We both glanced down at her bloodied spear. It lay on the ground where she’d dropped it in order to catch the falling chick.
You’re injured, I said to her. I’m going to return to the camp and send Longshank and the others out here to help you.
I ignored her disgruntlement at the plan, and waited until she reluctantly agreed. Wait here, then. And make sure the kid’s safe.
Ris’kin looked again at the fluffy owlet, still held at arm’s length. It looked back at her solemnly. I sensed her distaste, and she prodded me again questioningly, as if saying, “Again, what am I meant to do with this?” She looked up at the nest. “With these?”
We already have more than enough mouths to feed, I said after a moment. It was true. There were 101 gnomes in the tribe—plus badgers, Binky, bumbling Benin, and Coll. That’s quite enough for us to look after.
We searched the ugly creature’s face. Its big black eyes stared back at us. It let out a strangled hoot and flapped its wings ineffectually.
I felt a flood of pity, and tried to push it down. The exodus is hard enough as it is. It’s life and death, and we have to prioritize our denizens above everything else. Wait for Shanky, let him help you get the girl down, then…
The owlet blinked. On the branch far above, the other one that had hopped out of the nest peered down at us. Those still in the nest hooted piteously.
No. My priority was the gnomes, and the others already under my care. So I steeled myself and said what needed to be said.
Take care of them, I told Ris’kin firmly. I severed Double Sight’s connection and returned to camp.
An hour later, I found myself glaring down at my avatar.
I told you to ‘take care’ of them.
She nodded.
Longshank’s scouts followed her into the camp. Each clutched a gray-feathered bundle in their arms. Five pairs of big black eyes peered curiously at their new surroundings, blinking in the light from the illumishrooms. The owlets chirruped and hooted to one another with each new sight, and the scouts had soon acquired a procession of curious gnome children mimicking the owls’ noises and giggling in delight at the fluffy creatures.
Longshank himself brought up the rear. He was leaning on the blond-haired child for support, limping heavily, and I felt a twinge of guilt for working him so heavily this night.
At the sight of the rescued girl, the two gnomes who’d been so distressed earlier converged on her with squeals of delight. They smothered her in their embrace, crying tears of relief, wringing Longshank’s hand and calling their thanks to Ris’kin.
What gives? I said to my avatar, who was passing a handful of familiar-looking nuts to a nearby gnome. I sensed her satisfaction at the find, and could only assume the offending squirrel had been made to pay for its impertinent antics.
She just shrugged again, acting confused. She patted a passing owlet on the head, as if to say, You said to take care of them. We’re taking care of them.
Ket sniggered, clearly delighted by this latest development. I scowled, though I was secretly glad my avatar had not had the heart to commit cold-blooded owlicide.
That wasn’t what I meant, and you know it!
But it was hard to stay mad at Ris’kin. Especially now I could see her from the outside. I stared in horrified fascination at her face.
One of the medics had handed her a waterskin, and she washed the blood from her fur, revealing her injuries in full. The raptor’s talons had scored three deep parallel gashes down the right side of her face, from the base of her ear to her jawbone. The one in the middle was deepest; it had carved right through the center of her eye, gouging out the eyeball and leaving her with an empty socket.
Her salamander-esque regeneration had already healed the injuries’ shallower edges into pink-white scars, and the deeper parts of the wounds were scabbing over even as I watched. However, it took me several moments to realize her eye was not growing back.
She’d healed cuts, bruises, burns, everything from broken nails to broken bones. Every wound left a scar, but it always healed. Until now.
“Even salamander regeneration has its limits,” said Ket regretfully.
“But they can regenerate entire lost limbs!” I objected. “How difficult is it to make a new eye?”
“Well, it is one of the most complex organs in the entire body,” Bekkit pointed out unhelpfully.
“Ris’kin knew and accepted the danger of what she did,” said Ket, cutting straight to what she—as always—knew was the real source of my frustration. “It’s not your fault, so don’t feel bad.”
I did feel guilty—how could I not? My avatar was maimed—permanently, and in a way that could well affect her performance in crucial ways.
First Longshank’s leg, now Ris’kin’s eye—how many other body parts were my people going to lose while under my ‘protection’?
Not wanting to spiral into despair, I said, “Well, at least she looks even more badass now.”
Ket hummed in agreement. “Perhaps the clothiers will make her an eyepatch.”
I smiled at the thought.
It was close to midnight, and most of the gnomes had long since crawled into their tents for some well-deserved shuteye. However, the procession of owl-bearing scouts and excitable children was causing quite the stir. More and more gnomes were being roused from sleep by the commotion, and soon the baby owls were being passed from gnome to gnome, each one cradling their ugly burden and gazing down upon it as though it were just as precious as their own children. The latter still milled around, reaching out to reverently touch the owls and repeating “Hoot-hoot” over and over again.
“That’s
