Role

Chapter 4

My left eye was really hurting.

I didn't rub it. My father's fury was not hard to see even in the gloom of
the crypts, best not to bring attention to the badge wrought upon my flesh
and broken feathers.

"Brawling. With the Lhiltrill boys." It was a soft statement of fact, yet
not a question. Then glass shattered against the wall as my father hurled
his cup against it. "Not only like a common thug, but alongside common
thugs. You're a Truy'Quiqall, not a Grig'Agali!"

Ouch. I blinked my rapidly blackening eyes. What do I really say to that?
It was true, after all. Unfortunately, I've never been that good at holding
my beak when I should.

"Those thugs are my friends."

I've never thought my father would raise his hand to me, but for a second I
did in that moment. You could say he looked rather murderous. Then he did
that weird thing that only old people can do, where the rage just goes and
they are calm again.

"A lot of good they did you."

Ouch again.

"What do you want me to say?"

Silence fell between us for a time.

Then my father turned away and spoke.

"Its time you learn discipline. Your training in the craft begins tomorrow.
"

He paused at the door before leaving.

"I will not have my son humiliated by some smug Lhiltrill brat."

Its hard to stay angry at him, sometimes. He's always been a bad loser. I
guess I get it from him.

Then he stuck his beak back through the door.

"You'll be cleaning up after Sal'arkin's students. Perhaps if you are up to
your elbow in brains, you'll start to use yours."

And sometimes its really easy to hate him.