“Obey your word and work alongside you,” the falconer echoed with great enthusiasm. Then with a thumbs-up and a smile adorned on his face he cheered, “Luckily I’m just the one to teach such a thing. Also, since you didn’t just bring me any ol’ birdy but instead a dragon then I’d be more than reluctant to get started immediately in training your scaly friend.”
“What about your due payment?”
“Heh, you’re a knight so I’m sure you’ll be more then able to afford my service in time.” With a grin on his face and Varrult perched atop his arm he asked, “Now, shall we get started?”
Chapter six
Looking about, the sanctuary the falconer was said to have built was rather impressive, if Venneith did say so himself. It seemed the grass had been well kept, retaining a very bright, almost shiny green to it. All around lay trees pruned of their smaller limbs and made to be nothing more than perches with long, nearly leafless branches jutting out from the main trunk.
These well-kept trees were equally spaced apart in a nice perimeter surrounding an open space of grass in the center of which lay a jungle gym of wooden constructions and bars. All of it seemed to be built only to accommodate avians as most of it hung elevated off the ground, balancing on thin rods of iron or tightly wound cords of rope that ran from one end of the perimeter to the other. This created an all-encompassing net high above the ground, hanging just above the wooden platforms of the structure.
“Alright, take your a seat and we’ll get started immediately,” the falconer commanded as he marched forward to take his place in clear view of the knight.
He seemed rather excited to get started and came off as exceedingly confident in his ability to teach. He had a particular type of charisma that didn’t at all resonate with the knight, but Venneith could still tell where he was coming from. He wanted to come off as the upbeat, cheerful and exceedingly reluctant type of guy with an all round excited personality, and it seemed to be working rather well, although startling Nerr from time to time with his sudden outbursts of ecstatic glee. Yet what Venneith found strangest about this falconer was that he wasn’t yet a man, or a senior released from his servitude of the Carthinian armies. He was only a boy, a kid whose age must’ve lingered near to the day he becomes a man, but Venneith could only speculate.
Taking his place, he rotated on his heels to face the knight, who was clutching the dragon in his right arm. Currently Venneith should’ve been taking his seat but instead he stood there looking down at the wooden carved desk he was assigned to. It seemed cramped for the man in armor, with a rather small surface that was to be his desk. He took a short moment to calculate the dimensions and if sitting down was even possible for him.
He concluded it was, but only as long as he slid right in and made no subtle movements from the waist down, an easy thing to accomplish for a tame-minded man like Venneith, who often didn’t seek out greater comfort than what he was dealt. With Nerr sitting atop the table before him, it seemed it was the prime time to begin learning whatever lesson the falconer had prepared.
“Right, now let us begin,” he began with an uppity, rather authoritative voice. “The purpose of this course is to teach and help those learning to understand the basics of falconry. First, we’ll start by introducing ourselves. My name is Trent, Trent Turk.” Trent then held his forearm out, on which Varrult swiftly perched himself obediently.
Nerr tossed an indignant gaze, only to receive a far more potent retaliating glare that backed the dragon into Venneith’s chestplate.
“This feathery friend, as you may know, is named Varrult. Its species, creatively enough, is known as the gyrfalcon.” He softly kneaded at the falcon’s back, earning him a content little cordle before feeding him a small, pebble-sized treat. “Compared to a peregrine falcon, whose feathers are often dark on top with a goldish underbelly, gyrfalcons come in a variety of different colors. Here you can see Varrult’s feathers are most dominantly silver with darker feathers speckled atop his back.”
He turned the gyrfalcon around for the knight to see. Venneith saw the pattern of black feathers that ran down the course of its back. It was finely intricate with each small black cluster of feathers forming a downward facing arrow that gradually thinned until it tipped out at the very edge of the wings and tail.
“Also, if we are to further differentiate gyrfalcons from peregrines, it should be noted that the former retains broader wings and a longer tail and although one could argue that gyrfalcons are indeed larger, peregrines still surpass them in speed. But that’s no matter,” Trent said, before distancing his arm from his body. “Fledge, my friend.” With the command given Varrult spread his wings and took off to roam within the sanctuary.
“Now, when it comes to beginning with falconry, on any level, the first thing one must do is have a birdy.” Trent looked to the knight, who sat there staring back from behind that lifeless helmet and visor. Before him sat Nerr, sitting there curiously as he sniffed around with his tail happily waving about. “Hmm, it passes,” he offhandedly assured before the knight could answer for himself. “Second, your avian friend must be accustomed to the presence of humans. If not he’ll soon fly away and you’ll never see him again. Is your avian friend accustomed to the presence of humans?”
He looked again to the knight, who sat there lifelessly, almost bored-looking, yet it was hard to tell behind that visor of his. Nerr, meanwhile, had just discovered a butterfly and it teased the little dragon as he timidly tried to swat at it and bite down to no avail. It was a dodgy little buggy, that was for sure, but Nerr was determined.
“Seems so,” Trent again answered for the knight. “Thirdly, it must know how to obey and recognise your commands. Without this, your creature may be either be too adolescent or simply wild. Can your creature obey and or recognise your commands?”
Looking to the knight, a brief silence took hold between the two as Nerr wrestled around before miraculously, and triumphantly, catching the beating little butterfly in his mouth. However, the wings continued to beat within his maw and it seemed to tickle a rather sensitive area within. Soon the dragon let loose, crying out with an almighty sneeze as the butterfly fluttered free of his mouth, triumphant in the end, leaving Nerr once again foiled despite his greatest efforts.
For once, the knight glanced down, a jingle of chainmail singing out as he faced the little dragon. Watching as Nerr ran his forked tongue across his nostrils before snapping his teeth, the knight gazed back at Trent only to say simply, “He’s too young.”
“Ah, well, if he can’t obey commands then he may fly away or do something that may end up hurting him.” Taking a small moment to think, Trent remembered to ask, “Does the dragon know his own name? Nerr, was it?”
Nerr
Venneith looked once more to the dragon. Nerr gazed about, hardly noticing Venneith’s glare. Would he recognise his name? It wasn’t as if the knight tried too hard to let the dragon know, but he would have to see for himself it was so.
Gently raising his armored gauntlet, he rested it upon the back of the dragon, just soft enough as to not hurt the little thing. With a soft pat Venneith softly muttered his name, “Nerr? Little Nerr?”
Nerr. Again there it was, and that touch too…it’s was nice. Nerr appreciated the little gift of affection his protector gave, and as the dragon glanced back at the armored giant he truly felt he was in great care. Nothing could possibly harm Nerr, at least not while Venneith was near, and he knew this for the falcon never drew blood. Feeling exceedingly grateful, Nerr happily returned the favor by latching onto Venneith’s fingers with both claws before nibbling on his thumb, exercising his teeth for later use as he explored the hardened surface with each gnaw.
“Heh,” Venneith couldn’t help but snicker as he let the dragon softly gnaw away. “It seems he does know his name after all.”
The taste was still bad but it was a taste nonetheless. That mixed in with the sturdiness of the armor ment Nerr would have no shortage of something t
o bite on and work his teeth, a pastime Nerr found himself more and more fond of the longer this act was allowed. Soft things tore too easily and bled, quenching his hunger, yet during the times Nerr wasn’t hungry hard things lasted and thus were the perfect things to be used for his enjoyment.
However, his act wouldn’t continue for very long for it ended all too soon. It seemed Trent, that falconer, had a thing in store, a ‘practical lesson’ as Nerr heard him say, yet lacked the knowledge to understand. All he knew was that he was being held and it wasn’t by his protector.
“Let’s go over here, little lad,” Trent said as Nerr let out two whines and a whimper as Venneith was left all on his lonesome, companionless, Nerr-less.
Nerr needed to break free, he knew he had to. He couldn’t stay away from Venneith and he couldn’t stand to be handled by those he didn’t trust. Who was this man? Just some stranger who commanded that villainous bird! Venneith should protect him but, wait, he’s petrified with fear. Yes! He’s terrified of the falconer, that’s why!
That’s why Venneith had tried to console him, uttering words of assurance as he calmed the dragon. He had sensed the danger, imminent danger! Danger Nerr knew not about, but now did. That attack that bird had laid on Nerr was just the beginning; the falconer wasn’t satisfied and it wouldn’t be long before they claimed the lives of both Nerr and his protector!
Nerr had to do something, he had to think fast. Struggling and whining aloud wasn’t doing the trick, it only seemed to amuse his captor as he laughed greatly. What could Nerr do? What was the one thing he could rely on? His mouth! Yes, it hadn’t failed him yet, and with that resolve Nerr arced his neck backwards and latched onto the nearest thing he could get a grasp on.
The falconer’s left forearm.
Nerr didn’t let go, he only tightened his grip and hardened his bite as he latched on with both claws and even attempted to curl his lower body so that his lower legs could also grasp his captor. Soon his captor would let go for he’d know true pain, and soon his protector would once again receive aid, but there was one crucial problem.
The falconer never cried out, he never even struggled.
Of all the living things Nerr had bitten into and consumed, none thus far had refrained from struggling for their very lives. They all fought furiously and bled greatly but here no such thing happened. He couldn’t taste blood nor sense a great resistance. Instead he tasted something raw and…tasteless. It hardly even conformed to his bite yet had a bit of give to the pressure, what could it have been? What was this material?
“I think your dragon doesn’t quite like me,” Trent muttered as he held out his arm, only for Venneith to see Nerr clamping down on the falconer’s leather bracer. The bracer that is normally used to protect a falconer’s hide from the sharp talons of their avian friends. “Does your dragon hardly trust anyone?” Trent asked as Nerr only continued to snarl and growl, occasionally thrashing his head before taking a short pause to breathe furiously through his snout. “Hey, hey,” Trent pleaded, assuring the dragon was in no danger. “Have one of these,” he offered as he kneeled on the ground, lowering his arm so that Nerr could actually stand in the grass as opposed to dangling freely.
Regardless, Nerr was slow to yield, but that was until he smelled something rather meaty. It smelled familiar, almost like the soup that kind lady had given him, yet rather different. Nerr was hesitant to release his hold, but then something invaded his vision as it gently poked at his snout. It was a small block of food? Wait, was it food or was it something else? Could it be compared to meat? It didn’t smell raw or look red but it caught the dragon’s interest nonetheless. So much so that he briefly released his vice-like jaw from the falconer’s bracer to investigate further.
“There ya are, bud,” Trent mused as he dangled the cooked meat treat just before Nerr’s snout.
The dragon was awfully timid in accepting the offer, going far out of his way to sniff and prod at it with his claws before eventually licking it. Nerr was cautious in his approach but he had every right to be. Sure, his captor had let him loose and sure, he never really inflicted any harm on the dragon, but Nerr had still been stolen and for that he found it hard to trust. That was until he actually bit into the treat and consumed the tiny morsel for himself.
Yep, Nerr thought as he savored the flavor before consuming it completely. That was one good food, but Nerr began to wonder if this falconer had any more. He began sniffing, first investigating his fingers, picking up on the lingering scent. Yes, the food had once been there but no longer. However, before it had been in his fingers where had it come from? Surely it must have an origin, thought the dragon, but before he could persist any longer he was turned about to face Venneith.
He was crouched in the grass, arms held open, fingers clutching something. Square and dark. It was…it was a food! A treat, to be precise, and in that instant Nerr bolted across the grass to greet his protector and take the treat for himself.
“Come, Nerr,” Venneith called as the little black dragon darted through the grass, bounding and leaping about. “That’s it, come to me.”
It seemed Nerr didn’t account for both velocity and distance, for when he finally did reach the the knight, Nerr fully rammed into him with a clear, audible thunk that resonated the moment his head collided with armor. Venneith nearly thought the dragon had knocked himself out, but to his relief Nerr quickly let out a flurry of happy chirps as he now scouted and sniffed about for the hand with the treat.
“Now reward your little friend,” Trent said with a nod. Doing as asked, Venneith kindly fed Nerr the treat, being sure to call him a good little Nerr, giving the dragon positive reinforcement for his obedience. “Next we’ll start with commands,” Trent continued as Nerr all too soon began scouting around the knight for even more treats, feverishly sniffing and circling about to see if he had hid any. Surely there would be more, thought Nerr as the falconer continued. “We’ve shown he can come when presented with a reward, but try to usher him to the forearm of your choosing. I prefer my left arm as it’s not necessarily my dominant hand but you can choose whichever.”
“I hold my arm out, correct?” Venneith asked as he performed the action, bending his elbow from his body as he held his forearm outward. By now Nerr had almost given up and he looked to Venneith with pleading eyes and whimpering cries. “What will this command be called?”
“Personally I call it perch,” Trent answered, before giving a brief demonstration. “So, if I call to Varrult and say ‘perch’, he’ll know to come to my arm, like so.” In an instant his avian friend had come to greet him, landing gracefully atop his arm. Giving him a treat, Trent continued, “If I point to a general area within the trees I can also say ‘perch’ and he’ll scout ahead to that area. Varrult,” he signaled as he pointed over the head of Venneith to the treeline beyond. “Perch.”
With obedience, Varrult did as commanded, taking flight to sail directly above the knight and perch himself atop the tree. Nerr hardly noticed a shadow pass over him but he did hear the screech of the gyrfalcon as he took his place in the tree. It was loud and piercing and Nerr nearly took it as a challenge. However, before he could cry back he quickly remembered the treatment that monster had given poor little Nerr. Perhaps calling again to challenge wasn’t such a good idea, and he lowered his head in worry as if the mere thought alone would draw the harsh attention of the gyrfalcon.
“Now begin,” Trent commanded. “It’s best if you keep the treats hidden. Wouldn’t want a dragon tearing into them all at once, would we?” He said that with a slight chuckle at the end, as if Venneith could salvage any sort of amusement from the idea of it. True, it’d be an inconvenience, but it could only be something to be frustrated over.
“Alright, Nerr,” he softly murmured, with a gentle pat of his hand against the smooth head of the dragon to ease him and draw his attention. “I need you to perch. Now, perch, Nerr.” He held out his arm and pointed. “Perch!”
Perch? At least the
dragon had a baseline understanding of the phrase Nerr, that being gentle softness and/or kindness that called to the dragon, ushering him to come near, but Perch…Perch by itself was foreign. And what was that his protector did, that pointing with his finger?
Nerr Perch, Nerr Perch, Nerr Perch. Over and over Venneith would insist but Nerr wouldn’t understand. He wanted a treat, but was he saying there was a treat? Was it on his arm somewhere? Maybe so, all Nerr had to do was find out for himself, and so he reared up on his hind legs and took Venneith’s arms in his two tiny, clawed hands to see for himself.
He tried to pull down yet Venneith resisted. Seemed like Nerr would have to pull himself up, but try as he might the dragon just wasn’t strong enough. For a moment he dangled, chirping with frustration as his hind legs kicked and tail flicked about in a vain effort to elevate himself, yet he fell back in the grass, defeated. Guess it seemed he’d have to climb the knight, something that seemed much easier than performing some merge pull up.
So up he went, after circling around the knight to mount his back and peer over his shoulder at Venneith’s forearm. There didn’t seem to be a treat, yet Venneith still persisted saying, “Perch, boy,” and pointing. If he strongly insisted there was a treat then perhaps Nerr had to move in closer as it seemed to be beyond his range of smell, unimaginably enough.
With a quick attempted hop, Nerr gracefully landed upon his metal arm and immediately began sniffing. Ballance was a small issue as he splayed his wings slightly as his tail instinctively evened him out.
Treat, treat, treat, treat, treat. Where was that treat, Nerr wondered. It wasn’t in his palm, it was…oh! In his right hand, Nerr discovered as Venneith softly congratulated the dragon, lightly patting him on his head.
“That’s how you perch,” Venneith insisted as he lay the dragon back on the grass. “Now, let’s perch again. Perch,” he commanded, pointing to his arm.
Perch! Another treat, the dragon thought as Venneith pointed to the same place as before. So there must be a treat, as now the dragon interpreted perch not as the location he was to go but the place he was to be to receive a treat. And so he did, quickly climbing back up the knight to his arm to where he was once again congratulated and fed as Nerr chirped happily to his companion.
Dragon Kindred_And The Gyr Worshipers Page 10
