ORIGIN

The caves were a world of secrets, of stories hidden in plain sight. Lesser corpses rested amongst rubble in a land of twinkling lights, the words behind their flicker of existence unspoken. Pieces of something sharp and jagged held gruesome details in its finely honed edge. Rags and scraps of metal lay abandoned in dust, waiting for someone to reassemble the pieces of the past.

He'd tried. Clumsy talons had fumbled and a keen bird's eye had examined for where they might interlock. The result was dirty feathers and plenty of questions but no solid fact. Still, it was enough to mull over as he meandered his way through the unending walls of rock. Perhaps there'd be a definite answer once his flight path eventually curved toward that direction again.

Tunnel at his back, the next place East flew into was the harsh truth to Orion's pretty deception. In fact it slapped him with it. First, in the face with a rush of dryness that made his eyes melt. Then, a whole wave of air that knocked too much wind into his wings and punched it all out of him. Flying low to the ground, the attack sprawled him out there like the novice he was. At least he hadn't been any higher; life in free fall was not an experience he was particularly eager to try.

"Rats." The sigh had become second nature for him by now.

Bones sore but not unfamiliar with a hard tumble, he shook the daze from his mind and stood up. The new cavern could have another go at him if it wanted, but this time he'd keep his feet rooted for the stability. Sorting feathers back into place, he gave his surroundings a once-over.

What tales clung to the carved walls here?

Shelter from the wind would have been helpful at the moment. The cave was almost as bare of that as river-polished stone. What boulders there were stood their ground alone, separated by wide stretches of emptiness. Pebbles launched by a breeze tapped out a tune on his beak when they collided. Perhaps the wind had beaten the sense out of him, but he walked farther in, sharp gusts pinning feathers against his skull.

Danger could be an attack as well as a deterrent. Pursuing the risk might prove harmful but he trusted his instincts. It was a simple matter of ensuring body equaled mind in strength, staying alert, and being brimful of patience.

Seemingly random, the shifting of the winds possessed a complex pattern. Rage might follow calm but could just as easily go the other way around. Dead air entered the schedule wherever and however long it pleased, whether in between or during any mood. He intuited as best he could, taking hard-hitting failures as much as successes. A knock down meant getting back up, smoothing his feathers, and trying again with more care than before. Inch by hard-fought inch, ground was gained.

It was during one of those moments when the air was still and the flying debris had settled that East noticed a long outcrop ahead. A blue deep and dark, it was an impressive wall to hide himself from battering forces. Daring to venture farther revealed its sinuous build and shudder of movement was of its own design. The mane confirmed the discovery. If this wasn't some sort of feathered serpent, he was a plucked turkey.

Travelling along their length found a face, horns, and claws. A set of the last held a knife and worked over a deer. He had a vague idea what was going on and rolled with it accordingly.

"Don't think that'll make much of a coat. Besides, blue suits your eyes better." The statement had as much nonchalance as a comment about the weather. If he actually meant the words was anyone's guess.

Entering a conversation, you always needed an exit should the other participant be keener on trading wounds than words. Accordingly, when the gentle curves of the serpent's spine stiffened and her task was hastily hidden, the tendons in East's feet tensed; one set of talons even twisted a crescent in the dust, ready to lead the spring from a snappish attitude. So far he'd had an okay track record with those of the reptilian persuasion, but it didn't hurt to be prepared to strike a tally on the loss side of the scoreboard.

Her teeth glared as much as her face. He didn't take it personally—having a beak gave him expressibility little better than a slab of stone. At least speech was no issue, and hers didn't betray any ill intent between the carefully pronounced syllables. Only the calm of someone with business to attend to. The sentiment was understandable.

"That's fine. I'm more sight than sound anyway."

Not the type to reject invitations, he inclined his head and dared hop closer. Shadow spilled over feathers, reducing the bird to a pair of eyes, bright as the curiosity that often lit them. His gaze drifted to the corpse, roamed the exposed tissue and partially peeled away pelt.

"Is the rare question no trouble?" Clarification followed. "About the process."

No endearing wag of tail feathers accompanied the inquiry. Charm was hard to come by when your usual audience embodied dead silence. Instead he waited, unblinking.

Sheltered from the wind but not immune to those possessing the qualities of it, East let the easy sweep of her voice carry him from one step to the next. The occasional nod broke the stillness of rapt attention, the only indicator that the bird held more thought than the statue he imitated. No stranger to pecking around carcasses, this was an everyday matter. The main difference was who wielded the sharp objects in the room.

Of course, it was one thing to examine for causes of death and another to harvest for practical use. Even more so when aided by a proper blade. Talons best for tightly grasping couldn't compare; the ragged tears he left when prodding at a mouse or two attested to the fact. He had to face it—birds like him weren't meant for carefully picking apart, but unquestioningly killing their quarry. Most that could be done was awkwardly mimic the tool-using finesse he saw with limbs unsuited for the task and a skull too thick to accept its place.

That meant taking a few nicks whenever the fragment of blade he had available happened to slip. But a little pain was worth it for the insight, the skill or natural talent the previous owner must have possessed to slice in a clean swipe.

Unlike that mystery being that left their corpses scattered beneath the rocks of Orion, East wouldn't waste an offering. Hesitation briefly whispered as feathers rustled, and he alighted, a child teetering on the edge of a giant's palm. With a mumbled thanks and all the politeness a bird accustomed to devouring prey on the wing could muster, the hooked tip of his beak grazed over scales as he picked up the meat chunk.

He held it in his mouth until the earthy flavor saturated his tongue, then swallowed.

"You said oils. Does any plant do the job, or are some better sources than others?" A resident of ruins, his experience was limited to the odd clump of weeds jutting from the rubble.

East ducked his head, swallowing a nonexistent bit of meat that had not yet disappeared down his gullet. Previously laid smooth, the tips of his crest quivered like a kid's twitching fingers caught in a forbidden jar. But the moment passed as soon as it came. He brushed aside the comment with a lazy shrug and stretch of feathers.

"Must have gotten carried away. Should've said rare like quartz." A chuckle left him. Caves knew there was enough of those to go around. Gather them all together, stack them end on end, and he bet he could build a glittering tower that touched the ceiling.

She seemed above board enough, so he saw no harm in using his brand of transparency. "Don't have much of a knack for it, but I figure knowing a little's better than zip." When it came to gathering knowledge, all tools were part of the trade. It was only a matter of figuring which one best applied to the scenario.