Chương 88: The Giant White Owl

The giant owl slid once across the snow before stopping. Its wings remained half spread. The white feathers looked duller than their natural color. The underside of one wing had been scorched black, and the wind carried a burnt smell from it. A metal ring circled one ankle. A familiar emblem flashed across the ring where it lay half-buried in snow. Riphiel recognized it first.

"The emblem of the Holy See." Even after hearing that, Kichan did not examine the ring first. He watched the owl breathe. Its beak hung weakly open, releasing rough breaths. Its eyes were half closed but not empty. Still holding on.

"Is it alive?" Riphiel started to kneel, but Kichan approached first. He did not raise the wake-up rod. Instead, he placed the back of one hand lightly beneath the owl's neck and checked the heat leaking under the wing. A burn. The outer feathers were charred, while the flesh beneath was torn. It was not an injury from clipping something and falling. It looked as though someone had struck the bird, or it had forced its way through something burning.

"Valkyrie." Valkyrie flew up at once. Kichan set the material board on the snow with the cold side facing upward. Valkyrie spread a thin film of water, drawing the board's cold grain to the surface. Kichan carefully lifted the burned wing and guided the cold beneath it.

"Stay still. I'm not trying to pluck you." The owl flinched but did not bite. It lacked the strength, and Kichan's hand moved with the grain of its feathers rather than against them. He lowered the heat first, then held the feathers in their natural direction so the torn section could not spread. Kichan took a tiny piece of black root from the magic bag and crushed it. Rather than use the wyvern blood directly, he diluted a small amount in water. Riphiel stared at him.

"You are using that to treat the wound?"

"It might stabilize the flow around the injury."

"A material you only just obtained?" If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

"This isn't the time to be stingy." Kichan spread the diluted blood only along the edge of the wound, then pressed black-root juice over it. The light inside the wyvern blood held in a thin line around the injury instead of spreading. Excess heat subsided, and the torn wing shook less violently. It was not a full cure, but it would stop the wing from tearing farther if the owl tried to flap. Argaon watched from a short distance, moving his nose by the smallest amount.

"The smell of burning is strong."

"What does that mean?" Kichan never lifted his hand from the wound.

"That isn't the smell of one recent fire. It has passed through similar flames more than once. It came a long way." Riphiel removed a small record slip from inside the ring.

"Read it." She slowly scanned the words. Her expression hardened on the first line.

"Border villages…" Her voice lowered on the next.

"Refugees…" At the following line, she stopped completely. Kichan raised his head.

"What?" Riphiel could not read it immediately. The owl took one short breath, and more blood leaked beneath the wing. Kichan pressed cold against it again and waited. His voice hurried her, but his hands did not stop.

"Fire," Riphiel finally said.

"And… children." Kichan's hand paused. Only for an instant, but unmistakably. Whenever humans fought—whether in the capital or at the border—the same words came at the end. Children. Civilians. Missing. Cannot find them. Taken. Killed. Kichan frowned.

"Again?" Riphiel continued. A region where human forces crossed demihuman routes. Conflicting claims. Rescue teams from the Holy See unable to enter. Rumors from the market returned one by one. They had seemed distant then. Now they had fallen into the snow before them, smelling of blood. Argaon spoke low.

"I thought that conflict was old."

"Do you mean it does not matter who began it?" Riphiel asked almost reflexively. Argaon shook his head.

"It matters. I mean that, at this point, we may not know who attacked and who was attacked." Kichan frowned more deeply. Even so, there was an injured bird in front of him. He wet the tip of its beak with a little water and folded the edge of his coat beneath its damaged wing.

"This should keep it alive for now." Riphiel reached the final line and looked up.

"His Holiness wrote that this is a request, not an order." Her hand stopped over the record slip. She looked once at the seal, then at Kichan. Kichan checked beneath the wing again. Too much cold would freeze the injury. That would be torment, not treatment. He shifted the material board slightly and changed the direction of the light. Only after confirming the thin edge of wyvern blood remained stable did he remove his hand.

"If it's a request, I should answer it properly."

"What do you mean?"

"The reply." Riphiel blinked. Kichan wiped his wet hand on the snow and pointed his chin toward the blank space on the slip.

"Tell him that if he has something to say, he should come say it in person instead of sending a letter." Riphiel froze.

"You wish me to send that to the Pope?"

"He said it was a request." Argaon laughed low beside them.

"At least he is sending a reply."