Rattling Bones

[Balmafula]

By Noonahootin

Miss Blackbriar had come crawling out carrying the limp rat, but Gashrock never took those steps to freedom herself.

He had lost another life. Dolefully, he allowed himself to be stared down by the empty sockets of the rat skull impacted into the top section of one of the bone pillars they had discovered. Hanging his head, the owl shuffled around, his stomach beginning to sicken as the sight of the sneering skull, reminding him that he had been useless to save her. Just as useless as he had been when the harfang had launched her latest efforts of violence.

Damned harfang, he thought bitterly, preening at his shoulder harder than was necessary. The shoulder wound he had received during his first encounter with the white heathen had grown and stretched with each ensuing fight, and the blackening scabby flesh around the outer folds of skin had long since started to smell of almonds. The captain had grown so used to the smell that it hardly registered with him anymore, and such things made him nervous.

?I could use some of Missus Gashrock's sewing skills right about now,? the old owl chided himself, giving up on cleaning the featherless patch. Sadly, he closed his eyes and instead tried to do the only thing that would be useful for him; rest his mind, and rest his body.

He crouched tenderly in the snow, shuffling himself about until the cold didn?t sting so much. He eased his muscles, sinking into the few sticks of pine nettle he had managed to scrounge up, and his head nodded down.

Sleep came easily, washing over him the moment his eyes closed. In his sleep, he dreamed terrible nightmares of jeering rats and skeletal stoats that danced over a roasting, wingless bird. Behind them all, a shadowy figure laughed, horrid shrieking laughter. He heard noises; screeches and wails, cries for help, curses shouted without shame. Something smelt horrible, and the reek only served to further confuse him. The bird on the spit slowly turned into Gashrock, her body melting off her bones, and the forest floor turned to blackened glass. He spread his wings to save her, but the ground collapsed from underneath him and he fell, suddenly powerless to fly. 

?Captain??

?DAMN YOU! DAMN YOU ALL! LET HER BE!?

?Captain!?

?DAMN YOU-Hrau?? The owl blinked blearily, his fatigued mind and body unable to catch up with what he was looking at. Snow was everywhere, and somewhere he sensed a presence watching him. He swiveled his head around to face forward, and the motion caused a lick of fiery pain to come over him. His throat ached something fierce, and he smelt something sickening right under his nose, the strong scent of rot causing his empty belly to heave.

?Captain, are you alright? You were dreaming, swearing in your sleep.? The wildcat?s face was open with concern and curiosity, her ears perked forward in the hopes that the owl might relay his nightmares to her.

?Yes, yes, of course...? the scout breathed, leaning to the side. He was trying not to breathe heavily as he panted through his parted beak, as drawing air through his nose proved far too unfavourable; he had finally admitted what the smell had been. ``Just a night terror, Miss Nyika, nothing?to fret about??

The pain became unbearable and he felt himself fall forward with a grunt. It wasn?t the worst around his still aching neck, but instead was stemming from the deep gouge in his shoulder. His first encounter with the harfang had been his fiercest, and the flaming pain an ever diligent reminder of his lost battle.

?Oh my! Are you alright?? the wildcat asked and went to help the scout up. However, when her paws absently brushed his wounded wing, the owl let out a strangled cry, scrambling to his feet in order to get away.

?That's not good,? she said bluntly, and Noonahootin stooped and scooped a clump of snow up, packing it onto the festering wound.

?Hmph! Nonsense, it'll be fine. Nothing a dab of alcohol won't fix up,? the owl insisted, but Nyika furrowed her brows and shook her head. Then, with barely any ounce of effort, she flicked his right shoulder close to his neck.

He hadn't meant to cuff her so hard, but the knee-jerk reaction had come too quickly for him to stop, and Nyika fell backwards with a loud crunching of snow. He folded his other wing quickly, apologizing as he offered her a claw to stand. The wildcat brushed herself off and idly licked a paw as though the whole incident had been planned.

?You must understand, it's quite tender. Fresh-like,? Noonahootin explained.

?No, it's infected. Badly. I can smell it from here, and the snow compress is already turning yellow,? she pressed on, making to touch him again. When the owl drew away, however, she retracted her paw. ?It needs to be drained and properly bound, at the very least.?

?I've been tending to it, Miss Nyika. It's simply raw from my most recent encounter with our harfang,? Noonahootin answered briskly, then turned awkwardly in the snow as he shuffled around to face the direction of their camp.

?No. You didn?t fight the white owl when she last attacked us,? Nyika said, frowning deeply and tilting her chin down to give the old owl a surprisingly stern look. ?You could hardly stand. You didn?t fight, not one lick.? It wasn't an accusation, as was clear in the wildcat's troubled tone, but Noonahootin looked away shamefully none the less, his eyes cast downwards as he feebly tried not to look towards the mysterious bone pillars.

Nyika?s ears perked up, however, and Noonahootin was spared further humiliation when Nyika proclaimed she heard Zevka calling her. The owl gratefully began to sit down, but stopped when he noticed Nyika giving him a peculiar look.

?Aren?t you coming??

?Hmph.? Grumbling, he slowly inched his way towards where he could see the others gathered, taking one tiny step at a time.

When the old bird finally joined his fellow survivors, he coughed loudly and gestured Zevka over to him with his good wing. She raised a brow, but obliged him and made her way past the others. Putting his good wing stiffly around the pine marten?s shoulders, Noonahootin leaned down and lowered his usually passionate voice.

?Miss Blackbriar, I?wanted to?say? He struggled to speak, finding himself short on breath. ?That nasty business with the?the molebabe, Gypsumfur?I say, I don?t believe what you did?was very sporting, but?hold now, hear me out!? He panicked when Zevka began to roll her eyes and bared her teeth to respond. ?It was necessary,? he stated firmly to her, patting her shoulder with his pin feathers, ?to save Miss Poko. Better them than us, as unsavoury?as it may be.?

?Thank-you,? the pine marten breathed, relieved. Her expression brightened when she realized she had at least one less enemy opinion to tangle with. ?There was no time, and I?d much rather have Poko with us than a mouth to feed that?s been trying to kill us!?

?I?m rather fond of little Poko since?since she sacrificed...her hat. Quite a clever young girl. Saved my life,? Noonahootin said through a strained smile. ?A mind for strategy, that one.?

He gave the marten a nod, but Istvan cleared his throat behind them and the owl turned to face the Corporal. He was holding something that looked like a letter, his paw clenched around the folded up paper as though it might leap out and attack something.

?Gashrock found something in the tunnels,? Zevka said gravely. ?She was determined to get her paws on it, believing it to be vital to us somehow. The moles did her in for it, and I steadfastly believe Gashrock was on to something.?


The reminder of Gashrock's death stung just as much as the pain in his shoulder. Noonahootin lowered his gaze for a moment, contemplating what could have been so important for Gashrock to lose her life pursuing. Istvan answered, passing the letter to his captain. Noting the seal of Yew excitedly, the owl unfolded the parchment stiffly with his talons. His eyes flew over the words of the correspondence:

Finish the job. Then we?ll talk of provisions.

?What is this poppycock?? the captain grunted. The words suggested a trade of a distasteful nature. The Yew seal was out of place; was someone playing a cruel trick on them?

?It's the Yew seal, Captain,? Zevka pointed out. ?Someone's ordered our deaths.?

?HA! From Yew? Nonsense!? Noonahootin barked, and then chuckled earnestly. ?Someone's playing a joke on us, getting us all riled up using the Yew seal! It's a fair plagiarism, hmph, I'll give them that, but this letter can't possibly be taken seriously.?

?Captain, I recognize the writing,? Istvan stepped forward, his voice level as always. ?I don't know from where I've seen it, but I am certain I have seen this paw-writing before.?

?Aye, me too,? Guardsbeast Fern drawled, crossing her arms over her chest. "Seen et somewhere, Ah'm sure.  Ah feel like we should all know this writing.?

?The letters are well practiced and are flourished. Somebeast who thinks they're very important wrote this,? Zevka said thoughtfully, squinting at the letter in Noonahootin's talons. ?An officer, perhaps. A spy for Carrigul??

?It's a joke!? Noonahootin snapped, folding the letter back up and shoving it angrily in a pocket of his poncho. Anger was flushing his face red beneath his feathers. ?Nothing more! There's nobeast but moles and a very angry snowy owl trying to kill us!?

?Captain, we must consider the possibility of a spy in Yew,? Zevka said levelly.

?Our spies would have caught this before!? Noonahootin insisted, his voice raising a pitch.

?Weel, Aster did send us oot in a rush, an' reet before the stormin' seasons, tae.? Vanessa pondered out loud.

?What are you implying, Guardsbeast?? he growled, eyes narrowing. ?That Lord Aster himself bothered sending a caravan to Carrigul only to kill us? He arranged for the Dewhurst players to accompany us so that the Yew Guard might learn more of Carrigul's inner workings and road-systems. He found merchants willing to volunteer to go to Carrigul under our protection so that the caravan seemed legitimate to outsiders. He had planned this expedition for months alongside myself, Captain Flax, and three other officers, all of whom were lost in the mountain slide! This letter has you questioning whether Lord Aster, who was captured, tortured, and crippled by the beasts of Carrigul, is loyal to his own Yew Guards and those he asked to come under the protection of the Blue Cloaks? I personally trained Lord Aster in flight battle techniques before they crippled him,? the owl spat out, personally offended by the dissent of Guardsbeast Fern and Corporal Istvan. Of all beasts present, they should have known better; to accuse Aster of treason was unthinkable. Aster would never have betrayed the Blue Cloaks, staunchly believing in the necessity of the Guard since Lord Cedar's passing and his own horrid experiences in the clutches of Carrigul.

Vanessa leaned back, putting her paws up defensively.

?Nae, nae, nae, Capn'! Ah'm no sayin' anythin' aboot the auld featherbag, he takes himself far tae seriously tae play this kind o' trick. But ye know 'ow et is at Yew- twould take just a single greedy slimegob tae slip this under Aster's beak an' presto! We're stuck in a wasteland with a gang o' hired gaboons paid tae make sure we ne'er get oot alive."

?It would have to be somebeast very close to your Aster, trusted enough to use the Yew Seal and know the details of the mission,? Zevka said with a nod to Vanessa's reasoning.

?Outrageous! One letter has you all scrambling at a conspiracy!? the owl cried, fuming angrily. ?I've been with the Yew Guard since I left my parents' nest, and never have I seen its integrity compromised! Not under Lord Cedar, not under Lord Aster, not from any officer or Guardsbeast! This is a note to deliberately confuse us and waste time and resources!?

?I can understand why you'd want to believe otherwise, Captain,? Zevka said, trying to soothe Noonahootin's obvious distress. ?But we must look to reason here. Somebeast sent this letter, and even if it is a forgery, that means somebeast has seen a Yew seal to copy. Somebeast had an education to teach them such fancy lettering. Somebeast had inside information and knew where we would be, and they were willing to sell us out in order to get something. It has to be an officer within Yew, Noonahootin.?

The owl ground his beak, his eyes twitching as he bobbed his head up and down, struggling to find a quick way to explain away the conspiracy against them. He had been a proud member of the Yew Guard for decades. He screeched, stomping his talons and cursing. ?It can't be! I don't believe it! It just can't be?

Zevka sighed resignedly, but didn't seemed ultimately phased by the old owl's stubbornness. ?Never the less, we must consider it as a possibility. The Yew Gaurd is compromised, Captain. I propose we all head to Carrigul, as previously planned. I can find out what happened to Mekad and you can find out what's going on at Yew.? The marten?s face grew grave as she suddenly leered over her shoulder suspiciously. ?Besides, the moles haven?t followed us past the bone pillars. The ground stopped shaking immediately when we crossed the threshold of terrain. We?re safe from them here.?

?You go ahead and do that, then,? Noonahootin said scornfully, ?I'll continue to have faith in the Blue Cloaks. I didn't waste my life furthering the cause for one letter to come along and destroy everything I've worked for. Everything the Yew Guard has worked for!? The owl went to spread his wings, but hissed and balked instead, stumbling back.

?Captain,? Istvan spoke whilst stepping forward, his brow creased ever so slightly in a frown. The owl turned away quickly to hide the pained look on his face.

Vanessa stood up straight, her voice ringing out confidently. "Cap'n, Ah say we go on tae this vermin settlement. There wouldnae be any honor in turnin' back noo would there? We'll be doin' everybeast in Yew a favour bah findin' oot more aboot this letter and aboot Carrigul too!"

?Fine,? Noonahootin snapped, though he couldn't help but notice Vanessa beam at his approval. He calmed his tone, sighing with the stress. ?We shall go to Carrigul. Miss Blackbriar can find her brethren and we shall complete the mission. Disgusted as I am to say this, but we might have better luck spying on the scallywags with a...erm, smaller party. Hmph.? Tiredly, the owl began to make his way back to his makeshift nest on the ground, but found his path was blocked.

?Ultimately, our path doesn't matter. Death will claim us one by one until there's no one left.? Nyika was suddenly right in front of him, her delicate footpaws keeping her silent in the snow. ?And what about your wing? You won't survive the way there if you let it fester any more! The curse will follow us to Carrigul and it will surely have an easier way to you through your infection!?

?Ouf, curse this, curse that, curse, curse, curse!? Poko, too, had joined in, lonely on the outside of the impromptu council. ?Nobody believes in your stupid curse. Mister Noonahootin's wing is hurt; just mind that!?

?This isn't for your ears, kit. Be useful and find us some food,? Greenfleck intervened, his tone one of forced nicety.

?She fought off the harfang! If the girl wants to talk, then we will listen,? Noonahooten stated matter-of-factually. He had grown rather fond of the little ferret since her cleverness had saved not only herself, but his own life. Mere hours ago, he had been worried if she could climb a tree, only to find her ingenuity had grounded a fierce bird of prey.

?We each cheated death when the road collapsed,? Nyika pressed on, ?And now it's coming for us. First Risk and now Gashrock. A debt must be paid, and we've only just begun. If we don't do something now, Captain, you're going to be next.?

?I did not cheat any reaper,? Noonahootin said delicately, sinking down to settle as comfortably as he could in the snow. Sad thoughts towards their departed was not what the party needed right then. ?I was merely flying. No god of death can expect me to owe him anything when he served me nothing. If my feet had been on the ground with the rest of those poor souls, than perhaps, but it didn't happen that way.?

"No," Nyika mused. "Perhaps there is another plan for you yet..." Snapping out of her reverie, she pressed him further. "I could burn sage for you," Nyika insisted, digging through her pockets just as she had before. "Keep the evil spirits at bay! I could bless you-"

?Now see here,? Istvan stepped forward, but Noonahootin raised his good wing and shook his head.

?If it makes you feel more confident in our luck,? Noonahootin said quietly, looking at Nyika with warm amber eyes, ?Than I will allow you to burn your sage. Skies above, it does smell something awful.?

?You really must be doing poorly to give in to superstition that easily. I thought you gave in too easily arguing with me, as well,? Zevka said, squinting at the owl and pinching her chin between her claws. ?I've read books on healing. I can help you, you know.?

?I don't need any help. A bird knows how to take care of his own wing,? Noonahootin puffed up proudly then, folding his good wing against his back. His right, however, only came up half way before he found it locked with stiffness.

Heat surging through his shoulder,  the owl brushed off the ball of yellow and red snow and replaced it, scooping up fresh, cold snow to pack onto the aching sore. Even Greenfleck took a second glance when the wound became fully exposed.

?Chop it off,? Greenfleck said frankly. ?It's easier. The infection can't spread if there's nothing to spread to.?

Noonahootin laughed then, his entire body shaking with the force of his guttural guffaw. ?A bird who can't fly? Useless! I'd be utterly useless! Die of misery before the blood loss got me!?

?An otter that can't swim is still alive,? Istvan said sagely. The otter unsheathed his dagger and presented it to the owl captain. ?I would be pleased to assist, Captain. I, myself, would do the deed.?

?Now, now,? Zevka intervened. ?There's no need to get hasty. If we cut out the infection, it would work just as well. He might lose some mobility in the wing, but he'd still have it.?

?An' be like Aster would, aye,? Vanessa said with a roll of her eyes. Their crippled lord once again in their minds, the Yew Guards became eerily silent.

?I...I know some plants...? Nyika said timidly. ?If we boil water, clean Istvan's knife and the Captain's wound...I mean, if somebeast had to cut him open, I know some plants that help with the pain and the healing.?

?How come this knowledge never surfaced before, child?? Noonahootin asked, bobbing his head at the wildcat. Such information would have helped even before the party had left Yew, for even knowing a beast had healing skills would have comforted and boosted the morale of the caravan.

"Well, I haven't ... done much ... since ... Vera," Nyika, said, shuffling her footpaws in an embarrassed manner. "And ... I'm not very knowledgeable, actually. I was hoping I could pick up on my lessons once we got back."

?Excellent!? Zevka positively beamed. ?With my know-how and Nyika's herbs, we might have you back in the air in no time.?

?Far better than dying on the ground! I mean, for a bird,? Poko chirruped, pleased that the captain was to receive proper help.

?Nyika, build us a fire and boil some water, please. Poko, go help her. We'll use Gashrock's silks to bind your wing,? Zevka took charge, and began to list out the things she'd need to operate.

?I have not agreed to any of this,? Noonahootin grumbled unhappily, although the stiffness in his neck was more than enough to coax him to see reason. If they didn't deal with his wound now, there might not be another chance.

I'll be damned rather than let them take my wing, Noonahootin thought bitterly. I'd rather be dead.

Poko had made a bed of soft green nettles, bark, and what little dirt could be dug up from the frozen ground. The bark splintered and dug into his belly, but Noonahootin thanked the ferret none the less.

?You'd make a fine bird, Miss Poko. A kite or a harrier, perhaps, with such fine nest-building skills.?  He could see her trembling beneath her cloak and when he rested down onto the 'nest' he was sure to snuggle right down, humming and nodding in comfort to ease her excitement and anxiety.

?Ah yes. This will do quite finely.?

The ferret beamed, happy to be of use once again. She sat with him while Zevka cut up strips of the silk with her sabre and Istvan boiled his knife alongside Nyika's herbs. She frowned at him for sullying her herbs.

?Mister Noonahootin, are you going to be alright? If we don't have you, the others proved they can't fight off the other owl properly.?

?Ah, Miss Poko, fear not!? Noonahootin stuck his chest out, lifting his chin proudly. ?I doused the wound with alcohol since I received it. It can't be too garish yet; just needs a quick trim. Blackbriar is a clever girl, she's read all the books. Istvan is...precise with a knife. His paw is steady; he won't slip.?

Istvan was frighteningly good with a knife. Noonahootin had seen firsthand what the otter had done one night when two child-murdering brigands had been condemned to the dungeons of Yew. At least the otter had possessed the good sense to bandage them up when he had finished.

Shelving the memory into the back of his mind, the owl let Poko brush the snow from his shoulder and press a boiled scrap of cloth onto the sizable lesion. She gave him a quick kiss on his slashed cheek, which had been healing much more efficiently.

?That's what my mati would do when I was little and bruised my knee,? Poko said quietly, her eyes downcast. Noonahootin drew her in close, clicking his tongue as he gently cooed to her.

?Thank-you, sweet girl. I feel better already.?

They stayed like that until the cloth had cooled and begun sticking to the red flesh. Poko peeled it back slowly, nervous to hurt the owl.

?Quick-like, now. Get it over it,? Noonahootin insisted, and she obliged him. He winced, swallowing back a yelp. Instead, he distracted himself with a story.

?When my children were all owlets, no bigger than the twigs they nested in, I'd tell them tales about great battles,? Noonahootin began idly as Poko rinsed the cloth in warm water. ?My young son, Cleite, was always fascinated by these stories, but not for the glory and the violence like his brother was. No, Cleite always wanted to know what went on behind the front lines, in the officers' tents. He wanted to know the strategies and the plots. He always had to know the why and the how.?

?I bet he'd know how to help you now,? Poko suggested as she once again pressed the warm cloth onto his shoulder, rubbing gently at the black, dried scabbing that had formed around the edges of the deep gouge.

?Oh, I don't doubt it. He always had a scholar's heart, that one.? The owl closed his eyes for a moment, breathing in deeply and letting his breathe out in one lone exhale as he fought the urge to yelp. ?My youngest, Wyoot, she never had any interest in any battles. No, for her it was always about her beauty; she knew how to get her way with the creatures of the forest. Great political mind, that one.?

?You have a daughter?? Poko asked curiously, her attention teased.

?I have two daughters,? the owl said fondly. ?My second child, Venia, and her younger sister Wyoot. Wyoot was born blessed, you see, destined for great things. Her feathers are white as a full moon on a black sky, her eyes as red as rubies.?

?You old fibber,? Poko giggled, swatting at the owl's mustache. ?Your kind aren't white!?

?Nor do we have pink beaks, but my daughter does,? Noonahootin chuckled. ?It happens. It's incredibly rare, mind you, but when the Great Golden Eagle of the Sun and the Great White Owl of the Moon cease their eternal war, a child is hatched that is most special.?

The ferret was giving him a look through her scrunched up eyes, unable to tell if he was teasing her or not.

?Those are the gods my family has followed for generations,? he offered. ?Gave up on them myself, decades ago. We're all a bag of bones in the end, so what's the use of arguing who's right and who's wrong.?

?What about Istvan, then? What about the All-Mother??

?Ah, yes, well...Istvan has his religion. Rather, he is his religion. I'm not. That's all there is to it, young miss. We each choose for ourselves.?

?Why are you telling me this?? Poko's voice had cracked as though she had been about to yawn, but Noonahootin felt her form, pressed against him, shaking violently.

?I'm telling you this because I want you to take comfort,? the owl said slowly. ?It doesn't matter where we go, or if we go anywhere at all. If there is an afterlife, it must be wonderful, full of the family and friends that left before us. We simply must make the best of our lives while we still have them to live.? He removed his wing from around the young ferret maid, tilting her chin up to meet him. Her eyes, full of tears, looked right into his without hesitation and the owl felt a deep shiver of respect go through him.

?Do not worry for me, Poko. I have no regrets. I've lived my life as best as I could, and how I wanted. The day I fly to the Great Tree, or walk through the Dark Forest, or meet the All-Mother, I will do so with my head held high. Not like that harfang, eh? She'll still be sore about being defeated by a hat!?

The maid smiled at long last, but her expression very quickly turned back into one of anxiety.

?We're ready.?

Owl and ferret turned their heads to Nyika, who stood with a pawful of sagging, soggy herbs that hung like limp string between her claws; in her other paw, a stock of dried sage leaves were smoking.  Behind the wildcat, Istvan and Zevka stood in wait. Noonahootin gave a wink to Poko, and reached down to his poncho with his beak. A quick nip and a tug released the silver, yew leaf-shaped pin that officers of the Yew Guard wore. He placed it in Poko's paw, and she clutched it to her chest as though it were the most precious thing in the world to her.

?Keep the fire burning, m'gal. I'll want some tea when this business is done!?

The owl settled down into his nest, and slowly, very slowly, extended his wing out as fully as he could.

?I said a prayer to the All-Mother,? Istvan told the captain.

?I'll begin mine,? Nyika countered, and draped the herbs down over the lip of the sole pot Risk had rescued from the landslide. Carefully, she picked several leaves from the stems, and positioned them over Noonahootin's wound, offering him one to chew on. The owl obliged, and opened his beak for the cat. She popped a leaf inside.

?Bitter,? he grumbled, smiling at her good intentions despite himself.

Nyika began to hum, her footpaws suddenly striking through the snow to reposition themselves, her legs crossed. She turned slowly, bringing the arm which held the sage down across her form in a wide circle. She turned around and danced in a practiced pattern, her paws carrying her with a grace the group had not seen before. Even Poko's eyes were trained onto her rival's form as the wildcat bent and bowed at angles unknown. Somewhere, Vanessa was beating her tail against a tree, keeping rhythm with the wildcat's dance. Nyika waved the sage in long strokes over Noonahootin's body, her song taking on words as she stretched out over the owl's unfurled wing. Her dislocated arm tucked against her tightly within its sling, the wildcat waved the smoking herbs in arcs that snaked through the air, leaving behind a ghostly silver trail, her eerie singing sending shivers down the spines of her observers.

At last, her dance ended, and Nyika stood silently with her eyes closed, her breath misting out before her. She barely moved, as though in a trance, save for her lips that formed silent words. When at last her eyes opened, she placed the two pawfuls of burning sage on either side of Noonahootin's nest.

?Alright then,? Zevka stated flatly. ?Let's begin.?

The pine marten removed the boiled herbs from Noonahootin's shoulder, giving them back to the wildcat who added them to the others on the pot's rim. The water had taken on a greenish tint, which Noonahootin caught himself eyeing warily.

?It's clean. Nyika says it'll help stave off infection once we cut what's in you out,? Zevka explained. ?Istvan agreed, so I think it's alright.?

?Ah, well, if Istvan agrees,? Noonahootin wheezed, eyeing the tattooed otter knowingly. The priest shrugged, stepping forward with his knife raised. Behind him, the fire roared as Poko obediently dumped more wood into the flames. It's light was blaring as the sun threatened to retire and each of the gathered beasts were sweating.

?We need to cut it open a little bit, to drain it,? Zevka instructed.

The first cut made was startling, and Noonahootin jolted involuntarily. Istvan patiently waited for his superior officer to readjust and brace himself, and began again. The flesh was an angry red, sticky yellow pus crusting in each nook and cranny. His blade sharp, the otter barely had to add any pressure to lacerate the wound at the edges.

?Right. Now we let it drain,? Zevak said confidently.

They watched the wound expectantly. Slowly, striped paws crept in and added a touch of pressure to the sides of the wound, and violently suppurated the expected ooze. It was a dirty yellow, with a hint of green, and the smell made Zevka backpedal and gag.

?Aug, oh, core, that's...right...? the pine marten drew her raggedy sleeve up across her nose, wincing when her eyes were drawn hypnotically back to the injury. ?So, uhm, Poko, where's that rag? Right, thanks. Uhm, Nyika, wipe that...that and we'll get going.?

It took three good squeezes before Zevka retched into the bushes, and at long last all the pus that Nyika could squeeze was drained. The wildcat poured warm water over the wound, dabbed it dry with a scrap of cloth, and moved aside as Zevka and Istvan brought their faces in close to inspect their handiwork.

?There,? Zevka stated.

?Where?? Istvan asked, looking closer as though some great truth eluded him.

?There,? the marten said again with a hint of annoyance. In the deepest part. It's green. It gets really, really red, and then there's this sort of speckled green tint, see? Where those white splotches are??

?Oh yes,? Istvan said, squinting and nodding as his eyes focused on the curious formation of colour.

?We need to cut the green bit out. That's the infection. That will spread into the rest of him, and rot him out. If it gets into his blood, it'll kill him quicker than you.?

?That's not very nice,? Noonahootin chided, smirking playfully from where his head rested. He chomped up the leaf a little bit more, greenish brown mush oozing from the corner of his beak.

?You'll have to widen the inside of the wound to get at it, though. From the looks of it, I mean.? Zevka hastily explained: ?You can't just go digging in with the tip of your knife; you'll cut up all the savable flesh and...well, that'd be bad.?

?There's quite a few feathers in way,? Istvan remarked. ?I can't see properly.?

?Why didn't you say that before?? Zevka snapped. ?How can you see the infection if there's feathers in the way??

Once again, silent paws snuck in between the two makeshift surgeons, and feline claws snipped and pulled where red stained feathers edged their way into the borders of the wound. Then, as silently as they had come, the paws were gone.

?Just trim the feathers, then,? Zevka said. Istvan turned to look back at his work, but paused. A beat. Slyly, he cut a single feather by the stem, and turned to Zevka, ignoring Noonahootin's hoot of amusement.

?What now??

?Widen the wound from the inside. Uhm...there.? Leaning forward and standing on tip-paw, Zevka pointed to a spot near the greener flesh. ?We shouldn't cut right into the green, that'll just spread the infection around the whole wound. It's got to be precisely were the green turns into red. It's hard to see, because the flesh is so dark, but you need to be exact. You have to make it deep, too, so we can separate the fold sideways. I don?t know how deep, though,? she admitted. ?I think the book just assumed I?d be a trained doctor.?

A torch appeared above Istvan's head. Vanessa gave the other otter a meaningful look. ?Just makin' sure ye dinnae get carried away,? she said.

Istvan slowly moved his knife into the depths on the gouge, carefully placing the tip onto the place he figured Zevka had pointed at.

?No, no, too far in!? the marten cried, waving her paws. ?Up a bit, up a bit!?

?Brace yourself, Captain,? Istvan said, glowering.

?Aye, aye,? Noonahootin answered, and did as he was told.

Never mind dying of infection, the owl thought, not nearly as worried as he knew he should be. They'll kill me with their arguing! It was funnier than he knew it really was, and so the owl contented himself with staring straight ahead and trying to focus on the bark patterns of the birch trees.

Searing, hot pain flooded Noonahootin's senses, and he jerked back. Istvan gave a strained cry of protest while Zevka shrieked for him to keep still. Vanessa shoved the torch into Greenfleck's paws and threw herself on top of the owl, strong arms and heavy rudder pinning his body. Nyika jumped and she, too, held him down by the wing.

?I cut him in the wrong place when he moved,? Istvan confessed. ?Should I try again??

?Yes, yes, of course! No, wait!? Zevka wrung her paws, then grabbed the torch from a bemused looking toad. She lifted the light over the wound, and saw that Istvan had nicked the flesh higher than she had instructed him to. ?It'll have to do. Cut the same spot, but make it longer, and then do the same cut on the other side.? Istvan gave her a questioning look and she threw her paws into the air defensively. ?The books I read on surgery were all written for someone taking a class on it, but this is emergency surgery in the woods!?

Istvan took a breath and dug the blade in where it had left off. Beneath him, the owl shuddered and clenched his beak. The otter worked fast, driven on by his captain's pain and the desire to get it done quickly.

?Good,? Zevka said, ?Now the next cut.?

Pus mixed with blood erupted from the second cut, and Zevka gagged again as a heavy smell struck her nose. ?Too deep,? she reprimanded, and stepped back. Nyika was right there to take her place, sopping up the oozing mix with one rag, and then dribbling hot water over the sliced flesh and drying it as best she could with another.

?Alright. Now, we...we have to pull it apart a bit so we can cut into...cut into it and cut the infected flesh out.? Zevka was practically choking her words out, but still found it within herself to step back into position.

?Should I cut directly down into it, or angle my blade?? Istvan asked while Nyika, as gently as she could, tried to pull the wound wider.

?It's not...it's not enough,? the wildcat said quietly, her heart beating a mile a minute.

?Angle it; the book said to slice like you're cutting butter, not bread,? Zevka answered with a croak.

Istvan nodded, and once again delicately plunged his blade down into the gouge, cutting along the edges of the green innards.

?STOP! BELAY! CEASE! CEASECEASECEASECEASE!? Noonahootin shrieked, practically standing up with the force of his recoil. Vanessa slammed her tail between his shoulders, and the owl went down hard, writhing from the added bruise.

?Hang on, Cap'n!? Vanessa roared far too excitedly, her eyes wide as she strove to to hold his body still.

?It's not wide enough!? Nyika repeated, and grabbed Istvan by the lapel so that this time he heard her.

?She says it's not wide enough,? Istvan re-laid the message to Zevka. The pine marten scoffed

?Well we can't keep cutting him up!?

?She says we can't keep cutting him up,? Istvan told Nyika, his eyes wide with the shock of hearing Noonahootin's desperate orders.

?Tell her, oh, never mind! Make the cuts deeper then!?

Istvan went to move his knife, but Nyika stopped his paw with her own.

?No, those were bad. Make new cuts deeper in.?

?Deeper?? Zevka echoed incredulously. ?New cuts? We'll nick an artery and loose him!?

?Not if you tell me exactly where to cut,? Istvan stated firmly, his eyes narrowed as he watched the wound with deep suspicion. The pine marten fretted for a moment longer, but like diving into cold water, she collected herself with a few deep breaths and stepped forward again.

?The books were on mustelid anatomy, not bird! ARRGH! Oh, uhm?See those thin blue lines? Nick those, and it's over. Don't touch them. Don't go near them. Don't even think about them. Right beside them, and into the green. Two more cuts, Istvan, and we pull it open and cut out the evil spirits.?

?Should have told me about those earlier,? Istvan sulked, and moved his knife as he was bid. He sliced through the muscle lightly, and before he even began to register how deep his blade was in, green pus erupted like water breaking through a damn, and with it, red began to flow freely. Swallowing the bile back down, Istvan hastily deepened the cut and made its parallel twin, and then very quickly stepped back and heaved. Zevka was right behind him.

While his surgeons dealt with their stomachs, Noonahootin ground his beak as hard as he could, determined not to move about and worsen his situation. He trembled, his whole body on fire with slicing pain. Beside the actual flames, in the single pot Gashrock had rescued from the landslide, was the bubbling, boiling water. Nyika had been throwing in pawfuls of snow every few seconds to keep the water from boiling away, or to cool it down appropriately. Her surprisingly skilled movements had fascinated the owl as he sought out something to distract his mind. The herbs, which had made his tongue go numb, had worn off but he refused to ask for more, knowing full well that he'd want the pain killing herbs when the surgery was finished.

If I survive that long. Maybe it's not worth waiting; why die in pain, eh, old boy?

Poko must have read the resigned look on his face, for she suddenly dropped the kindling she had been collecting and rushed to his side, stroking his cheek and telling him to be strong, be strong. The owl swallowed, and tried his damnedest to heed her words.

?Good,? Zevka was saying somewhere above him. ?Now...pull it apart again, this time a little bit deeper in, along where the botched cuts were made.?

It felt as though someone had smashed his bones with a mallet; the owl gave a keening, primal screech and buckled underneath Vanessa's weight. The smell was haunting him, and not being able to see exactly what Istvan was doing was only serving to enhance every single movement the knife inside of him made, from the deliberate slicing of his flesh to every nervous twitch.

?Hurry!? Zevka cried as Nyika determinedly squeezed at the wound until she was satisfied the pus had all been drained out. She claws made tiny indents in his skin, and the owl was struck with terror as he imagined a thousand ants crawling inside of him alongside wriggling maggots and fat black beetles. He screeched again, flapping his free wing once and blowing snow in every direction.

?Easy on!? Vanessa slammed her tail into his back again, but the owl was struggling too much, too determined to free himself from the awful pain.

Just let it take me, then! he begged, kicking and slamming his head down over and over as he tried to do something, anything to not think.

?Please, Mister Noonahootin!? Poko begged him, trying to hold down his freed wing. He clacked his beak, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with weakness, and settled back down, unmoving. 

Stiff upper lip, old boy, stiff upper lip... he tried telling himself, repeating the mantra in his mind but the thoughts crumbled away as Istvan once again began cutting. The owl remained still.

?Angle the blade more!? Zevka barked. ?Nyika, get Gashrock's thread ready, we'll stitch him up as soon as we can!?

Istvan was chuffing as the realization of the eerily inert owl under his knife fully struck him. His paws covered in red blood, he dug his blade underneath and around the green flesh, gouging it out as smoothly as he could with the tip of his knife. When at last he felt the muscle disconnect, he peeled it back and, as though it would infect him, skewered the stringy bit and flung it into the fire.

?Make sure you got it all; one book spent an entire chapter detailing what happens when something is left behind in surgery,? Zevka reminded the otter, and the knife was back, slicing and carving away while Nyika dabbed and wrung hot water over the wound. The wildcat went through one, then two, and then a third clothe, finally electing to bunch them all up together and press hard on the wound.

Noonahootin moved again, weakly lifting his head before letting it fall back down. He couldn't see straight. What was happening? Words didn't make it across his tongue; they petered out before his mind could even finish finding them.

?It won't stop bleeding,? Nyika declared, her voice a pitch higher than what was normal.

?Would this help?? Poko gripped Noonahootin's pin between the folds of her cloak; it was glaring white, and the sight of it made Zevka gulp.

?I forgot to put a knife in the fire to cauterize him,? the marten moaned. Not one to lose hope, Istvan whipped his overcoat off and bunched it up. Carefully, he took the heated pin from Poko's paw in the swath of fabric. Dark blood was gurgling up from the space where the infected flesh had been, and without even a blink, Istvan pressed the pin into Noonahootin's flesh.

Suddenly, Noonahootin looked up, eyes wider than saucers.

?SKIESABOVEITBURNSITBURNSITBURNSITBURNSIT...? A pause. ?ISMELLDELICIOUS!?

His head hit the ground with a pathetic thump, pillowed by the nettles and rotted bark. Sweating profusely even as Istvan pulled the pin out and Nyika finished threading a needle, the owl shuddered and wondered just how many of those herbs the wildcat had prepared.

Thank-you, Gashrock, was the final thought he had as unconsciousness began to embrace him and his eyes drifted partially closed. When the darkness came, the last sight he had was of Gashrock's needle making its way towards his wing.