The Hollows

Prologue

           It is peculiar how a simple day can begin as sunny, continue as the simple splatter of rain only to become a heavy rainfall as if the Gods were trying to warn or create a scenario for certain beings. The avian people of the Central Lands known as the Kingdom of Delaryr grew accustomed to the bipolarity of the weather. Even so, a young avian boy approaching the age of ten, fell into the grasps of the teary night skies, forcing him to seek shelter. His eagle wings holding the colours of sienna, cinnamon, occasional white and black and gold clusters were drenched, making his flight impossible. His slightly curled black hair as crows, and rich but ruined clothing showed off his frail body, cold and tired. In normal circumstances, this boy would have had a stronger flight, enabling him to return to his home but his physicality could not procure him a normal learning.

           When he had attempted a landing on the cold muddy ground, he slipped and sprained his ankle, having him utter a yelp. A curious stare placed upon him, he didn't feel alone. A crack of branches amongst the thundering rain, the rustling of bushes, and an accelerated heartbeat amongst discomfort.

           "Are you alright?" A small voice coming from behind the bushes where the boy rested near, "I saw you slip, there's a cave nearby."

           The boy turned abruptly reaching for his hip. A small knife crested with rosewood and quartz held by his leather belt. A girl, eyes gleaming the colour of fresh Spring, hair the colour of fire and amber, her clothes stolen from a tavern. He stares, unsteady.

           "I'm Heather!" She stated, "I'll be going to the fire, it's cold out here." She turned around revealing a pair of wings covered in a generous amount of mud, he relaxed as he stared at them, "You coming?"

           He nodded.

           He followed in a poor attempt at hopscotch, avoiding weight on his left ankle. They trudged through the greenery, entering a hollow cave, small enough to hide a family with a couple of belongings. On one side, bedding is made from pine branches, leaves and tuff. On the other, a small fireplace, cloths on a small stick held up by a gathering of rocks, and a dead bunny being prepared for cooking.

           "I guess you got caught in the rain," she gazed at his wings, a question lingering on her tongue, "how come?"

           "I flew away from home." He answered reluctantly, he looked around, perplexed by the surroundings. "Did you fly away too?".

           She giggled, "Of course not, this is my home. Where's your home?" She was determined to know his origins.

           "The castle, I think..." His answer was muzzled as he hugged himself around the legs, warming himself up.

           Heather no longer pushed him despite her last question lingering in the air, his name.

           She had offered the stay of the night and let him dry his wings by the fire. He was fast asleep despite the howling of the winds and rain. She had watched him do so until she too, was overcome by fatigue.

           When the morning came, he had stretched himself so hard that his ankle had ached from the unwelcomed movements. Some herbal ointment had been put on it during the night. Heather's doing. He looked around to see her, he went out and saw the bright light shining on the droplets of water remaining on the greenery, providing various colours through transparency. Not so far to the right, Heather was picking at some herbs, then poking at some mushrooms with a small stick, a sign of boredom. She heard his struggle amongst the trees and turned around, a smile curving on her lips. Her eyes were content, and her hair messy with occasional pine needles.

           "I want to show you something." She spoke with delight, "Come".

           He followed.

           After walking through the greenery and some flying when the trees were scarcer, they grew accustomed to each other's presence, sometimes having a few games amongst the small word adventure. Near a clearing, people were shouting around yelling the name Cassius. The men all had wings of different breeds, and silver armour with linings of gold. Some women, also in armour, were circling the forests from above, peering down. Heather hid behind a bush, unprepared for all the company. The boy reacted to them and trudged closer. Before so, he turned to look at Heather:

           "I know them, they are my people." He smiled. He held his hand out to her, inviting her to join him to walk toward the troops. She stared and refused.

           "So your name is Cassius," she twinkled, he turned around to look at them and heard her say under her breath, "until we meet again."

           A guard had spotted him and yelled across the clearing, flapping his wings to reach him quickly. Cassius turned around once more to say goodbye to Heather but she was nowhere to be seen. She hadn't shown what she wanted to show.

           The guard had caught up with Cassius and held him close. Cassius had named this bulky man with a scar on his left eye Belvur. He hugged him tightly before begging to be taken home. All the people that searched for him had some form of armoury and weaponry ranging from blades to bows and arrows. You would know who had a higher ranking thanks to some specific armour holding from the scapulars to the end of the marginal coverts of their wings, and a crest belonging to a specific court on their weapons and armour.

           It wouldn't take anyone time to understand that this boy was a Prince from the Royal Family nesting in the city of Sedmion, the Capital of Delaryr Kingdom. People from the Courts had been searching for him all night relentlessly. His Mother begged him to comprehend his flee. He would not speak of it. He did, however, mention Heather. They looked for her and could not find her, her vanishing made his story unbelievable, labelling it as a hallucination caused by the cold. His older brother glared down at him, while his sister held desperately onto her mother's indigo and aquamarine gown. When Cassius finished being attended to and was brought to his chambers, he flopped dramatically onto his bed, as opossums do when danger is near. He stared at the ceiling. until we meet again. Those words rang in his head, a memory so close yet so distant as if the thickness of the castle walls were blocking them out. He went to his small library on the left-hand side of his room, took out a leather-covered book, opened it, placed a feather he had hidden in his pocket, and wrote down one word only: Heather.