Moon Flowers (Book 1 of the Flower Trilogy) #Wattys2016 #Featured

CHAPTER TWO - PHI (Edited)

PHI'S POV

I hated doing housework. I was only weaving spider webs because my grandmother had insisted on it. To my utter horror, it was raining outside so I was confined to our nest.

I sighed as I pulled on the beater of my weaving machine working on the same white and airy tunics, the same linens I weaved everyday. Boring. I peered again outside through the entrance to our nest, glimpsing dark sky. Can't this horrible rain stop already?

I mean, really, a bird fairy forbidden to leave a dirty old alley? Such misery! Of course, my grandmother didn't understand. She had already seen the world, so what did she care if she stayed indoors?

I glanced over at Grandmother, whose once-magnificent wings were now a tired gray color, the once thick black hair on her head now peppered with white strands. Tiny wrinkles traversed the corners of her eyes. The rest of her face nevertheless retained her youthful beauty. Full lips, a perfectly petite nose, porcelain skin. Everybody said I looked like her, or like her daughter, my deceased mother; we had the same almond-shaped eyes, a vestige of a faraway land I never saw. I wore my long, dark hair swept into a loose bun, as was customary in the alley – all fairies wore their hair up or in braids. My tiny, upturned nose also matched my Grandmother's, and I took great pride in my still-luxurious feathers. My wingspan was the same length as that of my mother's, which had, according to lore, been tremendous.

As I stared down the alley, I spotted Aras running towards the Tisannieres' nest. Oh, dear, what's happened?

"Something is wrong," I said to my grandmother.

I threw my work aside and walked the few steps that separated me from the nest's entrance, dodging the heavy weaver on the way. I poked my head out, suddenly not minding the rain.

Was it an accident? Was Halia all right?

Some of the fairies had hurt themselves recently, especially when the dwarfs were teaching them sword fighting. Had Halia been injured?

"Sit down, Phi," my grandmother said with a small frown. "You are not finished with your work."

"Something is wrong," I said. "Aras just ran to fetch the Tisannieres fairies." I glanced one last time at the unfinished pile of webs.

Grandmother shook her head but her eyes showed she had given up convincing me to stay. I gave her an apologetic smile.

"I'm going to find Halia," I said.

I arched wings high above my head and flew through the cold rain, the deluge weighing down my feathers. I didn't care. I had to see Halia.

*

A short flight took me to Halia's home. My eyes slowly grew accustomed to the darkness. The nest she shared with her godmother was almost identical to the other fairies' nests—with a shoe sole as a bed, a thimble, and their water and food stash. Compared to mine, however, it seemed spacious. Grandmother had managed to cramp our nest with weaving machines, leaving no room to move about, a trying situation for a bird fairy.

I finally distinguished the shape of my friend lying in her bed. She wasn't moving and her lovely eyes were closed.

"Halia?" I whispered as I sat down beside her. "Halia? Can you hear me?"

She did not react. Her lips were blue, yet her body was covered in sweat.

Oh, no. I leaned closer. "Halia?"

A group of creatures entered the nest behind me. Their distorted shadows reflected on the back wall. Aras had come back with the green fairies and a will-o'-the-wisp. The latter's flaming body illuminated the room.