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At first, Buddy sticks very close to Hector in camp. Hector was the one who fed him first. Hector is kind, with a soft voice. Hector gives him scritches between the ears and murmurs blessings Buddy doesn't understand. Hector is not Mother, but Hector is safe.
The others take some getting used to.
Karlach is not expecting it, the first night Buddy tries to sleep in the tent with them. She's half-asleep and at first only dimly aware of claws jabbing through her clothes, which meld unpleasantly with a dream of stinging sparks in the Hells. Her eyes flicker open - and then she jumps as she comes face to face with an owlbear beak. Buddy has nestled himself between her and Hector, curled into a floofed-up ball.
"Aw, hells. Hec--" she says sleepily.
"Mmph?" Hector answers. "Wha-- ack!" There's a sudden sputtering noise as he rolls over into a faceful of feathers.
"That."
She hears Hector laugh softly in the darkness. "Buddy, you can't sleep there." He nudges at the cub's flank; Buddy makes a soft noise of objection. "Come on, Bud."
Buddy gives a chirping whine but allows himself to be displaced so Hector can snuggle in against Karlach again. The cub considers the situation for a moment, then flops deliberately on Hector's other side, staring at Karlach the whole time as if daring her to say anything about it.
"I think I have competition," she tells Hector with a grin.
"You're way prettier than he is, don't worry," Hector mumbles into her shoulder.
Gale makes a picture of a woman, but she has no smell. Buddy doesn't like that. It seems wrong. Wyll emerges from his tent one morning to the sound of Waterdhavian-accented oration at full volume.
"That is the goddess of magic, Buddy. That is Mystra herself!" Gale is lecturing the little beast, poking a finger into Buddy's face. "You cannot simply swipe a claw through her as if she were a mouse you'd caught unawares. That is a disrespect of the highest order and I would have thought you smart enough to know better."
Buddy listens attentively, his head cocked over to one side, occasionally chirping whenever Gale pauses for breath.
"I understand that you are an owlbear and therefore not privy to the mysteries of the Weave," the mage goes on. "But that does not exempt you from a certain level of basic decency towards the divine. I will thank you to remember this in future and improve your decorum."
Wyll grins, folding his arms as he watches this little display unfold. "Do you want to try it again with an animal speaking potion?"
Gale sighs. "No, no, never mind. He's just a beast after all, he can't really be expected to understand."
"I don't know," Wyll says mildly. "Perhaps he has the right of it. A protective instinct, if you will, given the target does want you to blow yourself up. I think he's not the only one in camp who would give her a swipe if they could."
"I'll thank you to keep your disrespect to yourself as well," Gale says dryly. His fingers flick through the air, conjuring a new, glowing image of his goddess.
Buddy swats a paw through her again at once.
The githyanki is sharp like Mother's claws. She snaps when Buddy comes close, sniffs disdainfully when he scarfs down some of the camp supplies. He steers clear and watches her from a distance.
He understands how this works. She is one of the alphas. She must be brought a gift before she will accept him in the flock.
One night, Hector watches with bemusement as the cub, his whole expression screwed up with deep owlbear concentration, drags a large dead rabbit through the camp.
Catching Hector's gaze, he drops the rabbit and chirps softly, wandering in a slow circle around his prize. His feathers fluff up in a deliberate attempt to make himself look bigger, as if to steel himself for a great challenge. Then he grabs the rabbit again by the head, and in a single smooth motion, drags it into the tent where Lae'zel is currently sleeping.
There is a brief moment of silence, followed by a yell that echoes through the whole camp. Buddy, still poofed out in all directions, comes sailing through the tent flap, tumbling end over end and hitting the ground some distance away. The dead rabbit follows closely thereafter.
The next morning, Lae'zel acts as if nothing happened, but Hector does note with some surprise that she gives Buddy an absent pat on the head every time she walks past him. Later, she offers him a torn off scrap of the hunk of jerky she grabs for her evening meal.
"You're not holding his midnight visit against him, then?" Hector asks her.
"On the contrary," she says gravely. "The creature offered tribute to me as its jhe'stil, and showed bravery in doing so. It has earned the respect due a beast of combat."
"But you threw him out of the tent!"
She looks at him unblinkingly. "Yes."
Hector considers trying to understand this, and then decides not to bother.
Shadowheart rarely comes close at first to either Buddy or Scratch. She is wary of them as beasts of the forest. Scratch says she is afraid of wolves. Buddy is NOT a wolf - but he is almost as big as one, so he thinks maybe it makes sense.
She often looks at him like she would like to pet him, though. A few times, she does drift near, and lays her hand gently between his ears on the soft feathers at the nape of his neck. And he sees a little smile tug at her lips - but then there is a flash of magic around her hand, and she winces or cries out in pain and draws away.
Many weeks on, deep in the Shadowlands, there is a great commotion one night - an explosion of light and crashing and roaring in the distance. Buddy watches with great interest, and some concern, as Hector returns to the camp with Karlach and Wyll, all of them covered in blood and slime. Shadowheart, equally battered, follows behind them at a distance, her eyes hollow and her face even paler than usual.
Buddy finds her in her tent later, staring at the wall in the darkness. He sits in the tent flap and chirps questioningly.
"No. Go away," she mutters. "I can't--"
She falls silent. He chirps again, scoots a little closer to her.
"It hurt so much..." she whispers. "All this time, all that pain... for a lie..."
She gives a sudden hoarse, humorless laugh. "There was never any wolf. D'you know that? There was never any wolf at all."
He gives a soft, whickering sort of noise and nudges his head cautiously against her hand. There is no flash of magic, no cry of pain. He does it again. Her fingers fist suddenly into his feathers, pulling him towards her.
He squawks, alarmed, then relaxes as she presses her face into the soft down of his back and sobs.
Late one night, Astarion tracks a deer through the woods. They're difficult prey, jumpy and skittish, but his steps are light, an almost inaudible tread. And they have quite a lot of blood in them. The hunger gnaws at his stomach and his red eyes gleam in the moonlight.
Just a little closer...
His boot knocks against an ill-placed stone, barely a rustle of sound but enough. The deer lifts its head and gives a keening cry, and bolts.
"Oh-- damn it," he mutters, straightening out of his crouched position. His fingers flex with undirected frustration and he leans heavily against a nearby tree. "Damn, damn, damn." What a feast that would have been... the local squirrel population has been decent, but deer is something else entirely. One of his favorites, second only to the kobolds and, of course, the one pure draught he got from Hector's throat...
His thoughts are interrupted by the sound of an animal squealing in abject pain, a ripping, tearing noise of wet meat - and then a soft chirp. He looks down, puzzled.
Buddy is sitting looking up at him with bright, wide eyes. His beak is coated in blood, and he bounces in an excited circle around Astarion's feet before guiding him through the foliage nearby. The deer sits sprawled on the mossy ground, its head bent at an odd angle.
"Huh." Astarion raises his eyebrows, examining the gory tableau. His stomach growls audibly at the glinting shine of wet blood at the deer's throat. "Not badly done. I didn't think I was in the market for a hunting partner, but perhaps we should work together more often."
Buddy wiggles all over with excitement and butts his head against Astarion's leg.
"Yes, yes, you're very cute. Now stay out of the way and let me drain this thing before you start looking tasty as well."
"No!" Minsc bellows, looking down at the cub imperiously. "You will stand aside, beast; though your talons be very sharp and your beak to match, Minsc will bear each scratch before you shall lay one claw upon Boo!"
Buddy cowers back, his eyes very wide and all his feathers standing up, as the berserker towers over him. Boo sits atop Minsc's head and squeaks angrily down at the cub from his perch.
"Minsc!" Jaheira steps in between them, raising one hand before Minsc can speak again. "Calm yourself. I heard you all the way across the camp. What is the matter?"
"Minsc woke to find the little feather-beast eyeing Boo with the hungriest of eyes," Minsc says fiercely. "Does he think Boo a little snack to be feasted upon?!"
"No doubt," Jaheira says calmly, struggling not to smile; Minsc is obviously incensed, and yet there is something comical in seeing him stare down the little round ball of feathers with such ferocity. "For he is a beast of nature; why should he know otherwise?"
"Well, he shall not have him!"
"Peace." Jaheira crouches next to the owlbear, murmurs a spell under her breath; green light flares around her body. "Do you hear me, cub?" she murmurs.
Buddy goes very still; his feathers flatten out and he stares at her with wide eyes. "You... speak?" he whispers.
"With all the wisdom that nature gave me." She smiles, reaches out to scratch him under the chin. "You must leave the hamster alone. For he is Minsc's to protect, as you are Hector's."
The cub chirrups skeptically. "Rat. Tasty," he points out.
"There is no shortage of rats in the city," Jaheira says dryly. "We shall find you other meat. But you must promise to leave Boo in safety."
Buddy makes a soft grumbling noise. "All right. Promise," he mumbles.
Jaheira looks up at Minsc, her eyes glinting with amusement. "The bargain is made," she says soberly.
"Ah." Minsc brightens up at once and grins. "Good. Minsc did not want to kick such a little, cute butt, if there was any helping it."
Buddy trots along at Jaheira's side as she walks away; his sharp little eyes peer up at her excitedly. "You speak. New Mother?" he asks hopefully.
"Gods. No," Jaheira sputters. "I am no more your mother than I am Minsc's Wychlaran; where does everyone get these ideas?"
Buddy's ears turn down. "Just hoped."
She pauses, then smiles faintly. "I may not be your mother, cub, but I think you have a whole camp full of family. As creatures of the wilderness go, you have it made."
Withers examines the cub closely as it creeps around the edge of the camp, watching him from the shadows. "I offer no threat to thee, little beast," the skeleton intones gravely. "Thou hast no need of secrecy."
Buddy chirps. Emerging from the shadows, he sits at Withers' feet, looking up at him.
Withers' expression does not shift. "Indeed," he murmurs. "A creature without mooring. Untethered and yet bound. A matter of luck... or of fate."
Buddy tips his head slowly to one side.
"Thou art a pillar, upon which is built the lever which shall move the world." The faintest hint of a smile twists the skeleton's lips. "And yet thou knowest it not. This is as it should be. By such truths does all remain in balance."