[Mkguild] Divine Travails of Rats - Pars IV. Infernus (v)

[C. Matthias]

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Metamor Keep: Divine Travails of Rats
by Charles Matthias and Ryx

Pars IV: Infernus

(v)

Saturday, May 12, 708 CR


Charles rubbed his hands together to wipe the 
feel of it from his flesh as he lifted his gaze 
to the condor. He yearned to reach out and 
embrace him, even as part of him wanted to batter 
him about the skull with his Sondeshike. All he 
managed in the mix of such confusion was a long-breathed name. “Baldwin.”

The former Long Scout lifted his beak and backed 
a single step from him. His voice was coarse and 
grating. “Charles Matthias. I recognize you even 
with the scarred face. I recognize you even 
without that cloak.” He stood and stretched out 
his wings and for a moment the rat recalled the 
Raven Queen's nightmarish presence, but it was a 
fleeting similarity; one quick to flee. There was 
a measure of insubstantiality about the condor 
that made him only a pale shadow to the Raven. 
There was no danger to his soul from this dead thing.

Charles met the condor's stare and then gestured 
along the road. “The path for your redemption is 
this way. Come with me, Baldwin. I entreat you as one Long Scout to another.”

The suggestion made the bird sneer. “I betrayed 
them and no longer bear their emblem. Do not waste such honors on me.”

“You regret your betrayal?”

Baldwin laughed, a horrible screeching sound that 
grated his ears. He backed his soft, 
saucer-shaped ears beside his head and drooped 
his whiskers. But before he could amend his 
question, the condor took a step forward along 
the road, curious eyes cast in that direction. 
“Of course I regret it. It ended with my death! 
My name is now a curse amongst the Longs; of that I am sure.”

“Your name is never spoken.”

The condor glared forward and folded his wings 
along his back. His beak bobbed forward and back 
with each step, dark eyes turned inward, 
smoldering over those words. Charles walked an 
arm's length at his side, while his master 
followed only a pace behind, unobtrusive but 
ever-present in the rat's mind. No words or ideas 
were suggested to him to help him; for the moment 
Qan-af-årael acted only as a confidant bulwark of 
strength. Against Baldwin no such strength need by assayed.

“Never?”

“Not since your funeral. Your family was told you 
were killed during the defense of Long House as 
was everyone else. The Longs all know, as does the Duke, what really happened.”

Baldwin fluttered his wings but said nothing for 
several seconds. Charles stared past the top of 
his red-skinned head at a human being driven 
through a grinder, curls of black mucus spilling 
forth like sausage. He did not avert his eyes, 
but let them glide across the scene until they 
passed to a new machine. The road continued 
beneath his paws, the distance remaining 
uncertain before them. How far had they come 
already? How long had it taken to find Baldwin again?

With an indrawn sigh the condor remarked. “Misha 
was honorable in that at least. He knew I had 
been estranged from my family and still shielded 
them.” He squawked and hunched forward. “I don't 
suppose he is sending them my pay?”

Charles shrugged. “I have not lived at Long House 
since February of last year so I cannot say what 
arrangement Misha has made.” Neither said 
anything for a few paces and so the rat ventured 
the question that had lain on his heart from the 
moment he had heard the news almost a year and a 
half-before. “Why did you do it, Baldwin? Why did 
you betray the Longs and Metamor?”

The dead Long Scout tilted his head back as if 
staring into the sky to offer Eli an uncouth 
opinion. “Arrogance. Greed. They both played a 
role. I was commander of a company of soldiers at 
Three Gates. I'd just been promoted a few months 
before. And then I was turned into this, this...” 
He thrust out his wings toward the path ahead as 
if they were an abomination. “I became the condor 
you see now. Metamor's armies were decimated and 
my company was mostly dead; my second had died a 
dog with an arrow through his neck only a moment 
before the counter curse restored what little of 
our man-shape it could. Our forces had to be 
reorganized. A week after Three Gates my command 
was gone and I was tasked with aerial patrols.”

Baldwin hunched forward again, though his wings 
were still partly extended, the claws at one end 
twitching and grasping at the air. “Misha 
Brightleaf asked me a month later to join the 
Long Scouts. My combat skills and my bravery at 
Three Gates marked me as a good candidate. I 
eagerly accepted. I was the very first he asked – 
the very first! – and I knew I would be leading 
my own team once we had enough scouts to make a 
second. Instead, when the time came, he put Craig 
in charge. And when Misha no longer led the teams 
himself, he raised Lisa – a woman born and now a 
child! – to Team Leader. I who had proved my 
mettle and proved my ability even before Three 
Gates was left without any distinction; I was the 
flier and that's all I would ever be.

“I told Misha many times that he needed to bring 
more fliers into the Longs but he refused. 
Mammals always prefer other mammals! So, for all 
of this, I found myself resenting Misha.” Charles 
grimaced and nodded as he listened. He recalled 
Baldwin griping that he was the only flier 
amongst the Longs one of the few times they had 
shared drinks together. The conversation had 
ended not long after when a bunch of dogs caused 
a ruckus at the Deaf Mule that had everyone 
fighting and then most everyone singing. Baldwin 
had been a new friend in those days; simpler days 
before all of his cares and woes.

But Baldwin did not give him time to reminisce. 
“Two years before I was killed, I was met by one 
of Nasoj's spies and offered gifts merely to 
listen to his offer. It is a hazard we Long 
Scouts face, but, as angry toward Misha as I was, 
I did not do what I should have done. I kept the 
gifts and said nothing of the spy. A year later 
and the spy returns with more gifts. This time, 
full of resentment, I listened. And within days I 
became a traitor. I gave up Craig and Caroline. 
Honestly, I didn't care if Craig lived or died; I 
hoped Caroline would die just to make Misha suffer.

“In the end when it was only Craig who suffered 
death I even thought perhaps now Misha would 
finally give me what I deserved, command of my 
own team. I even told myself I would find a way 
to benefit from such a position, passing more 
information to Nasoj's men, and from them 
receiving word of Lutin encampments they did not 
care about that I could claim credit for 
routing.” The condor snorted, a disgusting sound 
that seemed more a retch. “But even that was not 
to be and that woman Laura was given Craig's 
command instead. In that moment, when asked to 
help with the winter attack, I gladly promised to 
bring Nasoj's men into Long House in exchange for riches and power of my own.”

He swung his head back and glared down his hooked 
beak at the rat. “And that is the traitor you wish to redeem.”

Charles took a deep breath, the sound of talons 
and claws striking metal beneath them the only 
echo in the endless, cavernous building. For 
several seconds he pressed his tongue against the 
back of his incisors, pondering how pride had led 
to resentment and finally to hatred in the 
condor's soul. This bird, once a faithful 
defender of Metamor and who had shed blood for 
her had turned to her enemies for the power and 
riches he thought he deserved. Could he be redeemed?

His right eye flicked upward toward Qan-af-årael 
who was already watching him. Deep blue eyes in 
the midst of his ivory-limned face and flowing 
black hair never wavered in their regard for him. 
They were both sentinel and master, seeing into 
the rat's heart and mind to guide it, but also 
seeing beyond the rat to all who would threaten 
him. Charles felt in that intense and yet soft 
glance a powerful assurance that stilled the 
nascent anxiety that had crept into his heart while listening to the condor.

Resolute, the turned his snout to fix the bird 
with a gentle smile. “Baldwin, do not doubt me 
when I say that all of us can be redeemed from 
our sins. You have done much that is horrible, but you can still be redeemed.”

The condor offered a guttural squawk. “How, 
perchance, do you think it possible? I am already 
in the grasp of the daedra and cannot leave.”

“Not as you are, no,” Charles agreed, one eye 
noting the lip of the funnel beyond the next 
stretch of machines. No sign of the demon imp's 
sliced body remained. “But a truly selfless act 
done for one whom you have transgressed will 
suffice. By that you will be redeemed and by that 
you will be free of the daedra's traps. And when 
you do this, you will know peace in your heart 
and love for your fellow Keeper that you once 
knew.” Charles offered him a genuine smile and added, “My friend.”

Baldwin half turned his head and something burned 
in his eyes. Contempt? Incredulity? Charles did 
not have time to ponder before the bird swung his 
face away. In a low warble the condor said, “We were never friends.”

“I thought we were.” Charles drooped his whiskers 
and eased a pace away from Qan-af-årael to walk 
closer to the former Long. “I wanted to be.”

“You were just one more instance of that damn fox 
ignoring my merit. I pretended with you and with 
all the others.” A bitterness filled his voice as 
he half-turned his head to stare at the last 
machine before the funnel. It was formed by a 
series of pistons driving down into a narrow 
chambers. Several humans were crushed together in 
each chamber, pulverized bones piercing through 
flesh along arms, legs, and what used to be 
chests. The black tar squeezed from every pore 
and what remained of their faces, smeared across 
the glass or pounded into the hollow cracks of 
bones and sinew of their fellow damned, were 
locked in perpetual screams. Baldwin said nothing 
as he gazed hard at each. Only when they passed 
the very last of them and the chamber opened up 
around the funnel into which Charles had to 
convince Baldwin to fling himself did the condor 
speak again in a low, reedy tone. “I was your enemy.”

Charles stopped a pace from the lip of the funnel 
and his master paused two paces further back. He 
could feel the Åelf's scrutiny with both eyes and 
mind. The presence within him assured him of one 
thing; he would not belong to Agemnos. In that he 
would trust. “Enemy then, perhaps. But now you 
can be a true friend, Baldwin. We need go no 
farther than this.” He gestured at the funnel and 
the turning gears at its base.

Baldwin's beak followed where the rat pointed and 
his eyes narrowed as he inspected the sloping 
walls and iron gears, each tooth coming to a 
sharp point, interlaced with dozens of others in 
a vicious combination. They turned no faster tan 
a water wheel in mild current, but no human 
strength could balk those gears in their course. 
All flesh that fell to those teeth would be 
ripped to pieces. And from the look of disgust 
and trepidation in the condor's eyes, Charles saw that he knew it too.

“What is this place? Why did you bring me here?”

“This is where you will redeem yourself, Baldwin. 
Beneath those gears is the passage I need to 
follow to leave this realm. I am searching for 
the soul of my son who was stolen from my family. 
If I have any hope of finding him I must pass 
through that gateway. But Agemnos has blocked it 
by that machine and the only way for it to open 
is if a mortal soul passes through the machine 
first. I was told I could only free one soul and 
I chose you. If you wish to leave this place and 
to make amends for all that you have done in your 
treachery, you need only fling yourself into this 
machine for my sake. Please, Baldwin, it is my only hope.”

The condor blinked, stared at him, tilted his 
head to peer down into the funnel, and then 
stared at the rat again. His voice warbled with 
incredulity. “I would never have leaped into such 
a pit even before I turned against Misha and 
Metamor! I certainly will not do it for you, Charles!”

Charles ground his molars together even though 
he'd expected such a refusal. “You have no other 
choice. There is no way for you to leave this 
place. You can either return to the vats where 
you will be processed into their soul tar so that 
nothing remains of you, or you can leap into this 
pit and while suffering greatly, still retain 
some part of yourself as you go Beyond. If you 
remain, you can never be redeemed and will never 
know peace. You will be nothing but a traitor. 
But if you go then you will know peace and your 
name will be spoken of with love and admiration. 
You must see the wisdom in that.”

Baldwin thrust out his wings, the right catching 
the rat beneath the snout. “Peace? Peace! There is no peace for the damned!”

Charles winced from the pain but did not show it. 
“You don't have to be damned.”

The condor glared at him, turning away from the 
funnel and stepping forward, one talon scratching 
at the metal floor. The sound grated in his ears 
and made his whiskers and tail droop. “I. Am. 
Damned!” His words were uttered with such fire 
that his whole frame seemed brazen. Shadows 
stretched across the machines, flashing darkness 
over the mouth of the funnel. Charles stepped 
back, his toes resting in the silhouette of his master thrown upon the floor.

His thoughts flew back to the Åelf, a sudden 
anxiety filling him that needed strength. A 
single plea flew through his thoughts and into the other. Help me.

The reply, a gentle caress that settled within as 
a fallen leaf settles upon the surface of a still 
lake, came without hesitation. I will, Núrodur.

He felt his master's long, slender fingers rest 
upon his shoulder. A slight push was all it took 
to drive the rat forward three steps until the 
long shadow of the Åelf touched the condor as 
well. Charles extended his arms, palms 
outstretched, claws spread away as much as he 
could, a calm resolve overcome his countenance 
and manner. His voice felt deeper and words 
seemed to flow from the presence and across his 
tongue as if he were but a sieve for water.

“Baldwin of Metamor, hearken to my voice.” The 
condor had begun to turn away in disgust when 
those words struck him. His wings, spread wide as 
if he were ready to take flight in the endless 
building, lowered and the little clawed fingers 
he bore at the end quivered. His dark eyes in 
ruddy face paled and remained transfixed. The 
skin twitched as if he yearned to fling himself 
into the funnel merely to escape the rat's powerful regard.

“You are full of bitterness. All your life you 
were denied what you believed should be yours. 
You let that bitterness turn to hatred and you 
struck at those you admired and loved. You still, 
in your diseased heart clamor for Misha's 
approval. You want it. You need it. And you 
cannot have it and that rankles you more than any 
other raving pain these machines do to you. You 
know I am right. Speak it! Admit it! You hate him 
because you still want something from him.”

Baldwin almost stumbled backward, but the strange 
power that filled Charles, Núrodur of the Lord of 
Colors, held the bird Keeper firmly in place. The 
funnel yawned a few paces to their right, the 
gears buzzing as they spun one against another. 
Dark eyes trembled, and he shook his beak back 
and forth. “No! I... I cannot... I...” Baldwin 
tipped back his head and let out a hideous 
screech that made the air shimmer. The light 
twisted around them in that moment, but they 
remained beneath his master's shadow.

Charles reached out and clasped the bird on the 
shoulder, gripping him tight, his claws digging 
into his dark feathers. “Tell me. What do you want from Misha?”

Baldwin yanked backward but the rat felt a power, 
different from his Sondeck, but seemingly endless 
in its potency, tighten his muscles even firmer 
than stone. The condor gasped, struggling and 
heaving his chest, but he could no more lift it 
than he could his wings. The air felt heavy, and 
before him the bird began to wither. “I... I want... I...”

The rat relaxed his grip for a moment but did not 
let go. His eyes brightened and in a soft voice, he said, “Go on. Tell me.”

“I... I want...” Baldwin swallowed and took a 
deep breath, eyes closing. A tear perched at the 
edge of one lid. “I want him to see. I want Misha 
to see that I can do more than just fly. I want 
Misha to see that I can plan and that I can lead! 
I want Misha to see that I am worth the coffers 
of Metamor and worth the rank of captain I was 
denied! I want Misha... I want them all to see 
that I am an extraordinary warrior and leader! I 
want it! I wanted it more than anything!”

Charles gripped the condor on the shoulder, and 
then pulled him forward. His other arm wrapped 
about the bird's neck as he drew him into a tight 
embrace. Baldwin, the words finally free, fell 
against the rat's free shoulder and gasped a 
series of squawking cries, weeping for each 
bitter loss that had curdled his heart. Charles 
breathed deeply as he held the shaking bird, a 
tingling energy passing from him and through the 
mottled and battered feathers of Baldwin's neck 
and back. Behind him and within him he felt his master smiling.

With one last firm hug, Charles eased the condor 
back for a moment and then unclasped the cloak 
from his shoulders. Baldwin still trembled and 
stared in confusion as if he could not decide if 
he was more angry with himself or with the rat so 
he did not notice Charles hold out the torn cloak 
with the crossed bow and axe heraldry for the 
Longs face up. “You may have this back and 
reclaim your honor, Baldwin. Misha will see that 
you can do more than just fly. Misha will see 
that you are a leader. Misha will see that you 
are a great warrior. You will battle your own 
fear and defeat it. You will battle your own love 
of your life and defeat it. And you will do it 
all to come to the aid of a fellow Long.”

Baldwin blinked and his wing-claws stretched out 
to touch the fabric, dark eyes only beginning to 
see the heraldry he'd once proudly worn offered 
to him again. His voice, warbled and subdued, 
murmured, “I cannot take this. I am not worthy of it.”

“You are,” Charles assured him, extending it 
closer so that the end of the cloak brushed the 
condor's chest feathers. “Now come, don this and 
serve one more time as a Long. Redeem yourself. I 
will speak of you and what you do this day to 
Misha. He will praise your name until he has no more breath to speak.”

The power flowed through him from his master, and 
Charles took the cloak and draped it between the 
condor's wings. Baldwin, trembling and uncertain, 
was unable to resist. The rat clasped it around 
his neck and then unfurled it down until the torn 
ends reached half-way down the bird's tail 
feathers. With one hand pressed upon Baldwin's 
back, he guided him to the lip of the funnel. 
“Only one thing remains, my friend. Step over the 
threshold and open the way for me to reach my son. Be a Long Scout again.”

Baldwin gazed downward and his breath caught in 
his chest. “And there will be peace in my soul?”

“Everlasting peace.”

The condor bobbed his head in a quick nod and 
then closed his eyes tight. He stretched out one 
leg over the emptiness and then stumbled in 
place. He blinked and then trembled, his voice 
confused. “I cannot... something is there. I cannot go down.”

His master's voice was sure, but for once he did 
not feel a smile, only a resignation to that 
assurance. You must push him. Agemnos will not let him go willingly.

Charles pressed down on Baldwin's shoulders. “I 
will help you.” The condor stumbled at the sudden 
shove, his talons breaking through whatever 
barrier had kept him out of the funnel. He tilted 
forward, wings spreading but smacking uselessly 
against the metal on either side. Charles tensed 
his legs to steady himself, but the exaggerated 
momentum carried him forward until they were both 
sliding down the funnel. A hand grasped his tail 
and a squeak of protest escaped his throat before 
they were brought to a jarring stop, Baldwin's 
talons scraping the metal cone inches above the 
serrated gears. The whirring roar of each tooth 
grinding against one another made his muscles ache.

Baldwin's eyes went wide in terror and he tried 
to brace his talons on either side of the funnel. 
The metal was too slick for his wings or wing 
claws to find any purchase, but his talons did 
seem to hold him back for a moment. “Wait!” he 
squawked, shaking his head back and forth as he 
scrambled. “I... I can't! Not like this!”

Push. I have you, Núrodur.

Charles said nothing as he pressed firmly on the 
condor's shoulders, shoving him down the last few 
inches toward the machine. Baldwin shrieked and 
clawed and scraped but he slid down beneath the 
rat's paws. For a moment it appeared that his 
fellow Long Scout had managed to brace himself 
with his legs cock-eyed a hair's breadth above 
the twisting maw of gears. But then a tooth 
clipped one of his talons and his leg slipped out from under him.

Baldwin screamed, wings stretching upward to try 
and grasp Charles, but the rat pushed his claws 
away each time, offering his friend a wan smile 
between gentle presses on his shoulders. The 
machine chewed on his yellow scaled legs, 
spitting droplets of black tar against the side 
of the funnel as it ground the bone and flesh to 
mash. The condor's eyes were wild and desperate, fixed on Charles with a plea.

He will be at peace when this is over.

Charles could feel the blood rushing to his head 
as he dangled by his tail. Each time he pressed 
on the condor's shoulders he felt for a moment as 
if he were standing on his hands, and then the 
machine would draw his friend downward another 
few inches. The jagged gears groaned and strained 
as they bit through bone, rending the flesh and 
sending it every direction in a ghastly spray. 
But even though it seemed as if the fountain were 
red with blood and bile, when it struck the metal 
walls of the funnel it was black as ink.

Despite having his legs chewed up to his thighs 
into shreds by the machine, Baldwin still 
struggled as if he possessed all of his strength. 
Desperate, the condor stretched his wings and 
flapped up and down. But the funnel was too tight 
and all he managed was to smack his wings against 
the enclosing walls like a butterfly trying to 
bore a hole through a stone wall. Each time it 
seemed as if he had driven himself free of the 
clenching metal, but then either he would sink 
back into its jaws, or the rat would stretch out 
his arms and shove him back down.

The machine chewed through the last of Baldwin's 
yellow scaled thighs and ripped into his tail 
feathers, sending a torrent of dander into the 
air that made the rat's whiskers and nose twitch 
as if tickled. Charles shook his head once and 
then pushed down again, even as he felt his 
master easing him a little further down in the 
funnel to give him better leverage. Though the 
Åelf gripped him by the tail, he felt no pain 
there, nor strain in any of his muscles. He 
winced only at the spectacle of his fellow Long 
torn apart by Agemnos' blasphemous machine.

He will be at peace.

The gears lapped at the torn edge of Charles' 
Long Scout cloak now draped across Baldwin's neck 
and shoulders. And then the fabric pulled taut as 
the threads were severed and stretched. The 
condor started to twist as the machine pulled him 
in to his waist, the last remnants of his tail 
torn free and splattered as shadowy ichor on the 
walls of the funnel, across the axe in the 
heraldry, and even onto Charles' arms. There it 
stayed and stained his fur. The rat ground his 
molars together and ached for something to gnaw 
upon as he pushed harder, his arms now stretched nearly straight.

Baldwin managed to lift one of his wings and 
hooked one of his claws in the rat's tunic. His 
dark, beady eyes locked onto the rat's own, his 
voice a quivering thing filled with an 
indescribable agony. Every mote of flesh devoured 
in the pitiless jaws of the machine still 
suffered even though severed and pulverized. The 
black tar now smeared the walls so thoroughly 
that there was no purchase anywhere. It drained 
into little openings between the teeth of the 
gears, but even more slowly than the machine 
consumed the bird, so that undulating ripples 
wound their way down, as of layer upon layer of 
molasses dripping and coursing through itself.

Hoisting himself up a few inches through sheer 
force of will, Baldwin brought his hooked beak 
inches from the bottom of Charles' snout. It was 
enough for his words to be heard. “Charles! Please! Have mercy!”

You are.

The strength in that assurance warmed him ad 
renewed the strength in his limbs. He 
straightened his back as much as he could, and 
nodded at the condor whose lower half was being 
churned through the black-stained gears that 
shimmered in the strange light and hummed as they 
spun. He pitched his voice and though he did not 
shout, he knew his words would be heard. “I am. 
You will know peace. Thank you, Baldwin.”

He tightened his grip on the condor's shoulders 
so that his claws bit into the flesh and shoved 
downward with all of his strength until his arms 
could go no further. Baldwin's claw tore through 
the rat's tunic and cut a rivulet of blood down 
his right arm as he struggled to keep hold. But 
his torso struck the gears and his whole frame 
stiffened as they bent him down, pinching his 
belly to his spine, and erupting all of the flesh 
there in a fountain of black. The tar shot 
upward, smearing the condor's beak and the rat's 
forearms and hands. No pink flesh was visible 
anymore. For a moment the slickness burned like 
lye, but the pain subsided into a vague discomfort within a blink.

Not so Baldwin whose turned his head from side to 
side attempting to snap his beak at the rat's 
arms. Charles felt the hard edges of the condor's 
beak brushing against his arms, but nothing more 
than that. The gears pulled him downward to his 
chest, his wings shredded behind him and sucked 
down into the dark confines, ripped feather by 
feather apart. The Long Scout cloak tore into 
four sections as the gears pulled it in different 
directions, severing the heraldry of bow and axe 
until even these were swallowed and turned to 
powdery ash. The clasp about Baldwin's neck 
snapped from the pressure and the condor gave one more piercing wail.

Charles lost his grip on the bird's shoulders as 
the machine no longer needed his help in pulling 
the soul within. Tears streamed from Baldwin's 
eyes and he murmured words over and over again as 
the last of his limbs were chewed free and his 
chest was reduced to a slimy puddle of gore on 
which his head wobbled. Charles inclined his ears 
forward and his heart beat faster as he heard the 
words wept into the fall of night. “I'm sorry! 
I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Forgive me! Forgive...”

The gears ripped into his neck and the condor's 
head bounced once before falling between two of 
the spinning gears. The bones snapped and the 
flesh gave way, folding in on itself until all 
that was left atop the machine was the mash of 
flesh and obsidian gore sliding down the rat's 
arms and the sides of the funnel. The machine 
whirred a moment longer, now the only voice 
speaking, until all of the mash and tar was drawn 
within. Charles dangled, hands clasping and 
unclasping as he stared at where a moment before 
someone he had once, long ago, called a friend had been.

And then the gears stopped spinning. A long 
series of clicks echoed within, and the gears 
withdrew into the sides of the funnel somewhere 
out of sight. Beneath them glimmered a silver 
radiance unmarred by the black tar. Charles 
breathed a long sigh and trembled. He shut his 
eyes and tried to hold back the tears that 
suddenly yearned to blossom there. Baldwin had 
repented. He had been redeemed. He now knew peace.

I am with you. Agemnos has no hold over you.

Charles grimaced for a moment longer and then 
stretched out his arms toward the silver light 
shimmering beneath him. Above him he felt a 
sudden tug on his tail as his master jumped, and 
then both he and the Åelf hurtled downward and into the bridge.

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May He bless you and keep you in His grace and love,

Charles Matthias
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