ONE OF TWO. - razor

Chapter Five

Admittedly, Razor wasn't sure which way he was going or where he even should have been heading; the land was too unfamiliar to map out and all sorts of smells overlapped and swirled around him with the whispering breeze. Plants were much bigger here, their leaves enough to cover his face, and mushrooms of varying shades of orange and red sprouted from every conceivable nook. The trees were often clustered together, as if huddling to purposely reduce vision, and there were sudden drops and boulders frequently enough to have him change the trajectory of his path every five or so minutes.

He trudged along sluggishly, pausing when he felt his legs threaten to give way and allowing himself to lean against burly trunks when breathing became too arduous of a task. His elemental power was persistently sparking within him, apparently suddenly stirred by the shock of what had happened, yet Razor couldn't help but see it as a positive change. After all, it made him feel stronger and offered a sense of companionship with the possibility of him seeing his wolf spirit in such a time of need.

A species of bird he'd never encountered before watched over him at a distance with deep black eyes from over its hefty, curved beak. It remained perched on a low branch just some way to his left, the vivid blue of the feathers on its back glistening in the bit of sun that struck them and its chest, a daffodil yellow, was puffed up and recently preened. Razor allowed himself to stare in wonder upon spotting the animal, permitting himself to spend the moment of respite by indulging his curiosity.

Once his breathing steadied and the quake in his legs diminished however, he pushed himself off from the tree and made to press onward with his goal. The bird instantly squawked at him in response, as though calling out for his attention.

He blinked. Was he imagining things? After a handful of seconds, he took another step forward and again the bird cried out, this time hopping on its branch, hastily flapping its wings. Razor froze in place when the bird proceeded to fly into the air, high and quick, before it swept back down in his direction and circled around him. His forearms created a shield for his head in case of an attack but the bird merely nipped at his poncho, tugging him leftward.

Befuddled, Razor mulled over what was occurring, steadily growing less apprehensive.

"Bird, here to help?" He asked, forgetting that they didn't speak the same language. And yet, the bird seemed to give its affirmation as it urgently swirled around him before pinching the end of his poncho in its beak and urging him in the same direction once more.

He supposed no harm could come from changing route and a feeble happiness lit within him at the thought of not being on his own.

"Thank you, friend."

The bird squawked contentedly a final time prior to guiding him on, hopping from branch to branch and allowing the boy to catch his breath when needed.

After many minutes Razor's ears twitched, picking up on sounds he hadn't expected to come across in the middle of nowhere that they were: voices and laughter – people. He had never been so relieved to hear the noise of a rowdy group of people until then.

Picking up his pace as much as possible, he stumbled on, too eager to get help from those he could hear just ahead to notice that the bird had started to tug him back, pecking at his hair as if warning him to stop.

He peered into a clearing from over a bush and heaved a heavy breath at seeing a group of five – two women and three men – chatting together. A pair were engrossed in a card game, splayed out on a large cloth on the ground, while the other three were commentating the game from beside a simmering pot of food. Their tents were miniscule, just enough to give shelter. Razor could tell they didn't live there and probably moved around often from that fact and their evident lack of supplies; he hoped they would be capable of aiding the knight who was waiting for his return, at the very least.