SepSceneWriMo #4.21 Brothers
The North Atlantic storm pounded the northern coast of France sending creatures fleeing into shelter wherever it might be found. Chateau Ravalet, a medieval stone ruins, played host to many feathered and furry refugees, a trio of ravens amongst its regulars.
Ink: “Should be good pickin’s along the hightide mark, this tempest don’t wash it all away.”
Tar: “I could stand me a meaty conger eel, maybe a foolish lobster iffen ‘e don’t mind the surf.”
Ink: “Bashed lobster is a favorite o’ mine.”
Tar: “You think I be sharin’ with you, you be standing too close to them tall rods that take on the sky sparks.”
Ink: “Well, don’t you be thinkin’ I’ll be parting with any of my eel, neither.”
The pair of ravens cawed raucously into each other’s faces. They roosted beneath an overhang that kept the worst of the weather from chilling their bones. The gusting winds found little entry to their covered lair.
Sable: “Silence your bickering and take a look down there. It’s that cur we kept seeing on the path that leads into town.”
The ravens’ soulless eyes spotted a dark-brown, huddled mass crawling up the muddy hillside. It slipped and scrambled, barely making headway. The three grim jurors marked its progress.
Ink: “It’s more matted fur than meat.”
Tar: “Not much of a meal. A snack, maybe.”
Ink: “Yeah, a late night snack. Tonight’s, if we’re lucky.”
Tar: “Depends on who gets there first.”
Ink: “You ain’t never beat me yet.”
Sable: “Quit. This one might prove more than meager vittles.”
Night enveloped the castle and the storm held strong. Where the dog had disappeared would have to wait. By dawn, grim and chilling, the ghostly remnants of the squall lifted slowly, the pall easing its grip from the land and its occupants.
Tar: “Some night. Could barely catch a wink for the noise.”
Ink: “Me thinks we’re not through it yet.”
Tar: “Ever the gleeful one, you.”
Ink: “And whose to talk, you and your grisly nightmares, got me thinking of food all night.”
Sable: “Enough. We have a break. Seek what you might. Return if you can.”
Tar: “Ooh, dismal portends now, is it?”
As answer, Sable, the larger, dour raven beat his vast wings and launched himself into the gray sky. “Leave the cur to me.”
The two smaller ravens flew off to scour the coast.
Sable knew of a rocky outcropping where lambs of the season were wont to tumble, shocked to panic at the noise of thunder. At the foot of the cliff he discovered a stark white body, twisted unnaturally as it struck the ragged granite. He landed, inspected the creature and plunged his beak into its eyes which proved mere nibbles. He tore at the thin skin of the lamb’s belly, spilling its offal. The liver he gobbled first. Then he gathered the entrails, loops upon loops, freeing them from the carcass. The coils bundled, he jumped free of the craggy edifice.
Sable sought out the dog. The first nook held nothing, the second the same. Skirting south around a collapsed wall, he found the wretched thing cowering, barely out of the rain that had returned.
He dropped the entrails at the dog’s feet.
Sable: “Eat. There is more.”
Dog: “Poisoned, no doubt.”
Sable: “Nay. But I do not offer without kind.”
Dog: “What is it you want?”
Sable: “An accord.”
Dog: “To what end?”
Sable: “Nothing too egregious.”
Dog: “Says you.”
Sable: “Then I’ll take those bits back then?”
The dog descended on the meal, snarling and scarfing the ropes of mutton tripe. In seconds the twisted knots had disappeared.
Dog: “If there truly is more, you have your accord.”
Sable returned thrice more, each time bringing larger sections of the dead lamb.
Sable: “May I approach?”
Dog: “You have fed me well.”
The big black raven hopped once, twice and then walked his awkward waddle to within whispering distance of the dog.
Sable: “As payment, if you would be so kind, there are two of my brothers I would see dispatched.”
The quarreling pair had eaten their fill of storm ravaged seafood and returned to find their roost empty. Circling the castle they spied the cur with their leader mere paces from the snout of the pathetic beast. They spiraled higher, watching the spectacle.
Dog: “You would have me eat your kin?”
Sable: “We are kin only by name.”
Dog: “What does raven taste like?”
Sable: “I wouldn’t…”
The pair of ravens, Ink and Tar, squawked wildly as they witnessed the dog snatch up their brother and bite him in half.
Ink: “He had a noble heart, that one.”
Tar: “For a rogue and a scavenger.”
Ink: “For a cad and a villain.”
Tar: “I’ll miss him.”
Ink: “No, you won’t.”
Tar: “You’re right, won’t miss him at all.”