[Trade] Bless You

Oregón exhaled as he stepped out into the flat lands at the base of the snowy steppe. He watched the thin stream of vapour disappear into the morning air, faster than it had done yesterday. Spring was here, and he wasn't entirely thrilled about it. The shale pricked at his feet now that the soft snowy covering was truly retreating from the steppe. Oregón grimaced at the sensation but kept moving, knowing he would have to adapt as the lowlands returned to their bleak, rocky spring coat. He was glad of the more permanent covering where the pack was based, his pale rosettes and bright colouring did little to hide him in the muddy rain-soaked lowlands. There was little food to pick over in the steppe but at least what was there was possible for him to catch. He felt his lack of flexibility made him a weak link in the pack, but so far it hadn’t been dire enough to have him ousted. It was enough though, to leave him saddled with the less glamorous jobs, like the one he was on now.

“Are you keeping up?” he called back to the two hatchlings that followed. He waited for them as they slipped across the loose shale, their tiny claws unable to stabilise them the way Oregon's could. Ontario had assigned the wandering chicks to him, he had to babysit until the pack figured out what to do with them. They had been insistent about not staying still, wanting to keep moving and look for the third member of their mini pack. The steppe pack hadn't been keen on the idea of letting two children run off on their own, no matter how much they insisted they were able to take care of themselves. And Ontario was a hardass, but he wasn’t the kind of monster to let children out into the cold, or at least he didn’t want to look that way in front of the pack. So now, Oregon was leading them to lower ground in hopes it would quell their arguments for a little while. The pack didn't really have the room to take on hatchlings, Oregon was as much of a charity case that they were willing to take on, but Ontario knew packs nearby that would gladly expand their numbers. They just had to hold on and not let the kids get themselves killed until they heard word from those packs. Oregon looked back again and let out an involuntary squawk as he saw the hatchlings were no longer in sight.

Thistle kept both her and Foxglove’s heads down as they ducked into the longer grass away from their chaperone. Her partner wriggled out from under her claw and huffed, keeping a low profile but scowling at the purple raptor.

“Just ask me next time,” she hissed, shaking her head to raise her flattened feathers again.

“And let him know the plan?” Thistle scoffed, “I did what I had to, now we can find Misu.” She slalomed through the long grass and paused at each break in the clumps of greenery. She would look side to side, straining her eyes to hear any rustling aside from Foxglove behind her. When the coast was clear, she darted forward again to find cover in the next fully grown stands of grass. There were large, patchy growths across the lowlands, not having reached their full splendor, so their cover was limited. Still, Thistle had been in worse situations, with one more raptor to keep safe too. As they ran she could see motes of dust being kicked up and she swore under her breath. With how damp the spring grass was she hadn’t expected anything like that to give them away. She stopped suddenly, putting her wing out to block Foxglove from running forward. As her packmate skidded to a stop, more dust was shaken loose from the grass, drifting slowly in the heavy morning air. Foxglove noticed and grimaced, knowing that it would give them both away. Wordlessly, they both hunkered down to try and wait out the search. 

“Stay calm, stay calm,” Oregón said to himself as he scanned the tall grass. “They can’t go far, they only have little legs.” He darted into the thick of it, keeping his steps light as he feared standing directly on them. As he moved the pollen kicked off the blades with shocking density, sticking to his feathers the moment he stayed still. It was pretty early, and pretty damp, for this much pollen to be up in the air. Perhaps it could work in his favour?

Oregón swiped his feathery tail through the grass in a wide circle, disturbing enough pollen that it glittered like a late evening swarm of gnats. He swatted at the nearby flowers too, knowing they would have even more pollen to share than the grass. He watched it fall, landing back on the ground with no aplomb. He waited for a moment, straining his ears and eyes as he watched the grass for any sound or sight of movement.

“ACHOO!”

The high pitched sneeze had Oregón locked on instantly, running forward and skidding to a stop where he heard it. He parted the long grass with his claws and saw the two hatchlings staring right back, their eyes wide and watering. His heart dropped for a moment, but he hoisted it right back up when he reminded himself that of course their eyes were watering, they had hayfever.

“There you are,” he said, trying to keep his voice soft and non-judgemental. From the smaller one’s reaction he hadn’t done a good job and she began to shrink away from him. “No, look,” he pleaded, “C’mon, I can’t lose you guys again, the pack will never let me live it down.”

“Dey sound bean,” Foxglove said. Oregón tilted his head at her.

“She said they sound mean,” the purple one clarified, not as stuffed up as her companion but her eyes were swollen into narrow slits that made her look incredibly dubious of him. In fairness, that seemed to be Thistle's default expression around the snowy steppe pack. It was hard to take either of them seriously when their noses were running and they couldn't stop themselves from sneezing.

“Ah, looks like you two got a nasty dose of hay-fever,” Oregón said sympathically, “whenever the grass and flowers come back in the spring they explode with pollen and that makes your nose all itchy, and it's doubly bad when you've only got little noses,” he explained.

“Does it ged any bedder when you’re a growed up?” Foxglove bumbled through her blocked nose.

“It does, don’t worry," Oregón chuckled, “see here.” He leaned in to one of the large purple blooms and pressed his nose to its core to take a big inhale. With a howl he fell backwards, his nose rapidly swelling. He clawed at his muzzle, whimpering as pain bloomed from the point of contact.

“Are you okay?” Thistle asked, her head turned in his general direction while Foxglove stared with wide, frightened eyes. The older raptor made a long, pitiful whine as he pawed around his snout.

“A bee,” he eventually managed to choke out. It seemed that hayfever wasn't the only adverse reaction a raptor had to encounter in the spring.