The caw of a blue jay resounded out throughout the surroundings, stirring Mikhail out of his silent slumber.
"Ah… Damn it… All a dream?"
He sat up from the cold and uncomfortable ground of the prison cell. The crust in his eyes and the lack of light made it difficult for him to see, but an object in the corner of his eyes caught his attention.
"A pot… Since when did…"
Mikhail snapped out of his tired stupor, quickly wiping the crust from his eyes using his index finger's knuckle. It took a few seconds, but his eyes adjusted to his surroundings rather quickly.
"Phew… That's right, no more slop for me…"
He shook his head upon remembering the sludge they had tried to call food. Those days were behind him now, thankfully…
He shook his head, as if to get those memories out of his mind through his ears.
And then he quickly went over to the pot, sort of recollecting from last night how one was for washing and the other for drinking. Now that he was groggy instead of dead-tired, he finally noticed that, sitting on top of the wooden lids were ladles.
Both of which were identical save for the carving at the end of their handles, matching the words painted onto the pots.
Which was great, because he could only imagine what would happen if he happened to drink out of the cleaning water… But that aside, he was feeling beyond parched. Thus, he was quick to open the drinking water pot and use the ladle to drink a few scoops.
Just about three cups worth of water in one go.
Letting out a satisfied sigh, Mikhail scratched at his head.
'Blue jays… I wonder why my brain conjured up such a familiar sound.'
CAW!
Mikhail's eyes narrowed.
"The fuck?"
There it was, the caw of a blue jay yet again. But now that the tired stupor was largely out of his system by now, he could tell it was the real deal.
Mikhail untied the entrance to his tent and left, going out to investigate just what exactly was making that noise. The light of dawn had yet to paint the sky, meaning it was very early in the morning right now.
After looking around from side to side, Mikhail eventually circled around to the back of his tent and saw a flock of huge feathered beasts.
They were large, a few inches taller than Mikhail, and just as long as they were tall. They walked on two taloned feet and their body was covered in three different types of feathers. A thin frill went along their head, protruding out of its skull like a CD being almost but not quite done being ejected from a DVD player.
The first type of feather they were covered in was pale-brown, which covered the majority of their torso, the upper part of their legs, and the upper part of their arms.
The second type were white feathers that formed a line going down their long necks before encompassing their underbelly. And the last type of feather was gray, growing from the ends of their arms, the edges between the underbelly and their back, and the edge of their tail.
"Careful, kid. Anzus can kill you if you piss them off."
Mikhail's attention immediately snapped to the source of the masculine voice.
The man standing to Mikhail's left had the aspect of a stalwart Greek hero, his muscles bulging through his plain white T-shirt like an orc's muscles would, and he stood about five inches taller than Mikhail, at least.
His dark brown beard was curly yet not unruly. And his hair, similarly curly, was cut somewhat short. And it was as if his cheekbones and jawline were chiseled to perfection.
His most striking feature, however, was that he had several glittering gold tattoos snaking about his arms in a sort of vine-like pattern.
Mikhail looked up to his face, trying to see if he recognized him from last night. But when no one came to mind…
"Most things can kill me if I piss them off," Mikhail said nonchalantly as he looked back at the Anzus.
He just said the first thing he thought of. The man snorted, but that snort was quick to evolve into a bit of a chuckle.
"Fearless, huh? Most kiddos your age would at least pale a little bit."
Mikhail shrugged. "Kind of hard to feel much of anything these days. Anyway… Who are you, and what are you doing here?"
"Straight down to business type of guy, are you?"
MIkhail looked at the man with a neutral expression, waiting for him to continue. The man, as a result, let out a sigh. "Gosh, how boring. Well, alright. Fine. My name is Atticus, and I'm the head of the Stallard Clan."
"So, Atticus Stallard?"
The man nodded. And then he continued, saying, "Anyway, the reason I was here was so that I could warn you about those big bastards over there. You know, just in case."
"Cool, thanks."
"No problem, kid. Another thing, though… You are remarkably fluent in Manakel despite just learning it."
"I just read the book Maya gave me all day yesterday."
Atticus narrowed his eyes as he turned his attention away from the magnificent beasts in the distance. He seemed to inspect him thoroughly, peering into Mikhail's eyes with great concentration before nodding.
"Probably set a record in that case… Though I'd suggest spending the day walking around town and talking with some more people. A lot of your pronunciations are jarringly off."
Mikhail sighed when he heard that. "Is anyone even awake right now?" he asked with a doubtful tone.
"Oh yeah, plenty of people. They're just not outside yet. Not many people leave their homes until sunrise. Plenty of chores and other things that can be done in the early hours of the morning."
"I bet," Mikhail said with a snort.
He could imagine several things going on throughout the tribe right now…
"Atticus, is there any chance you'd have a history textbook on hand? I have a lot of catching up to do since I've been disconnected from the world at large thus far."
The man shook his head.
"Can't say I do… I can get one for you real quick though."
Mikhail looked at him, waiting for him to leave and return. But instead, all he saw was the man go through a handful of different expressions, almost as if he was having a stroke…
And just when he was about to ask if he was alright, a thick hardcover book suddenly appeared in the man's hand.