Book II Chapter 18: Memories of the Cauak
The rustle of leaves, the soft whip of beating wings, the endless, musical chatter of his own kind surrounded him.
The sky was blue, a blue so rich and brilliant that it nearly matched the hue of their plumage, but not quite.
He inched farther along the branch that he perched upon, eager to have his next lesson with his new mentor, but smarter than to wander off in search of the older bird.
His birth-flock had seen him off not even a week ago; if he crossed paths with them, or any other flock, for the matter, his life would be cut dreadfully short, dreadfully swiftly.
And so he stayed put, fluffing his feathers and having a groom as he waited.
At this point in his life, he would learn from the harpy who had taken him under his wing; hunting with this new, all-male flock, charming the gullible featherless birds who seemed so easily tricked, sharing their sweet, soft flesh with the group-- likely eating last, for now, but that would change in time.
He would also be taught-- in time, as well-- how to pay proper homage to Cauakac, the Great Jay, so that she might share her wile and wit with him as she had so many others of their kind.
She had created them in her image and even given them her name, after all, and it was well known how she regarded servants who failed to admire her.
Growing confident, the young male drew in a deep breath and chattered--
--only to be jerked from his reverie by the sound of wood slamming against wood. Chirping indignantly, he rose to his feet with a sigh.
Again, he was caged, though now he was alone. His arms began to ache and burn again as the veil of sleep slowly crept away from his brain.
It had never occurred to him that there was a place away from Aensdoun that he might have cause to miss it, someday.
Next Chapter: Book II Chapter XIX
Category: Book II | Story
