The Swashbuckling Ballad of a Vandagyre

     the Vandagyre could pretend

     that 'twas a ship he swabbed instead,

     and his goal met not an end.

     But noise and tavern squawks dispelled

     a single hint of such. And so,

     the Vandagyre swabbed and swirled

     the filthy wet mop to and fro.

     “Oi! Cabin boy!” a raucous cry

     did split the air straight to his ears.

     “Take these dishes to the back,

     er else ye walk the plank, ye hear?”

     A tightening of wings on broom.

     The Vandagyre's beak did grind,

     but saying nothing, he obeyed,

     collecting dishes left behind.

     The feel of wood beneath his wings

     brought thoughts unbidden to the front

     of his young mind. Should he stay here,

     or that brave Usul, should he hunt

     Down, and beg her pardons? Well,

     he reasoned, dropping dishes in

     the soapy sink. At least it pays

     a little. He could not begin

     to fathom how his life could change.

     Would he be here, forever stuck

     in grotty tavern? Such a thought

     was so abhorrent, that he'd plucked

     a host of feathers from his wings

     to keep from screaming. Even so,

     one art the Vandagyre'd learned,

     the art 'twould cause much pain and woe.

     Perhaps the Battledome would suit

     a Neopet of his new growth.

     But fighting to defend, or hurt,

     were far apart: he'd not do both.

     So deep within his thoughts was he

     that Giacomo heard not the noise,

     a grand commotion, filled with praise

     and wonder, most of all, of joys.

     The last of grog was scrubbed from mug.

     'Twas only then that he did see

     the Usul, eyes a-ringed in red.

     “Oh that's it; no more grog for me,”

     the Vandagyre muttered. “Hah,”

     a tiny chuckle did escape

     the Usul's lips. “It's nice to know,

     that after all, you still can jape.”

     “I really didn't mean--” “I know.

     You'd come from quite a desperate place.

     And neither did I mean a thing;

     You have, in fact, the quickest pace

     Of anyone I'd ever trained.”

     The Vandagyre dropped a plate,

     the tiny splash an echo small.

     “You'd taught before?” “No, that was bait,”

     The Usul grinned. “My words are true,

     until they're not.” He groaned and scrubbed

     a mug, annoyed with Hannah's games.

     “Look, Giack, back then I really flubbed

     your training, and I wasn't fair.

     'Twas up to me to be prepared

     for someone who was cornered. That

     was not your fault; you were just scared.”

     The Vandagyre mulled o'er her words,

     maintained his gaze upon the sink.

     “I'm sorry, too,” he whispered then.

     “Your grandfather could really think.”

     An agonizing pause. “Thank you,”

     His shoulder did her light paw squeeze.

     “I'd be so honored--” “Yes, of course.

     I warn you though, 'twon't be a breeze.

     I’m not one for these kinds of things,”

     Confessed the Usul, yet she held

     Her paws apart, inviting an

     Embrace, if he’d be so compelled.

          A subtle turning up of beak.

     The Vandagyre set a dry

     Mug upon a stand. He ran

     Into her arms, tried not to cry.

          “I’ll see you on the morrow, then?”

     The soapy Usul turned around.

     “I didn’t mean to get you full

     Of soap!” “Now Giack, in life I’ve found

          There’s bigger things to care about

     Than soapy suds in what you wear.

     If you would like, complete your shift,

     Tomorrow we’ll be off somewhere!”

     The Vandagyre paused. It might

     be good to gain a smidge of coin

     before he set out once again

     to see what treasures he'd purloin!

     Although his boss was most displeased

     to have a worker turn tail twice,

     he did acknowledge that he stayed

     instead of leaving in a trice.

          That night, in nest of down and leaves,

     the gangly Vandagyre stayed

     awake, a-gazing at the stars,

     and seeing what odd shapes they made.

          "You ready for a fly?" she asked,

     and noticed bags beneath his eyes.

     "Hey Giack, we could just take a ship,

     you're looking half your speed and size!"

          Brave Hannah whacked him on the back.

     "You poor young thing, you couldn't sleep

     a wink, now could you? It's so true!"

     She clapped her paws and gave a leap.

          "You really are a younger me!"

     "Yeah?" the Vandagyre perked

     right up. "Well now, that's highest praise."

     "I think, if only my wings worked

          a little, I could stay aloft.

     Where are we headed?" "Farther north,

     to Faerieland, just past the bluff.

     and when we're there, we'll both set forth

          into its twisting caverns deep."

     In preparation, Giacomo

     fluffed out his feathers, cracked his neck.

     “Agh! Don’t do that! Stop it! No!”

          The Usul winced at popping sounds.

     “I’m just a little stiff, is all,”

     Admission sheepish left his beak.

     “Now please, hang tight, try not to fall,”

          The Vandagyre teased. He lunged

     and gripped his teacher by her sleeves,

     with mighty talons of his kind

     to learn a second art of thieves.

          Away through blue and over sea,

     (with much less muscle strain this time)

     did Giacomo and his cargo

     through salty air, together, climb.

          “You got a whole lot stronger, kid,”

     Remarked the Usul, sticking out

     her tail to catch the salty spray,

     no more did she her pupil doubt.

          “Aw thanks, I did learn from the best!”

     The Vandagyre gave a laugh,

     resembling in more than tones

     a pirate’s nervous, erring gaffe.

          “If I can ask, if I may pry,”

     Began the Usul, almost shy,

     not like herself most of the time,

     the Vandagyre noted. “Try.”

          “Oh…did you know your grandpa well?”

     Above the spray, she was but heard,

     to well-tuned ears, but barely so:

     a whisper in the final word.

          “I can’t say that I knew him much.”

     The Vandagyre, thoughtfully

     dipped down a couple meters more.

     “But I remember bits, you see,

          a kindly smile, baby talk,

     and wings so toasty, safe, and warm,

     you’d be hard-pressed to find a place

     besides where you’d not come to harm.”

     For several moments, only wind

     and gentle water could be heard.

     The Usul gazed at Giacomo;

     her heart so clearly had been stirred.

     “It's absolutely true,” she said,

     her voice a rope pulled tight, “that some

     small fragments of a gem can serve,

     where otherwise there would be none.

     So thanks for sharing that with me.”

     The Usul cleared her throat. “But still,

     consider chosen family.

     They can be there when no one will.”

     The Vandagyre dropped a foot,

     the spray did dampen Hannah's paws.

     “Hey, watch it,” chuckled Usul fair.

     “Sorry, that just gave me pause...

     could you please clarify?” “Why sure,

     I'm sure you know of all my tales,

     but what they don't say is how much

     I care for friends. Why, such details

     are left completely out, as if

     the authors were afraid to write,

     as if one would retaliate.

     We've been through so much, though, I might

     compose a book myself!” declared

     the Usul. Giacomo, in turn,

     did sail much higher. “I suppose

     that after hunts, you would return

     to Kanrik, Armin, other friends?”

     The Vandagyre dared to hope,

     that in the time he'd known her, he'd

     be in that category. “Nope,

     they're busy with their own campaigns.”

     The Vandagyre glided, deep

     in thought did he remain. “Pull up!”

     The Usul groaned, for she was steeped

     up to her knees in seawater.

     “Look, I'm just saying, if, by chance,

     just one of us three needed help,

     at least one other would advance

     to aid someone, and that's what counts.”

     The Vandagyre nodded. “Here,

     I see some land, is that where we're

     supposed to go?” He squinted, peered

     across the sea. A dip of rock,

     and buildings lavender, among

     a verdant stretch with water bright,

     from pools and mountains had they sprung.

     “Aye, lad, that there be Faerieland.”

     The Usul did confirm, “That's right,

     you've never seen it, have you, Giack?

     It was a treat to see in flight!

     A pity it's now on the ground,

     but that's where your next task shall lie.”

     The Vandagyre gazed above,

     but all that was, was empty sky.

     Try though he might, he just could not

     imagine cities in the clouds.

     “The cavern's just this way,” she led

     the way with pointed paw. Aloud,

     the Vandagyre thought, “I've missed

     so much by growing up, it seems.”

     “Hey, so did I, in filthy bar,

     but we're here now, and we're a team.”

     With radiant smile upon his beak,

     the Vandagyre barreled down

     in front of stony, gaping mouths.

     Fair Hannah wrung her sopping gown.

     “The next fine art's to navigate.

     Within those caverns, which, I'll add,

     change every single day, is loot!

     But one false step that's to be had,

     And you'll be trapped without for hours.

     I'll wait right here, in any case,

     I've got...a note or two to pen.”

     The Usul hesitated. “Race

     towards your goal and navigate!”

     Tall Giacomo, he tumbled in,

     aware of lack of light and moist,

     (and stagnant!) air that lay within.

     The Vandagyre stretched his wings

     and looked around. He was enclosed,

     so utterly and frightfully,

     no air to seek to find repose.

     The books he'd read describèd not

     how tight a cave could really be.

     But with his mind on loot ahead,

     and what he could and couldn't see,

     the cavern might as well be air...

     Within his heart, that wasn't true.

     The moisture, hovering around

     the Vandagyre threatened to

     Enclose his lungs and wall him in.

     He told himself, it couldn't be!

     Those shadows on the wall that dance,

     the winding pathways, never free,

     the puddles turning into mud,

     The eerie voice ahead that calls

     my name...with Mother's voice? And, too,

     the pressing feeling of the walls...

     It can't be real. He did conclude.

     A left turn at a fork did yield

     a stronger voice, to which he rushed,

     discarding all his mental shields.

     “Oh, Mother, is it really you?”

     with sorrowed squawk, he ran towards

     the voice, the lumpy shadow, all:

     forgetting dreams and high rewards.

     “Chirp!” the voice again did say.

     His sagging feathers, in reply,

     did loose themselves from face and tail.

     With shattered hope and glist'ning eye,

     The Vandagyre then did greet

     the bearer of the voice. A round

     and bluish form, complete with wings,

     Did make another cheerful sound.

     “Why, you must be a Flosset,” mused

     the Vandagyre, awed at all

     the hair upon its head. “I've read

     that you don't like to be so small?”

     Affirmatively chirruping,

     it zoomed away through caverns dank.

     “Hey, wait for me!” the Vandagyre

     did call out, and followed rank.

     “I'm guessing I'm the first to read

     and understand your struggles, too?”

     Sweet Giacomo kept up the pace,

     while trying to take in all the new

     Surroundings he might never see

     again. The Flosset turned and gave

     a little nod. “Well, being small's

     not bad, you'd fit, within this cave

     alone, in every little crack,

     and you can find all sorts of things!”

     The Vandagyre grimaced as

     a long stalactite clipped his wings.

     “Actually, I'm here to search

     for faeries' treasure. Would you help?

     If you can understand, that is.”

     The Flosset turned, and gave a yelp.

     “I'm guessing that's a yes?” said he,

     continuing to follow it.

     Some passages began to look

     familiar, or else his wit

     Deserted him entirely.

     At last, at long last, they arrived

     before a shining pool, behind

     which lay a grove, where petpets thrived.

     A hole within the cavern's roof

     permitted sunlight's entrance, which

     enabled Giacomo to see

     a wooden chest, engraved and rich.

     The petpets, curious in gaze,

     disturbed the Vandagyre not,

     as he, with care, did flutter down.

     “Thanks much, you little Flosset tot.”

     The Vandagyre grinned, outstretched

     his wing in invitation glad.

     The Flosset chirped again and took

     the chance, alighting on the lad.

     “And now let's see what we have found,”

     He spoke aloud to no one but

     himself. The Vandagyre heaved

     the heavy lid, if but somewhat.

     Within were boards of wood, and yet,

     a single paint brush lay within.

     He gasped and took the brush, took care

     to keep paint far away from skin.

     “Let's get this back outside,” he breathed

     in reverence and sanctity.

     But e'en the tiniest of sounds

     reverberated frantically.

     The Flosset chirruped, sailed ahead,

     the Vandagyre did follow.

     The caverns that had pressed on him

     before now seemed to smile and glow.

     “Well that was rather fast!” exclaimed

     the Usul, moving hastily

     and stuffing papers in her bag.

     “So, did you find the loot? Let's see!”

     The Flosset nestled into down,

     and, utterly obscured by sight,

     did go unnoticed by the master

     Usul. “Took me a fortnight

     to navigate, how'd you succeed?”

     “A Vandagyre has his ways,”

     a subtle pat on Flosset's head.

     “Now here's what I found in the maze!”

     “Is this...?” the Usul gasped. “Aye, miss.”

     “A paint brush worthy of the fae.”

     “Why, it's the rarest you can find

     at all in there, I'd lose my way!”

     The Vandagyre grinned. With care,

     he tucked the wingèd brush away.

     “I've got some coin from yesterday,

     let's celebrate with grand buffet?”

     “Most certainly! You've earned it, lad.

     (I've got another note to pen.)

     I know the very place to go;

     we'll speak of your next lesson then.

     And best of all,” she hooted, “There's

     no need to fly, we'll amble on!”

     “Well, actually,” said Giacomo,

     “My taste for walking's all but gone.”

     One crater-hopping later, they

     had reached the tiny shop so quaint.

     The Vandagyre gasped. The food,

     the Neopets, and e'en the paint

     all seemed to be alive with wings.

     The Vandagyre's own did shake.

     “Now this right here's my kind of place,”

     He gazed upon a flying steak.

     The Flosset in his feathers twitched,

     and noting such, he bent his head.

     “Of course I'll save a piece for you,

     I owe you big time, little...Fred.”

     To be continued…