Stone of Tears

Steel first, he rushed into the fur and claws and wings. The two gars were bigger than the one he had killed, confirming his suspicion that they were males. His blade caught only air as they leapt back, but one of them dropped the little gar. It skittered across the ground and clutched its mother’s fur. The other two circled him, charging and darting and swiping with their claws. Richard swung and stabbed with the sword. One of them snatched at the baby. Richard scooped it away with his free arm and quickly retreated a dozen paces.

They fell on the dead gar. With a cry, the baby stretched its arms toward its mother, its wings flapping against his face in an effort to free itself. In a frenzy, the two gars tore at the carcass.

Richard made a calculated decision. As long as the dead gar was there, the pup wouldn’t leave it; the pup would have a better chance at survival if it had nothing to hold it to this place. It squirmed mightily in his arm. Though fully half his size, at least it was lighter than he would have thought.

He feigned a charge to hurry the two along. They snapped at him, too hungry to be frightened off without a meal. They fought each other. Claws slashed and pulled, ripping the body asunder. Richard charged again as the little gar tore free, running ahead of him with a shriek. The two leapt into the air, each with half a prize. In a moment they were gone.

The little gar stood where its mother had been, keening as it watched the two disappear into the dark sky.

Panting and weary, Richard returned his sword to its scabbard and then slumped down on a short ledge, trying to catch his breath. His head sunk into his hands as tears welled up. He must be losing his mind. What in the world was he doing? He was risking his life for nothing. No, not for nothing.

He raised his head. The little gar was standing in the blood where its mother had been, its trembling wings held out limply, its shoulders slumped, and its tufted ears wilted. Big green eyes watched him. They stared at each other for a long moment.

“I’m sorry, little one,” he whispered.

It took a tentative step toward him. Tears ran down the gar’s face. Tears ran down his. It took another small, shaky step.

Richard held his arms out. It watched, and then with a miserable wail, fell into them.

It clutched its long, skinny arms to him. Warm wings wrapped around his shoulders. Richard hugged it tightly to himself.

Gently stroking its coarse fur, he hushed it with comforting whispers. Richard rarely had seen a creature in such misery, a creature so in need of comfort that it would even accept it from the one who had caused its pain. Maybe, he thought, it was only recognizing him as the one who had saved it from being eaten by two huge monsters. Maybe, given the terrible choice, it chose to see him as a savior. Maybe the last impression, of saving it from being eaten, was simply the strongest.

The little gar felt like nothing more than a furry sack of bones. It was half starved. He could hear its stomach grumbling. Its faint musky odor, while not pleasant, was not repulsive either. He cooed succor as the thing’s whimpering slowed.

When it had at last quieted with a heavy, tired sigh, Richard stood. Sharp little claws tugged at his pant leg as it looked up to his face. He wished he had some food to leave with the pup, but he hadn’t brought his pack and had nothing to offer.

He pulled the claw from his pants. “I have to go. Those two won’t come back now. Try to find yourself a rabbit or something. You’ll have to do the best you can on your own now. Go on.”

It blinked up at him, its wings and one leg slowly stretching as it yawned. Richard turned and started off. He looked over his shoulder. The little gar followed after.

Richard stamped to a halt. “You can’t come with me.” He held his arms out and shooed it away. “Go on. Be off with you.” He started walking backward. The gar followed. He stopped again and shooed it more firmly. “Go! You can’t come with me! Go on!”

The wings wilted again. It took a few shaking steps back as Richard started off again. This time it stayed put as he went on his way.

Richard had the woman’s body to bury, and he needed to get back to camp before Sister Verna decided to use the collar to bring him back. He had no desire to give her an excuse; he knew she would find one soon enough. He glanced behind to make sure the gar hadn’t followed. He was alone.

He found the body, laid on its back, where he had left it. He noted with relief that there were no blood flies about. He had to find either a patch of ground soft enough to dig a hole, or else a deep crevice of some sort to hide her body in. Sister Verna had been explicit about hiding it well.

As he was surveying the scene, there was a soft flutter of wings and the little gar thumped to the ground nearby. He muttered a quiet lament as the creature folded its wings and squatted comfortably before him, peering up with big green eyes.