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So like, What do companions even do? Like, they’re there for you all the time, with you, eating when you eat, sleeping when you sleep, tied to you in every way, shape, and form while the both of you live. And even then, after you die, they follow you down that fun-slide all the way to the flames. They’re locked in you in mind and flesh and will be until the end of their days. …Right? Except nah, not really, cuz Chico looked at me on the first chilly night of the turning season, a night that blanketed the land in a wispy fog, and watched as I laid there snoring and farting and dead to the world and thought Fuck it. and left my ass there on the ground. How often do companions do things like this? Leave your side on a whim, shimmying about the place with their own agenda in mind. More often than we think, probably. With a flap of heavy, feathered wings, Chico took off silently into the silky night, gliding on the mists that surrounded the forests and the clearings, his eyes large and wide and watchful for the slightest movements in the pale shadow. He had a thought—or an idea I guess of what he wanted, but his mind’s full of all kinds of fuck its and he didn’t really need to follow a train of thought. Once again, he was reacting. To a pull in his chest maybe, an itch that he wanted to scratch without waiting on our fat asses to wake up like civilized assholes and greet each other like respectable people do in the morning. Would it berude to wake the King’s confidant? Would it be wise to venture so near to a royal bed space? Pffft, everyone farts the same, Chico thought, landing on a long bough that overhang a still pool, its calm surface reflecting the almost full disc of a silver, glowing moon. He hooted once, his head swiveling and his eyes watchful for someone to waddle along and heed his call. |
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