She might have apologised but Diaval was certain he could smell dog on his feathers as he tucked his head under his wing, preparing for a nap. Filthy, vial creatures! He was sure that his mistress had a soft spot for the mutts otherwise why else did she 'accidentally' keep clicking her fingers together and landing him on all fours?

High up in an Oak, Diaval closed his eyes as a few leaves were tugged free by a curious wind. They swept over his body, crunching through his feathers. He ruffled them out of his plumage and cooed softly. The Moors were sleepy and so was he.

It was a few hours of moonlit-fog drifts casually wandering over the Moors before Diaval noticed that there was something wandering at the edge of the thorn-wall. A figure, cloaked in soiled robes picked their way along the hostile wall. A peasant, no doubt, that had made the journey across the surrounding farmlands in the hope of finding some berries or even catching a bird. Ha, Diaval thought. They weren't going to catch him. He was well hidden in the tangle of Oak branches.

'Maleficent?'

Diaval's golden eyes snapped open. He turned his feathered head and stared sharply at the peasant.

'Maleficent – are you there?' The human rasped at the impenetrable facade of thorns. There was a sadness echoing in their voice. Abandoned hope – perhaps? Was this a poor traveller that his mistress had left behind in her many adventures in the realm of man? Diaval took an instant dislike to them.

The bird waited on his branch for his mistress to come. She was always drawn to the edge of the Moors by the call of her name – even if she never revealed herself. For better or worse, she was inherently curious, much like a bird, Diaval realised.

He waited and waited and yet still Maleficent's presence never approached the wall. She must have heard this human. Diaval decided that he would find out what kept her away.

A black bird hopped off an Oak branch, sank slightly before the wind caught his wings and he went soaring up into a warm current of air. He stretched his wings, tilting gently over the large watercourse that tangled through the Moors. It was thicker today after a week of nourishing rain though it had succumbed to a reddish brown instead of its usual glistening blue. Diaval didn't mind – change was a part of the world, it proved that the water was alive.

Diaval had been lining himself up for a perfect landing when Maleficent caught sight of him and snapped her fingers. He tumbled awkwardly out of the air, landing in a heap on the grass.

His vanity cringed as he unfolded his ungainly human limbs. "Mistress..." he greeted, when he was back on his feet. The urge to preen all the grass from his clothes made him twitch.

"Did you enjoy your nap?" she asked causally, lounging against a rather ancient tree.

Diaval wondered how many fairies that tortured wood had served as a headrest. "Immensely," he replied. "Though," he added carefully, "it was disturbed by a lost-looking peasant."

Nothing. Maleficent didn't even blink those heavy eyelashes of hers. Whatever she'd found to stare at in the Moors, her gaze was locked on it.

"They were calling your name quite loudly," he continued. "Is it true that fairies can always hear their name – no matter who calls it or how softly?"

There was a long pause. Maleficent scraped her nails over a rock that her hand was resting on. "It is true," she affirmed. "Granted it's not my favourite skill." If only he knew what it was like to hear a hundred whispered prayers and do nothing about them. Yes, she'd heard the voice calling at the edge of the Moors. She'd heard it many times before. This was the first time she'd refused to answer it. Maleficent had learned her lesson and it cost her a set of wings.

Diaval thought very carefully about what to say next. He felt as though he'd accidentally stumbled into something he'd rather not press with her. "Will you still come if I call your name?" he asked, with large – hopeful eyes.

Maleficent managed a smile this time, finally turning her attention to Diaval. "Yes, little bird," she replied. "I'll always come if you call."

Making their way back across the gently sloped hills of a dozen farms was a king dressed as a peasant. It didn't take much costume to sell the deceit. The king's eyes were mad and his hair hanging limply to his shoulders. His features, once strong cut if not a little thin were now the harsh outlines of a skeleton with dark shadows at the eyes convincing enough to make some fear that Death himself was walking among them.

King Stefan wasn't sure why he'd gone to the forest. Of course Maleficent wouldn't come out from behind her fortress of thorns. Why would she? All he wanted was to see her – to prove to himself that he'd not imagined the last few years – invented her in his mind as a demon to torment him. Stefan had to make sure that she was flesh and bone and that the feathers shaking the iron cage in his room were really those of magical creature. If she was real then the curse was real. He drew strength from that. He was going to prove once and for all that man was stronger than magic. He'd beat this – this ridiculous curse of hers and then face her. It'd be proof, unequivocal, that greatness was the work of his own creation. From peasant to king – it could be done.

"Diaval! You are making me dizzy! Stop that!" Maleficent called uselessly to the sky above her head. Diaval had an insect in his sights. He was swooping and diving, clicking his beak at the edges of its dancing wings. He was going to have this creature – he could almost -

A screaming man fell from the sky and landed in the large pool of warm water. Several minutes later a very displeased human crawled over the bank and took up residence on a large boulder.

"I warned you..." Maleficent pointed out when he said nothing.

Indeed, a whole hour passed and he continued to say nothing. Diaval never complained to Maleficent when he was unhappy but he certainly had a rather silent way of letting her know that he was displeased.

"Have you seen Aurora today?" Maleficent asked.

Diaval was startled for a moment. She never usually asked after the child – though he had noticed her listening more intently to his stories of late. Was it possible that there was a sort of fondness growing for the child? It was difficult not to love the little girl. The creatures of the world were magically bound to do so. It was as inevitable as her dark fate.

"I perched on the table as she had breakfast outside," he replied. "Those stupid fairies have finally worked out that she can't eat flowers. They're giving her porridge which isn't great but at least she's not starving."

"My father always used to say – small wings, tiny minds..." Maleficent curled her lip in a bit of smirk – which faded when she glanced over her shoulder and remembered that she had no wings at all.

"I think he was right," Diaval agreed. "The really little ones do nothing but zap me whenever I fly past. I still can't work out what I did to annoy them. I think they just take a general dislike to everything." He inspected his clothes. Yes, he was almost dry now. He still couldn't believe that she'd made him fall into the water. "Was your father the king of the Moors?"

Maleficent remembered her father fondly. "There were no kings or queens of the Moors when my parents were alive. He was a caretaker along with my mother and a small group of fairies. I don't know where the other large fairies are. I think they retreated to the mountains when the humans started hunting around the borders of our lands. They don't like conflict."

Diaval looked toward the mountains. It was a strange place of cliffs and cloud – a world that was more magic than sense where all the edges of reality started to blur. The birds never flew that far toward the setting sun and those that did never came back. He'd sometimes heard it called a 'deadly beauty' – a lure for those who like pretty things and greener pastures.

"Have you ever been out there – toward the mountains?"

Maleficent shook her head. "No... I've thought about but – I don't know..." she looked at them again, narrowing her eyes at the immense beautify of the towering cliffs.

Diaval knew that he probably shouldn't but he couldn't help wondering – what if there were creatures in that world that could use magic to help his mistress? Maybe they could heal her wings or at the very least, help her recover them? Maybe, just maybe, he'd edge closer to the boundaries of the magical realm and take a peak at its secrets, after all, it could hardly be any more dangerous than his perch in the castle.

"Diaval, what are you thinking?" Maleficent asked him. He had that look, the one he got when a scheme was amassing in his mind. She wasn't sure she liked it.

"Nothing – nothing. Just plotting how to catch that dragonfly you saved from me earlier."