A/N: In December, about 10 days before Christmas, I lost my mother. This story is for her and for the love I received during my childhood.

The Bird

The nest had been abandoned. The drow had kept an eye on it for two weeks now, seeing as it was situated just outside of the cave he used to rest in, and he had noticed that the mother of the eggs never left them for more than half an hour, and the drow did what he could to aid it by picking up seeds and leaving them near the nest so that the eggs would not grow too cold while their mother sought for food. But, now, three hours had passed, and there was no sign of the mother bird.

There were many predators within Icewind Dale, of course, and small animals lost their lives every day. Under normal circumstances, Drizzt would have done nothing, and left the nest for larger birds or foxes to prey on, but he had noticed that the bird was no ordinary one. Rather than the usual yellow-and-white sparrows that seemed to be the only birds nesting in the Dale, this one had a red beak, green wings with blue and violet markings, white chest and black marks on its head, not to mention the odd, long feather that grew from its neck.

Curling his fingers around the lonely tree in which the nest was situated, the drow pulled himself up and crawled to the branch on which the nest lay, neatly formed of straw and small twigs, and tied together with nothing less than white hairs which the drow ranger had donated to the cause after he had observed the mother bird try to tie the nest together with leaves. And, nestled within soft, downy feathers lay a single, brown-spotted egg. Carefully, Drizzt scooped the egg up, cradling it against his chest as if it was the most valuable thing within the entire world, and began his slower decent, taking care that he constantly held the egg tightly so that it would not fall. Already he could feel it warming to the heat of his hands, and, once back on the ground, he made his way to the cave he called home.

Thankfully, Guenhwyvar had been around long enough for the past week that she had shed fur over the blanket she had taken as hers, and after a few minutes of careful plucking, the elf had a good handful of fine, soft hairs. A bowl would serve as a makeshift-nest, and, after placing the fur within it, he carefully laid the egg to rest on its new bed, before he placed it near his small fireplace to keep it warm. After a moment of consideration, however, he took it from its new bed, sat down before the fireplace, and placed it within his lap, pulling his shirt down to cover it.

It became his wont for the next four days. Whenever he was in the cave, he held the egg close to his skin, even when he was in reverie, and kept it near the fireplace in its bowl whenever he could not keep it on his person. And, on the fourth day, as he sat with it and wrote in his journal, he suddenly felt a change against the skin of his belly where the egg rested. Surprised, he lay the journal aside and raised his shirt, taking out the egg and saw fine cracks all along its surface, feeling it as the chick within struggled to escape from its prison.

Delicate, black elven hands carefully peeled away the broken parts of the shell, and, soon, he held a tiny, newborn chick within his hands. It chirped helplessly, not even able to stand yet, and moved its way to his thumbs, pressing against the skin in search of the heat there. Soon, however, it had dried – helped by Drizzt – and it soon found a comfortable resting spot on his shoulder, hidden beneath his thick, heavy hair from where it could chirp its protests against the cruelties of life.

He fed it with seeds which he softened in water, or with worms dug from the earth, and carefully gave it drops of water with the aid of a straw. In return, it gave him its complete and undivided love, as well as a companion to talk to as it accompanied him on his walks. It often enjoyed moving to sit on top of his cowl, spreading its wings to catch the wing, and, soon, Drizzt found himself training the little bird, doing what he could to teach it to fly.

As the season passed, the little bird began taking trips away from him, its wings beating against the wind as it soared high above his head, its tiny form invisible against the bright sun of the Dale. And yet, it always returned to him after but a short time away from its adoptive parent. When autumn came, it appeared quite interested in the birds who flew away, seeking warmer climates instead of the snow, and yet it remained at the drow's side, once more spending time within the safety and warmth of his cloak. When snow came, it refused to go outside unless it involved being perched on the drow's shoulder or wrapped in warm clothes, and Drizzt took care to bring back apples, seeds and other small morsels for his bird.

Spring came, and with it returned the many birds, and the little bird flew, but did not return that evening, causing a great deal of anxiety for the drow as he futilely searched for even a trace of his companion. Two days passed when it finally did appear, landing on the branch outside the cave, within the tree that still carried the ancient nest in which it had lain as an egg, and it sang to call out its adoptive parent, proudly showing off a mate like itself.

Drizzt found that his bird did no longer stay within the cave save on the stormy and cold nights, but instead remained faithful to its new mate, eagerly taking its share in watching over the eggs and driving away any predator with strong claws and a fierce beak – more than once helped by Guenhwyvar. And when the three eggs within the nest hatched, the drow could not help but smile when the bird, fanatically, began searching through his cave for more food for the hungry chicks, and he was willing to swear he heard it sigh of relief when he produced a small bag of seeds.

The chicks grew, and their parents took their time to teach them to fly, showing them the Dale, and the drow found that he was now woken every morning by a choir of small voices greeting the sun as it rose over the mountains.

So it was that the seasons came and went again, and while the bird's young flew away to the warmer climate, it stayed as it had done before with its black-skinned companion, whom it probably thought to be some kind of strange bird. At the next spring, it eagerly sang and showed off, bringing another mate to its nest, and, once again, the drow found himself helping his bird raising another four chicks, and was amused when he found that these, unlike the chicks from the prior year, sought the shelter of his cave along with their parent during storms and rain.

Three years passed in this fashion, although the little bird did not take a mate the final year of those, preferring instead to travel with the drow as it had in the first year of its life, and often it spoke softly in the tongue of the birds, telling of many things that were not for other people to know, and Drizzt found that the little bird spoke with a wisdom that surprised him, even though he could not understand its words.

One bright winter morning, where the snow lay thick and white over the grass of the Dale, he awoke to an unfamiliar silence, and, rising from his sleep, found his little bird was nowhere to be seen. As he left the cave, however, he spotted a small bundle of green and white against the snow, seated within the tree in which it had been born, at the spot of its old nest – now long gone and scattered to the wind. It turned its head to look at him, and the elf recognized the look in its eyes as that of one who had seen much and knew even more, and he opened his hands to catch it as it spread its wings, letting the wind carry it down to the awaiting palms.

It lay in his lap as he sat upon the rock outside the cave, watching the sunset with eyes that seemed tired of life. Its voice rose as the first stars began to sparkle high on the sky, and Drizzt heard a song, deep and as ancient as the gods themselves, lifting towards the sky. And, as the bird's voice dimmed, its soul followed the notes, giving a final brush against the cheek of the drow who had raised it from its birth.

And so it was that when the sunrise came, it found the drow, tears still blurring his sight, digging a small cave with his hands beneath the roots of the tree, and here he carefully lay the tiny body of the creature he had held so dear to his heart, and which he knew he would never forget, despite the short time they had had together.