Across the ocean Book 1: On the run

Chapter Twenty One : The Mountain Kite.

It was quite late when Mayen finally had his source of relief. Around eight, he spotted Rowen walking in the twilight of the setting sun and of streetlamps. His shutters were almost closed, afraid to be spotted by that eye for a third time. He ran down, hastily, joyfully. He did not care if his excitement in a warm and humid night would make his skin slightly sticky beneath his nightshift. It was bond to be a cool night, yes, but he was in a city and living on the second floor.

-"My father is coming back!" He was shouting, wanting to spread his euphoria. "He is returning!"

The stairs barely slowed him down, worrying the two remaining maids. Olicia and the round one would be sleeping here tonight.

-"Slow down before you slid on your soft cushions all the way down." The round maid was ever the first to speak.

-"Hurry and tell Eliadoriss! My father is safe!"

-"He is safe?!" Olicia caught the disease and ran for her mistress. "I will tell the good news!"

If only he knew how his wild rejoicing was confusing the mountain kite waiting outside. As his shouts expressed his emotions, in turn expressions of feelings simply processed by one's mind, the wind he made was felt by the bird who had bonded him: intense relief. But why was he relieved? That was a question only born from a lack of context due to her being locked outside. Mayen could not feel, or sense to be more accurate, the bird of prey still standing on the rooftop as a sentinel.

Mayen stopped for a while, gazing at the tapestry, and searching for that newness. He knew scenes well enough to simply try to imagine the characters moving and speaking rather than processing in his mind their attire. The relief of victory, the celebration of having pulled through. Now he did not want to wait at the door, he wanted to await the arrival. How the sons and daughters of warriors experienced the return of kins was what he forced himself to reconstruct.

***

The mountain kite was perched on the gutter of the rooftop, following with a nervous state the approaching man. She had not forgotten the face of the boy she was bonded to, nor how his father's face did. Short neck and brown eyes, and a hair so short she could see the scalp. Her memory was good. As for why she was nervous, it was due to her indecisiveness. How was she planning to get inside? She had missed two opportunities already. There had been that man who had left the building from the opposite side of where she had been looking when she had been standing on that chimney, and it had been quiet enough for her to not notice it thanks to the distractions of this sixth sense. Then the bedroom window had been closed while she had decided to grab that rodent in the streets. She regretted having taken for granted that point of entry.

How would she get in? Doors opened and closed with little time and even less space to make a fly in a safe course of action. Yes, she could bring her wings close to her body and swoop from above and then tilt her tail in order to be using more space vertically than horizontally to get through the door, but then how and where would she land? Flying was less demanding than landing, and landing was the issue from midway to finish. She had experienced the clutter of trinkets, gizmos, and whatnots. Space was really limited and not designed for flying. At least not for birds her size, for sparrows would probably have all the space needed.

She found consolation in the positive wind her sixth sense detected. It was not that a wind could be positive, but she classified it as such due to the non-discomforting sensation she felt. There was also the understanding on her part that the feelings which the boy was experiencing were the kind which came when something unpleasant ended or when a bad situation turned out to be a good one. The atmospheric pressure she felt was a bit overwhelming, and that made her want to know what was going on for such fierce winds to brush her spirit.