[Rimbaud]

C'rawk! All was ruined! The young fool has doomed himself!

Fingot briefly debated leaving Mitakaw to his own tricks, but that would certainly doom the youngster and family ties were too strong. He knew Akaaw would be sending for him very soon. He had no fear for himself, but now he feared for Mitakaw, for Akaaw, as with all good chiefs, had a ruthless spirit when it came to competition.

Fingot issued a sharp and short command to the large bird on his left wing side, who sped off northward towards Mitakaw's separated flight of birds, now wheeling around in some disarray. The henchcrow, Gurdbik, was a lone speck in the grey sky between the black mass and its tiny divorced
neighbour.

Fingot worried now that the strong birds who had been wooed to join Mitakaw's leap for captaincy would now return to their old chiefs disgusted. Such events as the last few moments were high shame for a warrior creban. All those efforts wasted. Fingot was in a foul mood, and it did not improve.

He sighed and adjusted his flight as the messenger bird approached his flank. Fingot's other bodyguard looked menacingly over at the smaller bird, who flew with the nevous energy of one who lived at the beck and call of a fierce chief.

* * * * * * * * * *

"My liege?" said Fingot, cautiously, as he dipped to level with Akaaw's wing beats. The chief hardly looked exerted, his great wings flapping ominously slowly, a sure sign he was taking the flight slowly at present. All feared the legendary speeds the murder had to reach when the chief demanded it. Akaaw's close cadre of protective birds clacked and snapped as Fingot came among them and he was horrified to realise some were sneering at him. At me! I was a decade old when the oldest of these was yet unborn! He clacked fiercely back at them, and they fell silent. He was pleased to see he still held their respect. He still held the chief's ear too, he was pleased to realise, as Akaaw dipped his wing and dropped a few feet below his guards; a sign Fingot knew well from the three years of Akaaw's leadership.

"Yes, my liege?" asked Fingot.

"Your son," said the chief, looking straight ahead, flying almost nonchanantly.

Fingot, whose wings were already aching from the strain, replied hastily. "Sire, he is young and merely foolish. I have not given him proper instruction..."

"You give him the most instruction, of all your fledglings," said his chief, still not looking at all at his advisor.

Fingot clacked his beak nervously. "What would you have of me, Sire? What advice can I offer thee?"

[ December 17, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]