Starsinger

Vlynnkhora

The mid-morning sun was yellow against the rock of the peaks, not quite warm for all its brightness. Aaron's eyes had grown used to the dusky shade of Gavran's workshop by the time two wide-eyed avians peered through the entrance, each cradling a large clay pot filled with riverwater.

"Ava gratis," Gavran grunted. The old avian was still at the table, smearing a dark green paste over Raelyn's cut. He had a thin glass lens clutched between his brow and his cheekbone. Great horned avians, Gavran had explained, were terribly farsighted. While they could hunt for miles in the dark twilight, it was difficult to discern anything too close to their face without the aid of a corrective lens. He clicked and weaved his head in admiration when he saw Aaron's scope. The leather strap mechanism would make it easier for the earless avians to keep the lenses securely perched on their flat faces.

At the entrance, the avians bowed their heads. "Inogratis, vlynnkhora." Aaron glanced at Delia for a translation, but she was too busy peering under Gavran's red-brown wings as he showed her precisely how to apply the poultice.

Aaron looked backto the door. The avians were staring. He tried a smile.

The one closest to him jerked back, crown feathers fluffing in alarm. The other twisted its head suddenly and murmured something to its partner, pulling her gently out of the hut. Together they backed away, their eyes never leaving Aaron's face. Then they turned and fled.

Aaron shivered. "Tough crowd."

"I am surprised they came at all," said Gavran. "I am not so old that I cannot fetch my own water, but it is a sign of respect. Still, I thought they would be too frightened to come today."

"They're frightened," Jace grumbled.

"All I did was smile," said Aaron.

"People fear what they can't understand." Sapphire was perched atop a particularly large box, carving a pattern into the wood with her dagger. "Looks like avians do too."

"Now that is a grim perspective," Gavran said cheerfully. He sliced off a long piece of bandage with one curved claw and pressed it against Raelyn's leg. The princess gasped with pain. "There now," he said. "Just a moment, it will pass."

"I can handle it," Raelyn said through gritted teeth.

Gavran tied off the bandage carefully. "The flock does not fear you because you are foreign. You are not supposed to be here in these mountains, and yet you are. That makes you interesting. Perhaps blessed. For that reason, they will stare at you. And they will fear you the way all halfbeasts have learned to fear humans."

"Why?" Aaron asked.

"Because it was humans that caused the Division."

The hollow fell instantly silent. Unexpected bile boiled up in the back of Aaron's throat. It was the Rebel Lords that caused the Division, and the Feeble King who failed to stop them. A million lines separated them from Aaron, lines of class and wealth and time. They were humans, yes, but did that mean all humans were guilty?

In their eyes, it must. Rationally, it made sense. So why do I feel so defensive?

"Humans caused the Division," Jace said. "And we paid for it in blood."

"Do you imagine you are the only ones who paid?" Another silence. Gavran's brow feathers drooped sadly. "Avians are not made for mountains alone. In the Old World, we roamed across Re Vlynn with our siblings, cardinal avians and eagle avians and more. We were driven into the Teeth by your war. My flock was adaptable, and so we survived. We were the lucky ones."

Images swam into Aaron's head, of families fleeing the Crollish cities their squad was sent to attack, of camps of refugees hiding in the woods, watching the soldiers pass with hollow eyes, empty of everything but the desperate need to survive. He felt his hands begin to shake. Those were the images that would wake him from the dead of sleep, sweating and heaving. The ones he could never forget. "There's always collateral damage," he said softly.