Work Text:
The bird is a small, glassy-eyed thing, all gaping beak and prickly fuzz of feathers. Omen cradles it in one hand, sensors registering even its barely-there weight.
“It fell,” xe says, and looks around at the surrounding rubble. The land beneath the Traveler has been sheltered for a long time, but now old ruins are being picked over and knocked down, material hauled away to where it’ll be of more use. There’s no telling where this one’s nest was, though xe lofts into the air to check anyways. The bird xe keeps cupped to xyr chest, in case the draft of motion blows it away – a reflex, to be careful of something so frail and potentially precious.
Boon appears over xyr shoulder to click disapprovingly. “They probably didn’t even notice a nest. Typical. All too excited about this city we’re building.”
Omen drifts back to the ground and takes a closer look at it, choosing not to rebuke the we. Boon knows xe wants to leave. They’re just not satisfied with it.
“Smaller than a gosling,” xe murmurs. “Or the chicks.” Those are the birds xe knows best, since the villagers kept them. There were crows in xyr territory too, but Omen had never been able to track down a nesting pair to get a close look.
“You could ask me, instead of guessing,” Boon says. Omen raises xyr hand, palm open, and the Ghost flashes a quick scan. The bird barely stirs, though animals usually spook at any kind of drone. “A pigeon, a few weeks old. Female. She’s stunned, and one of her wings is broken.”
“Can it heal?”
“It’s not a bad break. I think so.” Omen nods, and they add, “But she’ll die if she’s left here.”
They say it mildly, with the air of a universally acknowledged truth. They used that same tone when they first told Omen about the people in the valley below. About the Fallen, and the local tyrants. As if they expected nothing to come from it.
Surely they did, because they had brought Omen to life, and what was xe for if not to act in the face of such truths?
But this is not a valley full of refugees to take responsibility for, or a feud to strike up with a rampaging warlord. This is a bird, and Omen can feel the tiny, frantic warmth of its heartbeat.
“There’s a Risen here who likes birds, I think. Or we could ask the Iron Lords. Someone here would know how to take care of an injured animal, with all the people they’ve dragged in.” It is a nice thought, to pass it on. It would mean staying longer, with the beacon of the Traveler right overhead – but would a few hours matter? A day?
Omen can feel its pull, even dormant or dying. The longer xe stays beneath its candle-flicker radiance, the harder it will be to go. The arguments of the people xe protected, or the hopeful Risen gathering here, or Boon themselves will sway xem. Such a gentle, graceful way to lose a battle, and Omen would not begrudge them for it.
“No,” xe says, and does not look up at what xe is forsaking. “We can take her with us.” Boon spins their shell in silent commentary, and swoops low to the ground, tagging materials for a splint. Omen lifts the bird to eye level.
“Hello, little one. We have a long way to go.”