Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75650 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75650 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
It’s not a bad walk. We wander through the twisting, narrow valley of the canyon, and I marvel at just how deep it is and how the wind howls above but we’re barely touched by it down here. It’s definitely colder and the weather looks dreary above, but it’s not uncomfortable. Maybe this brutal season won’t be too bad, not if we’re shielded from the snow and there’s an easy fuel source to grab nearby. The canyon winds away from Croatoan, snaking in a few different directions. “Stay to the left,” Harrec instructs as we walk. “If you get separated, just turn around, put your right hand on the wall, and follow it back to the vee-lage.”
“Got it,” I say, and pick up the pace. I don’t intend on getting separated. No one is leaving my sight. Not even Chompy.
After about fifteen minutes of walking, I start to hear…birds. Not just one or two, but dozens. Hundreds. It sounds like the birdhouse at the zoo I last went to, caw after caw layering in on each other, so loud that even the wind howling above us can’t drown it out.
I slide a little closer to Pashov and put my hand on his tunic. He encircles my waist with his arm and gives me a smile, and some of my tension eases.
Even though there’s a ton of noise, I’m still not prepared for the sight of the dirtbeaks. When we enter the side canyon, it’s like being hit by a wall of them. The stink of bird poop smacks you in the face, and the cawing and hooting gets even louder. From floor to ceiling, they cover one of the icy walls of the canyon, fluffy white birds nesting in crevices and on shallow lips of rock. There has to be thousands of nests, all piled on top of one another, covering the wall. About a third of the nests are empty, and the ones that are occupied are inhabited by fat, adorable-looking balls of snowy white fluff with brown triangular beaks. Each bird squats over its nest, occasionally shaking its feathered wings and calling out to its neighbors.
“They’re so damn cute,” I tell the others. “How come we don’t eat them?” I mean, I don’t think I mind because they’re adorable, but it seems strange to me to have this many birds roosting and not want to toss a few of them into the stewpot.
Farli makes a face.
“Not good eating,” Pashov says again. “Look closer at their nests.”
I do, though I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be looking at. The nests look like they’re made of mud and form perfect little cups on the side of the canyon wall. I’m about to ask what I should be searching for when a bird flutters in and arrives at her nest. She’s got something big and round in her little beak, something far larger and flatter than she should be able to carry.
I realize a moment later that it’s a dvisti dung patty. My jaw drops. I watch as the bird flies to its nest and begins to pick the patty apart with its little beak, reinforcing its nest with what can only be a mix of bird poop and dvisti poop.
Lovely. It’s not a dirt nest at all. It’s a shit nest.
“Well, that explains the smell,” I say faintly.
“They are not good eating,” Pashov tells me again. “They can be eaten if starving, but the meat tastes unpleasant. But the nests do burn for a long time.”
“I see. I’d hate to take a nest that’s occupied, though.” I study the wall of calling, flapping birds. God, there really are so very many of them. “How come only some are in use?”
“Dirtbeaks mate for life,” Harrec says. “The female will lay an egg and the male will cover it. The female feeds him.”
“Poor female birds, always having to feed the men,” I tease. “There’s a good analogy for you.” When all three of them stare blankly at me, I clear my throat. “Um. So what happens if there’s no mate?”
Harrec shrugs. “The egg does not hatch.”
Oooh. “So there could be a bunch of eggs up there in empty nests because the female doesn’t have a mate?”
Pashov gives me a speculative look. “Do you want me to check for you?”
Oh god, do I ever. Eggs are my favorite food in the world. “Can we? I mean, if there’s one in a nest that’s been abandoned, it’s probably frozen, but I could thaw it.” And then scramble it. Or fry it. Or use it to cook up a potato and meat quiche…and now I’m drooling.
My mate nods firmly. “I shall get you an egg and a nest.”
“The old nests are at the bottom,” Farli chimes in. “You might have to look to the top.”