(Nostalgic Heart)
"Memories, even bittersweet ones, are better than nothing." ~ Jennifer Armentrout
Mist had abandoned her traveling pack. The flap of the bag laid to the side, the mouth of the item gaping open as the bindings holding it together strained due to their threadbare nature. The worn cloth leaned against the wooden side table beside her hammock. The hammock that Kama had returned back to the aviary with one afternoon tied to his back. The bedding was a single swatch of soft fabric, contrasting with the tied rope system that she had been using. A warm blanket is pulled over the hammock, lined with fur that warmed her body that had yet to grow her full plumage when the night air dropped to frigid.
The fledgling twists the cloth of her one piece, still marveling at the sturdiness of the fabric. Her own clothes from before had been heavy, meant to keep warm in the frigid snowy mountains rather than keep flight. The Rito tilts her head, staring at the reflection before her in the water basin Gema kept on a table. Her golden eyes blink and a feather runs along the shiny buttons keeping the decorative tassels to the chest.
"Perhaps we can fly in the outfit as well?"
A drawled out huff escapes the gray beak as Mist lolls her head to the side to look at Kama. Her large eyes droop without amusement as her talons clack against the wooden flooring as she moves away from the water basin.
"Leave her be Kama. We went yesterday," Gema soothes and runs a wing over the girl's head. "Her muscles need to recoup. Mountains are not formed in a day."
"That would be scary," Mist comments as she imagines a mountain knocking Rito out of the sky or uplifting a building.
"No fear Dear," The Rito mums as she muses for a moment and her ringed talon taps rhythmically, a habit Mist noticed happened when the female lost herself in her thoughts. "You know, I have to go down to the outside market to get a few things. Why don't we all go?"
The gold eyes widen, Mist's beak chattering with excitement before she readjusts. Her feathers wrap around Gema's sash and tugs lightly.
"I want to go! I passed a few traveling, but I don't have rupees on me and it's no fun if I can only look…" Mist trails off for a second, "But Uncle told me that I don't need a lot of things. Where are you going? I didn't see any near the village. Is it far away? What kind of market is it?"
"Hush, Pajarito. You ask but remember to listen for your answers," Kama laughs lightly and digs through one of his drawers.
His long feathers wrap around a worn paper. It's heavy parchment, Mist knows from the way it loudly unfurls with a harsh thump of the air and lays relatively flat on the table despite being curled and tied with a ribbon. It unfurls like the blades of a fern in the morn, a slight curl at the edges. The ink is a faded black, bleached by the sun, and the paper crinkles along the surface from getting caught in rainstorms and snow. One of Gema's blue feathers traces a line to the east across the ravine.
"See here? Serenne Stable? That's where the market is, but we'll stop at one of those towers west of the Tundra. I'll carry you, alright?" Gema's soft voice slides through the air as she ruffled her feathers and rolls the map into position, replacing the tie and returning it to the drawer.
"You sure? That's a long way. Uncle and I used to walk places…" The fledgling murmurs as her feet tap nervously along the wood, stringendo as the two adults begin to gather supplies.
"I'll be just fine, Little Bird. You don't weigh much right now. In a few months, however…" The beautiful Rito trails off teasingly as she prepares the sling to help carry the child.
Mist's head twists to the side involuntarily, large eyes blinking pesante. A few months? Mist considers the time, she vaguely can understand a time of growth. It's not uncommon for fledglings to sprout after their feathers came in, in fact, it's expected. The muscles mass would increase, and the light down stiffened into adult plumage. Although Mist believed her adult plumage wouldn't settle for another winter at the least, a fledgling of that age probably would weigh a considerable difference. By that time perhaps she could properly fly, it would make her travels far simpler.
Mist's wings ruffle lightly at the thought, imagining the view of the green fields. The desert winds would no longer kick up scorching roughage into her eyes. She could return to the mountains and visit the gravesite the Gerudo women created after the frantic fledgling slid her way down the slopes of the mountains and tumbled into the ice harvesting site days later. Maybe, Mist muses, she could even return to visit Gema and Kama with traveler stories on her tongue and souvenirs. The fledgling's eyes droop, would they care to spend their time with her once she leaves? Or will they forget about her once she takes flight?
She blinks out of her thoughts when Gema gently tugs on her shoulder, motioning for the fledgling to settle into the sling created for her. A speckled wing reaches for her traveling bag.
"Pajarito, perhaps that should stay here? It'll weigh us down."
"But..." Mist starts as her feathers curl and withdraw into a fist at her side. "I need-"
"Why don't you empty it? Then we can carry our purchases in it?" Gema suggests, attempting to deflect an argument, and moves to squat next to the fledgling. "Everything will be here when we get back. You can put in in my chest if you like?"
Mist nods and empties her bag. A stuffed sand seal falls from the darkness, threadbare and seeping its cotton slightly. Small feathers wrap around it and cradle the toy to the feathered chest. A small dagger also clatters to the floor, dulled from use, along with a leatherbound journal and a few writing quills. A small cloth bag that Mist opened to find a handful of preserved foods she forgot about is emptied before it is filled with her loose quills. A folded map is pushed into the cover of the leather journal. A rumpled set of torn clothes rolls out from around a bedroll, heavily padded with warm furs. Mist centers her belongings into a pile, twisting to open the metal chest that Gema kept by her hammock.
The lid opens with a click, the metal giving off a heavy sheen in the morning light. There's a slight clunk when her items clatter against the sides, settling against the miscellaneous clothing items and blankets that Gema stored in the chest. The lock sounds as the lid is closed, a heavy sound that soothes a piece of Mist's mind as she shuffles back to her feet with her empty travel pack. She clambers onto Gema's back, bag looped around her wings.
…
The sun is approaching noon when the trio lands onto the large tower protruding from the ground. Mist taps the flooring, marveling at the material as the two adults stretch their wings and shake out the pains in their legs. Her eyes trail her surroundings, tail feathers excitedly fluttering with a bouncing sway as her golden irises settle on the stables in the distance.
"Oh, oh look Kama. I can see it from here!" Mist squawks excitedly.
"Indeed, Pajarito, we are close. It's all downwind from here," The Rito answers as he checks the string of his Swallow bow.
The wooden bow is turned in his feathers, the string pulled taut as he tests its ability. He hands it over to the fledgling when her feathers make a grabbing motion. Kama settles the young Rito by his side, wing settling around her shoulders to bring her close as he points out the key parts of the bow.
Mist finished off her piece of Hearty Salmon, hooked beak shredding the meat easily from the wooden skewer. The wildberries she's given lay untouched beside her on a piece of unfolded cloth.
"Why don't you eat your wildberries?" Gema prods.
The dark brow furrows in distaste as she eyes the bright fruit. They grew in the Highlands, one of the few fruits that survived the frost and the cold. Her uncle never bothered with them. They offered few calories, no fat, and took more energy to harvest than they gave. After she passed her hatchling phase, the time that required him to provide foods small enough for her beak, the aging Rito never wasted the time collecting the berries. Mist never held a strong affection for them anyways. The juice was sickeningly sweet and created a sticky mess of her face feathers.
"Aw, come on, Love. Rito like us far more enjoy our meats," Kama winks one golden eye. He leans over to the fledgling's ear, "And if we can manage to sneak off, I'll get you the best rabbit you'd ever have."
Gema rolls her eyes, although her tweaked smile betrayed her as she packed up the three's belongings. She ruffles Mist's head feathers, earning her a muffled murmur of discontent.
The young Rito glances out to the world below the tower, gauging the distance to the stable. Her feathers ruffle as a scarce wind blows through, a rarity that's seldom found outside of the heart of the Hebra Mountains. Her chest heaves with a heavy breath, tenuto, as a thought settling into a decision.
"Kama," Mist calls out gently. "How far is it from here? You know, with time?"
"Hmm?" The bronze Rito brings a feather to his neck as he considers the question, eyes gazing out to the stable. "I'd say another thirty minutes?"
"Think I'd make it?" The fledgling asks, eyes slightly sliding to the side to notice how the two adults would react.
"Make- Yes!" The bronze Rito exclaims, feathers puffing up in excitement. "Yes, yes, indeed. Let's go now! Tell you what, Pajarito. You make it there by yourself and I'll let you pick out whatever you want."
"Wait, really?" The fledgling asks as she hurries to her feet. Her talons cacophonously clack against the slick flooring. Her wings already flutter as she trails to the edge, Kama already in the air in front of her.
"Give me your bag, Little Bird," Gema calls out. She messily shoves their leftovers into the small over the shoulder bag she'd brought for herself. "Kama don't strain her."
"No worries, Love. Come, Pajarito," The bronze Rito hurries, providing a strong gust for the fledgling before his mate could sway Mist's mind.
…
The ground is a hard presence. One that Mist feels impact her legs as they shudder with the force of her landing, rinfotzando. Her body flails forward, limbs twisting beneath her as she stumbles. Wings catch her before she crushes her beak into the dirt.
"Woah, there," Gem softly twirls her words with a slight tune. "You did great."
"Haha!" Kama shakes the ground with his landing, claws splayed and digging up dirt into small trenches. "Yes, Pajarito! That was marvelous! Oh, I've never been so proud," The Rito exclaims as he crosses his broad wings.
Gema scolds him into a softer tone, the loud bravado drawing wide-eyed attention as shoppers stop to stare. Mist gives herself a few footsteps of distance, eyes turning curious as she takes in the market. Her mouth waters at the smell of meat and the hint of spice that flares in the air. A Hylian had set up shop with a pack mule and a roaring fire, product strewn across a table set up and handing off strings from a tree. A loud clang sounds out, tenuto as it rang through the air as a Goron, golden like the Gerudo sands, cracks a ruby with a hammer and sets to smooth the harsh edges.
"Oi, little Rito!"
The voice is heavy and accented, baring with it the howls of sand and the blister of heat. It tings with familiarity. A bearing weight that settled on the brain like a heavy blanket during the winter season. Large eyes turn towards the sound, torso twisting to the side as her orbs settle on the Gerudo. She is tall, nearly three times the young Rito's size. Her hair burns like the embers of flames and muscles crawl as she makes her way toward the Rito. Strong and so, so familiar.
Mist's feathers ruffle in surprise as her back straightens a little taller. She's off the ground, barely six inches as she flaps to the vai.
"Sav'otta Saanvi," Mist own words blends into an amatuer version of the older vai's. "Oh, I've missed you! You won't believe the stuff I've seen. What are you doing here? You never told me you left the desert. What-"
"Sa'oten vehvi," The Gerudo, Saanvi sighs as she shifts the large back she has hiked on her shoulder to the ground. "Give a vai the time to speak. I've always gone to large markets like these once a season. If that old vure of yours ever brought you down from the beastly mountain you would've known."
The breath catches in Mist's throat at the mention of her uncle. It settles there, a heavy stiffness that she swallows. Her beak trembles slightly before she stiffens it, tears would do no good.
The Gerudo's eyes soften with sympathy, and her lips purse as she curses her own mouth, "Apologies, young Mist."
"No, it's okay… He never did like leaving the mountains. You know, he said the sun would bleach my feathers!"
"That old hermit," Saanvi laughs. "Did he really? No wonder you barely left the shade when he had us babysit, you'd thought you'd turn as white as him."
The two manage to share a laugh, and Mist feels her feathers heat when she's reminded of how she almost ended up skewered when she fell off the roof into the training rooms. Her heart warms at the memories, burns a little like a biting wind, but reminds her of the desert. Saanvi brings a piece of swirling winds and the smell of desert flowers. She brings the strength of palm trees in her stance and the sound of the Gerudo on her tongue. Most importantly, Saanvi bears the stories of home.
Pesante: Heavy, empathetic
Tenuto: Sustained, held
Rinfotzando: Sudden accent