Feathers

Buried

"Hey! Wake up! You're all a bunch of pansies, the lot of you," Rutiger grumbled. "I leave for one minute to catch that little one and when I come back, you're all taking a nap! I thought we had stuff to do." He laughed to himself.

Bain groaned a little, his head feeling as though it had split in half. Icy water splashed across his face, delving into his nose and mouth so he had to quickly sit up to avoid choking to death. Though his shirt and hair were wet and his head throbbing, he was otherwise unharmed from the dart.

"It was her," he groaned.

"Yeah, I guessed as much. She is the tricky one. She got you all with some tree frog slime, not enough to kill you, but enough to knock you out and make you vomit a bit." He picked up one of the darts from the table and touched it to his tongue briefly. "Tastes like burnt mushrooms, that's how you know."

Bain scrambled out of the tent, just in time to purge the contents of his stomach, which were minimal, and continued to dry heave for a few minutes, while Rutiger went about splashing water on Link and Arthur.

Bain forced a few mint leaves into his mouth to chew. They tasted as cold and bitter as he felt. "She is probably dead now," he said, softly. A new wave of guilt washed over him as he thought of how she had bounced upon the bear's head. He had stolen a sweet and innocent life. "There was so much blood on her. It...it just looked like I shot her...right in the heart. The Wind knows where she is now, but we still have to find her body. If the Ferals find it first, they will use it as an excuse to turn on Incitatia and bring their vengeance to fruition."

"But she is only one little girl. Why would they care if she was dead? Ferals are so reclusive, they are likely not to even notice," Arthur murmured.

"They notice when we kill a single deer. There are always birds about and the Ferals know what they see. Why do you think we have had such a hard time out here? They have more spies than all of the cities along the Mourning Sea. In fact, they probably already know what I have done and are moving against us even now," he said tersely, rubbing his hands over his head. Bain could not believe what he had done. It seemed too unreal, too distant and numb. His eyes darted to his bow, cast onto the ground beside a tent, loathing it and himself. Was this who he was, an Avian who could get so wrapped up in getting what he wanted that he would resort to murder and hiding bodies?

He stood up, forcing himself to swallow the nausea that had clung to him like the scent of beer and failure. He felt as though he could drown himself in alcohol, to wash away the horrible shame and regret, but decided that would be too kind to himself. Bain felt that he deserved to feel the pain of what he had done to come close to the pain he had made her suffer.

"Come," he said to the other three. "Let's pick up the snares we set at the stream. Then, we can begin looking for her and...bury her."

"What are you going to do about your duty, Bain? You must still find a Feral," Arthur said softly.

Rutiger shifted his weight from one foot to the other. If Bain did not take the punching girl, he would, just for the fun of her company.

He sighed. "I have not forgotten, Arthur. I suppose I will talk to that one later today," he said, nodding to the closed tent. He did not want to talk to any Feral that might remind him of the life he had taken. He did not want to continue the hunt at all. "Or maybe we will just go back to the city for a week. I don't know. We can decide later. I just want to give that girl a proper burial and pay for what I have done."

His men said nothing, feeling the pain in his words. Though it was an accident, the crime was weighing heavily on his back, more so than his responsibility to his lineage. They waited for him to rise and followed him on foot through the trees. Link stayed back to watch over the camp and the female tied up in Rutiger's tent. They matched his slow but determined pace, scanning the ground carefully for blood or footprints. It was a much longer walk on foot, but the morning was a solemn one and the trip would help Bain process the events of the previous day. His friends hoped that he would forgive himself, though knew what their own reactions would be in his place.