Ol' Flint the Crow

Drown the Pain Away

Running to the edge of the ramp of the second floor, Samuel stared at Flint frown above as he slipped away through a small tunnel in the far off corner of the den. He tried one last time to call for the bird to stop, but Flint would not listen. The crow disappeared into the darkness. His pitiful voice echoed and became only a faint whimper. Pretty soon Samuel could hear nothing more of the bird's shrieks.

Meanwhile, Miss Bleak gathered herself up off the floor and stumbled over to the minstrel. Holding the side of her neck, she glared at the hole that her friend had rushed into and frowned with not sign empathy.

Sweeping his hand at the tunnel, Samuel pleaded, "W-we've got to stop him!"

The bartender clicked her tongue and flippantly scowl. "Keep your head on straight. I'll get that worm out of you. Alright? You don't have to worry that I'll let you go and die."

"That's not what this is about!" Samuel snapped. His brow furrowed in agitation at the barmaid's assumption that he only feared the bird would not lead them to Planker's Creek, the only place he could be cured. "I don't want Flint to do something to himself!"

Samuel stormed off. Grabbing a lit torch, he descended the ramp and stooped over to travel down the short tunnel in search for Flint.

As he did this, Bleak called out to him, demanding that he stop. "Wait, flute player! Don't be stupid. You'll get yourself lost! Flute player! Wait, damn it!!"

However, Samuel did not obey. He kept going, waving the torch in front of him to watch for loose rocks and pitfalls. Even with the terrifying memory of the dead wolves and Flint's dreadful rage, the minstrel could not get the bird out of his mind. In spite all the bloodshed the crow caused, Samuel could not help but feel drawn to Flint. He needed to find the bird. Samuel could not shake the feeling that he was running out of time.

"Flint!" Samuel's shrill voice reverberated around the tunnel and bounced back at his ears. "Flint, where are you?"

Squinting his eyes, Samuel fumbled on the uneven floor which ripped into the soles of his shoes. He called Flint's name again. The minstrel's voice took a grueling five seconds to echo back to him, meaning that the tunnel had expanded into a large cavern. There was no answer. Only the sound him breathing heavily.

"Flint..." groaned Samuel as he began to lose hope.

Suddenly, a squawk tickled the minstrel's left ear. "You're certainly a persistent cuss, Mr. Samuel."

The flutist immediately, snapped his body around and shoved the torch forward. Sitting cross legged on a rock with his wings curled up together in knots, Flint gawked at the pebbly ground. Samuel sank to his knees and reached one hand out to the base of the stone as he sighed for joy. Then he stuck the torch into the ground and sat down.

"Flint!" sighed Samuel.

Flint lifted his disheveled face and squinted his eye at the minstrel. Crying, the crow shivered as he brought his bill down again, ashamed to even look up at Samuel. He clenched his wings in between his lap and sniffled.

Reaching out his hand, but cautious not to upset the bird, Samuel patted the animal on the top of the head, smoothing out his feathers, and repeated softly, "Flint..."

"I wish I hadn't left my rapier behind," stated Flint abruptly.

Squinting his brow in confusion, Samuel assured him, "I'm sure Miss Bleak will bring it along with her for you."

The crow shook his head and explained, "No... I mean that I was thinking of sticking it in between a pair of rocks and running myself through with it..."