Malik didn't know where the Hell he was walking.
Some rooftop maybe. Or garden ledge. Or the balcony of some noble's residence.
He didn't care.
His boots moved, and Sinbad floated above, a tiny smug cloud of wisdom.
Malik had too many thoughts and none at all.
Still dizzy, half-poisoned, betrayed, confused, disconnected—same old.
He was better, but he had yet to escape the struggle.
Hoot.
Sinbad glided down and landed back on his shoulder, his talons light.
"Elder Brother."
That voice... that soft and warm voice, took him out of his head.
Malik glanced sideways.
"How did you learn how to talk?"
"I always could."
"…Really?"
"Yes."
"Then was I actually hearing you all this time?"
"My thoughts, emotions, yes. Not my words. Those you came up with yourself."
"I see."
They walked a few steps.
The owl preened a wing, then looked him dead in the eye.
"Mine soul and yours are connected."
Malik blinked.
"Connected?"
Sinbad bobbed his head solemnly.
