Thanus23

Gaffriel loaded up onto my trailer for the summer. We left his dad behind. They were going to finally get him help. We’d let it go on long enough, and Gaff had suffered so damn much. We thought he was strong enough for it. We forgot he was only sixteen. So, when we looked at his problem through adult eyes, we missed important things.

Because he clung to Niala, followed her like a puppy, and tried so hard to put on a brave face for her all the time, I never saw it. I saw a boy in puppy love. I saw a scared boy. I didn’t stop to think that he had been abandoned in plain sight.

Letti had already taken a crack at him. She had just given birth to a son not a few weeks ago, and I was worried she might not be up to it. Mana goes peaky with women when it has to do with pregnancy and babies and stuff. I was a little sad that I’d never have a child of my own. I rocked baby Mesin in my arms as Letti worked on Gaff.

He had two teeth gone, but fortunately, he’d have those grown back in after a day or so. We were like that, some say like sharks, but I felt it akin to alligators. We had lots of spares. He had some bruising, a busted lip, broken nose, not helped by Niala’s flick, and his wing had been broken at the base. That one would have near-crippled me.

Letti had Gaff on the kitchen table, laid out like a rug. I laughed at him as he laid there. She wove green fires over her pale skin and brushed her fingertips down his back, spine, and wings. Tiny prickles of light flitted off where Letti touched. Gaff sucked his teeth and bit over his wrist as she worked his wingbase. His sharp teeth broke skin. Up until he’d laid down, the shock held him. If he could keep going in a fight with a broken wing, there was hope.

“Suts, Gaff, what the fuck did you do?” She said. She swore like a sailor, like two sailors. She had this gift, using mortal swears and human alike, weaving them together into fucking masterpieces, literally. I saw what Dimal liked about her.

I had to tear myself away from Mesin cuddled warmly in my arms. “He went toe to toe with Kiromir over Ni.”

“Got his ass kicked for the trouble, huh? You need a few more years and a lot of hard work to kick his ass.” Leti flared her fires a bit and jerked his wing. He heard the snap and grind of fusing bones as he tried not to scream or pass out. He did neither.

Respect.

“Honestly, you should see how Kiromir looked. He’s banged up a bit, too.”

“He losing his edge?” Letti let her lip curl, and Gaff died of shame.

I shifted Mesin in my arms. “No. Gaff just held his ground for a bit. He’s working for it.”

Letti let her fires dance over his nose. “Keep at it, Gaff. You’ll nail her down to the wanderers for us. Literally.”

“Letti!” My shout startled Mesin awake, and he whimpered, threatening tears. A red blush crept over Gaffriel’s already blushing face, and he looked like a tomato.

Her tongue ran so blue that Gaff cringed when she spoke. When she was born, a picture of her was placed in the dictionary next to the word ‘raunchy.’

Raunchy: raun·​chy | ˈrȯn-chē: See also, Letti.

She finished her work, took the baby from me, and informed us we could just ‘fuck right off,’ and we gladly did. Gaff blushed so hard that his face went crimson.

He stayed the night with me that night, didn’t go to his barrack. We talked about what he wanted, what he needed. We had rejected him as a hunter because of his clumsiness instead of working harder to make sure he overcame it. At that lanky stage, his brain still told him his wings were smaller, his hands were shorter, and his legs were nearer to the ground. He stumbled, knocked things over, and fumbled in the air. We all had our awkward duck days; it’d just been so fucking long.

“You have to say something!” I told him.

“What do you think I was doing every time I showed up asking to join when you were training?” He hadn’t entirely lost his pout yet. He needed sleep. There were dark circles under his eyes past the bruising.

“Point. Sometimes you just have to spell it out for us, kid. We’re old.” I ruffled over his hair and grinned as he shoved me away from him. He still had that childish bite in his gaze, but I could feel his mourning aura growing. He was stressed again.

“Get some sleep. You’re going with me this summer. Your dad needs to stay back,” I said grimly.

Gaff looked up with those big childish eyes. Flecks of green, brown, and gold shone back at me.

“Take the couch. I’ll be back,” I told him. His dad knew where his barracks were and what I would do and say might put Yarick in a mood.

I went to the council first. They were already up and angry about it.

Though I answered to Kiromir as second in command, I still had to answer to the Council. When I told them that Yarik would be left behind to get help, they surprisingly agreed on the grounds that I had to be the one to tell him.

My next stop was Yarik’s barrack. He lost his bigger quarters when he stopped hunting with us—when he didn’t take care of his son. I threw open the door and found him passed out on a cot. Bottles and cans lined his small room, and he looked up at me with this hang-dog expression. He was younger than me and already had grey hair. I was 69; he was 61. The equivalent would have been mid-thirties for me, early thirties for him. We aged very slowly, and death usually came from unnatural circumstances. Those that lived to be elders usually lived a whole lot longer. The body kept existing long after you couldn’t fly. You had to be strong to live that long in a body dying around you. Most couldn’t handle it.

“Yarik?” I watched as he lifted his head up with a dumbfounded and somewhat annoyed expression.

“The caravans are leaving tomorrow,” I told him.

He sat up, and cans spilled from his covers. He was so much less than he used to be. “Yeah? Guess I’m riding with you, then. My van’s been busted.”

“No, Yarik.” I leaned against his wall, and we talked.

I won’t lie and say it was a nice talk. Yarick tried to get violent at first, but he wasn’t the man he used to be. He was skin and bones nowadays, all liquor and no fire. A few good shoves had him sitting down and listening.

He tried to blame it on his bondmate, on Gaff, on everything, but I wasn’t having it.

I put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “The council and leaders have spoken. Kiromir and I are in agreement as well.”

He sank in defeat. I knew he’d try something, so I had someone go check on him every so often in the night. Gaff wouldn’t be near him for a while.

I found Kiromir; he had snuck out to have an ‘angry smoke.’ It wasn’t like me to want one, but I used it as an excuse to get closer. A year went by with me gathering the courage to offer him my fires. It hurt every time I came near him. When I pulled him off of Gaff earlier and buckled him to my chest, I didn’t realize how well he fit there against me. So, I took the only chance I thought I could get and offered him my fire to see if maybe that was why he hadn’t found a bondmate.

Our fires melded.

Over the drive that morning, Gaff and I talked about the things that had happened, things we knew about, some we didn’t. Yarik probably needed to be put out of his misery. With Yarik’s bondmate gone and the alcohol problem… he had no interest in life. On the other hand, Gaffriel practically had a lust for it.

He wanted to go with us, to see the world, to fight the good fight. A glint shone in his eyes and knew he meant it.