Ol' Flint the Crow

Going Hunting

Two days had passed since the group's long journey after the incident in the wolf den. The first day, they had taken a well needed rest once they escaped the jaws of Burrowed Canyon. They arrived on level ground with lush country sides one either side of them. Small secluded farming houses dotted the plains with fruits and vegetables growing abundantly.

This made Samuel breathe easy. It was beautiful. The clouds sailed in the sky majestically, giving the minstrel plenty of shade. In the distance farmer's plowed their humble gardens to sell at their local markets. Everything brought Samuel deep tranquility. He needed it too since Flint would not let him rest while teaching him sword fighting even as they traveled up and down the grassy hillsides.

"You're making progress," the bird squawked. However, there was still an undeniable hint of sarcasm in his voice. "Your arms move less like a dopey walrus and more like an idiot seal slapping his flippers together."

Even with the insults, Samuel thought that Flint was a great deal more patient than usual. The crow yelled less and only resorted to name-calling while Samuel practiced. The minstrel did swing his sword around like someone holding a poisonous snake, after all. But he had to admit that the bird was trying to be a better teacher.

Exhaling, Flint tried to speak congenially without raising his voice, which was quite a grueling task for him, "Keep your arms close... please. You'll use up less energy and won't look like a scared rabbit. There! Better! Now move your feet. Left foot forward, and tilt a bit to your right. This'll keep you safe from a counterattack. Now swing from above... Good. Good! You actually looked like you could have cracked someone's skull open. Very nice."

Samuel was drenched with sweat. Even the cool breeze flowing through his dam hair did not help the minstrel. Not only did he have to practice with his weapon, he had to keep up with Miss Bleak's swift pace. How Flint, bruised from the last battle he had, was able to keep up was a mystery to the flute player.

That day's journey was a murderous experience that Samuel was afraid to repeat tomorrow. When the sun slowly drooped over the horizon, Samuel, barely able to stand, collapsed on his sleeping bag in a heap. He could not even bring himself to nibble on some of the remaining dried fruit that Miss Bleak offered him. Instead, Samuel just closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

"The kid did well today," Samuel, half dreaming, could heard the bird speaking to Bleak. "I'll make him a swordsman yet... Maybe."

While Samuel's ears twitched, the bartender mumbled, "Perhaps."

"The only thing I'm worried about is if he can take a life." Flint's voice was so cold that it brought a shiver down the flute player's back. "Tabitha and her nobles will stop at nothing to take their revenge on me. The minstrel needs to be able to do whatever's necessary to keep himself alive. Hmm... M-Miss Bleak? I know this is asking a lot, but will you do something for me?"

"What?"

"Take the minstrel out hunting tomorrow, will ya?"

With a gasp, Miss Bleak exclaimed, "Why?!"

"Please, Miss Bleak," Flint pleaded in all earnestness. "If you're going out to bring some meat for the flute player and yourself, you might as well take him along. He needs to know what it's like to kill a living thing. Admit it, the minstrel's probably never hurt a fly. We need him to start with something not of his own species. Loosen up his 'peace and love' nature and show him how to take a life. You know he won't make it if he can't do that. Next time he ends up captured, we might not be able to save him. Please, Miss Bleak. I'm begging you! Take him with you. I'll never ask you to do another thing again."

Whether she agreed to it or not Samuel did it not know for he drifted off to sleep and heard not one more word from the two.

~~~