Trinket (Reverse Harem)

On Being Nothing

It was pouring rain, and I couldn't see anything except the darker-than-night outline of trees, dunes, and hills that made up the island. I couldn't even tell how big an island it was. There weren't any lights or torches.

Itek dragged himself to his feet, wings soaked and too exhausted to fold against his sides. I stood next to him with a hand on his ruff, and yearned towards the sky. No Korr, no Ethat. No bugs. No Asund.

I gripped the Trinket still around my neck, wincing as the barbs cut into my skin, and releasing it before it did damage. My hands were sore and raw from gripping Itek's feathers.

We had to go look for them, except Itek was too exhausted and soaked to fly. He couldn't even lift his wings out of the sand.

I didn't want to leave the beach, but we had to find somewhere for Itek to dry off. But it was dark as the inside of Korr's asshole, except for the occasional flash of lightening that gave me second-long glimpses for an island that wasn't anything except dunes, dangerous rocks, and tough grasses. I didn't even see a tree or anything even close to a tree. I walked up the beach a bit. Little bits of seashells crunched under my feet.

There wasn't anything. I turned back around and a flash of lightening illuminated Itek. He stood head down, wings in the sand, exhausted. And still no Korr and Ethat and Asund. Beyond Itek the ocean churned in triangular, white-froth waves that rushed and crashed against the shoreline. And we were hours from daylight.

I went back to Itek. "Come on," I told him through the rain. I grabbed his ruff and tugged. He stumbled after me, grunting as he heaved his huge, soaked wings. I tried to lift one, and it was like lifting cement. The wings dug deep trenches in the ground.

"Well, you're useless when you get wet, cat-bird," I tried to joke. "Just made of sugar, aren't you. Come on!" I grabbed the edge of one wing and pulled as hard as I could while he dragged himself through the thick, wet sand. "Come one!"

His fore-claws buckled and he beak-planted into the sand. I grabbed feathers to try to haul him up, and the wet feathers sliced through my hands, but I didn't care. He managed to get up and drag himself another few strides before collapsing again, and we repeated this shitty process for I don't know how long until he managed to collapse against a dune.

And it was still raining, and the rain stung, because that's what the rain did. I huddled next to Itek, knees ot my chest, and watched the storm. They said that once, a long time ago, rain had been cleansing and washed away sins, but I'd only ever known a fetid rain, or rain like this: rain that wore at rock, scalded skin, made you itch, brined your plants.

Where I'd grown up (at least, what I remembered) there hadn't been hadly any rain, and everyone dreaded it when it did come, because it'd kill crops and you'd need a new roof.

Maybe the rain was why everyone had left the coastal city. That and the fucking bugs.

Itek nibbled me with the very edge of his razor-sharp beak. I touched his soaked ruff. He kept nibbling, then started to make bird noises in his throat—gryphons weren't terrible dignified like dragons—and scooched towards me.

"What?" I asked as he nibbled me for the hundredth time.

He jerked a wing, then pressed his murder-beak along my back, pushing hard towards the wing.

"Get under your wing?" I asked doubtfully.

A purr-cluck.

I obliged him, crawling under his soaking wing and squishing myself in the sand between his warm body and the little space created by his wing. It wasn't exactly drier under here, but it got me out of the rain. I curled up against his side, tucking my front along him, and touching his soft, velvety coat.