That Don’t Impress Me Much : Part 15

  • Post category:Writing

Wordcount: 729 words
Rating/Warnings: PG-13, Fights, Cussing
Summary: May breaks up the fight and is Not Pleased.

NOTE: This is the first draft of a story, so it will most likely contain plot holes, retcons, and other inconsistencies. I’ll come back and fix things once the story (or arc) is complete!

< Previous | Index | Next >


And lo, They Fight!

May heard the fight start and turned in time to catch a glimpse of black hatchling that was quickly buried under the full-grown red. She looked about for the red’s rider, but did not see anyone in sight. The rest of the crowd has turned as well, but no one made a move to stop the fight or drag the adult off.

The problem was that the fight was not staying put. The two foxhawks were on the move, the black looking for cover and the red blind in its pursuit. And there was a very real danger that they might collide with an adult or child who did not duck quite fast enough. If goose wings could break your arm, she hated to think what a foxhawk wing could do.

She might not like animals, but May had seen her share of dog fights. She grabbed a bucket of water, left down for the dogs, and ran towards with fight, once she was in range, still with no sign of a rider or of the red foxhawk stopped, and threw the contents at the red foxhawk’s head.

There was a startled squawk and the red foxhawk reared back, wings flailing. She ducked until the wing sweep and tossed the now empty bucket to one side.

“HEY! HEY!” She waved her arms to catch its attention.

They were told time and again how smart foxhawks were, how much like people. Time to test that theory. That and she was pretty pissed that the rider had not shown up by now.


The red foxhawk folded its wings, with a sort of sideways backward hop and cocked its head to look down on her, shaking off the water, but always keeping her in sight with one yellow rimmed eye.

The black hatchling dove in behind her at the first opportunity and was making distressed noises that sounded like a cross between a very small kitten and a baby bird. Which was a pretty pathetic noise for something as large as it was.

Sure that the red foxhawk was no immediate danger she paused to glare down at the hatching. “Don’t even try that game, you did -something- to deserve this, I just don’t want any of us getting hurt over your stupidity.”

The black foxhawk merped, but only toned down the keening, it did not stop.

“Shit, you are hurt.” She turned to glare at the red foxhawk. “What the hell were you thinking? There are people here, children here, keep this in your warrens, if you have to do it at all.”

The red foxhawk narrowed itself eyes, and reshuffled its wings, then it’s head snapped around as the missing rider finally appeared.

“What’s going on here?” The rider was older and angry looking and May found that she did not care.

“You know what’s going on, I am sure he, she?” she shrugged, “they kept you well involved. If you’d been here I would not have had to douse them. Be more careful of your charges.”

The foxknight frowned then looked over at the red foxhawk who was apparently adding its own two cents to the unheard conversation. After a moment the foxknight sighed. “You’re right, I should have been here sooner. You did a good job, my job, and I thank you for it.”

There was a pause. “Um, he’s not yours is he?” The knight gestured to the black hatchling, who was standing again, although a bit off kilter.

“No.” May looked down and the black foxhawk looked up with a slightly apologetic meep. “Although you’d better find him someone or I have a feeling there’s going to be a lot more water in his future.”

The foxknight murmured her agreement and led the hatchling and her own foxhawk off to find medical care.

Well that was exciting. Her father grinned and handed her a towel, her run with the water bucket had left almost as much water on her as ended up on the fighters.

“Exciting is not the word I’d use.” She dried off, then scooped up the bucket and they headed back towards the tent to return it. Her heart was racing and she still felt the adrenaline high that came from putting her trust in the fact that foxhawks were intelligent and not just smart.


< Previous | Index | Next >

Martha Bechtel

My name is Martha Bechtel and I write fantasy and science fiction stories, paint small model horses silly colors, cast resin and plaster magnets, code random code (and Wordpress plugins)... Come on in and join in the fun!