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Damissan had no special fondness for animals—of most any sort. They were stupid, often noisy, often smelly, often dangerous or any combination thereof. Even tame or domesticated ones could bite, and they all required upkeep and some degree of patience. He generally preferred just to eat them. It was a quicker, more rewarding process that made use of the animal, and didn’t leave around to need tending after.

Admittedly, Gadot had become something of a staple in their travels, however, and though it was one thing not to have him about when Xilarn wasn’t about, it was another thing to travel without him, when he had always been a presence. It at least ‘forced’ Xilarn into his company on foot, but given how well things had been going from his perspective, that didn’t seem as critical as before and perhaps unnecessary—if Xil would have chosen anyway to spend some time walking, at least.

Either way, while he was unlikely to admit it, a part of him missed Gadot’s presence.

But that wasn’t to say his general stance on animals had changed much. So far as he was still strongly convinced, Gadot was the exception—and still an animal: invasive, needy, odorous—not the rule. And he was wholly loyal to Xilarn. Damissan didn’t suspect any other animal could fill that category, and hadn’t given it a great deal of thought.

As he had rubbed down Nazakai after their day’s travel and tended to camp in Xilarn’s absence, he expected the man back with meat. Dinner meat. Instead—

“Ow! Damissan.”

He glanced up, and—he squinted. “Xilarn? What…”

‘What’, the more he studied the situation as he stood from his crouch beside the fire to approach, seemed to be the appropriate question. The answer, as he found, was a bird. But not in the state he might have hoped a soon-to-be-meal to come in. His attention was on the one actively trying to eat (or play with?) the hair around Xilarn’s ear, and had not yet taken notice of the one making no show of itself.

“Is it…alive on purpose?” he asked. Usually Xilarn did not bring his hunt’s spoils home alive. ‘Useful’ though is what Xilarn had asked for. He eyed the fowl dubiously. “What do you want me to do with it?” There may have been a sliver of amusement that edged into his voice then. “It seems to quite like you.”

After having a moment to take it in, though, his attention did begin to move to the man’s other burdens. “Or should I help carry something—” He glanced to the bundle in Xilarn’s arms—was that a second one? Was it alive? “—else…”

Damissan watched the exchange with interest—and perhaps just a touch of leeriness. Xilarn was the one who had brought this beast home, and already, even he didn’t look convinced it was a good idea, though Damis could only begin to guess the actual reason for the man’s scowled grumbling. Xilarn usually had many.

When the bird took notice of his approach, wings fanning out and a loud squawk (of greeting?) piping out, Damis took a half-step back instinctively, and was rewarded a moment later for being just out of the way as Xilarn’s patience — or whatever had remained of it — snapped and he sent the thing fluttering forward haphazardly much to its displeasure. To the ground.

He squinted. Was it—could it not fly?

Perhaps if it could have, it would have left Xilarn’s shoulder earlier, but Damis wouldn’t have begun to pretend he knew the specifics of bird flight behavior and learning curve. This one did look…

He eyed it.

Well, it wasn’t small, but it was significantly smaller than a grown kinfa, and did look like an underdeveloped version of one, which might have made it a nestling. As he was swung the full weight of Xilarn’s actual hunt, Damis grunted on impact, catching at the meat and nodding. The man’s next words seemed to confirm the earlier assessment — it was a fledgling — with more: two new orphans. He glanced to Xilarn’s armful.

“So that is alive also, then?” He moved with his new burden towards fire, and set it carefully where it wouldn’t be dirtied, and could be prepared to cook. Since Xilarn had chosen the word orphan, Damis assumed that it was the fledglings’ mother he was working with. He glanced to the grounded and lively one as he worked. “Have you trained birds before as well?”

Xilarn hadn’t seemed especially professional about his methods so far, and admittedly ‘if they die’ didn’t sound as though he had the highest hopes, but the man had trained Gadot and traveled a great deal. It didn’t seem implausible.

It was.

Damissan spared a glance again to the creature—or what he could see of it, little tufts of feather sticking out from where Xilarn had it tucked. It must have been some rough landing, and kinfa were not small creatures. Perhaps he ought to have been more grateful that Xilarn himself had returned safely, if he’d had to face up against one. It wasn’t usually what he brought in to eat. But at least it would last them some time.

And ‘no.’ No prior experience. Worse than that, even, if Xilarn had considered it prior and specifically wanted nothing to do with the creatures. But then, what had changed his mind this time? Damis adjusted the flat wood cutting board before him, taking up a carving knife and assessing before sectioning off a portion to dedicate to this evening’s meal. As he worked, his gaze flit occasionally to where the livelier of the two was hopping and pecking about, excessively downy wing feathers puffing and fluttering sporadically but not moving it far as it investigated.

Perhaps it had taken special offense to Xilarn’s toss treatment and was avoiding them, or the fire. But Damis was more inclined to believe it was just stupid, as oblivious of its dying sibling as it was of its deceased mother.

“It certainly isn’t a want I’d specifically contemplated before,” he said. ‘Wasting his time’ on ‘poor, motherless creatures’ that is. “But even if I did want to, I can’t imagine I’d be much help to either of them at present…”

A scuffling drew his attention down to just behind and beside him, where the explorer had come to hop back nearer and investigate what the rest of its company was up to. Damissan shot it a dubious glance, ignoring the smallest sliver of what could only be described as ‘awkwardness’ involved in cubing up the mother’s meat into manageable portions for the night’s stew while the infant kinfa shuffled nearer. When it got too close, however, he ushered it away with an elbow and a miffed huff. It was bold, for a wild creature.

“You shouldn’t want anything to do with this,” he reprimanded it lightly, gathering the sliced portions of meat and depositing them in the communal pot before a thought occurred to him. “Do they eat meat?” The thought that it might be interested not simply in activity but in food was a morbid one in this instance. “If you do want either of them to live, particularly with one hurt, we could seek out someone of more experience next we’re near any sort of establishment…surely the village people here are reasonably familiar with them.”

There was no telling exactly how long that would be and the one already damaged might not last the night—or even the evening. But if they were going to attempt to keep them around, it would surely help to know something about them. Not that Damissan was entirely convinced it was a good idea to have them about to begin with, but thus far, the chances of them being a lasting nuisance didn’t seem to be high enough to concern himself with objecting to their arrival.

It probably wouldn’t last long.

Taught to sing.

In conjunction with the other promising, useful traits Xilarn listed — message carrying in particular stood out to Damis as especially appealing with the potential to be invaluable in certain circumstances — ‘singing’ sounded almost…

He eyed the hopping ball of feathery down Xilarn had taken in on his shoulder, now scuffing about like a varmint.

…ridiculous.

Not because birdsong was, but because he tended to associate that variety of appeal with prettier, smaller ornamental birds that came in decorative cages. Not his area of interest, but at least suited to it. These birds looked as fit for elegant presentation and song as they were for flight and self-defense. Perhaps it would grow into them. Somehow, though, Damis had difficulty imagining them making much more than piped squawks.

The rest of it, however, had promise.

“I did assume they’d have value. Perhaps more so to someone who would know what to do with them. So if you thought that the chances of them living long with us were low, we might be off better selling them than waiting and eating them.” He considered the prospect of Vers. He was in little hurry to get anywhere in particular—it was the journey at this point, far more than the destination, and if anything, he didn’t want to be through it all too soon, not that that was a deep concern at the moment, with far to go. Still.

“I think it would be worth our while to head that way,” he said. “It isn’t as out of our way as going backward to Yera, and even if we’re not far I don’t particularly want to retrace our steps. If they do die along the way then so be it, but if either make it, it will give us the opportunity and resources to learn what we’re dealing with.” It would give them both the time it took to get there and the time they spent gathering information to decide whether or not it was wise to continue to keep them about, or sell the risk as they were.

Though, for all his initial showing of distaste and accusations of disgust, Xilarn didn’t especially look keen on abandoning the ‘orphans’ unless fate intervened.

As he turned to address the pot, stirring what was now a simmering collection of meat, broth, and beans, Damis decided that the prospect of added animals about wasn’t as objectionable of a thought as he might have anticipated. Certainly not if, by the time they reached Vers and spoke with trainers there, it seemed plausible that they could convince the piles of feathers to make themselves into something useful.

“Keep petting it,” he said, “and next I know it will have a name.”

Places new to both of them.

Damissan hummed, shifting up to fetch bowls and utensils from their things before settling back and ladling out two servings. There was actually a good bit of appeal to both a place and a task new to both of them—perhaps the latter, learning together, even more so than new sights. Xilarn had so far been familiar with everything they’d done, and while it was certainly useful and to be expected that he’d be behind the man in most everything, he’d be lying if he denied his interest in starting on approximately the same ground with him on something.

Xilarn had experience training Gadot and was better with animals generally speaking—surely. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t give the man a good run. He glanced to the birds. Possibly. If they made it that far. He passed over a bowl.

“It sounds exciting to me,” he said. “You never know…” He grinned back, “…perhaps I’ll be good at it. And you’ll have to try to keep up. We could find all this time I’ve been harboring a secret, natural affinity for bir—ah!” Damissan shot a sharp look downward, tisking his tongue and flicking his fingers to bat away at the uninvited guest who had made it back near to his own bowl while he’d handed over Xilarn’s. “Out, out, out-”

He drew the portion to himself only just in time to save it from the stir up of feathers and dust that came with the squawked objection inspired by his denial. If it looked offended at him, well—Damis huffed, shaking his head and eyeing it dubiously.

“I told you,” he quipped to it, utilizing his spoon like a teacher’s baton, “you don’t want this…” After holding his attention on it a moment, as though in anticipation of it taking a hopping leap back at him — which never came — he eventually sat back, keeping the bowl near to himself now as blew on his food. “Bird taming,” he said finally. “Like a…bird whisperer.”

“Of course I would,” Damis said. “Doesn’t everyone like the idea of being naturally good at things?” It was always more fun, he thought, to do things he felt he had a talent for. Or, if not an immediate knack then at least the capacity to learn at a decent rate. “Idling is boring, and who wants to spend their time doing a poor job when they could be doing something else more rewarding. Besides, I am good at plenty of things and I do them often, so I’ve been spoiled into having high expectations. It’s frustrating to lag.”

Damis’ eyes followed the bird’s retreat, and he paused with spoon midway to his mouth, watching as Xilarn scooped, and was he really going to—? But apparently he was, and Damis found his attention locked with some combination of morbid curiosity and guilt, as though he ought…warn it?

Too late.

Damis made a face somewhere between a wince and a grimace, and turned his attention back to his bowl. It was a bird. He cared more than it did. Surely there was irony in that. When he took a bite, though, he was consoled that at least it tasted good. It hadn’t all been a waste, and the infant bird wouldn’t be suffering for his cooking.

I'll be prepared to accept your surrender when it comes.

It was at least wholly sufficient to catch his full attention, and after the second it took to click, an open laugh bubbled up—followed by a quick flash of a grin. “Good. Then I am equally prepared to accept yours, depending on the circumstances, mm?”

Though, that did beg the question, Damis thought as his gaze flit from the mother-cannibalizing dodo to the crippled feather pile wrapped in swaddling fashion, which small catastrophe waiting to happen was supposed to be his responsibility? Perhaps best to avoid committing to either until they at least saw if they survived the trip to Vers.

Since Xilarn had already done it, Damissan supposed the deed was past and more of the same was unlikely to do any added harm. Thus, when the peeping nestling came his way and trilled for attention, testing its luck with him after being turned away from Xilarn. Damis circled his lips, giving a low, punctuated whistle—an attempt, if entirely imperfect, at mimicking the rhythm of its chirruping. It earned him a feathered head tip and a blinking stare. No less attention on his food.

He dropped it a supplementary chunk of meat, which seemed sufficient to distract its attention, and turned his attention to Xilarn.

Have you ever heard me surrender before?

“Never once,” Damissan said, gaze skirting down the angle of Xilarn’s body language as he leaned nearer, and then up, to his smile. “But I think, as you just said, that will make it all the more rewarding when I do get to hear it.” His teeth flashed, and he tipped his head. “‘Oh, Damissan, you were right, you’ve become unbeatable at this, and I cannot keep up—’” He touched the backs of his fingers to his forehead with flourish, lashes falling shut for the half second he postured, “—take me now.’” After, sparing Xilarn a sidelong glance, he hummed. “Well, perhaps not quite so many dramatics where you’re concerned. But I could imagine it just the same…”

In truth, Damissan considered it almost a given that Xilarn would ‘win’ — to whatever extent there was marked competition. True, perhaps he had never worked with kinfa before or even birds, but he had years of experience with animals, at the very least Gadot, and had trained him, that being a process which — while admittedly possibly different depending on the task to be taught and the animal’s brain capacity — couldn’t be entirely unrelated.

And Damissan was of the personal, private assumption, however unfounded, that animals would probably like Xilarn better. He’d never gotten on especially well with any of them himself and didn’t expect any special fondness from them back.

Not that he had ever been presented the chance before.

At the latter, slightly more serious turn of subject, though, Damissan flushed. Wouldn’t it, though? His gaze pinned uncertainly to the bundle. Generally, his issue with animals had been that they were mostly unpredictable, and often dangerous. The ones that weren’t that he had come in contact with were useless, boring pets bred for show. This, though, wasn’t any of those things, and he found that he wasn’t bothered by the idea of them—but there was a different sort of hesitance present: if he ‘took care of’ that one in particular, if it died—

“But what if I hurt it…?” It was one thing to not know what he was doing and only damage himself, or to not know what he was doing and recognize that and stay out so as not to make matters worse, but another thing entirely if his mishaps made something suffer. Even a bird didn’t seem to deserve that; at least the mother had presumably died quickly. It was there, though, and they wouldn’t be making it anywhere with anyone more knowledgeable instantly.

So, he and Xilarn were all it had regardless.

“You’re a bit harder to mess up on…” It was tempting, though, to reach for the bundle, just to peek for himself, and he might have but for his concern with jostling it. It wasn’t overly large, it wasn’t making noise, it wasn’t pecking, and it certainly was not dangerous—not at the time being, in any case. None of his general objections applied. “Do you think any of its bones are broken?”

Xilarn hadn’t been clear on the specifics and Damissan understood he probably didn’t know much more than he did, but he had been the one to get it out ‘from under the mother.’