Awoken

Bastian:CH17: Celebration Part 1

We took refuge in an empty temporarily out of commission carriage in need of a wheel change. After a small bribe, it was easy to get the work postponed and well worth the coin. Not to mention cheaper than a room charge.

"Tell me about the chicken," Sierra asks while tracing over one of the tattoos on my chest. It really is true when they say once you start you can't stop.

"You already know all the stories."

"True, but I want to hear this one again."

I should really get back before Everly gets herself into trouble, "They're waiting-"

"She will be fine for another few minutes. Kal will take care of her. Come on please Bas."

It's hard to believe that just hundreds of years ago the world used to be black and white especially as my fingers trace back and forth across her pastel blue chest, and run through her natural cyan coloured hair. I can't picture her any other way. 

"Okay," I sigh, "I was eleven years old and on my first hunt. Our target was a group of frill-necked lizards estimated to be at least five meters long by the scouts. We left when the sun was highest in the sky. Each family member sent one of their strongest, at least those on a carnivorous diet. They had one rule and that was to stay close with the group but I wanted to prove myself, that I was a man so I sneaked away."

What? I was a child?'

A stupid child,' Axel remarks.

I continue, "No one else had brought their child, although no other child had begged to be taken. I wanted to be a close combatant like my father. I had both of my knives ready. I was clutching them so tightly my knuckles were white. The bastard was so quiet I didn't hear it until it was too late. Sharp pain extended from the back of my knee reaching all the way down to my heel. The wound was so deep if it wasn't for the tree I would've fallen down. It was standing maybe ten feet away. Big black eyes and a few meters tall my attention was split three ways between its deathly sharp beak, equally dangerous claws and bone spiked brown feathers. She was a beast."

"You totally pissed your pants, admit it," Sierra teases. I chuckle slightly at the accusation.'

More like shit your pants,' Axel interjects.

That's not true by the way.

"That chicken didn't hold back. I was shredded everywhere by the time I stuck my knife through its jugular, the final killing blow. The worst part was watching it flail around as it bled to death. I was covered head to toe in it. I remember the horror on my father's face when I found him with my kill in hand. He'd broken away from the group to find me. He thought I was a dead boy walking."

Sierra starts tracing over the deepest wound from that day, on my chest right next to the tattoo of the chicken. My first worthy kill. It's healed rather nicely.

"Such a brave boy," Sierra kisses the scar."

I liked to think I was the braves but I was also the most reckless. I still remember my father's speeches word for word but I couldn't help myself. I wanted to be him.

"How about just one more story?" she asks.

"You really like hearing my voice that much?" I question.

"I love everything about you Bastian."

Shit! Her hand becomes still as I hold my breath. Stretching out the space between visits was meant to help avoid this predicament. I knew I shouldn't have made conversation. I knew I should've stuck with the distant cold as ice act. It never let me down in the past.