"We're not going to do it," Gawain says, "but what if we have to, how would it go?"
"I refuse to sacrifice Tombstalker," says Eliza.
"And I'm not going to ask. But how would you do it? I know a good recipe for paprika hendl, and I think it would be the same thing. Just more of it. And probably a longer cook time."
"I refuse to entertain any of these questions. Tombstalker will live a long, happy life where she has many, many clutches. And open plains and running rivers and clear skies."
"I'm pretty sure yours is a boy," I say, "Mine is the only girl, I think."
"He will father many clutches and have all the things I said before. With your ratitian."
"You make that sound like I would be against it. I'm thinking this will be a good retirement. Start breeding these things, hook them up to carts and start replacing horses."
I scratch my wonderful Reverberance in her favorite spot and she kwehs softly. She does not appreciate Gawain's hypotheticals about how they would taste. Although I do entertain the idea that they would be good grilled and covered in jerk spice, like Mutti knew how to do. With some white rice and sweet potatoes. I doubt we're going to get any of that too. Much too cold for any of those to be there. We'll get fish and potatoes and corn. Still good, though. Might even have some lobsters if the traps have been doing good.
The mammoth birds have been taking the trip well even as we move away from the sands and dust. They like the soft dirt and the grass, if only for the novelty. They are much softer than the horses. Softer than a handful of beds, too. They don't rock or bounce as much, although they do tire quicker. I consider it a wonderful trade off. Anyone getting somewhere in a hurry probably doesn't deserve to reach their destination on time. They should have left earlier so they didn't have to hurry. That just speaks to poor time management.
We have plenty of time to manage. Gawain has scenarios and hypotheticals. Eliza has more practical admirations and plans for the day, such as rationing and route taking. I just wander. I happen to wander in the right direction, all the way to Shoar, but it is still wandering. It's all down to luck and spirit at the end of the day. We are going to Shoar, and I will get there when I touch down on the dirt and rocks that people have decided to call as such. Never knew why Mutti retired there. She would always go on and on about Solglow. But she is an enigma at the best of times. At her worst, she is the antithesis to logic.
Oddly enough, I don't feel the urge to carry a tune. The bird is carrying most of my stuff and I don't want to add anything more to her shoulders. The wind does a fine enough job of getting us where we need to be. I take a sip of my waterskin. Wrong, it was my wineskin. Sweet and full and starting to buzz. I've made that mistake before and I think I'll make it again. No one will know.
"Okay, so no more food," says Gawain, "How about we pluck them and put their feathers in a bed?"
"No," Eliza says, "I don't want to wake up smelling like bird."
"I think they smell alright. They smell like animal, but it's not a bad version of that. Kind of like mud and grass."
"They smell like a bog. Bogs don't smell good. Do you even have a sense of smell?"
"Probably not, since I've slept on you and had no complaints."
She grumbles and breaks into her silence while she keeps riding. Gawain sits smugly on his high bird, and I repress a snicker. No need to throw any more fuel on the fire. I have my ride to keep enjoying. Reverberance gets another scratch and I get another noise.
I dissect it as it passes as a soft sunshiney yellow. It is slippery and moving and circling like a buzzard in the open sky. It dips and drops and turns away, back into the trees. Noisy things, these birds, not in volume, but in frequency. I can't keep track of the things I can't hear between them. Every so often it slips down into something I can pick up, but they are constantly chattering away above what my delicate ears can conceive.
The birds tilt their heads as one to the side. Eliza notices it and Gawain notices Eliza. It takes me a moment to parse it as well, but I break into a wide grin.
There's salt in the air, just a hint. I can hear the gentle roar of the ocean. That is a noise I know so well. It breaks and falls, only to rise again. It blankets the world, quietly. The trees seem hardier now, with thick leaves to keep out the storms. Gawain gives me an odd look, but then breaks into my smile as well. Eliza keeps her expression blank. The birds are still moving and that's good, but it is new to them. No wonder they don't trust it. New things are dangerous and should always be met with a healthy level of skepticism. They're wrong in this instance, but it's a good policy.
The path goes up and I'm the only one who knows what's coming. I keep it to myself. Secrets are bad, but only if they're not fun. This is a fun one. I know it. They don't. And so, we ride on as the trees start growing sparser and hardier. The grass takes over and brings in more sun. I can feel it. I can feel every drop of water in the sea, crashing against one another while the world shimmers around it.
We stop when we come to it. We stop when the world reveals itself. All of us stand on top of a great white cliff, shimmering like a diamond in the sun. Mirrors and gems over a sapphire burning sea. It flares the same white before crashing down. The sea is excited today, high waves almost halfway to us. And it goes on forever and ever. Around the world like a stretched belt, lands forgotten and never known on the other side. It Is enticing. A few scant snow-white clouds hang on the horizon, threatening nothing at all. Gawain breaks into an ecstatic smile. I feel the energy build in him, and it has nowhere to go. Even Eliza breaks into a small smile. Of course, it's all old hat for me. Boring really. I don't know what they seem to like about all this.
