37. Killian
KILLIAN
The sun streaming through his tent told him he slept too late.
“Fuck me,” he murmured, blinking the blur out of his eyes.
Killian sat up from his bedroll and squeezed his temples, attempting to relieve the pressure in his head.
He slept like shit last night. He woke countless times from the gods awful wind blowing against the fabric of his tent, and was certain he heard Riggs talking to someone.
Just hallucinations.
Speaking of…he eyed his pouch, reaching for a pill and dry-swallowed it.
He lay there waiting for it to kick in.
Feeling numb, Killian stood and stretched to relieve any possible pain in his back before arching down and pressing his palms flat against the tent floor, keeping his legs straight to stretch his core and hamstrings.
Counting to sixty and embracing the slight burn, he smiled, already feeling better.
In the open world of Razareth, Killian had to be prepared for anything, and he wouldn’t dare skip his morning stretches. Bad back or not.
Not that he could feel anything anyway…
Opening the flap to the tent, his eyes landed on the fire pit he had built last night. Killian blinked once. Twice. Smoke curled through the crisp air.
Riggs forgot to extinguish the fire.
“The idiot could have burned the whole forest down,” he muttered as he slid on his boots and strapped his sword to his side. Wouldn’t be the first time Riggs caught a forest ablaze.
He glanced toward River. Relief filled his chest. Crates still there. Riggs must have taken a watch. He’d thank him later.
He dismantled the tent, then strode to Riggs. He didn’t bother announcing himself as he yanked open the flap. His eyes grew wide. “I must be seeing things…”
A black bird perched on Riggs' back, staring deep into his soul and squawking like it was injured.
This is real.
I think.
Riggs was face down, a pool of drool leaking from his mouth, completely unaware he fell asleep with a bird in his tent.
Riggs didn’t even sleep on his bedroll.
Killian sucked his teeth, surprised there wasn’t feces all over him. He shooed the bird away. “Get the hell out of here, you pest!” The bird hopped, flapping its wings, but did not take flight. “Riggs, wake up.”
Grumbling to himself, Killian charged, and the bird pecked at his leg. He hissed, his hand clutching the bite. “Fucks sake.”
Riggs' eyes fluttered open, wiping the drool from his chin. “Killian, what are you doing? Why are you screaming this early in the morning? I just fell asleep.”
Ignoring Riggs, Killian slid into a fighting stance, hopping from foot to foot to avoid getting pecked again. “How did you manage to fall asleep with this beast in your tent?” Killian jumped back, trying to avoid the bird, but it wouldn’t quit.
I fucking hate birds.
This one specifically.
He threw a lethal kick, the bird dodging the blow, flying above him, then dropped back down and went for the same spot.
Right in the fucking shin.
“You feral creature. Hell with it!” Killian bellowed, unsheathing his sword, metal hissing. “You pissed me off, seed eater! You die today!”
Riggs' eyes widened, gripping the hilt of Killian’s sword. “Stop! Those birds are endangered.”
In a blink, Riggs dropped to his knees, crawling across the ground like a madman. “Come here, birdy.” The bird flew into Riggs' arms, chirping and snuggling into his neck.
Gripping the hilt, Killian scoffed. I’m too high for this.
“It could have been lunch, brother.” Killian sheathed his sword. “Heard all birds taste like chicken.” He scratched the side of his head, noticing the fowl’s features looked all too familiar. Endangered my ass.
“Are you alright?” Riggs asked the bird in a gentle tone, running his hand along its obsidian feathers.
Killian had seen these birds in all sorts of colors. Though he had never seen a black one, he recognized the shape of its rounded beak, and its sheer wingspan.
“Feranhallows are not endangered. If anything, they are overpopulated in this area.”
Riggs started saying something, but Killian ignored him. Not caring to deal with his brother’s weird-ass animal bullshit any longer, he headed toward the crate of weapons.
Seeing that none were missing, he closed it. Never could be too sure. Especially with Conwell on the loose, and thieves lurking in these woods.
What time is it?
Killian glanced toward the clear blue skies and checked the sun’s position. The spring sun rose around eight o’clock in the morning.
“Hey, dick,” Riggs said, breaking Killian’s focus.
Killian let out a long, long breath, refusing to look at him. “What?”
“What’s your problem?”
This time Killian looked at him, scoffing. The fool was holding the bird to his chest like a fucking child.
Pathetic.
Riggs pointed at him and scowled. “Don’t you ever lay a foot, or a hand on her—it, again.”
“It’s a bird.” Killian sighed. “Not a baby.” He scratched his beard. “Why are you holding it? Let it go. They carry diseases.”
“Ever again.”
Killian glanced skyward, his shoulders slouching. “It’s too early for this.”