Family time and patrolling, they played an awkward roulette. Daily labor, border checks, training -- all these tasks expected of a leader. Tis also necessity that occurred on a daily basis. The Fall's is a body, but what good was a body without direction, without his head? Yar. Dawn comes, the faint glow pulls me away from our cavern and into lukewarm air. I glance back (out of habit) at my slumbering mate and our daughter -- who is nestled peacefully in the renewed wheat we'd gathered the eve before. A tiny smile creases one corner of my face. I turn my back to them and rise for heaven.

My advance is tailed by two avians. The silvery one races to catch up, she gains ground and reaches for my spine. Thick talons weave themselves tightly into fur and feather. Ducking down, the adolescent bird slips her bannered crown into the fluffy white plumes growing along the base of my right wing. "Morning," she hums sleepily. Fina slips alongside, her flaming pinions fan the air. A dead mouse is dangling from one claw, "Afternoon is more accurate," she scoffs, annoyed by my inability to rise before the sun.

_______

By early noon we'd broken off to cover more ground. I circled the southern portion of our home and its main entrance -- Fina looped the eastern border and Neve, took off for the west. Like all children, the icy Zephyr wanted her moments of independence. Tis impressive to witness how my silver companion had grown over the past few months; her once thin and weak primary feathers had lengthened to an adolescent width. Each day she grew stronger and lost a little more of her babyish figure and personality. Aye, sad to see them grow, change.

I travel above the thick canopy of snarly branch and vine; idly keeping watch for signs of trouble or stirring. Though like previous days, all appeared quiet. Below, (mostly hidden from sight) a pair of children is darting between the branches and fragmented light; the duo races down the weeded path. Its not long before a soft plead drifts on the breeze; its main strength is trapped beneath greenery --yet I recognize the individual behind that faint rasp all the same. Without hesitation my feathers slip closer and carry me lower.

______

Through a narrow opening I glide down with practiced ease, narrowly missing grouped timber. (A trick that nearly impossible for one of larger girth.) Despite long months of practice, flying in and out of these woods -- leaves still manage brush against my body and outstretched extensions. Some break and crumple when jarred; their weakened hosts fall to the soft earth below. Sundipped pinions slide shut, bits of bramble fall around me, evidence of my rapid descent.

Almost instantly my attention shifts to yon cherub with a protective edge making the rims seem sharper than normal; fluidly I scan her body for signs of distress. Upon finding nothing to warrant my concern (or rude entrance) I turn a gentling glance to the company she held. Kipling, and another babe (though this youngling was older and unfamiliar.) Patched limbs press me closer; my muzzle drifts to dip along Zahra's lean spine, carefully touching the feathery hairs of infancy that stuck array from fledging pinions.

"Making friends?"

Gems rise again, narrowing when they land upon the older babe; older aye, but not old enough to be traveling far without her Ma. Curiously, I turn to Kipling, "Whose child?"