Raw iron slithered from the ground, thin strings being pulled from the core. These cords broke into scabs that resembled shattered slat. During the better part of the afternoon I’d been practicing my newfound skill – grinding away idle time by collecting various flakes from parts of our valley. The earth seemed full of iron, it was plentiful and sang to my soul more vibrantly than others. Thus making it the easiest to collect and harness. I didn’t craft anything of note, instead, this body simply pulled the metallic scales from the soil and gathered them in a little pile.

Hours later a sufficient stock had been collected, all that remained was the carrying. Gently, as a mother alligator might haul her newborn offspring into the river, I coached the flecks skyward. Strained by the effort it took, but also satisfied with what fruit said energy produced. They twirled around, spinning in a circle before my eyes which claimed total control. There were wet patches beneath the shallow points of my body and small beads of sweat pooling between my narrowed brows.

I carried them, those rotating flakes to my hollow. A grand tree, old and bent from years of life. The shadowy canopy came like a dark cover, with one penetrating dagger I dug a shallow hole and deposited my stock. After lightly covering the pocket with fallen leaves and various other debris I retreated from the oak and turned round. Feathers spread, pinions extending to catch the breeze – cooling and offering a moments relief.

It was almost twilight. Honeyed gaze turned to the fire child who was watching from a nearby limb. Her aqua eyes half lidded from a day of sleep, “Finished?” she murmured, stretching beak apart to yawn away dozy remnants. “Aye,” I stretched muzzle toward heaven, extending my neck until spine gave a satisfying ‘pop’, crown shook, spreading patched tendrils across my shoulder. “Ready to go?”

She chortled, stretching fiery plumes.

Moments later we were airborne and starting our evening patrol. Upon approaching the border I caught sight of a stranger down below. “Hail!” I called, circling deeper to get a better look. At this height it was impossible to exchange scents. Wings pitched inward, curling tighter against barrel – forelegs extended to absorb the shock of my landing. Not moments later I was standing near the same bank he stood, feathers settling back against their sheath, nostrils flaring to acknowledge his status within my herd.

A wanderer. “Welcome,” a gentle grin emerged, softening contours and worry lines, “May I inquire for what purpose stirs ye to cross into Hidden Falls?”

Birds have fallen from the sky
Their wings ache to fly