bookworm

I
I felt that I was in a dream, floating through a placid, lukewarm sea. It was an abnormally long dream, but I never grew tired of it. It was as if I lacked the ability to feel tired of anything, and my mind remained dull and blurry. In this world, my body and the environment were at comfortable temperatures, and I felt only bliss. There I remained in what felt like an endless slumber.
The tranquility persisted for about a week, or perhaps even a year, when I suddenly felt an intense pressure—like a pro-wrestler had put me in a headlock. My peace was brought to an abrupt end by a crushing sensation that gripped my head and squeezed my brain itself.
My first thought was that someone was trying to crack my skull and kill me, and I was filled with a sense of mortal peril. The panic soon gave way to a feeling of liberation, however, as though I’d woken from a nightmare. I was released from the unexplained compression and found myself in an open space. The sensation of floating disappeared, and then I was immersed in more warm fluid while arms and fingers cradled me. Once the clear water had cleansed my body, I was wrapped in a soft blanket and held by an unknown person.
I saw the world around me as no more than an indistinct blur, regardless of whether things were close by or some distance away. It was as if I’d been stricken with a serious case of both near and farsightedness. Something was wrong with my brain, similar to times when I’d gotten very drunk on good wine. Trying to satisfy my needs for food and sleep while trying to avoid sources of pain were as much as my feeble mind could handle.
I would instinctively suckle at the breast of some stranger as my vision filled with light and then faded to the dark of night repeatedly. After I’d been through that cycle ten or so times, my thoughts finally began to grow clear.
Am I still dreaming? This was the question I kept turning over in my hazy mind.
I’d felt like I was in a dream the entire time, but several days had gone by since the mysterious head pain. It didn’t make sense for me to have such long-term memories within a dream.
“Mm aah ii a deem?” I tried to put the thought into words, but my throat wouldn’t work well enough for me to speak.
Why did it all feel so real? Was I in heaven or hell? Or was this some sort of afterlife?
The last thing I remembered clearly was how I’d struggled in the cold water before drowning. My body had been chilled to its core, and I’d soon lost the ability to move. With that, I’d swallowed water and sunk into the river. In other words, I should have been dead. Yet I wasn’t in any pain, and I wasn’t cold.
But it was possible that I really had died. There was the possibility that past-life memories were something everyone had at first, something erased and forgotten the moment they started a new life, similar to the way that even remarkable dreams somehow faded from memory upon waking. The experiences that made me into the person I was would soon fade away in that case, but I wouldn’t have minded—it didn’t feel like much of a loss.
At any rate, these strangers would place me in a soft bed where my sole task seemed to be sleeping each day away. It was as though I’d been reduced to an infantile state, unable to tell whether I was awake or dreaming.
The person who presented their breasts to me appeared to be my mother. She stayed by my side each day, attending to my various needs. Having someone change my diaper made me feel like I’d turned into an infirm old man.
Her breasts were small, but my mother was very beautiful. Still, she looked unlike any person I’d ever known. She had none of the sharp features that would have suggested European descent, but she didn’t look Asian either. She had a calm and gentle face that I always wanted to look at. She was perfectly human for the most part, but her ears were clearly the wrong shape. They were somewhat pointed, and the tips were covered with the same hair that was on her head. Though her ears were pink around the earlobe, the hair covered the edges and tips. They certainly looked warm, but also unnatural.
The words she spoke were completely alien—I couldn’t understand a word of it. I guess it should have gone without saying that someone who looked like her wouldn’t speak Japanese. Whenever night fell, she’d swaddle me and wrap me up in her arms. She would hold me tightly and speak in a soft, yet clear voice. I suspected she told me fairy tales, but the words were as meaningless to me in that state as everything else she said.
Now and then, my father would take turns caring for me. If we were in a Japanese town, there was no doubt he would’ve caused the women to turn their heads as he walked down the road. When he held me in his arms, I felt hard muscle that suggested the slim body beneath his clothes was surprisingly well built. His lean figure could have easily belonged to a boxer or rhythmic gymnast.
What sort of job would make a man turn out like that? It was a total mystery.
Based on their living standards, I didn’t think we were in modern times. Their clothes were all made of natural fibers, the uneven threads of the fabric suggesting they were all handmade. Once, my mother had taken me into the kitchen, and I’d noticed that they were still using a kiln. We had to be out in the sticks. The only noises at night were the calls of forest animals, and the house rarely had visitors.
The place felt too well built to be some rural shack, and there was often meat on the dinner table. That made me think they were well-off. As far as I could tell, my mother was a full-time housewife, and there were no signs of them struggling to get by. But the lack of any visitors meant they probably weren’t merchants, so I could only assume they were wealthy farmers.
It remained a mystery, and I wouldn’t be able to ask until I’d learned to speak. All I could do was snooze the days away in my crib while guessing at the meanings of the words they spoke.
A year flew by as I lounged in that absentminded state.
✧✧✧
A year had passed without my consciousness fading like a forgotten dream. It seemed that I was going to continue living as a little boy.
Being forced to start a new life on “New Game Plus” despite already being bored of my old one sounded like it should’ve been like a huge hassle, but it turned out it wasn’t so bad. It was nothing like the life I’d grown tired of because everything here was so novel—the environment, the people, and the many discoveries that lay in wait.
My Japanese parents weren’t crooks or anything, but I definitely wouldn’t have called them good people either. In this world, however, my mother and father loved and doted on me. The confusion I’d felt toward everyone else’s completely different outlook on life was now replaced with a feeling of comprehension—I realized that those people had been raised by loving families.
It was around then that I began to practice walking on two legs. I had expected it to be easy, but my weak little knees would easily buckle, and so much of my weight was in my head that I couldn’t keep my balance even when I did manage to stand up. I found it easier to get around by crawling.
I learned that my family had a custom of celebrating birthdays. I hadn’t kept track of the seemingly countless days that passed, but a full cycle of the seasons had passed when they threw something like a birthday party. The three of us celebrated with a fairly extravagant meal. That said, I was given the same old gruel, complete with small chunks of meat, that always served as my baby food. Nevertheless, I was definitely the cause of festivity, which meant it had to be my birthday.
As time went on, my mother continued to stay at home with me, talking in a language I couldn’t understand. This allowed me to gradually learn the words she spoke. I quickly figured out which words meant “mommy” and “daddy” because she said those to me constantly. I started using new words as soon as I’d figured them out, without much worry for how it shocked them. They probably thought I was weird, but all I cared about was getting out of diapers as soon as possible.
This cozy, ordinary life went on for three years.
✧✧✧
Time went by, and I reached the age of three.
Based on the information I’d gathered during my three years of life, my dad’s name was Rook, and my mom’s was Suzuya. Our surname, i.e. our family name, was simply Ho.
The name newly given to me was Yuri. Yuri Ho. It was simple and easy to remember.
The day after my third birthday, my dad—Rook—took me to his workplace in the forest. We traveled beyond the tall hills that lay behind our home on a plainrunner.
“Plainrunner” was the name given to a large type of flightless bird that looked like an ostrich in a winter coat. Their bodies were completely covered in fur—except for the legs—and they could, surprisingly, be ridden like horses.
I was absolutely certain that these birds didn’t exist on Earth. If they did, there was no way I wouldn’t have known about them—they’d have been the main draw in every zoo. I already thought it odd that there were people with hair-covered ears, but these strange birds only served as concrete confirmation that I was no longer on Earth.
Our plainrunner made a fine steed, and I found it even more comfortable than riding a horse. As I sat between Rook’s legs, I didn’t feel like I was being rattled around. The bird ran on two legs with joints that looked like backward knees, and the legs absorbed shocks like a car’s suspension.
Rook’s workplace turned out to be something like a ranch. He’d told me so already, but this was definite proof that Rook was more like a ranch owner than a farmer. The sprawling site included barns, fences that outlined what looked like horse-riding courses, and an open area that appeared to be a pasture. Overall, it didn’t look much like a place where you’d keep livestock like cows or pigs—it seemed much more suited to raising racehorses.
“This is my ranch,” Rook announced before hopping off the plainrunner. Then, he lifted me down from the position that had been between his legs.
I didn’t try to hide how impressed I was. “It’s incredible.”
It was a peaceful place, situated within a picturesque clearing in a coniferous forest. The wooden barns were a little worn, but well cared for—there wasn’t a single hole or rotten plank in sight. In fact, none of the buildings showed any signs of decay despite their age. It was a fine ranch even by the standards I’d known in Japan.
“Do you know why I built my ranch out here?” Rook asked with a tinge of pride in his voice.
I already knew from our day-to-day conversations that my dad considered it important to let children think for themselves.
“Did you build everything from scratch, dad?”
I’d been convinced that successive generations of the Ho family must have managed our ranch, but the way he’d worded the question made it sound like Rook had started it himself. And this was no small ranch—it was spread across several hectares.
“That’s right. I made it.”
“Amazing.”
That really is amazing, I thought. Someone his age made all this from nothing? That’s no small feat.“But enough about that. You didn’t answer my question.”
Oh, right.
Although he’d just chided me, it was clear from the look on Rook’s face that he appreciated the compliment from his son.
It’s seriously impressive. I can’t believe it grew this big in just one generation.
I’d reached his age once myself, but I hadn’t had a wife or any real estate besides the tiny place I’d inherited from my grandfather. Rook, on the other hand, had a wife, a child, a home, and an entire ranch that he’d built from scratch. That was amazing.
“Hmm. Is it so that the animals can be noisy without bothering anyone who lives nearby?” I asked.
“That’s...an interesting idea. I suppose all the noise would annoy anyone living too close.”
If I read between the lines, I understood that wasn’t the answer he’d been hoping for. Still, he was looking at me with admiration.
Seemed like a sensible answer to me. Maybe I’m still stuck in the city-slicker mindset?
“The thing is, most people living around here keep livestock in their own homes. They wouldn’t care about ours,” Rook continued.
Oh? That’s news to me.
The idea of someone keeping livestock in their own home was...hard to imagine. I knew that my grandfather had once had a stable at home when he was young, but no one who’d lived near me back in Japan had owned a ranch, so I’d never heard of anyone keeping cows or horses at home. I’d seen nothing like it.
“What was the right answer?” I asked. “I can’t figure it out.”
“Look. This area’s between mountains, isn’t it?”
In the distance were things that looked more like large hills than mountains, but he was right that there was nothing but hillside surrounding us in every direction. Visibility here was terrible.
Oh, he’s right. We’re in a small basin.
“The wind passes over the top of the mountains, so the air down here is still,” he explained. “You can’t raise birds properly on windy land.”
Okay, now I get it. It’s hard to argue with that.
Rook still looked young, but he had to have been even younger back when he founded the ranch. He must have searched for a suitable patch of land, and when he’d found the right place, he’d kicked off his business right here—building upon ground that had once been nothing but forest. It sounded simple when I summed it up like that, but there was really nothing simple about it. My dad was quite possibly one of a kind. I wouldn’t normally call someone who’d achieved all of that a farmer—I’d call him a young entrepreneur.
“Is running this ranch your job, dad?” I asked.
“More or less,” Rook replied.
As I’d guessed from conversations back at home, he was managing the ranch himself.
“Do you handle everything by yourself?”
“No, I employ people. They should be here already.”
That figures.
Rook led the plainrunner by its reins to a spot where he could tether it. Next, he took my hand and brought me over to a barn.
The barn’s interior was laid out like stables, but it held plainrunners instead of horses. Even though the birds were in separate rooms with dividing walls, they weren’t crammed in; each one had ample space. Smaller enclosures would have made it possible to keep more birds without the need to expand, so Rook may have been pampering them and prioritizing their well-being over profit.
There were also two people inside the barn wearing work clothes. They were standing in the central walkway on either side of something resembling a trailer. They were giving large amounts of feed to the plainrunners by transferring it from the fully loaded cart into feeding troughs.
“Oh, they eat hay?” I asked. I didn’t know the first thing about plainrunner behavior.
“They’d be scrawny birds if they ate nothing but hay. There’s grains, berries, and beans mixed in with it.”
“Wow.”
So they’re herbivores, I thought. They eat pretty much the same stuff as horses.
“Wild plainrunners eat grass and forage for fallen berries, but they’ll hunt small animals when there’s no other food in the winter. Even here, they’ll sometimes catch a rabbit while out grazing.”
It turned out that they weren’t herbivores. No one had ever heard of a horse eating a rabbit. Judging from their speed and tough beaks, plainrunners were probably adapted to hunt for mice and rabbits as they ran through forests and across grassland.
“Don’t you ever feed them meat?”
“No. Meat makes them strong, but they’ll turn violent once they get a taste for it.”
“I see.”
They develop a thirst for blood?
I gathered that it wasn’t an essential part of their diet. On the other hand, the understanding here wasn’t backed by solid science. If Japanese livestock researchers were to run their own analysis, they’d possibly find the feed sorely lacking in calcium and sodium. They might even make easy improvements by mixing meat and bone meal into the feed, or by putting chunks of rock salt in the barn. As Rook’s oldest son, I was probably in line to inherit it someday. Investigating that sort of problem was potentially the key to a happy future.
“That said, some people like an aggressive bird. When we get a special order, we let them hunt inside a special enclosure that keeps the mice trapped inside. Those ones are a handful to train.”
Similar to how some people like unruly horses.
“Why would anyone want a violent plainrunner?”
“Some soldiers prefer that sort of bird, despite the fact most of them can’t even ride it once they’ve bought it. But with proper handling, those birds can rampage across a battlefield like no other. They can kill several people with their kicks alone.”
They rage like bloodthirsty beasts? I could guess from what Rook just said that plainrunners could be used as a sort of weapon. Maybe I’ll be able to ride them in the future, but I’m steering clear of the violent ones. I can easily imagine climbing onto the saddle only for it to throw me off and instantly stomp on my head.
“But I mostly leave the plainrunners to others,” Rook went on. “I get involved in the final stages of training, but not much else. My main focus is caring for the kingeagles.”
“King...eagle?” The name had come up a few times in books that were read to me, but I’d never understood what the creature was.
“It’s a type of bird that can fly.”
I guess he’s breeding birds for falconry too?
“Follow me,” Rook said.
I followed as he led me to another barn some distance away. Unlike the barn that housed the plainrunners, this building looked about three stories high. It had many windows, all of which were open, but there was a sort of iron lattice that ran across each window frame’s interior. From a distance, I’d thought it was a building where the workers lived, but apparently there were more birds in there.
When it came to bird-raising facilities, the only birds I’d seen besides chickens were all in cages and mesh fences, so I didn’t know what to expect. I could imagine that removing all the walls and ceilings from a three-story building would create a spacious enclosure, making the interior a sort of aviary for something large.
Once we’d reached the building, Rook removed a hefty bar that kept a large pair of doors closed. With that, he opened the double doors.
“Go on in.”
I stepped inside as Rook gently pushed me forward.
What I saw surprised me so much that my knees almost gave way. Beyond the doors was a massive open space. As I’d suspected, the three-story building had no walls or floors.
There were several birds living inside, but these were no run-of-the-mill birds—they were extraordinarily big. I estimated that they were about three or four meters long from head to tail. Their striped brown wings were tucked up flat against their bodies, their talons were sharp, and their beaks were large. Their eyes looked as keen as any bird of prey. They were basically eagles...really massive ones.
Rook saw my jaw drop. “Surprised?” he asked with a grin.
“This is... Yeah.”
“I thought you would be.”
“Yes, they’re...”
The birds known as kingeagles were both large and striking. They weren’t fat, doughy things; their silhouettes were sleek and slender.
The building housed five kingeagles. It felt odd that such a large structure held just five birds, but it was probably appropriate given their size.
Though I’d initially thought it was just a set of outer walls and a ceiling, there was also a large tree that had simply been stripped of its branches before being positioned here as a broad pillar. It supported the whole structure without creating a hindrance that would stop the birds from flying around. Thick beams extended from it and connected to the walls, creating perches that the kingeagles appeared fond of.
While I watched, a kingeagle would occasionally fly from one perch to another. It would leap into the air, then—with two or three great wingbeats—gain considerable speed before coming to a sudden stop by gripping a beam. If the beams had been much narrower, the impact might have broken them.
The kingeagle’s wings were covered in striped brown feathers. The region spanning across the chest and stomach varied from the rest because it was white with flecks of gray. Equally beautiful were their bright yellow beaks, which stood out against those muted colors.
“I can’t believe these things exist...”
It was like a glimpse into the marvels of nature, or as though I was witnessing a mythical giant bird—like the Middle Eastern roc or huri kamuy of Ainu origins—brought to life.
“Right?” Rook replied. “They’re my favorite birds. They’re really smart, and friendly too—once you’ve tamed them.”
“You can tame these things?”
“Well, yeah. Otherwise they’d be too dangerous to ride, wouldn’t they?”
Ride?
“You can ride them?” I asked.
“You’ve heard about sky knights in stories, haven’t you?” Rook sounded surprised. “What did you think they were?”
There were indeed such tales, but I’d always thought they were just high-ranking knights; I’d never understood what they did.
“You’ll have to learn to ride them too,” Rook said.
I was struggling to keep up with everything he was telling me.
“Is it possible to fly on one of these while riding it?”
“If you’re not too scared, yes, you can ride one with me. Riding a kingeagle at the age of three is a bit of a Ho family tradition. I had to do it back when I was your age.”
That’s not what I meant...
The way he said it made it sound as though he was planning to fly a kingeagle with me today. I got the sense that he was trying to coax me into it, thinking a little boy like me would be too scared.
“These creatures can fly with a person riding on them?”
“Of course. That’s the whole reason I rear them.” Rook sounded completely serious. My dad then offered his unique brand of reassurance: “Don’t worry. Your dad’s the world’s greatest kingeagle rider.”
I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared. Whatever part of my brain controlled common sense sounded alarm bells at the very idea of flying on one of these birds. But Rook made it sound like our family had a proud history of doing just that. Besides, I believed him when he said they were tame, and I didn’t sense danger. In fact, I didn’t get the slightest sense that Rook was encouraging me to do something dangerous.
“All right. I think I’m ready.”
“Good. That’s my boy.”
Rook took the wooden whistle hanging from his neck and put it to his mouth. The sound caused one of the great birds to come down to us. It was hard to imagine that he could pick out a kingeagle just by using the sound of the whistle, but only one of them had reacted, so he must have beckoned that one specifically.
While I stood there astounded, Rook picked up a saddle—different from the one on the plainrunner—that hung on the wall. First, he put a leather ring that connected to the reins over the bird’s beak, then he fitted the saddle to its back and tightened a leather strap around its abdomen. Rather than being flat against the bird, the saddle was a little raised up, more like one made for a camel than a horse. It was designed to be straddled just the same, but the area where the rider sat was somewhat elevated like a seat.
Rook took the reins that now extended from either side of the kingeagle and pulled on them to lead the bird away. The kingeagle obediently followed without any resistance. With the reins in hand, Rook led the bird outside through the double doors we’d used to enter.
After replacing the bar that held the doors closed, Rook led the trotting kingeagle over to some grass a short distance from the building. Then he gave the eagle two taps on the head. That made the bird fold up its legs and drop into a crouching position. It complied as easily as an obedient dog being told to sit. He must have trained it well.
“Lift up your arms a moment,” Rook said to me.
I put both arms up in the air. He fastened a belt attached to several metal rings around my waist and tightened it so much that it hurt. Then, he grabbed my waist to lift me up.
“Here you go.” Rook placed me on the saddle like he was putting something on a shelf.
“Whoa.”
Once Rook had put on a similar belt, he climbed onto the saddle too. It was easy for someone of my height to sit on the saddle with my legs at either side, but Rook had to sit with his legs bent. It looked a little cramped.
Unlike horses, this creature had wings that the rider couldn’t obstruct with their legs. One solution would be for them to sit with their ankles raised up alongside their hips, but that’d be bad for their pelvis. It explained why the saddle was a little elevated—to improve the rider’s sitting posture.
Rook connected the belt around his waist to the saddle using leather straps, anchoring his body in place. I gathered that the waist belt worked as a safety harness. With that done, he turned to where I was sitting between his legs. My body was held securely against the saddle once he’d finished using straps to secure my belt in the same way. Now, whatever orientation the kingeagle might take during flight, there was no chance of me falling off.
Rook took up the reins.
✧✧✧
As the eagle was beating its wings and preparing to take flight, Rook gave me some advice that he must have forgotten to mention until now: “Whatever you do, never open your mouth while flying.”
The g-force hit me like nothing I’d ever felt before as the eagle left the ground behind. It wasn’t the constant acceleration of an aircraft, it was more like waves of acceleration that came on with each beat of its wings. After gaining some height, the kingeagle increased its speed with several powerful wingbeats, and then it was flying for real.
The view below changed at a dizzying pace. In no time at all, we crossed the hills and a small river. We charged through a dense pocket of air while almost grazing the tops of the conifers below. Then the angle of the bird’s wings suddenly changed, sending us soaring directly upward, higher into the air.
We rushed up to the altitude of a high-rise building. Unobstructed by tall trees or the planet’s curvature, the view opened up and the world was spread out before us. It was as though the clouds had absorbed all of the moisture from the sky. The air was clear as far as the eye could see, and even the distant scenery looked sharp. It was beautiful.
It wasn’t like seeing the world from a tiny aircraft window, or from the lookout point of a mountain top. This was an ever-changing panorama, unobstructed in all directions. Everywhere I looked, my view was clear, and the world was breathtaking.
After we’d flown in circles for a short while, Rook manipulated the reins again, and the eagle began performing aerial maneuvers with graceful movements. It rolled over in midair, flipping the world upside down. With my body weight no longer holding me against the saddle, I felt myself instead supported by the safety harness around my waist.
A moment later, my weight was no longer supported by the harness as we transitioned into a free fall. I lost sight of the sky and horizon. Soon, the ground filled my view. We were falling, and soon we’d crash into the ground. A primal fear filled my mind, sending me into a panic.
But the free fall lasted only a few seconds. The eagle’s wings changed angle to once again catch the wind, gently shifting the bird into a horizontal path of flight. We were still a good height above the ground by the time we’d fully leveled off.
We must have been flying for around twenty minutes when familiar-looking buildings came into view below us—it was the ranch we’d set out from. I’d completely lost track of where we were, but Rook must have known precisely.
The eagle descended so quickly that I thought we might crash. Just before landing, it beat its wings several times to apply the emergency brake, and then it finally touched down gently upon the ground.
“Phew,” Rook sighed from his position above my head. He began removing his safety harness.
There was the sound of fittings clattering. Rook had himself free in under a minute, and then he immediately started removing my harness too.
Rook got off the kingeagle first and said, “Your dad’s here to catch you, so just jump down.”
I hesitated for a moment, but then I leaped down from the saddle. True to his word, Rook caught me and put me on the ground.
“How was that?” Rook asked, his eyes filled with anticipation.
“Awesome,” I replied, telling him my honest feelings. “It was an incredible experience. I really mean it.”
“Glad to hear it,” Rook said, sounding relieved. “Looks like you’ll be all right.”
“What do you mean?”
“With eagles. Some people just can’t get used to riding a kingeagle no matter what they do. They need both feet firmly on the ground.”
Ah. When children turn three... That’s when they’re tested to see how they’ll handle it. Someone with a fear of heights would have no chance.
“I think I can handle flying. I don’t know whether I’ll be a skilled rider though.”
“Don’t worry, I can see you’ve got potential,” Rook reassured me. “And if I say so, you know it’s true.”
“Really?”
When a family member said something like that, I was filled with a sense of happiness and embarrassment that felt wrong for someone my age. During my life in Japan, my parents hadn’t been the sort of people who’d given their son that type of praise. I hadn’t even known the whereabouts of one of my parents. As for the other, we’d eventually broken contact and never spoke again. Now it felt like my mental age had been dragged down to match my body. Rook’s praise moved me, and I had to react quickly to hold back the rising tears.
“Does everyone start training at this young age?”
“You didn’t like it?”
“That’s not what I meant at all. It’s just hard to imagine everyone doing this.”
“Well, the three-years-old thing is just our family tradition, but everyone has to start when they’re small. You’ll never be a sky knight unless you learn to ride solo before you’re fully grown.”
Is he saying that you can’t ride a kingeagle unless you train as a child? That’s a sad thought. These kingeagles must be valuable creatures. They eat meat, so they must cost even more than horses. If you have to start training as a child, only people from the wealthiest families will ever get a chance to ride one.
“Why’s that? Why can’t someone decide to learn after growing up?” I asked.
Kind of like how you can fly light aircraft as a hobby.
“Because a kingeagle can’t fly with two adults on its back. It’s too much weight.”
Seriously? That sounds like a harsh weight restriction.
“Then what about fat people?”
“Ha ha,” Rook laughed. “There are no fat sky knights.”
You can’t ride them if you get fat? Then I’m guessing Rook’s slim, muscular build is ideal.
“There are those who grow up and then want to ride a kingeagle, just like you say—merchants, for example, who get rich through some lucky business deal. And, um...let’s just say it doesn’t go so well.”
He must be choosing his words carefully so he doesn’t scare me. I bet they crash and die.
“You mustn’t ever ride one alone until you’ve got permission,” Rook warned. His expression had gone from the face of someone talking about their favorite topic to the face of an adult worried for their child.
“I understand. I won’t forget it.”
We were finished for the day, so we rode back home on a plainrunner. I spent the whole journey with thoughts of only one thing: kingeagles.