Summer storms were always the worst. Autumn gales were strong, but short lived. Winter would bring pouring rain, and the occasional snowfall. Spring around the lake was a gentle season, with soft rains, and warm winds. But the storms of summer would appear without warning, sometimes with wind, sometimes with rolling thunder and flickering lightning, and always with heavy rain.

This one was especially strong, and Korgoss was glad he had built the cottage so stoutly. He was even more glad that he had cut down the nearer trees when he heard the resounding crash of one losing its fight with the wind. All night it had blown, whipping up from across the lake, driving the rain before it. The normally placid waters of the great lake were lifted into waves that lashed the shoreline.

By morning, the rain was slowing, but it wasn't until nearly noon that the storm finally blew itself out. The last few clouds scudded across the sky as if trying to catch up with the rest.

The troll emerged from the cottage to assess the damage. He frowned at the condition of the garden, but that would be mostly repairable. Several of his wooden shingles had been torn away, and he filed it on a list of things he would have to take care of, preferably before the next rainfall.

He climbed the hill behind the house to the tiny meadow with its cairn.

It had been nearly a year since time had stolen his wife from him, and he had retreated from the world in his pain. The fact that he had known it would happen did not make it easier to bear. That his friends, worried at his silence, had dropped everything to come to him, and had stayed through the hardest weeks, did, for a time. But some of those had duties that called them away again, and others he shooed away, reaching a place in his mourning where he wished to be alone. Because they loved him, they acquiesced to his desire, and let him be. He seldom went out much now, save to work in his garden, fish a little, and do the various chores that required his attention.

Letters still came for him regularly, and he responded to every third one, or so, so that they would not worry as much, although he knew they still did. He would in their place. But the solitary existence was a strange comfort, and he found himself replying with fewer words, and dreading the next missive, sometimes leaving them unread.

He reached the circular meadow, and there he spent a few minutes gathering the wind-flung branches that littered it, and found one of his missing shingles. He replaced a stone that had rolled from the rest, pausing afterwards to look outward at the view across the lake.

There were whitecaps on the water. It would take some time for the effects of the wind to settle. With a final glance at the cairn, the shaman turned, and descended back to the much larger meadow that housed the cottage.

The tree that had fallen was an older one, and it didn't surprise him that it had given way. It was in a good place; he could section it for lumber and firewood.

He nodded, considering. The privy was in need of a rebuild – though not an urgent one – and this tree would furnish that easily, as well as his replacement shingles. He dropped the one he had found down to use as a template.

Still lost in thought, he followed the pathway down to the water to check on the dock.

The dock had been sturdily built, and had withstood the weather with no apparent damage or weakening. His boat, on the other hand, had settled down to the bottom, flooded by the waves. Had the storm not arisen so unexpectedly, he would have brought it ashore.

He sighed, and waded into the water. It was cold, as always. Lake Rathetear was large, and deep, and the seasons had little effect on it.

The troll grunted as he tipped the boat, fighting the weight of the water. He was no longer young, but far from being old. His strength was, if anything, greater than in his youth. With a heave, he turned the boat onto its side.

Once it sat on edge, he was able to tip it upwards, on end, the water pouring off of it. He lifted it free of the waves, and carried it ashore. One paddle hung from its oar-lock, but the other had freed itself as he had man-handled the boat, and it drifted away, caught in the waves.

Korgoss cursed, not wishing to swim after it in the choppy water. He put the boat down, then followed the errant paddle along the shore, knowing it would eventually be tossed up by the waves, along with the rest of the debris that littered the surface of the water. There was a small headland that tended to capture flotsam not far up the coast, and he aimed for it.

Sure enough, the paddle was tossed up on the rock-strewn beach, and he hurried to retrieve it before the next wave could drag it back again.

He set the paddle down well out of reach of the water, and turned back to the wave-tossed debris. Something odd was caught in the branches of a large tree that had been torn from its hold somewhere around the lake.

Once more he ventured to the rocks, feeling the water lap his shins as the waves broke around him, curiously trying to identify the flash of white in the tree.

He cursed again, suddenly and vehemently, and this time braved the waters themselves. Fighting the pull of the waves, he reached for the pathetic bundle of feathers. The aviak had tied its wrist to a branch, and hung from it, half submerged. The shaman drew his belt-knife to cut the torn strip of cloth that had kept the creature from being washed away.

It fell limply into his arms. He carried it ashore, up out of reach of the spray, and laid it down gently on the grass. It seemed lifeless, but the spell of healing he murmured over it as a test was successful in repairing the creature's badly broken wrist.

He left it there only long enough to ensure that there were no others of its kind in the tree, or in the water nearby. But the creature seemed to be alone. He nodded briefly, and carefully picked it up again. Whatever else, he could not leave it here, or it would die from the chill of its long immersion. He would have to get it warm and dry soon, or it would be beyond his aid. Stooping to scoop up his paddle as he passed it, he hurried back towards his cottage with his strange salvage.

Korgoss knew little of the aviaks. The bird-men did not like him, and he had taken pains to avoid their settlements around the lake. But, one of the few things he did know was that they did not swim.

Like all who dwelt around the lake, they were handy with boats. He had seen them moving about in their sturdy canoes. They could easily survive a ducking, and flounder a short distance in duress, but they were unable to truly swim.

This one was a long way from the nearest of its people's settlements. Had it been in a boat, travelling or fishing, when the storm blew up? Or had the tree taken the bird with it when it was torn from its place? He shook his head as he followed the coast homeward. Even if the creature survived this, it would not be able to tell him. None of them, at least none that lived here, could speak a language other than their own. Or, if they could, they did not, preferring not to interact with those who travelled around the lake.

They had a reason for their reclusive behaviour. Too many people considered the aviak race as little more than animals, and hunted them for feathers, or food, or the fun of the chase. Even those who considered themselves of the ‘light' races.

The troll sniffed. He had never raised his hand against them. The wanton taking of life disgusted him. And people should be left to live their lives in peace. Even if those people had feathers, beaks, and clawed feet.

He reached his cottage, and set the creature down on his guest-bed. An older blanket made a good towel, and he dried the aviak as best he could, before wrapping it in another blanket. Once more, he healed it, nodding with satisfaction as the bird-creature responded with stronger – visible – signs of life.

He left it on the bed, and went to poke the fire into life in the main room. A large smooth rock that sat beside the hearth was tucked in amongst the coals to heat. While the troll could undoubtedly handle the aviak should it awaken and take fright – as it almost certainly would when it saw him – the thought of cuddling the creature, with its wicked beak and taloned feet, to warm it was unpleasant. He didn't need to discover how sharp its defences were by close personal experience. And the last thing he wanted would be to hurt it to keep it from killing him.

When the stone had heated enough, he removed it from the fire and wrapped it in old rags, and tucked it between the aviak's feet, carefully covering the bird-creature again when he was done.

He studied it then, reaching out to touch the white feathers of the eagle-like head. Its body feathers were a deep, rich brown, and covered it nearly entirely, leaving only its hands and feet free of them. Its hands were the same brown as its feathers, and had three blunt fingers. Although the aviaks no longer had wings, a few pinion feathers still sprouted from the upper arms and shoulders, as if the limbs had not entirely forgotten their original purpose. He had no idea if it were male or female, or even how he would check. He had seen real eagles that resembled this creature feasting on the fish they plucked from the lake's waters, and suspected that this tribe of aviaks also ate fish primarily. That would not be a problem.

How they ate their fish, on the other hand...

Twice more the troll heated the rock, and tucked it back between the bird-man's feet. Twice more he changed the blanket that wrapped it for another that had been warmed by the fire, before the creature stirred feebly under his hand as he tended it.

He moved his hands well away from its face and head as it opened its eyes, but he needn't have worried. The creature stared up at him for a moment, then fell back into unconsciousness without making a sound.

Worriedly, he again worked his healing magicks on it, but it had nothing needing to be healed. The combination of fear and exhaustion had been too much for it, and it had fainted. Sighing, he assured himself of its comfort, and returned to the main room of the cottage, leaving the guest-room door open so he could hear if it woke again and moved.

The aviak's exhausted sleep lasted through the night, and well into the next day. It had given the troll enough time to prepare for his strange guest, although he disliked leaving it alone. It had not stirred while he was gone, however. This emboldened him to begin some of the chores that required his attention, such as starting to put his garden back to order.

When he returned with a basket of early vegetables that could not be saved, he heard the rustling of the bedclothes in the guest-room. He washed his hands, and removed the lid from a pot that sat beside the fire, ladling a steaming serving into a bowl. A second bowl was drawn from beneath a damp cloth, and Korgoss carried both into the room with him.

The creature in the bed was trying to free itself from the blankets, and sit upright, and its movements became frantic as it saw the troll, and it clacked its beak in its distress. The shaman hurriedly set the two bowls down the top of one of the chests that stood against the walls of the room.

Silently, knowing his voice would only frighten it further, he unwrapped the blankets from the struggling aviak. He stepped back from the creature as it sprang up to its feet on the bed. His hands rose, and he showed them to the creature empty, and open, palms out.

But the aviak had been severely weakened by its ordeal, and the energy it had spent recklessly was more than it could afford. Korgoss had to step forward quickly to catch it as it collapsed again, for it would have pitched off of the bed to the floor. It lay panting in its arms, taking great gulping breaths, its beak gaping wide. Slowly, he lowered it to the bed again, and released it. Its eyes were screwed closed tightly, and it shook under his hand as he smoothed the feathers on its head.

When he did no more than stroke it gently, it dared to open its eyes again, and the troll withdrew his hand, and waited. Once again the aviak tried to sit up, but it had spent its reserves in its fear, and sank back down.

Kor sighed, and slowly reached out to it, and helped it sit, propping it against the headboard of the bed with a pillow at its back. It had again closed its eyes as he touched it, shaking in helpless terror, but the reaction had eased a little by the time he had it sitting.

The two stared at each other for a long moment, before the troll turned, to again pick up the two bowls he had brought into the room. He offered them both to the bird-man, one in each hand.

The creature continued to stare at him, then its eyes flicked down to the two bowls, and back up at him. He remained still, holding the bowls out.

When the aviak did not move, he slowly set the bowls down on the chest beside the bed, within reach of the creature. It watched him as he straightened, and left the room, leaving the door open. He returned a moment later, with a bowl of water. He wasn't sure if the creature would drink it or not, but he had to offer it. He set it beside the other two bowls, and nodded at the bird man, then left the room again.

He busied himself cleaning the vegetables he had salvaged from his garden, and listened to the sounds from his guest room. When he finished with the vegetables, and the other chores he could do inside, he returned to the room, stopping at the doorway to look inside.

His guest had fallen asleep again, which was good. The two bowls were where he had left them, and he quietly entered to examine them. He shook his head. Both were empty. Obviously his guest had been hungrier than he thought. But which had it eaten first? And which did it prefer? Raw fish, or cooked? He shook his head again, and took up the two bowls, carrying them back to the main room. The water he left where it was, in case the aviak wanted it.

He returned a moment later, to study the bird-creature. It was sleeping soundly, and he nodded to himself before tucking a cover over it. He then set off to begin his other chores. The fallen tree was his first priority. It would furnish what he needed to accomplish the other tasks that awaited him.

For another day, the aviak slept, and woke only to eat, and take a little water. Larger portions in the bowls revealed that the creature preferred its fish raw, and he adjusted accordingly. He set untended lines to keep up with its appetite. While it slept, he worked at the tree, using axe and saw to take it down into pieces. The lumps of resin on the bark he saved as he found them, setting them aside for later use. Likewise, some of the fibrous inner bark was set aside, for he had a purpose for it.

He worked steadily, and looked up with a start when he finished the section he was working on, to find it was evening already. He hurried down to check his lines, and found a pair of good fat fish on them. With these, he returned to the cottage.

When he opened the door, there was a flurry of movement as the aviak fled from his presence. He sighed, and dropped the fish on the table.

Evidently the creature was feeling better. He had lost track of time in labouring at the tree. He looked around the room. The bird had been investigating it, obviously. It must not have been awake long, or it would have left. He opened the outside door again, and propped it open with the rock he used as a bed-warmer.

Cautiously, he stepped to the guest-room door. The creature was in the corner of the room, farthest from the door. It was staring at him, its turquoise eyes huge, and fearful. He shook his head, and finally spoke to it.

"I will not hurt you," he told it, and it jerked at the sound. Whether it understood or not, he didn't know, for it didn't move. "Come," he said, as gently as he could, and beckoned to it. It remained where it was, watching him. He shrugged, and turned back to the table, and the fish. He stood so that the table was between him and the door to the guest room, and began to clean his catch.

As he worked, he heard the steps of the bird-creature approaching the doorway, and it peeked out into the room.

The troll smiled to himself. He'd left it a clear path to leave, if it wished. It would have a very long walk around the lake, if it left now, though. He didn't think it was up to that yet. He hoped it would realise the same.

The aviak saw the clear path to the open door, and took it. It was outside in an eye blink. The troll nodded, but continued to clean the fish. When he had finished, he chopped it into pieces, and put it in a bowl. He looked at the heads and tails, and decided a soup would be good for his own meal, and set them aside for later. First, he would have to wash up. He was covered in pine-pitch, sawdust, fish guts and sweat. He imagined he lived up to his people's stereotype at the moment; he knew he reeked. He wiped up the table, and carried away the offal from the fish with him.

Stepping outside, he picked up a couple of large buckets, and headed down to the lake. The sensation of being watched told him his ‘guest' hadn't gone that far, and he smiled. He used the fish offal to rebait the set lines, filled the buckets from the lake, and returned to the cottage, to partially fill a large washbasin with water. A second trip filled the two buckets again, and he let them stand just inside the cottage door, with covers on them. A third trip filled his cooking pot, and kettle.

The pot and kettle he hung over the fire to heat. As he added wood to the fire, he heard the soft scrape of the aviak's claws, and looked up to find it standing at the door, staring at him. He smiled again.

"There is fish for you on the table," he told it, and pointed toward the bowl, before turning back to the fire.

There was a long silence, before the creature stepped back into the cottage. The troll busied himself with the fire, carefully not watching the bird. But he looked up in surprise as the aviak finally made a sound, a soft chirping that sounded like a question. He looked over at it, to see it holding the bowl of chopped fish.

Slowly, deliberately, it poured a good third of its fish into the bowl that held the fish heads and tails, and took one of the heads for itself. It looked at him, and made the sound again.

He nodded, then stood slowly, watching it back up a couple of steps as he approached. It was ready to flee from him, but it hesitated. He offered it the other fish head. "Take them both," he told it.

The bird-man looked at him for a moment, then reached out and took the other head from his hand. He nodded, and turned back to the fire, where the kettle was beginning to hiss.

The hot water from the kettle he added to the washbasin, until it was comfortably warm. He glanced once at the aviak, who was watching him intently as it ate, crouching against a wall. He kicked the rock from the door, and let it close, opening it again to show it wasn't locked.

The bird-creature had stopped eating as he did so, and tensed, but it relaxed again somewhat when he ignored it, and resumed its meal.

He continued ignoring the aviak, and stripped out of his filthy clothing, dropping it into a basket just inside the door of his own room. Picking up a rag, and a piece of soap from a shelf, he proceeded to scrub himself clean, from head to toe.

By the time he had finished, and dried himself with the old blanket that had become a towel, the water in the pot was boiling. He found a clean pair of trews, and put them on, before returning to begin cooking his own dinner.

The fish went into the pot, followed by the vegetables left from the day before. Some salt and herbs went in as well, and he moved the soup from directly over the heat to a place where it would simmer. It would take some time to cook yet, and Korgoss did not wish to waste the warm water he had made. Emptying his laundry basket into the washbasin, he scrubbed his clothing as well, taking it outside to dry overnight on a line. The waste water went to the garden.

Through all of this, the aviak watched him curiously, its fear seemingly waning as he offered it no threat.

By the time he had finished his laundry, the soup was done to his satisfaction, and he ladled himself a bowl, and sat down in his chair by the fire to eat. He looked up at a movement from his guest, and saw it had crept closer to the fireplace. He smiled at it.

"There is another chair," he said quietly, and pointed to the second heavy chair with its padding and cushions.

The aviak looked from him to the chair several times, before it stood. It arranged the cushions to its liking, before settling into the chair, and drawing its knees up. Korgoss noted that it carefully balled its foot-talons into fists so it would not damage the upholstery.

The troll continued to eat his soup, watching his house-guest as the combination of a full stomach, the comfortable chair, and the warmth of the fire worked to relax the creature further still. It slipped into a doze, and he studied it as it nodded in the firelight.

The skirt-garment that it wore was stained and frayed where it had been torn. He wondered if he should have offered to wash it when he did his own laundry, but wasn't sure he could make it understand him. How much of the ‘Common' tongue it knew, if any, he was unable to tell. His gestures seemed to work, though, and they had certainly managed to communicate.

He wondered if they could do so again.

He stood up, and it roused to watch him again, as he cleaned the two bowls and put them away on their shelf. Turning to again study the bird-creature, he went to one of the chests in the room, and rummaged in it, emerging with a length of cloth. It was not the deep blood-red of the aviak's garment, but a sharper scarlet, the result of the dyes he himself knew how to make.

He held the cloth, and slowly approached the aviak. It roused further, fully awake, watching him closely. Slowly, so as not to frighten it, he sat down on the floor in front of its chair. He lifted the scarlet cloth, and unfolded it, offering it to the bird-man. He pointed at the torn garment around the creature's waist, and at the cloth. Slowly, he held out his hand, pointing again at the garment, and waiting.

For a long minute, nothing happened, and the troll lowered his hand in defeat. But the creature came at last to a decision of its own, and reached down to remove its clothing. It handed the skirt to the shaman, and pulled its knees up again, watching him.

Korgoss blinked, then stood to lay the fabric out on the table, and place the skirt on top of it. Considering the amount of cloth the bird-man had torn from it to bind itself to the tree, he was surprised it had clung to the garment as long as it had.

The cut of the skirt was simple, and it would be short work to copy it. It was tightened with a simple drawstring, and the troll studied the seams carefully, as well as examining the cloth itself. He was unsure of what fibre had been used to weave it. It seemed to be from a plant, but he did not know for certain, just as he did not know the manner in which the aviaks achieved the glorious colour of their dye. Perhaps, if this worked well, he might trade some day, his silk for their strange cloth, his dyes for their crimson. He found his shears, and cut the new skirt from the scarlet silk, returning the damaged garment to the aviak when he was done with it. It accepted it, and put it back on, still watching him.

The troll reseated himself in his chair by the fire, after lighting a small lamp and setting it beside him to cast light on his work. Taking up a needle, he began to assemble the new skirt, as the aviak once again dozed off in its chair. Long before he finished, the bird-creature had fallen deeply asleep.

Korgoss completed the skirt, and set it aside. For a time, he contemplated leaving the aviak to sleep in the chair. However, having suffered himself the aches that that activity brought, he sighed, and hoped it would not awaken as he moved it. He lifted it slowly, and carried it to the bed in the guest room, where he lay it down, and tucked a blanket over it. It never moved, and he yawned, then fetched the new skirt, leaving it on the chest beside the bed. He banked the fire, and went to sleep himself. The next day would be full.

The troll awoke before his house-guest, and headed down to check his lines for fish. Fortunately, he had again managed to catch one, and he drew it up. It was smaller, but enough, since he now knew the aviak would eat the whole thing. He gutted it on the rocks, and used the offal to rebait the lines.

If today went well, he would not need to fish so assiduously for much longer.

Kor returned with the fish, and chopped it, putting the head and tail in the bowl with the rest, and leaving it on the table. As he was turning to head out the door, the bird-man emerged from the guest room, looking around, blinking. He smiled, for it was wearing its new skirt. He nodded to it, and pointed at the bowl, before taking up his axe and saw, and heading back outside.

For part of the morning, he worked on the tree, taking care to save every bit of pitch as he worked. Eventually, he looked at the old pot he had collected the substance in, and decided there was enough. Not to mention he had managed to shape another length for sawing into lumber. He wiped his forehead, and looked up at the rustle of feathers. The bird-creature was watching him. He nodded to it, and bent to pick up the pot of pitch, and return to the cottage.

It was a warm day, and he finally decided to use the small firepit down by the lake, rather than heat up the cottage more. It would cool off again in the evening, but for now, the cottage was too warm to be comfortable.

Kindling a small fire, he put the pitch over it to melt, and returned to fetch back the fibrous inner bark from the tree, and his largest cooking pot, which he filled with water, and set to boil. He looked up to see the aviak sitting near him, but it was no longer watching him. It had found, somewhere, a ball of twine, and was manipulating the end, tying knots with clever fingers. He watched it for a moment, then shrugged, and turned to his boat.

The damage the storm had done to it was not as severe as it might have been, but several of the seams had come uncaulked, and one of the boards had been stove through. He set to work, removing the broken board, and finding a replacement from the boards he had sawn. One seemed to be the right size, and he brought it back to the lakeside. The aviak was still working with the twine, and it looked up at him as he came and went, but kept most of its attention on whatever it was doing.

The large pot was boiling by now, and he used the steam to soften the wood, and shape it roughly to the curve of the boat. He had learned many things as he lived here. This was a trick the ogres had taught him, when his first boat had been similarly damaged. He had not built the boat – that was far beyond his skill – but he could repair it.

He bored holes for the pegs that would hold the board in place, and settled down to whittle the pegs themselves, from a branch as thick as his thumb. These he tossed into the boiling water to soften as well.

When he was certain the board and the pegs were ready, he set the board in place and hammered in the pegs quickly. The seams he caulked by soaking the strips of bark in the melted pitch, and stuffing them into the cracks with the point of his knife.

A glance at the sun as he worked told him it was past time for the midday meal, and he set down his knife, and went to check his fishing lines. He would have to be more attentive... he was proving to be a terrible host.

The aviak followed him, watching as he pulled up one line after another.

The fish seemed to be little interested in his bait that day, and only one small silver shape was pulled from the water. He shrugged, and offered it to the aviak, who, once again, made a sound.

It held up the twine it had been working with, and walked out to the end of the dock. For a long moment, it studied the waters, then, with an expert flick, it tossed the circular net it had made. Small stones had been tied to the edges of the knotted mesh, providing weight to open the net as it was spun out into the air. A long line fed out behind it, and this the bird-creature kept a grip on, watching as the net sank into the waves, then giving it a tug, and hauling the closed net back. The bird untangled the large fish it had snared, and displayed it with a certain pride.

The troll looked at his small fish, and grinned, then tossed it back into the water. Shaking his head, he turned around, and climbed the hill to the cottage. He would eat the leftovers of his soup for his own meal.

He brought it back down to the fire, and the two of them ate companionably, looking outward at the lake. The water away from the shallows was still rough, and more than he would be willing to chance in his little boat. It would take another day yet, perhaps, for the lake to settle down from the effects of the storm. He finished his soup, and set aside the bowl.

The aviak had likewise finished its meal. It had neatly sectioned the fish, and eaten precisely half, cut down the middle. It didn't bother cleaning it first. Evidently, it ate the offal as well. Korgoss shrugged. So long as the bird was getting what it required, he was satisfied. It worked a little more on its net, then dozed off again in the warm sun.

The troll watched it for a minute, as it nodded off, then smiled, and went back to finish the work on his boat. Rest was what the creature needed. And he was very glad he didn't have to enforce that.

It roused when he put the fire out, after he had finished caulking the final seam. It blinked up at him, and he nodded at it. A glance skyward made it late afternoon, and he had gotten most of his chores done. The rest of the tree could be worked on as required, and, save for the shingles, there were no other immediate requirements to his attention. The bird had provided its own supper, in the other half of the fish. He decided to stretch his legs.

The headland where he had found the aviak drew him again, for, truth to be told, he often visited it after storms. His boat had come from here, a chance find after a similar storm. Nor was the aviak the first creature he had found there, although it was the first that he had been able to help. He picked his way over the rocks, and heard the scrape of claws behind him.

His guest was following. He stopped, and looked at it for a minute.

It gazed back at him, and he could tell nothing from its face. The beak and eyes gave little in the way of expression to its features, and he was unable to read its body language. After a time, he shrugged, and continued on his way. He wished the creature had remained to rest, but he would not coerce it. For all he knew, it was lonely, and sought company.

The headland's rocks had collected a good amount of debris, mostly in the form of driftwood, and the troll looked it over, pulling a board from one of the piles, and moving it away from the action of the water. He wasn't sure what it had come from, but it was in good shape, and would be useful. One less that he would have to cut, himself.

He used a long branch as a lever to separate a pile, looking to see if there was more finished lumber, but found none, and moved to the next pile of debris. The aviak, as well, cast its eyes over the piles, and turned to look at what still floated, caught in the eddies off the headland. That, too, would eventually come to shore here, but it could take days yet for it to settle.

Kor poked at another pile with his branch, but dropped it in surprise at the shriek the aviak let out. He spun, to see the bird-creature on a rock at the waters edge, staring at something in the water intently.

He winced, then went to join it there, trying to see what it was looking at. But its eyes were much sharper than his own, and he could not pick out what had it so agitated. He hoped it was not another of its people. Anything still in the water now would be long dead.

Finally, he waded in, and swam in the direction of the aviak's gaze. He didn't have to go far, before he found the target of its attention.

The corpse of the male Erudite wore long dark robes, and had seemed just another piece of debris, until he bumped it, and realised what he had touched. He towed it back to shore, and pulled it up onto the beach.

He had thought it merely another victim of the storm, until he turned it over. But the wounds it bore told a different story. The troll frowned, and fingered the ragged edge of the slashed robe, looking at the ripped flesh beneath. No weapon did that damage.

He knew, suddenly, what did, as the aviak flung itself at the corpse with another shriek. The shaman prudently got out of the way.

Korgoss thought the bird would rend the object of its evident ire, but instead, it grasped the dead Erudite by the front of its robes, and lifted it to stare into the empty face. It dropped it again, then reached for the pouch on the corpse's belt. Many things became suddenly clear to the troll as he watched the aviak remove several bedraggled feathers from the pouch, and hold them to its breast.

Paying no more mind to the dead Erudite, the bird moved away from the water, to crouch upon a rock, and croon softly to itself, still clutching the feathers.

Kor pulled the corpse further up the beach, and looked down at it, before sighing, and turning to head back to the cottage to find his shovel. He carried the board he had found away with him, as well.

When he returned, shovel in hand, the aviak had not moved. He looked at it for a moment, then moved back up the shore into the trees, and began to dig.

Korgoss knew the bird-man was aware that he stood beside it, but it did not look at him. It sat, body feathers fluffed, looking at nothing, the pinion-feathers in its hand.

Different species or not, this was something the shaman knew well. Grief was universal. Whether the owner of those feathers had been friend, family, or mate, the troll would never know. But the creature that squatted on the rock before him had lost someone dear to them, in a most horrible way.

He touched it, but it did not react. It was as if it simply no longer cared what happened to it. As if the reminder of what it had lost had stolen its will to survive.

Kor had been there, in that same place, not so long ago. But he had had people who loved him with him. People who had held him, and comforted him, and talked to him, helping him through the seemingly endless depths of his pain.

Getting the aviak back to its people had just become even more of a priority than before. They could help far more than he could. They would go the next day, when the waters were safer, and he knew his little boat was mended. But until then...

It still did not react, save to close its eyes, when he knelt down beside it.

How its people touched, if they touched, he didn't know. But touch was the only way he had to reach it. Gently, he smoothed the feathers on its head and neck, stroking it as he had done to calm its terror when it had first awoken.

After a time, it opened its eyes again, an encouraging sign. Cautiously, although the aviak still seemed not to care, he slipped his arm around it, and lifted it to its feet. It remained standing when he rose beside it, and he turned it gently, his hand resting lightly on its shoulder. Guiding it thus, he slowly walked it back along the coast, homeward.

* * * * *

The troll sat by the fire, stitching on a small bag made from scraps of different coloured leather he had saved. The shapes of the scraps as he had formed them into the bag suggested feathers and leaves, and he was defining them with added embroidered lines, making the utilitarian pouch into a thing of beauty. He had had to refill his lamp, he had been at it so long, but he was unable to sleep, and doing tasks like this helped him relax when the insomnia that had plagued him throughout his life came on him.

He looked up from his work at the rustle of feathers, and saw the aviak emerge from the guest room. It watched him for a moment, then moved to sit again in the chair that faced his.

He had sat it down when they made it back from the headland, and had spoken to it quietly, stroking it until it finally fell asleep. It had wanted neither food nor water – not that it drank much water anyway – and he had simply put it to bed, with the fish in a bowl under a damp cloth on the chest beside it, if it should change its mind.

Korgoss watched the bird carefully, but it made no overtures, merely sitting and watching him. He still could read no emotion on its face, and its posture told him little, but at least its feathers were no longer fluffed out in distress. That it had overcome its grief he doubted, but it had found strength from somewhere. He noted it still held the feathers it had taken from the murderer of its loved one. He picked something from the top of the chest he was using as a table to hold his sewing kit and bag of scraps.

He had no need of it, and had kept it as he had kept all of Meri's things. But this time, it could be put to better use than as a memento in a chest. The long narrow pouch that had once held a wooden flute was just the size for the feathers. He had measured it as the aviak had slept. It was lined with silk, and closed with a small toggle of shell. He had added a cord, long enough that the bird could wear it around its neck if it chose. Or it could simply tuck it into the bag he was making for it. He leaned forward slowly.

The aviak made a soft sound as he slipped the feathers from its hand, but did not fight him as he took them, and tucked them into the pouch. He smiled at it, and hung the pouch around its neck. It looked at him without fear, then examined the pouch, opening it to look at the feathers inside, and closing it again. It inspected the worn embroidery that covered the pouch, and looked back at him.

The troll nodded to it, and took up the unfinished bag, and his needle. He looked up from time to time, to see the aviak watching the flame of his lamp, or his hands as they worked. After a time, it dozed off again in its chair, and he left it there.

He finished the last of the embroidery, and put the lining he had already made into the bag, stitching it into place. The heavy, stiff fabric would add strength to the leather patchwork. Even as he finished it, he finally felt sleep come, and he set the bag down beside him. The shaman stretched out his legs, and leaned back, managing to snuff his lamp before his eyes closed.

The morning dawned clear, and Korgoss awoke at his usual time despite his lack of sleep. He sat up, stretching, feeling the crick in his neck from his odd sleeping position. He sighed, and rubbed it, looking over to see the aviak still asleep in the other chair.

He left it to sleep there, and went outside. He had meant to put the boat in the water the evening before, but other things had been more important. It was the first of his tasks, to get ready for the trip across the lake.

By the time the aviak awoke, and left the cottage, the troll had decided the boat was lakeworthy enough to get them where they had to go, and carry him back. One of the seams that he had recaulked seeped a little more than he liked, but he had stuffed still more bark into it, as the boat floated beside the dock, until he was satisfied that it would hold.

A wooden bowl sat in the bottom, just in case bailing proved necessary, but Kor was fairly certain that it wouldn't. A sack, too, sat in the bottom of the boat, and a coil of rope. The oars were set in the oar-locks, and were shipped neatly.

The shaman beckoned to the aviak, and pointed at the boat. The bird looked from him to the craft, then gingerly climbed into it, and sat where he pointed. He removed a bag slung over his own shoulder, and dropped it beside his seat, and handed the aviak the bag he had made it. It blinked at him, and looked inside as the troll untied the boat, climbed in, and seated himself at the oars.

He had made sure that what little it had was there, tucking in the aviak's damaged skirt, and the net it had made from his twine. It still wore the pouch with the feathers around its neck.

Kor studied the leaky seam, as they sat fully loaded. It still seeped a little, but was well within tolerable leakage. He nodded, then gave a shove off the dock, and took up the oars.

He rowed steadily, watching the shore dwindle. The exercise worked the kinks out of his muscles from his sleep in the chair. After a time, he leaned back, and wiped his brow. Leaning over the side, he splashed his face with water, before pulling a compass from the bag he had brought for himself, and examining it. He took his oars back up, altered his course a little, and continued, enjoying the feel of the bite of his oars in the water, and the sun on his shoulders.

The aviak was, as he expected, boat savvy, and kept its movements to a minimum. It sat silently, dozing from time to time, and occasionally running one of the feathers it had taken from the dead Erudite between its fingers.

It looked up at him now and again, but made no gestures, and no sounds.

It no longer had any fear of him whatsoever.

Eventually, he had to rest. The boat was heavy, and the day warm. He shipped the oars, then leaned over the side and splashed his face with water. He straightened, and looked up to see the aviak offering him the bowl he had brought to bail with.

He thanked the bird, then used the bowl to dip and pour water over his head and shoulders, sputtering a little as he did so. A last dip of the bowl he drank. He offered the bowl back to the aviak, who deliberately shook its head.

He blinked, then set the bowl down, and pointed to the sack between the aviak's feet. It went to pass it to him, but it was his turn to shake his head. It stared at him for a moment, then opened it, and looked inside, finding the fish wrapped in wet cloth to keep fresh. Under the troll's gaze, it began to eat.

Kor pulled a package from his own bag, and unwrapped it. He began to eat his lunch, glancing up at the aviak occasionally. The troll ate half of what he brought, and scooped more water from the lake to drink.

The aviak was still eating when he took the oars back up, and continued to row, checking the compass again, and adjusting his course. He had chosen the largest of the nearby aviak settlements as his destination. He didn't know which particular one his guest had come from, but was certain they could work it out amongst themselves well enough. Its people would see it safely home.

When the little boat drew near enough to the shore for specific features to be picked out, the aviak's demeanour changed. It perked up and turned to watch the land with growing interest. When the fires that marked the aviak settlement became visible, and the troll headed directly for them, it made a sound, and looked from him to the settlement. He smiled at it, and worked the oars.

Kor brought the boat up alongside the dock that the aviaks had built for their own boats, and found himself looking at the point of a harpoon aimed at his face. He merely pulled his boat in close, and looked at his passenger.

It looked back at him, then made a sound up at the guard, who slowly lowered the spear, and stepped back, blinking.

Korgoss pointed at the bird, then up at the dock. The bird deliberately nodded, but didn't move. He made a little shooing motion at it. It leaned forward, and touched itself on the breast, and made a sound. He listened, as the bird repeated the sound, a little more slowly.

Kor grinned. There was no way he'd ever be able to repeat the sound of the aviak's name. But he gave it his own, tapping his chest in the same way, and watched it blink, as it came to the same realisation he had.

The troll pointed back up to the dock. "Go," he told his passenger. He reached for the dock, and held the boat steady so that the bird could climb out. It looked at him for another moment, then leapt up onto the dock with a soft cry. The guard looked from it, to him, and back again.

The word of the return of his house-guest seemed to run quickly through the settlement, and a small crowd gathered around its returned kin. Several more harpoons were brandished in the troll's direction, but these were lowered, when the troll made no moves, and remained in his boat.

Kor waited, glad that he could pick the aviak he had aided from the others that clustered around it by the different colour of its skirt. He nodded slowly as he saw it embraced by another, that began to preen his aviak's feathers as the two clung to each other. Certain that it was truly in good hands, and that no strange punishment would come on it for his helping it, he pushed off the dock, and took up his oars.

The guards on the dock did not prevent him from leaving, relaxing as he moved away from them. His strong pulls had him well out from the dock in a few moments, and he saw the aviak he had brought home turn to look at him, as it realised he was departing. It pushed past its kin, and the guards, and stood on the end of the dock as he rowed away, and lifted its hand in a final gesture. One which none could mistake.

Korgoss stopped rowing long enough to wave back, before continuing his homeward trip. If he hurried, he could get back before midnight.

As he pulled on his oars, he found himself realising he would miss the creature, and the companionship of its presence. Having someone else there, with him, even if they could not speak, had awoken something in him that had been dormant too long, buried too deeply beneath things he didn't want to face.

He was lonely.

For too long he had withdrawn from those he loved most, those who loved him. And he knew why. It was fear. Fear of the crushing weight of the pain when the next of his loved ones left him, for his life would stretch far longer than theirs.

If Meri were here... she would smack him. Hard. He should be treasuring every moment he had with them – as he had with her – knowing they would be taken from him in so short a time. He was a fool.

And he had the whole, long, lonely row home to think about it.

The moon lit his arrival home at his own dock, and he shipped the oars wearily, and tied up the boat. It had been a long day. He trudged up the path to his cottage, and reached for the latch on his door.

He froze, latch string in hand, looking down. A thin line of light shone from beneath the door. He frowned, then looked around. His shovel stood beside the door, where he had left it, and he picked it up silently. A muttered spell, and he vanished from sight.

Once more the latch was lifted, and the door opened slowly, seemingly on its own. The shaman waited a moment, listening carefully, but it was silent within. He stepped inside.

The fire had been rekindled in the hearth, and a lamp was lit on the table.

He looked around slowly, but nothing else seemed out of place. He took another step inside, and blinked suddenly. He banished the spell of invisibility and leaned the shovel against the table. He crept up to the fire, and looked down at the figure curled asleep in the chair. It had been nearly a year...

Lines of worry were etched into the froglok's face, and one hand clutched the golden medallion on his breast, as if he had fallen asleep while praying.

Korgoss knelt down beside the chair, and reached out to touch Arrek's shoulder. The paladin stirred, and awoke.

"You're back? Did you find...?" he began, then gasped, leapt up, and flung his arms around the troll's neck. "Kor! Thank Marr, you're safe!"

The shaman returned the embrace, feeling a joy he had forgotten bubble up inside him. Joy, and a love he had denied himself in his fear of added pain.

"We were so worried," Arrek said softly, into the troll's shoulder. "The ogres hadn't seen you for weeks. The garden's a mess, the boat was gone, there are claw-marks everywhere..." He swallowed suddenly. "We found a new grave up the beach..." Arrek loosened his fierce hold a little, and drew back, looking up into the troll's face. "Kor... how are you doing?"

The troll smiled. "Better," he said quietly, and saw the froglok's expression lighten as Arrek studied him.

"Good," his friend said simply. "It helps to know that." The paladin's arms tightened again, then released him almost reluctantly. Korgoss held his own embrace a moment longer, before letting the froglok go.

"You'd still be worried if you'd seen him with the shovel, Arrek." the voice from the open door said dryly. "He was ready to clock you with it."
The two looked up to see a figure leaning on the doorjamb, her arms crossed, and a smile on her face.

"You should watch it. He seems to enjoy whacking people from behind," Reedip continued, as she crossed the room, to stand beside the pair. She looked at the troll, then reached up to hug him herself. "Hey, you," she said quietly. "It's good to see you."

"Yes," the shaman managed, as he blinked at her, then wrapped his arms around her as she squeezed him in a brief, but powerful embrace. "You are both here? Poor Kadek... you leave him to suffer?"

"He very nearly threw us out," Arrek said, grinning. "Said he'd done it before, and if we argued about who was to come get you for one more moment, he'd go insane."

"Kadek only suffers when we're both there at the same time," Reedip said, the same grin on her own face. "He keeps saying something about ‘not knowing when he had it good'." She shot a look at her crechemate. "I'd ask, but I'd rather not know."

Kor was staring at Arrek, for his words had sunk in. He opened his mouth, but the Shin Master cut him off before he could speak.

"We've let you alone, as you wanted, but it's time you had people around you again. I can stay for a couple of weeks. Ree will stay longer, a month or so. And then... she'll be taking you off to see Tiri, in Kelethin." Arrek smiled, and reached out to touch his friend's cheek. "All of us have been worried about you, Kor. We love you. And we want you as part of our lives."

"We'll have you back in time for spring planting," Reedip reassured the dumbstruck troll. "For now, though... you're going to bed. You look wiped. Go! Sleep!" She poked him in the side with a blunt finger. "I'll go see if the guest room is livable." She disappeared through the door.

Korgoss looked after her, then turned back to his friend. "Arrek..." he began again, but the froglok's fingers rose to touch his mouth.

"Shh. Tomorrow, Kor. We'll listen to your excuses, and rip them apart then." Arrek smiled gently. "You're too important to us, for us to let you go that easily," he told the shaman. "You can't escape."

The troll shook his head, suddenly unable to squeeze words past the lump that had risen in his throat. "I do not want to escape," he managed at last, his eyes meeting and holding those of the froglok.

The paladin blinked, listening to more than just Kor's words, and his smile widened as he finally understood what Korgoss had been trying to tell him.

"Welcome back," he said, then reached out to draw the troll back into an embrace. "It's good to have you with us, again. I've missed you."

"We will talk," the troll promised. "Tomorrow."

"I'll tell you what you'll be doing tomorrow... you'll be telling us what in the world has been going on here!" Reedip emerged from the guest room, with an odd expression. "There are feathers everywhere... it's like a bird exploded in there!"

Korgoss felt it start, from somewhere deep within, and pour upwards in a flow he couldn't stop if he wished it.

"I think it's a long story," Arrek said in an aside to his crechemate, as they watched the troll, their own hearts rising with his laughter.

Fin