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Lavender (16 days after)

I slept like a log in my newly made nest, but as light as a feather upon my four polka-dotted eggs. The sky was darkened and black in the atmosphere, and a cool crisp air fluttered silently through the trees. Leaves danced around the island, scattering themselves in the turned undergrowth of the little forest. I heard the waves a few meters off the coastline of the white cliffs, crashing onto the beach filled with rocks. Each splash was loud and roaring, but it's feeling was calming and peaceful. I knew though, despite of how softly I breathed, how melodious the natural world was, and how still I laid, that I was still pretty much awake. Everyone else was asleep but me.

I just pretended.

With my eyes closed, I slowly blanketed my yet-to-hatch younglings under my enlarged wing as a covering of heat. I felt my blood pump through my winged veins, all around back to my heart, which in turn thundered powerfully in my chest. I shifted my body a bit, carefully avoiding myself from allowing my heavier bodily parts to come crushing on over the eggs. It was a bit cold on the island tonight, no frost or winter winds however, but cold enough to make me shiver. My outside was like a cold inferno, but my underside and my eggs were warm like fresh-meat. It was some strange phenomenon that I couldn't understand, but it thankfully kept me and my eggs alive.

Being a mother in a great big world was oddly strange and somewhat difficult. You have one beady eye on your babies, the other on the outside world.

Watching closely.

Listening hard.

And sometimes even overdoing your 'to-do's'

Every moment, every second, counts. It's hard to keep your eggs safe, especially in times like this. Many dinosaurs lose their eggs prior to their own hatchlings. I've heard that T-Rex eggs die quick since their parents are terrible babysitters.

But perhaps that's not the case for me.

Nothing bad has happened since I laid them 4 or 5 days ago, no doubtful thoughts have came up, nothing in particular that resulted in anything negative to me. Cal and his family seemed fine, and their own younglings were adapting fast in this great changing world. Hope finally was able to fly beyond the cliffs into the outer ocean, and back without a single mis-flap or fall. Would that transfer to my own too? I had no clue...yet.

I twisted my body again to the other side of the nest as if I was sleep-moving, whereas my body was on the side of the nest, while one wing laid upon the eggs, the other below them. Sometimes, I didn't even know what I was doing part of the time. Sometimes I was so caught up into protecting them, that I wasn't even protecting myself. Oftentimes my fear over them led to my own hunger and starvation. I was beginning to wonder if I was doing the right thing...if protecting them was a right cause to give them a better future than my own. Or perhaps I was too overprotective. My mind settled lower into the thought, which in turn awoke me from my half-asleep body in the darkness of the night. My lavender eyes flashed like lightning strikes in the midst of dusk, and my beak, sore and cold, laid limply in the sticks of the nest, a little ways outside from the comfort of my own wings.

Why was I awake now?

It made no sense, and perhaps the question itself didn't even make sense too.

How could I be awake in a time like this?

I needed rest.

I needed comfort.

I needed help.

I needed....well...

I couldn't remind myself of my lost husband, Major. His death was enough trauma to bear for my own sake. He never even got to complete his sentence before his death. Which I may never find out.

I couldn't do this alone, even if I was aided by Cal, Stella, and their young-ones. They weren't even my specie type. If I kept questioning my own loyalty and life towards my own survival, I won't even make it as far as those who were already mentally and physically prepared after impact. I wouldn't even make it if, say a storm blew in. Or if an earthquake shook the island to the ground. I kept judging myself constantly over my own eggs rather than myself. But if I switch my thoughts to my own survival, what will become of my eggs? Will it switch vice versa?

At this point, my mind was overwhelmed with fearful thoughts that were beyond my approach, beyond my understanding and even my own answers, and I sat up in my nest wide awake. I heard the snores, like rumbling thunder, from the throats of Cal and Stella, and the squeaks of their children. Watching Cal's family was like seeing a dream open up quick and easily. They seemed perfect. Too perfect in fact, as if they've never experienced pain and anger and death, like how I did in the valley with Major. My eyes scanned the island, watching the trees flow like the waves of the ocean below me. Watching the horizon of the ocean flow, lift, drop, and wobble with each wave that came to shore. Watching the mountain stand tall in the distance, still and silent, but never low or bending. It never fell or attempted to risk dangerous thoughts or actions. It was strong and powerful, and like how a dinosaur cares for its eggs, it watched over the island, even with its insecurities. Is that what I must be? Like a mountain over my own? Maybe so. Maybe I needed to act in a way, more protective, even if it's not ideal for a Quetzalcoatlus female to do. The world changed after impact. So if it must be, I must change along with it. And that starts with my own future: the eggs.