonight, we rest.?