Mantrin Imperial Guard - 004 Homestead

Chapter 9: Twilight Skies

Author's note: I would like to thank Arrow Tibbs, for her contribution of the Ryrjhii race and for giving Jirro's mother a beautiful name.

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Jirro and Lyreht

"No."

The single word that escaped his hooked beak was like a statement. As if saying it like that could alter the past and undo all that went wrong. All the events that had led up to this moment. It was also an instinctive response born out of resentment. His father's glazed blue-green eyes looked back at him as if he didn't quite understand to what part of his story the statement applied. If Jirro had to give an answer to this question himself, it would be 'everything'. Shaking his head without averting his gaze, he was aware of the effect it had on people.

His father's bottom lip quivered when he opened his beak as if to say something in return. He then closed his mouth when he swallowed, flinching as he tried to move his tail in a different position to reduce the discomfort while he sat on his floor pillow.

"No," Jirro repeated, his voice still coated with restrained anger. "You can do this to me. But I am not letting you do this to those children. You are not going to enter their lives in a moment of regret and then die on them."

Lyreht still didn't seem to know how to respond. He took a breath, massaging his upper knees with his hands. It was Ahwe who broke the silence as she approached them, in both hands a short canoe-shaped glass, filled to about one-third with a somewhat cloudy bronze liquid. Lowering himself on his legs, he held both containers out to them.

"Trust me," was all he said, as they both took their respective glasses, each without hesitating.

Ticking his claws against the clear glass, Jirro lifted it to his beak and used his sense of smell to figure out what Ahwe had given them. Stirring the contents of the glass, by making back and forth movements with his hand, he inhaled the scent of the drink, detecting notes of spice on a layer of sweet and bitter. Ahwe was famous for creating surprising flavors by mixing drinks, their origins sometimes laying beyond this world. Trusting him was what he often did.

Raising the glass to his lips, he dipped the tip of his tongue in first and took a small sip, letting the drink roll over his taste buds a couple of times before swallowing while Lyreht did the same. The flavor was strong, yet enjoyable, and instantly warming. He no longer seethed with resentment and felt like he had regained true control of his temper.

"I am not asking you to forgive me," Lyreht muttered, more to the wooden floor planks than to his son. It seems he had cobbled up the words to continue, though it still came out as if he didn't know if it were the right ones. "And you're wrong." Lyreht's eyes found his again. "I did want to tell you a bit more about your hahme. I thought you would like to know more about who she was. More than just her name."

"Lets..." Jirro began, unsure if he was ready to hear more about his mother, though considering Lyreht's condition it was a safe bet it was now or never. "Let's just sit for a little while longer and finish our drinks first."

Lyreht nodded in reluctance. Jirro noticed it was hard for his father to look him in the eyes. He knew he had a hard stare, especially when he was angry. It also had something to do with the intense emerald color of his irises. But above all there was regret. That was the only true reason why he could only do so for a few ticks at a time.

He tipped his glass for the final time after about ten millicycles of silence. Lyreht had already finished his drink in half that time, killing the second half by fidgeting with his glass. Jirro grunted, nodding at his father's chest.