Ol' Flint the Crow

Burrowed Canyon

"Will you stop holding that sword like a dead squid!" Flint screeched at Samuel who was practicing his sword fighting on the trees and bushes they passed along their journey. "Keep your arm firm. Yeah! Like that. Now swing! NO!!! You idiot! You look like an elephant blundering about with a log stuck in her trunk. And will you just hit the branches with the sharp edge. The blunt side won't do a thing to Tabitha's nobles! You're supposed to slay them not give them a spanking! Oh, damn it all!"

The sword fell limp in the minstrel's hand. Brushing his sweaty forehead, Samuel swatted away a twig in front of him with his hand while his weapon dragged on the melting snow below him.

They had been traveling for a few hours now with no breaks. All the while, Flint had been mercilessly training Samuel with the basics of sword fighting during their hard march. Parrying, countering, reposting were just a few of the techniques the crow tried to teach the human.

When Samuel failed to show any promise of learning, Flint became aggravated and just told the man to swing at branches to work on his arm strength. However, the picky bird didn't keep silent for long when Samuel continued to aimlessly fling his sword in front of him in the feeblest way.

"Just stop!" Flint squawked, throwing his wings above his head in reproach.

Equally annoyed as the bird, Samuel huffed, "I'm doing my best!"

"Ha! Right!" the bird squawked.

Samuel sheathed his sword with a sigh of relief. Meanwhile, Flint angrily rubbed at his old arrow injury on the side of his torso that was just about healed but ached from his angry mood. Mumbling curses, the crow wagged his beak up and down obnoxiously. With a cross glare, Samuel kicked a rock on the ground and sent it barreling down a small chasm. With the faint noise of the stone tumbling for a longer distance than expected, Samuel gazed and saw that the tiny gully opened up into a wide canyon that went yards down. The rock rolled a good quarter mile away from the minstrel and 'kerplunked' into a winding creek near a row of bushes.

"Well, here we are," Flint gestured to the dusty red gorge below. "Burrowed Canyon. The home of the Alpha and the last remaining wolves in the land."

Grimacing at the depth of the canyon, Samuel asked in a timid voice, "We're not going through there, are we?"

"Course not," tooted Flint. "If the wolves find us, I want higher ground... We're staying here on the cliffs. We'll have to stay pretty close to the edge however. I'm a wanted bird around these parts. Too far on the left, and we'll be spotted by the gnomes. So we'll journey just above the canyon. Stick together, Mr. Samuel. Wolves hunt by separating their prey and picking off the weakest in the group, and no offence, but that's you! If we stick together with our weapons draw, we should be fine. Come. We only have about four more hours to get past this canyon. Stay quite. Thankfully we're not downwind. With any luck, we should go unnoticed. Too bad I don't have any luck... Just bad luck."

Worried of Flint's lack of confidence, Samuel clenched his sword hilt as he followed. Bleak too held her crossbow tightly, ready to fire at a moment's notice. With Flint taking the lead, they journeyed together as one unit, not daring to spread out. Instead, they march side by side like a school of fish.

Samuel looked up towards the sun. It waned low in the sky while the weather was steadily warming. The minstrel shivered at the silent canyon where not a creature stirred. Reaching for his pocket, he clenched his flute tightly as he fought the urge to play it to sooth his anxieties. However, he figured it wasn't safe to do so.

Suddenly, the flute player ran his fingers down past the instrument and touched the crumpled notes he took of Flint's grim stories. All in his mind, Samuel compose an extempore song about the crow's past: