The bird’s keen eyes watched her. Blue-grey as a storm-shook sky. An awareness far beyond its years. It was as if he looked not at her, but through her, right down into the depths of her soul. She was stripped bare before that gaze, but it didn’t frighten her. Instead, it strengthened. Here, finally, was someone in this kingdom who could see her. Who beheld who she was and didn’t shrink from it, just silently considered. There was no judgement in those eyes, only peace.
“Hello, clever one,” she said, her voice little more than a breath on the evening tide.
The bird inclined its head - a permission.
The feathers her hand brushed against were even softer than she’d expected; not the gentle smooth down of city pigeons, but fluffy, as if it were covered in feathers of fur, more mammal than ave. They were deeper than she expected too. Her whole hand was swallowed by the impossible white softness and still she couldn’t feel the warm flesh beneath. She was reminded of the alpaca blankets her father had traded last winter. These feathers were just as soft. As deep. Her eyes stung at the memory.
“Why are you here?” she whispered. Why aren’t you devouring me was what she really wanted to know. The bird, as if in answer to her unspoken question, nipped at her shoulder. Do you want me to eat you? She seemed to ask as she drew back, observing again.
Gwen shook her head. Of course not.
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