I Am A Flyer

II: Raven Snores

The medics were swamped with wounded people, yet Raven made sure that his apprentice was one of the first they looked at. He was relieved to learn that the boy's injury was not serious, however, it would likely leave behind an ugly mass of scar tissue. A large portion of Jett's left, upper arm had had the skin seared right off, with the muscle underneath burned severely. Despite the damage, the medics were able to clean away the ruined tissue, and stimulate the growth of new skin. In two weeks, they told Raven, Jett would be able to start moving his arm again, albeit carefully.

Raven was overall pleased with the boy's performance, perhaps even a bit surprised. He had been keeping an eye out for the kid during the battle, despite the fact he'd been busy fighting giant metal monsters at the time. He hadn't been so surprised to see Jett run out of the safety of the line; the kid's style didn't really allow him to fend for himself in such a crowded place.

No, what really startled him had been the way the kid had taken down twelve Kairg soldiers, one after the other. There had been no hesitation, no sense of fear or compassion, even as he had taken away from them the use of their arms and legs, permanently. Jett, in that short while, had been so much like him, it was frightening.

But Raven was not frightened, not in the least. He was pleased, because now he was certain that he had made the right choice. Jett was going to be an extraordinary flyer. And the fact that the boy refused to take a life, even in the midst of a battlefield, made him even more so.

The Talon looked down at the sleeping face of his student, and smiled darkly, sadly. You really have no clue. . .

"Raven."

The violet-eyed man raised his head; a vaguely familiar River flyer stood in the doorway, covered in brown dust and dried blood. "Yes?"

"Headquarters are on the line. They wish to speak to you."

"Already?" Raven muttered. He got to his feet slowly, stretching a bit as he did so. His body was screaming with fresh bruises and exhaustion – those strange new weapons of the Kairg had proven to be quite the challenge. He held back a weary sigh. "Well, whatever. I'm coming."

His violet eyes hardened. Those stiff-headed bigots at headquarters were never enjoyable to talk to. Nevertheless, they were the leaders of Troit, whom he was sworn to, so he didn't have much of a choice. He glanced back at the sleeping boy, and his gaze softened somewhat. Such a huge risk. . .but I pray that it'll work out. Then he turned, and swept out of the medic tent.

The night outside was cold and miserable. Soldiers gathered in groups, muttering about the strange new creations of the Kairg. Others were silent and grim, watching the huge bonfire that roared wordlessly as it consumed countless corpses – dead Kairg and Troit soldiers alike. The many flyers who died were burned separately in a smaller fire. Some were gathered around it, quietly honoring their deaths.

Raven kept his gaze pointed straight ahead. No matter how many battles one fought, it was impossible to get used to seeing death, despite what some may say. Loss took a heavy toll on one's mind and spirit. He entered the large, roofless tent, stepping into a place that was filled with lighted lamps, and the few flyers that remained.

One looked up at Raven's entrance, and called out. "Here, Raven. They're not particularly happy." He held up a wireless communicator.

Wordlessly, Raven took it, and pressed a red, blinking button. He held it to his ear. "I'm here."

"Raven." Astern, gruff voice spoke through the ear piece. Raven frowned, recognizing the voice. Great. I get to speak with the crotchety old man. "We've just heard some very disturbing information. Is it true?"