Inn 51

"Thank you." What an interesting way of remembering things he had. Caught between not wanting to argue yet again, but wanting to give her view of the events, she settled for, "Mind, it wandered off peacefully without prompting."

"Oh, right. I didn't see what it did after we left. Still, it was good what you did with the healing." Weft didn't often try to compliment magicians. It showed.

"Thanks, but that really wasn't much, either." She tried a reassuring smile on the basis that he seemed uncomfortable, and got up. "I'd picked out another shrub I want to move and should get to it..."

"Oh. Right. Of course." Weft glanced at the ground, stood and drifted a few steps backwards.

Hints, unlike the bleedin' obvious, he was perfectly able to take.

Considering for a moment to invite him along, since You Are Not Supposed To Make People Feel Bad, she hesitated, but all in all the wish to get away from this awkwardness was stronger.

"Sorry." She made it sound light, and wandered off towards the woods.

Weft had the feeling that hadn't gone as well as he'd hoped. Once or twice he'd caught a flicker, as though she thought he was crazy for something.

Maybe I was wrong to tell her what I do. I thought she seemed like she'd be sensible about it.

He didn't know what to apologise for, so he left it. What had he been doing? Heading off to patrol the trees. If that animal he could hear would go away, whatever it was -- gryphon, sphinx or...

"Bwok?" said a combed head, around chest height among the elderflowers.

Around four seconds later, before Sylvie had reached the front of the building, Weft had materialised a short distance behind her. He was facing away from her and had his thinsword half-drawn.

"Sorry. Don't panic, but it's back," he said over his shoulder. "You escape and I'll keep it away."

The tame chicken-gryphon wandered out onto the overgrown lawn, bobbing its head a little bit. What a funny biped that had been. Where had it gone?

Sylvie stopped, but did not facepalm, temptation notwithstanding.

"That is... really... sweet, Weft," playing hero like that, "but shouldn't you warn Suitov? Not to sound ungrateful, but I thought protecting him was your job."

"I looked. He's still inside. Plus, it's more likely to have it in for you. These dumb animals bear grudges, they're really dangerous," Weft said. "Say, you haven't seen--? No, I already asked you that."

The deadly beast investigated the new bush. Yummy. If only it had been fruiting yet.

"Right." She turned on her heel and headed for the shortest way inside, which happened to be through an open window into the bar room, feet first.

The general idea was going through the kitchen and getting behind the Inn again, from the guess that Weft had seen the chicken there.

He kept his hand on the hilt while slinking back in the same direction.

The chickenbeast was visible from the back door. It was pecking at a rubber bone that had been left on the grass.

Sylvie stopped right out of the door, wondering if that was the same creature at all. It was at least twice as big as she remembered.

One-and-two-thirds its former size, anyway. The creature picked the dog toy up in its beak, dropped it, picked it up again, dropped it again then appeared to disregard it. It scratched itself with a great cat's hind leg.

It did not look rabidly vengeful.

But it did look more likely than last time to accidentally cause some damage.

Sylvie slowly walked nearer, watching the animal closely, but not staring openly.

The great chicken monster cocked its head and cheeped.

Seemed to be the opposite of Ayu-Asra, its voice smaller than itself.

"Well, hello... Don't say you're a little chick still." She spoke quietly, and continued walking.

Its behaviour as she approached seemed to support Sylvie and Suitov's theory that this was a pet. The wings were drooping a fraction; overall, the animal looked a little... peckish?

"Bok." The gryphon scratched at the ground.

"Mh, I wonder if you know what a kitchen is."

The creature held its wings out a short distance and made a sound like panting.

After a moment's surprise, Sylvie said, "You might, at that." Either it was an odd coincidence, or it was miming "hot". Now, stay here with the animal, or try to find Suitov?

A dark-haired thaumaturge retreated into view around the far corner of the inn. He was pursued by a large coppery wyvern, which was pecking him.

Shortly, the animal gave up and withdrew, making a sound like two canvas shopping bags having a fight. Iceheart took a step backwards, shook his head and turned, revealing that he was not very dismayed. All right, he was grinning.

He said "Oh, hello Sylvie. Less turacin next time, I think."

After capturing and retying his hair, which had come loose, he further remarked "I see Clucks is back."