The Mourning After

[Poko]

No, oh no, oh no, oh no.

Screeching noises and flitting silhouettes against moonlit clouds had evidenced a great air battle between birds of prey ? sounds which were far too familiar to the young ferret. She gaped from her perch near the Orange Weasel tavern, flinching at the screams and pained cries.

And then, it was over.

Poko tore across the rooftops, leaping three-story gaps and scrabbling up and sliding down sharply angled shingles. Every obstacle was simply a foothold, and enough adrenaline ran through her small body that she did not even consider the pain in her bandaged footpaw.  She practically flew ? flew to the fallen bird she hoped against hope but knew ? she knew deep down inside ? was Noonahootin.

The pile of gray-grown feathers came into sight and she hopped the last break between buildings, slowing as she drew near, a lead weight in her gut.

One wing angled out over the edge of the flat roof, and though the head also flopped limply beyond view, it was obviously the captain. His softer feathers fluttered in the breeze, as if they still held traces of his cheerful life.

?Captain?? Her voice cracked, her mouth dry. ?Cap?n Hooty??

Silence.

His pale, downy toes curled their fierce claws inward, harmless and still. Poko?s vision blurred as she reached to grab one of the great legs and pull him back from the edge, dragging his drooping head from the brink.

He was heavy, but not quite so impossibly heavy as she imagined the prodigious warrior would be. As Poko circled around to his painted face, her heart panged and her stomach twisted. An involuntary sound between a hiccup and a groan escaped her as she realized that, unlike before, Captain Noonahootin of the Yew Guard would not be blinking his eyes open to reassure her he was ?simply exhausted.?

Poko whimpered and keened quietly through her clenched teeth, shuddering with each intake of breath.

She removed Gashrock?s warm robe, using it like a rag to clear the greasy colors from the noble face. She hated herself for the garish disguise. The cropped mustache and the trimmed brow-feathers would never grow back now, and it had all been for nothing. They had killed him anyway.

It would have been better, after all, if he had waited outside the city, perched safely in a tree.
Why had she insisted he come along? Why had she thought a disguise would be enough to hide him? She had killed him.

The ferret threw herself against the dead owl and wept into his feathery breast, her sorrow muffled and absorbed by his softness.

?I?m sorry?? she repeated over and over to unhearing ears, slumping to the ground and leaning against him. She felt her heart would burst, as if it swelled painfully with every increasing thought and memory of Noonahootin and his kind, grandfatherly demeanor.

He had watched over her and the others, guided them and even comforted them when things got extra ugly. Without him, they would have never made it out of the mountains. And now that they had reached Carrigul at last ? after all they had survived together ? after the landslide, harfang attacks, mole sabotage, boiling geysers and poison gas?it was an inadequate disguise that had done him in.

She thought of the long ear-feathers in her pocket and wished she could somehow reattach them ? give him back some of his dignity.

If not for her selfish desire to have him along, he might still be alive and waiting. Frustrated, perhaps?but alive.

Her shoulders shook and she soaked his breastfeathers with tears and snot.


She had never even said goodbye.


A ruckus reached the young ferretmaid?s ears as a door to the rooftop rattled and burst open. A group of six Carrigul guards emerged carrying torches and Poko crouched defensively next to Noonahootin, her hackles rising. She growled and then hissed at the first approaching rat who carried a long spear.

?Oy you! Streetbrat! Get away from that corpse! It be the property of her highness Tikora and not free pickin?s for the likes of you!?

Poko shook herself and snatched up the soiled, purple coat, keeping her scowl directed at the rat. ?What?s she care what happens to a bird what?s already dead? I found him first!?

?You be already dead too if you don?t hightail it, guttersnipe!? He shook his spear threateningly and Poko backed away with a snarl. She glanced over the edge of the building and saw several more guards below in the street, looking up. With a rude gesture she ran away, leaping back over to the roof she came from, but stopped after circling round a chimney out of sight. Her heart raced. What were they going to do with him? Wasn?t it enough that they killed him?

Yes, she realized, THEY killed him. Carrigul.

Nyika and Istvan would be next, and Zevka would go down trying to save Mekad if what Beechton said was true. There would be no one left ? unless she could stop it.

Poko gasped as the soldiers heaved Noonahootin?s body to fall to the road below, laughing as the other guards scattered and cursed. She bit her paw to stifle a scream of outrage.

The vermin crawled over him like overgrown lice. One had an axe and lifted it high. Poko could not watch and convulsed, wide-eyed at the sickening sound, curling her paws over her head. She had to get out of here before she lost control and did something stupid. She had a plan. Noony would be avenged ? she?d make sure of that.

But for now, she fled.