Chapter 16: To Snack or Not to Snack?
Gaia World, 5 Days After the Shattering
Pawel knelt beside the lizard's sprawled corpse, the morning light filtering through the canopy in dappled patches that warmed his back. The air carried the earthy tang of damp soil and the faint, metallic scent of blood from the fresh kill. He drew his bone knife from his pack—the crude tool he'd fashioned from a monster's remains, its edge jagged but serviceable. Skinning wasn't something he'd practiced much; his hands fumbled at first, the knife catching on the lizard's slick, blue-tinged hide instead of slicing cleanly. He grimaced, adjusting his grip, and worked methodically, peeling back the skin in uneven strips. The flesh underneath was pale and firm, yielding reluctantly to his inexperienced cuts.
As he separated the meat from the guts, his mind wandered to the bird huddled a short distance away.
It was about the size of a pigeon, its feathers a mottled blend of earthy browns and vibrant greens that blended seamlessly with the forest floor. A sharp, hooked beak curved menacingly from its small head, hinting at predatory instincts—perfect for tearing into prey, though right now it looked more pitiful than fierce, its wings sprawled unevenly as if it did not know how to fold them properly.
Though he'd joked about eating it, there was hardly any meat on it anyway.
Pawel had never had a pets in his adulthood. He liked animals, and dogs in particular, but the idea of taking on long-term responsibility had never appealed to him .
On top of that, what would have been the point in the commie block he lived in? There was nothing for a dog to guard, and a pet would have been fine without Pawel's care anyway, so there was simply no justification for having one in his apartment.
Now, though... He looked at the pitiful creature contemplatively.
"You aren't going to live long on your own, are you?"
Pawel considered the potential benefits of having a pet bird.
This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
"Would I even know how to train you?" he mused.
"Bah! I'm getting ahead of myself. Would you even come along with me?"
Pawel glanced at the bird again, noting how it eyed him warily, its beak parting in a soft, protesting coo.
"Alright, Snack," he muttered, carving off a small chunk of raw lizard meat.
"Let's see if you're worth the trouble."
He approached slowly, holding out the morsel. The bird flinched, hopping back on unsteady legs, its feathers ruffling in alarm. It clearly wanted nothing to do with him—eyes darting, body tensed as if ready to bolt despite its apparent exhaustion. Pawel paused, not wanting to scare it off entirely. He needed a different approach.
Settling onto the ground a safe distance away, he closed his eyes briefly and tapped into his mana sense. The familiar weave of energies unfolded: the steady pulse of green mana from the surrounding flora, the stubborn earth below, the fleeting azure wisps of air above. The bird's aura flickered into view—a faint, verdant glow laced with something wild and untamed, pulsing erratically like a heartbeat in distress.
Pawel focused inward, drawing on his own mana reserves. This wasn't like pushing energy to heal or enhance; it felt subtler, like extending a thread of intent rather than forcing a change. He visualized friendship, safety—a calm assurance that he meant no harm. At the same time, he murmured softly, his voice low and soothing:
"Easy there. I'm not gonna hurt you. See? Food. Good stuff." He tossed the meat closer, letting it land just within reach.
The bird hesitated, its aura shifting slightly—a tentative ripple that brushed against his own.
Pawel couldn't tell if his mana was truly conveying meaning or if it was just the food and gentle tone doing the work. But the bird's demeanor changed, its tension easing, its feathers smoothing as it pecked cautiously at the offering.
Emboldened, Pawel tried again, inching forward with another piece. This time, it didn't retreat.
After several minutes of patient coaxing, the bird allowed him to draw near enough to touch.
Pawel moved deliberately, scooping it up with surprising gentleness. It squirmed at first but settled quickly, its small body warm against his palms.
"There we go," he whispered, a grin tugging at his lips. He fashioned the top of his backpack into a makeshift nest—rolling the edges down and padding it with soft leaves—so the bird could perch securely, its head peeking out from the open top.
Gathering the lizard meat and refilling his bottles from the stream, Pawel headed back to the spot where he'd spent the night: the open forest hall with its towering tree pillars and bare ground.
He set the bird down carefully on a patch of grass, where it hopped about but stayed close, watching him with curious tilts of its head.
Wood was plentiful here—fallen branches and dry twigs scattered amid the ferns. Pawel piled them into a small pyramid, setting it alight with his lighter effortlessly.
The fire crackled to life, its warmth chasing the morning chill as smoke curled upward, carrying the sharp scent of burning wood.
He skewered chunks of lizard meat on sticks and held them over the flames, turning them until the flesh sizzled and browned.
The bird perked up at the aroma, its beak snapping eagerly. Pawel tore off a cooled piece and offered it; the creature snatched it greedily, devouring it with evident delight.
"Likes it cooked, huh? Fancy taste for a wild thing."
As they shared the meal, Pawel kept experimenting with the mana connection—sending pulses of calm, trying to guide the bird to move where he wanted. But his efforts were mostly ignored.
"Perhaps it was just the food that convinced it, and not my mana?"
Regardless, by the time the fire died to embers, Pawel leaned back against a tree trunk, the bird perched nearby on his knee, now accustomed to his closeness.
"Gonna need a name for you," he mused, staring at the canopy above.
"Well, you were a snack for that lizard, so..."
