Boreal

Chapter Fifteen

The voices of the grown-ups drifted through the walls, muffled beyond understanding. Ptarmigan leant his head back against the carved stone. His fingers wormed their way amongst his wyvern's feathers, drawing comfort form her weight in his lap. Fulmar was quiet beside him.

The dock children had scattered almost as soon as the magnitude of the discovery had become apparent, and he was sure were it not for Ciarran's barked orders for the older boy to fetch the Guardians, he too would have made his escape. As it stood, however, both were unfortunately in the same boat; forced to wait outside of the Guardian Captain's office while the adults discussed how to proceed.

Now, Fulmar sat quietly on the couch beside him. He kept stealing glances at the boy and his wyvern, shifting his weight. Was he afraid they were in trouble? Worried about what all the grown-ups would think? For once, Ptarmigan wished he was worried.

He was just numb.

He squeezed his eyes shut, hugging Shyam a little tighter as the pale face of the Show master returned, staring blankly up at him. He'd never seen a corpse before – at least, not up close. He hadn't expected the skin to be so taut, almost like parchment. Hadn't expected the eyes to be washed out and colourless, but still somehow able to meet his own gaze. Hadn't expected the man's lips to be curled open, revealing greyed gums and discoloured teeth, grinning back at him.

Shyam trilled, nuzzling against his chest as his hands snapped up, angrily wiping at the tears which threatened to escape. Why was he crying? He wasn't hurt. He hadn't known the Show master, it wasn't as though his death would impact them in any way, besides taking even more of their instructor's attention away from them. Brushing them away did nothing; if anything, it only made it worse. Ptarmigan choked back a sob, folding in on himself.

An arm snaked around his shoulders. He glanced at Fulmar as the older boy pulled him into his side, patting his back.

"It's okay, Tarm."

He bit his lip, doing his best to seem brave. He pressed his chin against his chest.

"You know," Fulmar said quietly, "the first time I saw a dead man, I was around your age."

Ptarmigan didn't respond, sniffling.

"The one I saw was a drowned man," he continued, "I found him, down on the sands. All grey an' bloated. My Pa, he took me aside after, an' you know what he told me?"

"What?"

"He said, well, at least you found him." Fulmar hugged him a little tighter. "I know it don't feel good Tarm, but it's better you found him than he stay missing, you understand?"

"I s'ppose..." he trailed off.

It didn't make him feel any better, and surely, someone else would've found the body eventually. He didn't really want to talk about it. He pulled away from the older boy, glancing towards the doorway.

"What do you think they're doing, in there?"

"Probably trying to work out how best to keep this under wraps." Fulmar sat back, scratching at his chin. "Won't work – all the dock children at least heard your instructor calling for the Guardians. Word'll get out."

"When Harrier came to fetch Siskin, it sounded like he and Ciarran were in trouble," Shyam chattered.

Ptarmigan raised an eyebrow.

"What d'you mean by that?"

Her crest flickered as she glanced at the doorway, as though she was worried the grown-ups would overhear and burst out to tell them off for discussing it.