The World from Above

[Clutus]

A mottled pattern of browns and grays rolled out to the farthest horizon, as the dieing sunlight heralded the end of another, ever shortening day.  Mossflower Woods had been stripped of her royal green garments; and now, only leafless branches and limbs reached up from the ocean of naked trees.  The once proud behemoths of the forest had been reduced to bare, lifeless hulks, begging for the privacy that would come with the chilling embrace of winter.  A harsh northern wind whistled sorrowfully between the pillars of the forest, perhaps mourning the loss of the leaves it had buffeted so playfully the season before.  Now the wind only shook the barren branches, rattling the death knell of the forest.

Amidst these bleak surroundings some creatures may have shared in nature's sorrow, but Clutus's pitch black eyes were alight with exhilaration.  He looked down on the rest of the world, as he had only done in his mind for far too many seasons.  Throwing his pinioned wings open wide, Clutus savored the familiar sensation as the wind tried to lift him from his perch.  A thousand generations of instinct urged the aging barn owl to launch himself into the air, but a more persistent voice, called self preservation, convinced him otherwise.  No age-conceived voice could dampen his excitement though; not his wisdom, nor even his dignity.  Throwing his flat face upwards, Clutus released a screech that rent the sky from horizon to horizon. 

?Shut yer flappin' beak, you noisy birdbag!?  Yelled a nearby voice.

Clutus hopped down from the newly constructed battlement, and turned to face the offending creature.  An irate-looking rat greeted his sight.  The scrumptious looking rodent was dressed in a uniform of Kotir, and brandished a sharp looking spear as the owl approached him.

?How dare you!  You should feel privileged to have heard that call.  There are few who have heard it and lived to tell the tale.?

It perhaps dawned on the rat that he was the only sentry on this portion of battlements, and he suddenly became very nervous.

?You threatin' me owl?  You'd better just take yer'self someplace else, 'less you want trouble!?

Clutus clicked his beak in annoyance, carefully keeping himself out of spear-reach.

?Well, are not you an insolent little rodent.  Do you truly believe yourself to be so great as to be my equal?  I will go wherever I deem pleasant.?

?'Less you do go someplace else, this place ain't going to be pleasant for you for much long'r.?

The rat leveled his spear at the owl, and seemed to take the notion that he was equal, or even greater, than Clutus.  It was preposterous idea, and firmly convinced Clutus of the guard's irrationality.  Such beasts could not be trusted, and might exhibit unpredictably violent behavior.  This was not the first time Clutus had been confronted by such a creature, and luckily he knew how to deal with them.

?I am leaving,? said the owl as he eased around the rat and headed for the stairs, ?but do not flatter yourself with thoughts of superiority.  I am only leaving as to find more pleasant company.?

Clutus retreated down the battlements at the fastest pace his dignity allowed. 

* * *

?...  Not only was he totally comatose until I woke him, but your guardbeast was extremely obnoxious and disrespectful.  After forcing me off of the battlements because 'I was keeping him awake', he made some very rude remarks about a certain officer.?  Clutus explained to a perplexed looking rattess, ?The officer's name escapes me, but I do remember it sounded very rat-ish.  Not to mention, it was a very fair and beautiful calling.?

The Kotir officer did not seem to fully catch on to the owl's accusations.  Her eyes had taken on a rather glazed expression by the time Clutus finished his speech, and he realized this creature had an especially thick skull, even for a ground-dweller.  However, she had been the first officer he could find in parade ground, and under the circumstances she would have to be suffice.

?Oh my!?  Clutus exclaimed. ?the description seems to match you to the paw.  What, prey tell, is your name??

The officer itched one of her several chins, and suddenly the suggestion of Clutus's remark seemed to dawn on her.  Adjusting her sizable dress gown, the rat replied in fluster.

?I'm called Airya.  You think I'm pretty??

Clutus blinked.  This was not the reaction he had been aiming for.  The chubby rattess seemed more flattered by his words than upset by the suggestion that some guardbeast was insulting her.  The barn owl tried to get Airya back to the correct line of thought.

?Airya, yes!  That was the name of the officer that the idle guardbeast was insulting so hideously.  You know you really cannot let such things go unpunished.  You must be sure that all creatures subordinate to you feel nothing but fear and respect for you.  Fear and respect, the two go together like wisdom and feathers.  You see, if a creature does not fear you, than they will not shy away from slandering your name and reputation.  Disrespect cannot be tolerated.?

The rattess was adjusting some of her gown's ridiculous ruffles as Clutus finished his short speech on fear, respect, and feathered supremacy.  The barn owl realized that this rat must rarely receive any compliments on her appearance.  Clutus himself had trouble just telling the gender of ground-dwellers, and had no clue what attributes they found 'attractive' in each other.

?You have no idea how much I needed this.? Airya said, her chins beginning to shake with emotion. ?Nobeast has told me that I'm pretty for longer than I can remember, and just earlier today Captain Blacktip actually laughed at my dress!  Can you believe that beast??

?Half the time I do not believe anything your kind says.? Clutus said distractedly.  ?Where are you taking them??

Clutus pointed a wing towards the column of slaves, being herded towards the keep by a dozen or more soldiers. 

?Them?  Oh, Lord Tirian ordered that the slaves be invited to the feast.?  Airya said with a dismissive wave.  ?So, what is the prettiest thing about me?  It's my eyes, isn't it? I think this dress just makes them pop!?

Clutus was already tottering away.  He passed by the line of slaves, and found himself searching for a specific face.  He was not sure what he would do if he saw the creature his eyes sought for, probably nothing.  He would pause no more than if had he passed a fallen and broken nest, spent beyond its useful life.

* * *

The dining hall was a crowded labyrinth of noise and overdressed ground-dwellers.  Many of the females were wearing long, dragging skirts; akin to the long tail-feathers of a bird.  It gave Clutus a sense of comfort, seeing the ground-dwellers emulating their avian superiors.  Despite their flattering imitation, Clutus still felt unwanted.  During the past week, his superior ears had overheard more then one ground-dweller making comments about him being included at the feast, and not as a guest of honor.  However, there was one ground-dweller that Clutus was eager to see at the feast.  A one-eyed rattess by the name of Rousseau, who was responsible for the owl even being in Kotir. 

Clutus had stumbled upon the rat and her group of followers deep in Mossflower woods.  They were seabeasts, and without experience in woodland travel they had promptly lost their way.  The owl had offered the assistance of his unmatched woodland experience.  In return, Clutus had been hoping for one of Rousseau's many slaves, but he soon discovered that the ground-dweller had a very unique talent.  She had the ability to recreate beauty, transferring it from the real world to a piece of canvas.  She called herself an 'artest'.  Naturally, the rattess had jumped at the chance to depict such an impressive subject as Clutus the Wise.

The owl's eyes swept across the crowded hall, searching for the talented rodent.  Though many of the faces he saw were casting hostile glances at him, none belonged to Rousseau.  The owl was not accustomed to searching with his eyes.  The vision of owls was of course superior to ground-dwellers, but the naturally nocturnal birds had long ago learned see with their ears.  Clutus was practically blind amidst the noises of merriment and festivity.  Shuffling towards the front of the dining hall, he soon found moving through the crowd even more difficult than hearing in it.  Every step he took seemed to be greeted by a yell of a ground-dweller.

?Aye there! Watch where your going!?

?Move your feet bird!?

?Git outta the way featherbrains!?

?Well look who arrived! Its the main course!?  Yelled a ferret who seemed to have already drank his share of wine.

Clutus carefully stepped his razor sharp talons onto the ferret's paw, and was rewarded by a satisfying scream.  It was then that the crowd seemed to part for a moment, and he caught sight of Rousseau's single eye.  Relieved at last, the owl made for the rat as swiftly as he could.

?Gah! You stupid brute! Look at my gown, it's ruined!?

Some glamorously dressed female screamed as Clutus's talons caught the delicate fabric of her artificial 'tail-feathers.'  Taking little notice, the owl continued with a long strand of fabric trailing behind him.  As he approached Rousseau, the rat procured an entire bottle of wine for the two of them to share.  She also gave a rather plain-looking pearl necklace to the wine-server.  This was probably for the better.  Despite knowing next to nothing about ground-dweller fashion, Clutus found the necklace rather unsightly.

As he reached her side, Clutus greeted the 'artest' graciously; and received a shrewd reply and his portrait in return.  Unfolding the canvas awkwardly on the table, Clutus had his breath taken from him for a moment.  The sight that greeted him was of a handsome, powerful, and dangerous looking owl.  Delicate, velvety feathers flowed beautifully from his lethal beak to his knife-like talons.  Eyes blacker than ash peered out from the canvas.  If the owl had ever looked in a mirror, he would have sworn that it was a different owl.  However, Clutus never had seen a mirror, and the owl he saw was exactly how he envisioned himself.  He had to have another one of these paintings.

?I do believe the feathers should be a softer color of white instead of say, the slight beige you seemed to have added to it.?  Clutus stated matter-of-factly. 

No matter his complaints, the rattess insisted that the work was perfectly done.  Clutus was nearing the end of his patience when he followed Rousseau into a line of beasts, who were waiting to pay their respects to the Lord and Lady of Kotir.  As he tucked the canvas under one of his wings, the owl realized what was needed to make the rat cave to his demands.  It was simply a matter of leverage.

?If you make a painting of me, I will bestow some very valuable knowledge onto you.?  Clutus said softly to Rousseau's ear.

?I already made ya a paintin'.?  An unimpressed Rousseau responded.

?Indeed, but this one will be improved.?

?The one ya have is perfect! You can't improve on perfection!?

?My eyes are keener than any ground-dweller to ever live.? Clutus explained.  ?I can see imperfections that are completely invisible to your inferior eyes, or should I say 'eye'.?

Rousseau turned a deep red beneath her fur, and even in the loud environment Clutus could hear an angry heart pulsing within her chest.

?There isn't nothin' wrong with me eye or me paintin'!? She practically yelled.

Clutus's eyes shined smugly as he stole a peck of wine from an inattentive party guest.  Turning his white face back towards the fuming rat, he continued.

?This valuable knowledge I possess will be going to somebeast tonight.  Now, I can offer it to the wolves in a few minutes; and in return, be given every gift and hospitality known to beasts, as well possibly a few more.  My other choice is to give it to you; and with it, all the prestige and honor that would otherwise be mine.  All yours, for a single painting.?

Rousseau was staring absently at the wine in her glass.  Her heart was still beating angrily, but a thoughtful expression had come over her features.  Clutus began to wonder if she had heard him.

?Wot's the secret??

?The painting??

?If the secret is as good as yer makin' it out, you'll get yer paintin'.? 

If Clutus could have manipulated his beak in such a way as to smile, he would have done so at that moment.