Blue Jay, Cardinal, and Dove
Hey! Here's numbero tres, hope you enjoy it. I've seen loads of alerts and faves, so maybe, uh, could I get a review, or two?
-XXX-
Blue Jay—Childish Behavior, Quick Anger
With nothing else to do, I trail 'round till I hit the fountain in the center of the park. It's a gleaming memorial, dedicated to the donors who made the creation of the park possible. Surrounded by cherry trees, it is a favourite spot for picnic in the early spring time. By now all blooms, as well as leaves, have long fallen off and died. The pool has been drained. The statues sit, mouths open, bare of flowing liquid that is their testament to life. Without water they seem stale, lifeless. Frozen figures, and nothing more.
A sharp shriek breaks my revery.
Bright blue creature, striped with bars of white and black, hurls itself from the branch directly above me. I have found my next quarry. He flies ahead, bouncing with every pump of his wings. A loud, irritating squeal comes when he opens his beak, long and sharp like the prick of a needle.
As I child I did not mind the prettily blue jays. When I was older, however, I found their noise obnoxious—a screech of an annoyed babe. And watching them at the feeder, from our dining room window, I saw that they were great bullies, forcing other, small bird to go away while they greedily covered the wooden boxes we had placed out for food.
Another cry—
"Oh, please!" I shout upwards, and the bird is silenced. Sky-coloured plumage ruffles in distaste as the jay hold back a cry. The feather waits for me at the base of one tall pine, presumably where the thing landed. I scoop it up. The vane is clumped together, oily. I finger the piece to lie together properly.
Pinpricks of liquid black seek me out. I meet the beady eyes. "You're a tyrant. Nothing but a childish bully. You want people to follow you? Don't squawk so!"
The damned thing screams again. Angry. They all have short fuses. I cry back madly. Silly, true, but I'm not about to let the little bully get the best of me.
Ara was meant to be a tyrant. My character, that is. A heavy-handed brute. A blue jay, effectively. He is loud, quick to anger, like a jay, princely, like a peacock, and vicious as a swan, imposing as a raven. Though, perhaps he could be something more….
Before the thought gets much further, a flash of scarlet skirts across my vision, and I am on the chase once more.
Cardinal-Passion
Once again, I find myself in a wooded section of the park-though this time I'm on one of the legitimate paths, one lined with woodchips and flat stones, benches waiting every quarter of a mile. The woods are cool and dark. I do not mind.
I turn a corner to find my elusive little friend sitting on one of the benches. It peers upward, examining the tree branches ahead. For a second or two I watch it. Then it hops, once, twice, to flit onto the nearest branch.
Bright colours suggest it to be a male. The females are typically dull, a brown-ish red, or grey-ish pink, rather than vivid scarlet. It seems unfair, though that is the way of nature, I suppose. Females are almost always screwed over in some manner. Our lot. A horridly unfair one.
I would want the passionate pigments of a cardinal, if I were a bird. Why should the boys have all the colour?
"Hello," I say.
The bird chirps. I jump back. It hops up, flutters a bit. Almost dramatically. Over responsive? Is that a common trait, in these birds?
"Sorry to bother you, but I've been sent on a task—"A mad one, too, for it has me talking to wildlife in a rational manner. "—and I really need a feather. You know—"
The thing chirped again, bounced, then rocketed itself upward to the branches of a tall cedar.
"Oh."
It's then that I see the small red quill left behind on the bench. Calling up to the speck of red high above my head, I thank the cardinal. This time I don't even get a squeak of "you're welcome."
I am not disappointed. Thus far, this has been the most painless feather to retrieve. And possibly the prettiest. The bloody vane of this plume is hard to ignore. Red, the colour of passion, of love, of feeling. It is a thin feather, narrower than the others. But what it lacks in size it makes up for in pigmentation.
Scarlet is most certainly the colour of a king. Kings are men of action. Men who require passionate feelings. Men who are quick to respond to crisis. It is a bold colour, crisp and warm. Kings, indeed, are men of red. Red for blood. For love, patriotism. For high feelings. Sanguine natures.
The king I know-for I know only one-is without a doubt a man well-fitted with the colour red, though I have only ever seen him in stark neutrals, or cool colours like blue, black, grey. They fit well enough, but coupled with his temperment and hot emotions, I suspect a solid, brash scarlet would do wonders for his intimidation quota. He is in no way a ruthless or bloody king, merely one who runs higher passions. Through a calm demeanor masks these feelings, anyone can see through his actions...though, perhaps not.
Things like this show me he is a man. Not merely a vile character straight out of a storybook. No, there is more depth there.
How you turn my world You precious thing.
You starve and near exhaust me.
Everything I've done, I've done for you.
I move the stars for no one.
Dove-Gentleness, Kindness
A sweet and soft cooing greets my ears. Perched ever-so-lightly sits a mourning dove, slender neck extended. It rustles its matte feathers, the wispy folds of grey reminding me of storm clouds. The dove peers down upon me, cooing again.
I am surprised. "Your sort doesn't tend to like the forest. Fields, that's your habitat."
It doesn't respond to coo again. I do not protest. My heart slows. This is a welcoming break from dashing about the woods.
Doves are to represent peace and calm. Breathing lightly, I relax in the presence of gentleness itself.
"This is a fine gift after the parade he sent me earlier!" I tell the thing. "Does he think it's Mardi Gras? They were all loud, flashy—" I take a step forward. "—nothing like you, sweetie."
I am eye-to-eye with the creature. One finger reaches out, completely out of my conscious thought, to stroke the soft neck. The bird is patient with me, allowing the pads of my fingers to run along the silk carefully.
"You're so lovely," I sigh. "Simple, but that's just it. You don't need metallic feathers five feet long, or a loud voice."
Running the length of the body, my hand comes away with a single, mist-coloured feather.
"Thank you," I whisper. There is another coo—
And then all that is left before me is a branch, swaying up and down, abandoned by weight.
The lesson of this animal is unclear. Am I to see his gentleness, his kind nature? In my time in his maze, I saw nothing but—but brash tyranny!
"I ask for so little. Just let me rule you, and you can have everything that you want…Just fear me, love me, do as I say, and I will be your slave…"
But those were not the words of a tyrannical man. Were they? Does the Goblin King possess gentleness? Or merely illusions for the sake of manipulation?
Pondering, I continue my walk. Was I wrong to have assumed the nature of the man? Had I projected a villain onto a blank canvas?
By now, I know it isn't my book I have entered this quest for. It isn't a fictional fairy king I muse upon, but a very real fae one. Though why, I know not. Why now? Here? Did he suspect my uncertainty of the future? Sense my boredom, being caught in the same circle of college-career-marriage-children my peers so relished?
Or am I merely insane?
Had my internal distress and worries over this book somehow worked itself out of my head to become an imaginary incident? Am I so attracted to the idea of being a stolen princess that I've made all of this up?
Madness or not, I am compelled to see the path through to the end. Though the skies are darkened severely, now hard slate ready to burst from pressure at any moment, I neglect all thought of going home. Karen will worry, Toby remain blissfully ignorant, and my father perhaps mildly fearful. Never mind them—I'm toward the end. I must be.
Deeper down the trail I go, listening for a new call. However, it's not a bird, but a massive black oak that catches my eye and calls me from the path.
-XXX-
Reviews would be lovely! I've had a great number of favourites and alerts, but no one has told me what they thought yet! I'm so glad so many of you have liked it thus far (or at least till chapter 2) but I'd be gladder still if I had a couple of reviews. Pretty please?
We're near the end! One more to go!
