Back to Mist of the Rito. This series will alternate between characters.

Volitantem Cordia (Flutter of the Heart)

"We are afraid to care too much, for fear that the other person does not care at all,"

Eleanor Roosevelt

A heart stutters against the plumed chest of the young Rito, thumping rhythmically against Mist's ribcage like a trapped songbird in a wire cage. Gasping breaths leak through her ajar beak, exertion pushing the valves of her lungs as she inhales fresh oxygen. Music notes still thrum through her veins, tunes still tapping out against the rocky terrain.

Her gaze trails across the star trails, glittering specks of white similar to the marking of Rito wings trail the sky. Her golden orbs dim slightly when color doesn't streak the sky. The image in her mind of greens and reds stretching down towards the mountain tops like ethereal mirages stretching the tips of their wings to the snow as they fly across the dark sky.

"What are you looking for?"

Feathers ruffle at the noise and Mist's eyes slide to the corners of her sockets. Gema's obsidian face feathers fill her vision, silhouetted by a warm yellow from the torch glow. Silver eyes regard the fledgling as the speckled Rito looks skyward once more.

"You don't have them here," Mist answers, feathers curling around the strap of her pack.

"Have what?" The paradise Rito prods and wraps a blue wing around the child. Her blue beak points skyward.

"The Spirit Lights… at least that was what Uncle called it," Mist explained. "Colorful lights that reach down to the earth from the sky."

"The auroras?" Gema questions and points a feather to the Hebra Mountains. "You sometimes see the lights up in the Hebra. Spirit Lights hm? That's old folklore… How did it go?"

"The Spirit Lights are the spirits of departed chicks trying to fly back to the ground toward the life they never managed to live," Mist fills in and sighs. "I- I partly wish it were true. Rito are normally born with siblings, right? But my egg was found alone. Uncle used to tell me that story when I asked why my egg was alone, tell me my siblings would be up there watching over me."

"I could take you. Hebra is no place for a lost child, but if you want to see them…"

"It's fine. I'm sure I'll see them again. I have a feeling I have a long time before I find it," Mist admits as she subtly slides the wing wrapped around her body off.

"Planning on leaving so soon?"

The young Rito nods, turns back to the adult beside her. She ignores the silent plea as she stands, large talons engraving the ground beneath her feet. Freckled feathers ruffle with the movement and Mist stretches, wings flaring.

"I'm going to head back down to the stables and ask for a bed."

"Do you want one of us to fly down with you? Even with the Calamity slain, monsters still roam the area," Gema mentions as she stands, taller form dwarfing the small fledging beside her.

Mist clamps her beak tighter, tongue probing the shell. A huff of air clouds around her as the heated gas leaves her nostril to condense in the night's air. Her golden eyes set, determined, as the young Rito edges her body toward the winding path down the pillar of rock.

"I am not a chick. I won't replace your lost brood."

The words are sharp, Mist knows that. Feels it, from the way the chest stutters and the beak has to open to relieve pressure. Its low as well, a blow to her churning stomach as it doubles in on itself and the young child breaks eye contact. Cowardly, she echoes in her mind, morendo. She dares a glance as Gema establishes herself once more, back straight and wings smoothed, not a feather ruffled out of place.

Her talons clack against the rock as she walks away. Feet hobbling along the way in the distinctive way that Rito do, not purposefully meant for long distance travel. A wind pushes the feathers of her face out, creeping chilly tendrils along her hidden skin. The winds sweeping up from around the vertical settlement hiss in the night, as though even nature disapproves.

"Pajarito! Where do you go little one?" Kama asks loudly as he approaches. He coughs awkwardly when his boisterous calls go unanswered.

A shift in tone as nails clack against the wooden platform, rinfotzando, as the male Rito shuffles forward along the platforms winding around the rock formation. She ignores the new addition interrupting her solitude and focuses on the metronome of her own walk. Kama walks beside her, silent despite his curiosity, and folds his bronzed wings behind him casually. His shoulders sway fluidly like the summer leaves plucked from the branches of trees that were spasmodically placed at the landings leading up to the village. His canter ticks side to side with the rhythm of the footsteps.

"Do you want something?" Mist asks as she stops before a small platform, allowing side by side conversation along the narrow walkway.

"Curiosity," The eagleian Rito answers as he leans casually against the rock formation.

"What's the phrase," The fledgling ponders. "Curiosity got the cat?"

"A good thing for us with wings, right Pajarito?" Kama jests jovially with a flourish of his broad wings. "So where do you go?"

"To find a bed," Mist responds snarkily. "I have already told your wife, I don't appreciate your projecting." The feathers wrapping around the bands of the travel pack tighten. "I may be a fledgling, but don't confuse age with... with," Her eyes furrow as she looks for the correct phrasing. "I'm not a chick!"

"Of course not Pajarito. Forgive my wife for her… hovering. I hope you don't let her scare you off," Kama apologizes.

Mist sighs as she shifts the pack weighing heavily on her shoulders, and looks away toward the scenery behind her. Her ears picked up on the heavy release of breath, the scratch of talons trailing wood as the trail around into reverse. A warm glow encircles the male as he retreats back into the darkness of the night, the effect of the lanterns. The freckled fledgling watches the Rito blend into the warm murk of the night. She waits for a moment, howling winds brushing the feathers of her face into varying directions, for the silhouette to fade, before continuing on her way.

Perhaps it had been the constant winds habitually corroding the pillar, or her thoughts having been hidden away into the recess of her mind, but the sound of approaching figures muted to her. The first register had been the flash of colors, a flourish of pastel rainbow hues as a brood barrels through with vigor. The five juvenile Rito causes her feet to stumble, the weight of her pack pulling her downward. Wooden paneling falls from beneath her as the small landing fails to support her flailing.

Cacophonous screeches fill the air, the brood wailing in panic and flapping as they flurry about. Two flap their wings, a harsh staccato of wind and feathers as two of the young Rito go in search of their mother, voices blending in their plea. The remaining three nosedive off the platform.

"Fly! We'll lift your pack," The purple one goes as her sisters grip at the traveling bag attached to the younger Rito.

Talons grip at the straps binding the young fledgling's wings. The lack of the weight shocks her momentarily, suddenly feeling vertigo and the harsh wind pushes through her feathers to the skin of her face. She flaps uselessly at the sudden shift in mass, the bite of her descent nipping harder at the stubs of her feathers. The pack had been a hindering comfort for months now, an annoyance pushing her into the dirt, but a constant presence. There be no need to soar when your necesites kept you grounded.

Her legs kick at the open air, attempting to catch a solid surface, futile. Gray speckled wings flap and slice fruitlessly, air slipping through the space between feathers.

"Fly!" Another sister cries as her two sisters help support the heavy bag.

"I can't," Mist responds as she twists, searching for a ledge, protruding landing, anything to catch herself on.

"What do you mean you can't fly?!" The remaining trio screech in harmony, fluid and tuned even in the flurry.

There's a sharp snap. Duramente fortissimo. Wind breaking under feathers as the bronze primaries swarth the darkened vision of the young child. Steelesque talons latch to the scapulars of the Rito, mindful of fragile joints as the rescuer uses his broad wings to slow the descent. The muscles contract as the wings flap to sustain the weight.

Mist's flails instinctually, talons flaring oddly as the ground inches closer. There's a flourish of noise as villagers crowd to view the spectacle. Claws unclutch from her shoulder joints, the feathers pressed down with the impression and Kama balances down onto the ground. He shuffles, wings rustling as they limply rest at his sides. His beak twitches, keratin shells opening and tasting the gorged air. Heated condensation plumes as he sighs and kneels, a feathered arm winds around the child's shoulder.

"Are you alright?"

Mist swallow the lumps lodged in her trachea, her own flustered feathers splay across her jugular as the muscles contract. Blood thuds inside her head, pounding against her consciousness like the wooden mallet of the kettledrum. Vertigo grasps her vision, careening sideways and muddying the peripheral dark and cloudy. Feet, disproportionate to the Rito's body, tangle over each other, causing Mist to lurch forward. Mist rids her head of the fog saturating her senses, gold eyes blinking slowly. The fledgling glances over her shoulder, luminous irises neon against her dark face.

"Thank you… That would've hurt," Mist jests quietly and rolls her shoulders.

"Nothing to jest about Pajarito."

The fledgling flinches in at the tone. Her talons rake across the rock at her feet and a wind whistles through her feathers.

"Come now, Kama," Gema urges and places a long feather on her husband's coiled back muscles. "Let's get this little bird here a fairy tonic." The female Rito passes the child's heavy travel pack over to her husband. She gently wraps her dexterous feathers around the fledgling's wing, the soft down characteristic of Rito chicks embracing the curve of her muscle.

The crowd parts for the trio, Mist's golden irises diverting from the prodding stares. Her gaze is pulled from the ground when her break bumps against the feathers of Gema's waist, eyes blinking widely in confusion before glancing at her surroundings.

"Chief Kaneli," Both adults greet with a respectful bow of their heads. If they notice the tilting of the fledgling's head, it goes ignored.

Mist's eyes trail over the Rito's impressive face feathers with passive interest. Her head bows clumsily, heat rising with her delayed reaction. The sagely Rito blinks slowly and smacks new air into his beak.

"Salutations fledgling. Oh ho, you are young," The owlish Rito chuckles deeply. "Ah to be young. You be careful now and learn to fly," The Rito jests. "You'll find it beneficial. Good night you three. See you in the morn'."

Mist watches the chief leave, the elder's waddle deliberate and careful. She shifts, turning back to the female still gripping her wing in a gentle cradle.

"Gema…" The speckled chick kicks at a pebble, a steady staccato, across the wood panels. A silence bridges between them for a moment, courage pooling at the vocal cords. "I'm- I'm sorry… What I said was," Mist pauses for another heartbeat. "It was… really mean… Goddesses, if Uncle was here I would've been plucked of a few feathers. I'm sorry-"

"It's alright Little One," Gema insists. A feather traces the curve of the child's cheek soothingly. "I know the injured when I see one." The feather playfully traces the edge of the beak as Gema smiles. "We can hurt together Little One."

Golden eyes furrow slightly at the words, mind stumbling over the suggestion. Perhaps a slight sting on her shoulder throbbed with her pulse, but pain relatively ignored her body. The speckled Rito ignores the thoughts starting to format as her drowsy body is prepped for slumber. A warm cloth, moistened by spring water, dabs at her face and cleans the dirt away from the white isolating the dark malar stripes. Her eyes closed as the cloth presses closer as it swipes over her cheeks.

A rustle sounds in the silence, Kama tying up a hammock for the child that night. The strings are pulled taut, warping as the Rito warrior presses a wing to the hammock to test its sturdiness.

"My love, the bed's done."

Wings curl under the child's own, lifting her off the ground and to her breast as she makes last minute shifts of the pillow. A beak twitches into a smile when Mist yawns, eyes blearily winking away the sleep.

"Sleep tonight," Gema cooes. Harmonic, traits of songbird.

Mist nods, nestles as a blanket is tucked around her body. Heartbeats lulling her to sleep.

Morendo- Dying away

Rinfotzando- sudden accent

Staccato- sharp, spaced

Duramente- harshly

Fortissimo- very loud

I enjoy the contrast between Mist and Azaria. I may add in new characters later in the series; tell me if that sounds appealing. Until next time.