Wingless

Prologue

A young man sat by the fire. Though his hands were occupied by the lute they held, his eyes and mind were free to wander. The instrument's case was propped open before him, where it collected the occasional coin of a generous patron. The young man's fingers graced the strings of his instrument, coaxing a calm melody out into the room. It was a fitting song for the evening, he thought. One that spoke of rest after labor and the peace of evening. At least it was for this small corner of the world. From what little he had learned of the lands outside this village, he had gathered that all was not well. He'd been careful not to ask questions about the matter. It seemed a thing everyone knew, and his ignorance would doubtless raise many eyebrows. What he knew came from snippets of conversation caught when the inn's common room lulled to quiet. Tension was building between the winged folk and the mortals, it was said. War could begin any time. Each side was apparently waiting for some excuse to cause bloodshed. The young man had gathered that long ago the mortals had done something of great offense to the winged folk; and the grudge had not been forgotten.

The final chord of the peaceful music hummed in the air for a long moment, and the young man sighed and sat back in his chair. It wasn't all too comfortable, but he had a deal with the innkeeper. As long as he played music at night he'd have a place to stay and warm food to eat. His stomach growled at the thought of food. It was past time for his evening meal, and he signaled one of the servers. As the young woman approached--she was the daughter of the innkeeper. A kind soul who'd taken a shining to him--he packed up his lute. Jangling the scant few coins into a purse, he gently laid the instrument inside the case and closed the lid, securely buckling the clasps. He straightened, arching his back and stretching for a moment. Picking up his instrument, he informed the innkeeper's daughter that he'd have his usual meal then cast his eyes to the place in the corner he'd reserved before he started playing. He smiled when we saw his companion curled up right in the center of the table. The creature appeared to be sleeping, but the young man knew better. It was simply waiting for someone with the audacity to try and steal his master's table.

Several minutes later found the young man sitting quite happily with a bowl of thick, hearty stew. The meat was delicious, and he wondered what it was as he fed a scrap to his companion. The fox devoured the meat quickly, licking its chops and turning brown eyes towards the young man, asking for more. With a soft laugh, he obliged. When he had first arrived, the fox had drawn quite a few stares from the locals of this village. It appeared this place had no animals quite like the orange and white ball of fur he called friend. The young man scratched the foxes ears as he listened to the swirl of conversation going on around him. In his thoughts he was occupied with the need of tools. He hadn't taken anything with him when he'd arrived here. Just the fox, his precious lute, and a small bag of personal possessions. He didn't feel safe without a weapon, but where was he going to find one? He didn't have nearly enough coinage to purchase even a decent blade. At that moment, the young man's ears picked something out of the hushed murmur of voices. His eyes focused and looked around, searching for the source of the louder than average voice. It was the blacksmith. The man was huge, and had a voice to match. At the moment he was complaining loudly about the lack of an apprentice in his shop. It seemed he was in need of assistance. Perfect. The young man scratched at the foxes ears one last time before getting up. He left his bowl for his companion to lick clean as he made his way over to the blacksmith.