A Fallen HomeKin

PART XXXI

Morning quickly passed into afternoon while working with RuthMom. After a good lunch of sand-wich-es, Fralith retreated to his room. It was warmer in there, the windows allowing sunlight and heat to pour onto the FloorMoss, brightening the room in friendly colors.

He stood in the middle of the room, sweeping his gaze across the entire space. It was a nice room, but it could do with more...him things, like feathers and drawings and jars and shelves full of things that he'd found around the forest floor. He didn't have any trinkets or feathers—who wanted to collect SillyBird feathers—but he did have and could make drawings.

Brightening, he trotted over to his bed and the small table beside it where he'd put his journal. Picking it and the MetalQuill, he settled on his bed, the soft fur of the blanket absorbing his legs a little, the journal open to an empty page on his lap. What should I draw?

He could draw birds; that would fit on his wall. Or he could draw trees and leaves or a flower and an animal or a person. There were so many things he could do! Tapping the MetalQuill on the page, he pursed his lips and squinted. Maybe he should draw all of that, starting with a feather. Nodding to himself, he started to draw.

First, he put down the swooping curves of the Sickle Feather on a HarvestBird, taking care to keep its crescent shape while adding the messy flares and edges the feather had. It was hard—it had been such a long time since he'd seen one—and it took envisioning the sharp curve of the HarvestBird's wing as it raised its wings to the sky, ready to take flight, to get it right.

Once he had the shape down, he sat back, staring at it. How would he shade it? He closed his eyes and reached back into his memory and grasped all the ones he could find about HarvestBirds. The picture of a field filled the darkness of his closed eyelids, thick and golden with vibrant magenta tops signaling the crop was ready to harvest.

Small shapes flitted around the bulbous magenta tops, briefly landing on them to steal a seed before flashing away on crescent wings. From his position in the memory, he could catch snatches of brown backs, bright white ringed necks, and short, black beaks. A set of two rings lined the backs of their wings, along with lighter brown speckles.

He peered closer at the wings, mentally squinting. Were the Sickle Feathers the ones with the rings or...there. A HarvestBird landed nearer to him in the memory, wings still spread as it pecked at the seeds stored in the bulb on the top of the BulbGrass.

He paused the memory and studied the wing. Yes, the Sickle Feather had the rings. Satisfied, he opened his eyes and started to sketch in the colors. As he did, the muffled crunch of MetalEater paws sounded outside and the LoudMonster started to Roar.

"Beep!" Dropping the MetalQuill, he slammed his hands together and hunkered over his book, eyes shooting towards the door. The LoudMonster! Why was it roaring again? Was it mad? Would it come into the house and—a shudder ran down his spine—eat him? Or RuthMom?

Fierce heat erupted in his limbs and he shot to his feet. No! He couldn't let it eat RuthMom! He ran to the door, threw it open, and dashed down the stairs. When his feet hit the wood floor at the bottom, he looked around wildly, panting. Where was the LoudMonster? Or RuthMom?

Before he could go look, the door next to the front door opened with a whoosh. BlueShirt let it swing closed behind him and kicked off his shoes. The LoudMonster's roaring died to a rumble then to nothing at all, leaving the jingling of the little metal bits and crackle of a white bag with blue bits on it in BlueShirt's hands to fill the silence.

BlueShirt. BlueShirt was back! Using the last of the fire in his limbs, he darted over to BlueShirt and launched himself into his side. "Samilshu!"

"Hey there Zander." BlueShirt patted his back with a small chuckle. "Missed me?"