To yellow 14: Some characters are just genetically engineered for maximum adorableness!

The sun had dipped back behind him for the day. The chill February air whipped around him, and he pulled his jacket close. This close to the end of his journey, he was ready to finally walk into the city, stop in the center of the Plaza de Obradoiro, look up at the Cathedral, and declare this pilgrimage over. Maybe by then he would have regained some notion of what he was supposed to do.

Francisco frowned, fumbling with his water bottle and taking a long swig. He had been walking for almost two weeks now, through town after town, staying in almost-deserted hostels along the pilgrimage route and buying some food from the neighboring shops to take with him for lunch before setting out each morning. The first few days of the trek had felt new and exciting – he was finally off on his own, having the "adventure" that he had always thought was missing from his life. By the end of that first week, however, he had almost stopped right then and there and called the whole thing off. Crawling into his bed in the ratty old hostel, his legs rubbery from the unaccustomed exertion, he had pulled out his phone, his finger hovering over the power button, almost ready to call his parents and return home.

But he had paused, hesitant to turn on his phone and see what he had missed. He just wasn't ready to face it yet.

He sighed, pumping his legs as he climbed up the next hill. When he had checked out that morning, the manager had noted that for most pilgrims, his hostel was only a single day's hike from the end of the Camino. Unfortunately, the manager had neglected to mention just how many hills he would have to traverse on that day! And at the top of each rise, the wind struck him full force, the clouds threatening to dump snow on him again.

The night before he left, he had told his friends about his plan, and they had scoffed at it: they were only a few months from taking the Selectividad, and this wasn't a break. Would the school even let him ditch for a few weeks? But Francisco had pointed out that it didn't really matter. No one was forcing them to stay in school – not after 16.

Fernando frowned darkly, his jaw jutting out as he continued his ascent. The only reason he was even still going to school was because his parents demanded it, not because it was really what he wanted to do. His parents were the ones who wanted him to go to university, to take over the family business eventually. But that wasn't what he wanted. He wanted more. He could feel that he was called to do more than just settle down with a family and become a manager in his father's hardware store. He wanted excitement and adventure – not the mundane and everyday.

And if after this he decided to return, his grades were high enough that he could accept the small dip from his extended absence. And anyways, maybe he wouldn't do what his parents were expecting him to do. Maybe he wouldn't even go to University. In that case even still being in school for the last year and a half had just been a waste of time. Jorge had looked askance at him when he mentioned his plans to him – no one just skipped out for two weeks in the middle of February! And especially not for this. Most people went in the summer, when it was warm. Francisco had told him that the path would be clear and the accommodations less crowded – which they had been. That had satisfied his friends.

He couldn't exactly tell his friends the real reason. Even if they might find out soon enough…

"Don't you love me?" Marina asked, looking up at him with tears streaming from her eyes, tracing rivulets down her cheeks through her makeup. "I–I thought you would be excited…"

Francisco swallowed back the lump in his throat, a heavy weight in his stomach. Marina cradled her stomach, lower lip trembling, a pleading look in her eyes. He blinked, turning away. "I mean… yeah I loved you," he finally managed. "We had fun together. But we were just playing around, right? You–you didn't really expect a Bachillerato romance to last forever, did you?" He looked back to find her staring at him in confusion, the hurt plain on her face.

"But–but I thought–" Her voice broke and she sobbed. "You said!" She glared at him reproachfully.

His shoulders slumped. "I–I know what I said," he admitted. "But I–I think–" He cleared his throat. "Priorities change. I… don't think this is really the life for me." He shrugged, frowning. "Maybe God has something else in mind for me."

Marina collapsed to her knees, sobbing. "But what about me?" she pleaded. "What about us?"

Francisco steeled himself. "I guess you'll just have to figure that out by yourself," he told her firmly. "I have enough to worry about with myself right now."

That night Francisco had told his parents he would take a couple weeks to trek the Camino de Santiago. His father had looked askance – why walk the pilgrimage now, when spring was still a month away? And in his last semester of school, too? His mother had fretted about what would happen if he got hurt, alone on the road. They had tried to persuade him to wait until the summer and walk it with a friend, but he had been adamant: it had to be now. In the end, despite their protests, they had acquiesced – the pilgrimage was a tradition, after all. Francisco had packed his bag the same day and driven to Oviedo. Marina had called him twice while he was driving, but he had turned his phone off after ignoring the second call. Couldn't she accept that he needed to leave? That he needed to figure himself out? What she was asking of him… it was too much – more than he could give. He couldn't worry about her demands when he still didn't know what he was supposed to do.

Francisco let out a slow breath, stopping at the crest of a hill, looking down on the city of Santiago de Compostela spread out below him. "Finally," he murmured to himself, rubbing his hands together and blowing on them. Looking down at the pathway leading down the hill toward the city, he pursed his lips. He was almost there, but still no closer to discerning what he was going to do now. He had hoped for some flash of enlightenment, but it had never come. And he couldn't exactly return home to face Marina – or his parents. And by now Marina's parents had to know…

The two weeks had helped to get his mind off of his troubles back home, but now that his pilgrimage was almost over, what was he to do now? He still didn't have any better idea of his purpose, of his calling. He couldn't just return home to the mundane life waiting for him there. Francisco shrugged his backpack off his shoulders and plopped it to the ground, resting it against the path marker at the top of the hill. His legs felt worn and exhausted from the weeks of walking. He collapsed to the ground and leaned back against the path marker, pulling a bag of trail mix out of his backpack as he did so. Popping a handful of nuts, dried fruit, and candies into his mouth, he hummed contemplatively. Perhaps he could continue on from here, to Finisterre or Muxía. Santiago didn't have to be the end of the journey, after all. Maybe his purpose would become clear if he went a little further. He placed on hand on the ground and twisted his back, stretching the tightness out of his shoulders.

Francisco frowned. His finger had brushed against something hard and rough. He stared down at the ground beneath his hand. The top of a pale yellow scallop shell with five ridges was just visible through the thin grass, poking out of the dirt. Eyes narrowed, he leaned in closer, brushing the scrub grass and soil out of the way. Finally he poured a little water over the shell, rinsing away the last of the dirt and revealing a necklace. A single pale yellow shell set on a wide dark blue band with a clasp behind it. From the appearance it had to be valuable: clearly someone must have dropped it on their own pilgrimage. Curious, Francisco picked up the choker.

A brilliant yellow light emitted from the choker, searing Francisco's eyes before he could clench them shut. Blinking away the spots in his vision, he stared at the mystical being that had appeared from it. No larger than a toy, pale yellow with a dark blue beak, the tiny bird turned to look him in the eye. To Francisco's utter astonishment, the creature spoke.

"Greetings, Pilgrim. I am Perry."

Francisco's jaw dropped.

AN: The miraculous in question is in the Wiki. Tomorrow look for the first chapter of the next main story, "Encounters with Nature."