NOVEL NEXT Chapter 42: Picky Eater
The crisp morning air rushes against Dandy’s face as she teeters precariously atop her anqa, the massive, bipedal bird striding with a powerful grace that makes her stomach churn. It’s too fast. She’s never gone this fast before, and her eyes and thoughts can’t keep pace with each other. The creature’s long, frighteningly strong feathered legs pound rhythmically against the dirt, a cacophony of sound echoing through the open stretches of the western road. She clutches the leather straps with white-knuckled intensity, pulling herself closer to the graceful beast’s neck, praying it doesn’t decide to throw her off into the wild underbrush again. She still has brambles in her robe from before.
Dandy lets out a nervous laugh, a high-pitched sound that barely carries against the rush of the wind. “Is it normal for them to be this fast?!” she shouts over to Hero, whose mount strides effortlessly beside her, a picture of poise with his calm demeanor and predator-like focus, the same as his. It’s like they’re sharing a body together. Two perfect creatures glued together. The sunlight glistens off his polished armor while he looks almost regal, bathed in the delicate hues of dawn. Behind him flows his shoulder-thrown cloak and his golden hair like waves of cresting water that never seem to break. There’s not a single imperfection anywhere, from his posture to his riding.
Gods, she hates him. Why is he like that?
“It’s their nature, Dandy!” Hero calls back, his voice slowly becoming a soothing balm against her rising panic, although she would never admit it to him. He rubs his anqa’s neck, the animal making a satisfied expression with its large eyes as he scratches it mid-stride. “They’ve always been fast, ever since I first saw them a long, long time ago. You’ll get used to it! Just remember to lean with the turns.” He dips low in his saddle, glancing sideways at her clumsy grip, a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “You’re a fast learner.”
Clenching her jaw, Dandy attempts to mimic his effortless lines, swaying with her mount’s movements, but every leaf that rustles in the breeze feels like a trap she’s about to face plant straight into. She can barely process the landscape as it blurs past — a wild tapestry of greens and browns, with towering trees edging the path and the confusing cascade of colors from flowery meadows. Each thundering beat of the anqa's feet sends jolts through her body, and she keeps hitting her teeth together and biting her tongue.
“Right, right,” she mutters, trying to hold on. She struggles not to dwell on the sting of inadequacies. “You make it look so easy!”
“You just need confidence, Dandy.” His voice carries a certain warmth. “If you’re nervous, it’s nervous,” he says, nodding to her bird, which is swerving and clicking with its massive curved beak in agitation.
“HOW AM I NOT SUPPOSED TO BE NERVOUS?!” shouts Dandy at him through clenched eyes, holding on for dear life as the anqas bound over a fallen log in the road, flying through the air for a few seconds. The wind steals her breath as the anqa lunges forward, a sudden burst of speed that tosses her backward. She grapples to keep her seat, the long feathers prickling under her fingers. “I don’t need confidence! I need someone to strap me down so I don’t die!” shouts the priestess.
Hero’s laughter fills the space, deep and genuine, breaking through her trepidation. “You’re not going to fall off, Dandy. Just take a breath. You’ll get the hang of it.”
“I already fell off!” she counters, lost somewhere between crying and screaming as the giant animal hurtles over the world. “It hurt!” she yells.
“Then you won’t want to do it again a second time,” he remarks, laughing loud enough for his voice to overtake the thundering stampede. Hero whistles loudly, and both of the animals begin to slow their pace. What felt like a sprint turns into a gallop and then tempers into a march before falling into the speed of a stroll. Dandy exhales, her body falling slack for the first time in what feels like hours.
He flashes a grin, the sun reflecting off the golden sheen of his hair. “You should have seen me back when I was a boy, Dandy,” he says reassuringly. “I had to learn everything.”
She plants her feet more firmly on the saddle, even if it feels futile. “I’m not cut out for this.”
Hero lets go of the reins, holding his arms out freely at his sides as he just lightly keeps his legs in place. “Think of it like you’re a bird in a breeze, Dandy.” Hero leans closer, lowering his voice as though sharing a secret. “Don’t fight it. You have to embrace the fall.” He drops his arms. “The wings will do the rest for you.”
The notion strikes her, swirling against the backdrop of her own insecurities. “Look, I’m not really the embracing type,” she repeats under her breath, nearly lost amidst the chaos of the morning. “How about we just get a carriage instead?” she asks.
The anqa lunges again, and this time, Dandy nearly topples completely as it abruptly picks up speed by itself. With a yelp, she leans forward, the wind tearing at her hair and threatening to rob her of the fragile grip she has on the bird. Hero lifts his hand to his mouth, calling after her as her anqa speeds off. “Told you they like going fast,” he explains. Hero chuckles loudly, a chorus of amusement that mingles with the rhythm of their journey, reverberating against the gilded morning sun. A thundering comes from her side as he catches up, his hand reaching out to push her back upright in her saddle. “Just go fast with him, Dandy,” he explains. “He’s your legs,” says Hero, reaching out to scratch her anqas head, which responds with a purring of sorts and a sway of its head as it rushes down the road. “— You’re the body.” He grabs her shoulder, pulling her posture straight, the wind cascading directly into her front, her hood and hair flying back behind her. His other hand grabs her anqa’s reins, pushing the leather back into her vice-like grip, breaking open the tight fingers with ease. “You can’t have your legs go fast, but your body slow!” explains Hero with a wink. “It’s both or nothing!” he finishes. A click of his tongue later, and he lets go of her. His anqa shoots forward, breaking out like the strike of lightning in a storm, leaving them behind.
“Is 'nothing' really an option?” asks Dandy hopefully, holding the pose he had put her in but still crying a little.
“It’s not!” he calls back over his shoulder. There’s just no way he could have heard her muttering that, but somehow he did. “You told me you didn’t want to run anymore!”
Dandy looks down, seeing a curious, round eye staring back her way from her anqa. The glint is sunlight in its eyes as it stares at her, reflecting her own uncertainty quite literally back at her. She can see her reflection in its massive pupil, the size of her fist.
He’s right.
Her heart beats a different rhythm, a sudden swell of determination replacing her uncertainty. Taking a deep breath, she focuses all her attention on the terrain ahead, glancing at the familiar outline of the mountains looming beyond the horizon. With Hero’s laughter still ringing in her ears, she feels her grip loosen and her body sway more in rhythm with the anqa’s proud strides. She wants to ask it if it can do her running for her.
But she doesn’t need to.
The animal, seeing it in her eyes and holding of her body, arcs its neck out forward like a straightened arrow and bolts ahead faster than ever before. Dandy screams but holds on, her scream turning into terrified laughter and then real laughter as they catch up. The two shapes barreling over the world toward the distant horizon that seems to be almost shining.
“Look!” Dandy gestures forward, excitement momentarily overriding her apprehension as she points toward the sun lighting up the mountains onward before them. “It’s incredible!” Hero smiles. Her attention falls deeper into the horizon, where the peaks glimmer, and she basks in their morning glory as the snow-crested peaks refract sunlight out in all directions.
His gaze meets hers, and an intensity flickers in his depths, and she holds it there with her eyes that don’t look away.
Dandy nods, her heart fluttering with a perplexing and almost intoxicating blend of fear and determination as they speed toward their mission. A spark of her spirit has ignited, fueled by the kindling warmth of his disgustingly annoying belief in her ability to be someone. Hero nods back.
The anqas bolt forward toward the end of the world, the two of them pressing on until the break of night without rest, pressed by their shared commitment to face the darkness lurking on the horizon.
Maybe falling down once or twice isn’t so bad.
Pepper gags, the black-feathered anqa retching audibly.
"Oh, come on!” protests Junis, looking at the animal, holding the bag of feed she had just carried over her shoulder through half of the city. “This is premium-grade stuff!” she argues, gesturing to the sack of feed that she has just set down onto the ground of the alley behind the adventurers' guild. The massive animal looks at her with a large, yellow eye on the side of its head and then bends down, grabbing the bag with its massive beak. Junis lets out a scream, ducking as it swings its head, the twenty-kilo-fabric sack of feed ripping apart over her head as it flings it back down the way.
Seeds and dried fruit clatter all around her, running down into the inside of her shirt and hair.
Junis holds her arms out at her side, standing back upright. “…Pepper…” she says in a quiet sternness that tries to adapt to the shaking smile she’s barely keeping alight. Junis clasps her hands together. “That wasn’t very nice,” lectures the elf, shaking herself off. Junis pulls on the back of her shirt, seeds clattering out by the hundreds onto the ground. She can feel a bunch more, still stuck in there. Pepper hisses through his closed beak, looking at her with a very surprising level of judgment for an animal. Anqas aren’t dumb at all. They’re very clever and very rich in personality compared to other creatures. Mythology says they used to be able to talk, even. But that was a long, long time ago and nobody really believes it was true. “Your favorite feed is out of stock,” explains Junis, pulling a piece of dried apple out of her hair.
Pepper seems unimpressed.
Junis groans, holding the bridge of her nose for a moment, before she walks back and picks up the bottom half of the ripped back, holding it against herself as she stirs through it with one hand. “Look,” she says, holding up a handful of the contents. “They’re just nice little seeds and some fruit,” explains Junis, nibbling on a few to prove that they aren’t poisonous or anything. “Try it. Come on. Please?” she asks, holding out a handful for him too.
The anqas beak snaps shut where her hand was just a second ago, the half of the bag falling to the ground as Junis yelps, jumping back. “Hey!” she snaps at him. “Pepper! Bad!”
Pepper lets out a low, guttural purring that acts as a growl, the two of them glaring at each other.
Unbelievable.
It only took a few months, and now even the animals are spoiled here.
She sighs a long and profound exhalation. “Fine!” remarks Junis. “If I find another brand, will you at least try it?” she asks. “You have to eat something,” she adds.
Pepper watches her with a wide eye, keeping her in full focus. Junis shakes herself out, walking back out to the alley. “This is going to attract all sorts of rats…” she mutters, stepping over mounds of spilled seed.
Junis comes back, holding a new bag in her arms. This time only ten kilos. She’s learned her lesson.
The animal turns its head, watching her approach as she proudly displays the bag, hoisting it onto her forearm to present it. “How about this one?” asks Junis, slapping it with her palm. “This one is just partially dried fruit,” says the elf proudly. “It took a while to find, but I really went out of my way to -”
The load lifts out of her arms.
Junis opens her eyes, looking at the anqa, holding the corner of the fabric sack full of old fruit in its curved beak.
“…Don’t…” warns Junis. “— Pepper,” she says sternly, keeping an expression of the same tone on her face as she looks in its eyes.
The two of them stare at each other.
Junis yells, running away, as the animal chases after her to the end of its rope, swinging the sack at her. “Ow! Ow! Ow!” yells Junis, escaping out of reach and covering her head. She gets out of range, rubbing her fresh bruises. “Asshole!” she snaps back at the animal, watching it shake its head like a rabid dog. Fruit flies out in all directions, splattering against the walls and running down them, back to the ground. Pepper throws the sack away, stamping its leg her way. “Go hungry then!” she snaps. “See if I care!”
The two of them glare at each other.
Junis grasps her hair, pulling at it as hard as she can. A second later, she stamps past the stall, down the few steps, and opens the door to Acacia’s little home below the adventurers’ guild. The door slams behind her. A second later, a loud, harpy scream comes from the inside of the room, muffled by its four walls.
And then everything is quiet.
Junis opens the door again, exhaling deeply as she walks back up the steps, pointing at her eyes and then at the anqa. “This isn’t over,” she says, walking back out into the city again.
She found it.
Not a lot, as most of it is out of stock. But she found a small, single-kilo portion of the damn anqa’s favorite food mix. It really is unbelievable — the effort she has to go through for some bird.
Junis walks back into the alley, a triumphantly smug smile on her face as she gets ready to rub it into Pepper’s face. Actually, she might even start eating it herself and make him watch.
Has she really become this petty?
Junis stops, looking down at the small bag in her hands as she thinks, the sound of the bustling world audible all around her.
“Yes,” says Junis, smiling to herself as she walks forward. “Oh Peppeeeer~” she calls in a sing-song voice, shaking the little bag with both of her hands, its contents rattling around. “Look what I… found…” Junis stops, lowering the bag.
The alleyway is moving. It crawls.
Rats.
Dozens of rats scamper everywhere in all directions, dragging old fruit and scattered feed away into nooks and crevices in the many buildings. Her eyes wander up to Pepper, a few squirming rat tails dangling out of the side of his beak.
“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!” screams Junis with venom in her voice.
Pepper arcs his neck back, his long throat undulating like a snake, as he swallows several of them at once.