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Obviously, this barrel of monkeys couldn’t be trusted with Rin’s safety.
“If you want something done right, do it yourself,” he muttered to himself and then remembered he had a partner now. One who could fly.
“Make sure they get back to camp safely,” he sent to Amun.
The bird responded with a blast of images and fragmented thoughts Axe couldn’t translate. “Repeat that but slower.”
Apparently, the bird understood snark because this time the communication was painfully slow. He received two images of the retreating group from slightly different perspectives and a sense of plurality.
“Gotcha. You don’t need to follow them yourself because you’re linked to the rest of the subjects.” He remembered what Rin had said about focusing on intent when communicating with the birds and tried to make his thoughts clear.
Amun sent him a pulse of acknowledgment and approval.
“Smart ass bird,” he grumbled to himself, more amused than annoyed. He watched until Rin and the others faded from sight before turning toward his cabin. Food and a hot shower would have to wait until Amun was settled.
Where the hell would he put the hawk? In the house? Unlikely. In the chicken coop? Hell fraxxing no. That was a recipe for disaster.
“Amun?” he sent to his new companion. “How do you feel about the smell of sawdust and wood?”
His first sight of home always gave him a warm feeling he’d never known until Haven. His friends and fellow rangers, Wreckage and Ruin, had kept an eye on the place while he’d been gone. That mostly meant they’d watered his small garden and taken care of his chickens. They knew better than to go inside his house.
Amun flew down to land on the roof of the chicken coop. His arrival sent the small flock squawking in alarm as they bolted for shelter.
“Food?” the bird sent.
“Not your food. My food. You protect?”
The hawk sent a flash of amusement and something Axe translated as, “I protect stupid food birds.”
“Thanks,” he said aloud. He unlocked the door and checked to ensure the chickens had food and water before securing the coop again. The local predators would be happy to devour his entire flock if given half a chance. Because of that, his birds lived in the chicken version of a high-security prison with heavy locks, unbreachable fences, and a metal plate buried beneath the entire structure.
“I live there.” He pointed to his cabin, a two-story building that had taken him months to build because he’d done it all himself. Well, almost all. He’d borrowed one of the Vardarian construction machines to create the basic structure. The rest had been a labor of love.
“I think you’ll be comfortable in my workshop. It’s large, warm, dry, and I can leave the doors open so you can come and go as you please. Later, we’ll figured out something for the winter months.”
Amun chirped and took to the air. He crossed the clearing in a few seconds and landed just outside the shop. He immediately sent an image of the inside of the space to Axe, accompanied by a sense of inquisition.
Axe explained as he caught up. “This is where I work. I chop down trees and bring the wood here to turn it into other things. Furniture mostly. Some art pieces and sculptures. I trade or sell them and use the income to buy what I need.” He didn’t know how much of that Amun would understand, but he explained it all, anyway.
“I used to be a soldier. But when I was sent here I wanted to do anything but fight. I helped clear the land for the colony. That’s when I learned how to fell trees and, well, how to be a sort of lumberjack. Sometimes I do patrols in the woods, too. You can come with me if you like.”
The hawk bobbed his head in what Axe swore was a nod and hopped inside. Axe stopped to flip on the lights and then followed Amun into his favorite place in the galaxy.
The scent of sawdust and wood hung in the air, and everywhere he looked were things he’d created. Someone on his design team had included a few basic skills in his programming. Not only could he cook, but his skill set also included a decent understanding of wood carving. He’d whittled all sorts of small objects during his scouting years. He’d never been allowed to keep any of them, though. Cyborgs weren’t permitted to have possessions since they were considered to be possessions.
That wasn’t true anymore. Now he was free to create and keep anything he wanted. Every tree he used was carefully selected and felled with the axe he always carried with him. He’d chopped down several trees on his last patrol. He’d have to go out and retrieve them soon. Overhangs on both sides of the workshop provided plenty of space to set out raw logs and other pieces to dry before they were used. Axe breathed in deeply, letting the scent settle deep in his lungs. A sense of calm washed over him, smoothing away the jagged edges of his personality. At least for the moment.
By that time, Amun had already flown up into the rafters and chosen a perch.
“Will this work for you?” he asked the bird.
Amun sent him a strong pulse of approval and pleasure.
Well, that was easy. It only took a few minutes to find a suitable container and fill it with fresh water. Once that was done, he glanced up at Amun. “I’m going inside. You’re welcome to come in, too. But if you make a mess of my home, I won’t be happy.”
Amun issued a strident chirp accompanied by a sense of displeasure.
Axe held up a hand. “Don’t get your feathers in a twist. I wasn’t trying to insult you. I would say the same thing to anyone I invited into my home.” Not that he’d had any visitors. His fellow rangers all had at least a vague idea of where he lived, but very few actually visited, and none had ever been inside. Most of them enjoyed their solitude as much as he did.
