An idea I've had for a while, but had not yet put on paper. If it gets further than this, there are at least two other characters I know will be introduced. (My mage/knight/thief pattern will probably remain intact.)====================
Flit woke confused. He was confused because he knew he was Flit, and he had never had a name before. He was hungry, and less than ten yards from his perch, a mouse was sitting in the open, on a bare patch of dirt. It was a white mouse, with red eyes. He had never seen one like that before, but a mouse was a mouse.
He dove, but the mouse didn’t run for cover. No, when he was barely three feet from her, talons extended, she held up a paw in his direction, and spoke.
“Hold animal.”
Flit felt his wings stiffen, and he glided over her, thudding awkwardly to the ground just past her, stuck in his gliding position. He was more confused now, because the mouse had spoken to him, in the noises humans made, and he had understood her.
She walked over to stand beside his head and sat back on her haunches. “What are you called?”
Flit just blinked at her. She expected him to answer, apparently, and he couldn’t move. Around her waist was belted a narrow strip of leather, upon which hung the tiniest of pouches, and a sliver of metal with a bit of thread wrapped around one end was tucked in it. He could feel himself starting to panic, which was worrisome, because he understood that he was starting to panic.
“Oh, yes, I’m sorry. I suppose you can’t talk at the moment.” She made a small gesture with one paw, and he felt all his muscles relax.
“What did you do?” he exclaimed, stumbling around to stand up. Flit was not sure if he was more concerned that he had vocalized the human words, or that it had been reflexive, or that he was thinking about being concerned.
“My name is Sylvia. I am a priestess of Lune, the goddess of the moon.”
“You’re a mouse,” he said.
“And you,” she said, “are a pigeon hawk. I believe you are confused about your diet.”
He leaned his head down close to her. “I am a kestrel,” he objected, “and I eat mice quite often.”
“Perhaps,” she said, putting a paw on his beak. “But not me. If you persist in trying, I shall have to do something more drastic than simply immobilizing you.”
“Why am I speaking to you?”
“Because you tried to kill me,” she said, then shrugged, which was somewhat awkward with mouse shoulders.
“I mean, why am I speaking?”
“Ah. I believe the usual cause is wild magic. There is a wizard’s tower in the woods very near here. It has been abandoned for quite some time, but unusual things happen in the area.”
“How do you know that?”
“I have been researching it for close to three months.”
“You’ve been what? Do mice even live three months?”
“I am almost four years old,” she said indignantly. “I was struck with magic powerful enough to make me understand things no mouse does. Do you think it did nothing else?”
“I have no idea.”
“How did you know you’re a kestrel?” she said.
“I have no idea,” he repeated, a little more miserably this time.
“I have been like this over three years,” she said, patting his beak. “How old are you?”
“Six years.”
“Are you new to the area?”
“Got chased out of my old territory three months ago by a pair of hawks,” he said, a little dejectedly.
“Ah.” She dropped back down to all four paws. “Well, I should get going. I do not travel quickly, and it will take me some time yet to get to the tower.”
“Why are you going to the tower?”
“The wizard acquired a reliquary holding a lock of my goddess’s hair. It is to be recovered, and returned to her temple in the human city of Landsfall.”
“Who told you this?”
“My goddess.”
“Oh.”
She turned and headed off in the direction of the distant woods, and after a moment, Flit took an awkward hop after her.
“Do you – do you want me to take you there?” he asked her.
“With claws like that?” she replied. “No, thank you.”
“You have… little grasping hands, yes?” he said, keeping pace with her now and looking at her paws. “You could hold on.”
She stopped and looked up at him. “What is your name?”
“Flit.”
“Tch, a sparrow name,” she said. “Very well, then, Mr. Flit. The tower is in the forest, although I do not know if it is tall enough to be seen above the trees.”
“How do you even know where you’re going?” he asked, wincing as she climbed her way onto his back. “You can’t possible see above the grass.”
“Oh, I rode most of the way here atop a wagon of grain,” she said.
“Here from where?”
“Landsfall.”
“Where is that?”
“To the north, almost two hundred miles.”
“That’s a long way off for a mouse, isn’t it?”
“Quite. I doubt most ever travel further than a mile from where they’re born.”
“Are you holding on well?” he asked.
“I should hope so,” she said.
“All right then.”
He took a pair of steps and was airborne. He could hear the mouse’s high pitched squeal of terror as he gained altitude, and then she was praying.
“I’m not going to drop you,” he said. “We’re just getting high enough up to see if we can see the tower.”
“My eyes are probably not good enough to see quite so far,” she said.
“Mine are.”
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PS: Copyright 2011 Katherine Brent
