A Fallen HomeKin

PART LV

Brilliant blue barbs shimmered in Fralith's fingers as he rolled the NightStarLark's bridal feather between his forefinger and thumb. He held it up to a StarGlow's soft yellow light, studying the way the blue shifted and wavered as he spun it.

This was the second night he had stayed up playing with his feather collection, organizing them into a wooden box to take back to the OtherWorld. The second night he slipped out of Davith's room—which was still empty of everything Davith; his older brother had to sleep at the barracks, much to his chagrin—and snuck into his room through the window.

It was strange, being in his room again. When he stood in the middle, feet cuddled by a hinchilla fur rug, surrounded by drawings of birds, bottles of rocks and funny-looking moss, and feathers upon feathers of all shapes, colors, and sizes, it was as if he was a bug trapped in amber. All of it was his, and all of it was familiar—to a Fralith of long, long ago.

Somehow, it wasn't completely his any more. It was missing something hidden behind his ribs, something so vital and...him that it just wasn't—right anymore. Still, it was better being in here than the barren, lifeless shell Davith's room was.

Sighing, and shaking his hair out of his face—it was getting so long now—he set the NightStarLark's feather into an open wooden box before him. Picking up another feather, he rolled it around in his fingers, gently stroking its barbs. Should he keep this one? Did he like it enough to take with him?

He gazed at the brown and white marks on the feather and set it aside. No, it wasn't special enough. Reaching for another feather, his stomach rolled over and he paused, staring at the shadows cast by his fingers. Was he really doing this? Was he really going back without Davith? That was—what the Eternal had been whispering to him, as he went about SecondHome.

Through the flocks of birds preparing to migrate, the Eternal had whispered leaving. Through the frosty nip in the mornings and the delicate ice patterns on leaves, the Eternal had signaled change. Even through the way the SecondHomers bustled around him like everything was normal, the novelty of his survival worn off, the Eternal had spoken about belonging elsewhere.

While he loved the enormous trees and cool shade of their canopy, the birds ever flashing through the air, and the city strung amongst the treetops, this wasn't home for him anymore. The Eternal had made it clear.

He couldn't laugh without wanting to share it with Ray-chel or Zee. He couldn't play in the stream with Davith without wanting BlueShirt and RuthMom to be there too. He couldn't eat SugarSlop without wishing for Tim's choc-o-late. But most of all, he couldn't be with Davith without wanting to show his other family his brother.

It was time to leave. Time to spread his wings and fly with the migrating birds. Time to leave something behind as he took another path.

A rustle at the window drew his attention out of his thoughts.

Davith hopped the window sill and landed inside with a quiet thud, normally neat hair rumpled and unkempt. "Still up?" he asked gently, padding over to his side.

He nodded, glancing down at the various feathers scattered across the desk. He was almost sure that Davith had a special sense for when he was sad; no matter where he was or what he was doing, Davith always showed up eventually.

It was nice, most of the time, when he wanted to talk. But when he didn't or couldn't, like now, it wasn't as much. He hadn't told Davith everything yet. Somehow, the words just wouldn't come. What if he told Davith and Davith said he couldn't go? What if Davith grew angry that he wanted to be with a different family?

A hand rested on his uninjured shoulder, warm and rough. "You have a busy head there, LittleBird. Care to share thoughts?"

Shadows stirred under his skin, shifting and sliding into place. He flickered his fingers, knitting his eyebrows together and looking up at Davith. A mimmink thought scampered forwards, leaping out of his mouth before he could stop it. "I want to—" syllables caught on his teeth, tripping and tumbling out with rough and uncut edges. "—I want to go home."