The Protector and the Peacemaker

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

(Tick)

It had only been two days, but Tick already felt as if he were healing.

For the past forty eight hours, he'd had his chest, and the burn that marred it, pressed firmly against his father's back. The wampus cat's fur constantly rubbing against it should have irritated the wound, but to Tick's surprise it had the opposite effect. The white hairs felt as soft as silk, and actually soothed his burned skin. When Gwinn finally stopped for the night and placed Tick back on the ground, the chimera inspected his wound and was not entirely surprised to find that it was already fading.

"It won't heal completely," Gwinn said, startling him out of his thoughts. "You'll always have a scar where the spell hit you."

"Cool," Tick said, imagining himself with a battle scar. "Will it be big?"

"A scar isn't something to be proud of, son," Gwinn reprimanded him. "They're nothing but reminders of mistakes you've made. They're there to remind of you what you did wrong so you can avoid doing it again."

"Oh," Tick said, his head lowering a bit in embarrassment.

"And what I hope you learned from that scar," Gwinn continued, "is that you should never run into a battlefield unprotected, no matter who you're following."

"It wasn't Porter's fault!" the boy shot back, his face turning red.

"It was his fault," Gwinn insisted, but then waved his hand, "but we're not having that argument now. Right now, I'm going to teach you how to defend yourself."

Gwinn took a step back and drew his massive sword from behind his back. The steel glinted in the blood red light of the setting sun, and Tick recoiled in fright.

"You're already scared?" the wampus cat asked. "The fight hasn't even started."

Tick tried to think of a snappy comeback, but the sight of the razor sharp blade, longer than he was tall, seemed to glue his mouth shut.

"You'll need something to defend yourself with," his father said, still not lowering his weapon. "What's your weapon of choice?"

"I- I've never been in a fight," Tick answered.

Gwinn's eyes widened with surprise. "Even after all the danger Porter put you in, you've never once had to fight someone?"

Tick shook his head.

Gwinn paused for a moment, and then said, "We'll need to find you a weapon, then."

"Whenever I got in trouble before, I just sang," Tick told him, hoping it would count for something. "People do what I tell them to when I sing."

A thoughtful look passed over the wampus cat's face. "The Angel's Voice," he said, more to himself than to his son. "Yes, I'd forgotten all about that."

"You already knew?" Tick asked. "How?"

"It doesn't matter," the cat-man said with a wave of his hand. "Show me your voice. Sing for me."

Tick hesitated. If his voice worked on Gwinn like it did everyone else, then it should force him to do whatever Tick told him to. An idea began to form in his head.

"Put away your sword," he said, drawing out his words and moving his voice up and down just enough for it to sound like singing. Immediately, Gwinn's face took on a vacant expression. As if moving in his sleep, he reached behind his back and sheathed his sword. Tick smiled. It was working!