Ranger's Roundhouse

Birds

Prompt above ^^

It's nearly time... It's nearly time...

The call echoed and re-echoed, vibrating the very core of his hollow bones and setting every muscle aflame with life.

It's nearly time... It's nearly time...

He twitched an eyelid, sealed though it was, and his hatching muscle tightened convulsively. With a sharp jerk, his head shot from under his wing and rocketed against the confining space with all the strength in his small body.

Outside, someone clucked soft encouragement.

Then, exhausted, he slept. For two days, unaware of the passage of time, he slept. Waiting. Gathering strength, for he knew somehow that the worst struggle was yet to come.

It's time... It's time...

Something whispered softly to his heart, and he flexed a talon; shifted a wing; experimented with the weight of his head. His egg-tooth carved gentle furrows in the soft inside of the shell, and outside, someone chirped an eager inquiry.

'Is it time?'

Tasting the space around him, he piped a soft answer and shifted clumsily within the shell; frail baby-muscles obeyed his will as best they could. Curious, he continued to move, testing the strength of his limbs. Was the world really this large?

The egg-tooth dug a little deeper.

It's time — it's time...!

The next day — though the passing of time meant nothing to him yet — his once-secure home was a prison. He could barely move. Had no room to grow.

It's time — it's time — !

Cautiously, he wriggled a toe — then froze as something in the shell gave. What had once been so impenetrable had worn thin, and weakened.

The chick shifted again, and the world wobbled unsteadily. A soft call resounded from outside, and he paused a moment to listen.

'A little more, small one — a little more!'

It's time, it's time!

He wriggled again, relishing the feel of extra space — free movement — and an eager, chirping cry welled from his heart in answer to the voice outside.

'It's time, it's time, it's time!'

It's time.

The chick squirmed once more, and at last the shell — an ear-splitting screech sliced the air like a bloodstained knife. With a violent flurry of wind, all semblance of warmth vanished as if it had never existed; the chick was flung roughly aside and tumbled from his egg's secure embrace. Stunned, he lay motionless.

For the first time in his life, the chick lay unconfined. An onslaught of information — scent-weight-wind-cold-bare-sun-pain-light-firm-dry-air-space-sound-touch-space-space-space! — struck him like a physical blow, and a terrified cry sprang from the pit of his soul.

There was no reply.

Panicked, he chirped wildly, not daring to move; some instinct told him danger was near; he must not move  and she must come back.

A low whistle rose and fell with the wind and the chick quietened eagerly — but the sound was unfamiliar and empty.

Grief settled storm-cloud dark in his heart. He needed warmth — needed touch — needed the heartbeat that had drummed on so unflaggingly steadfast before now, singing him a wordless song of love and hope.

Now it seemed only a memory.

He needed, like a river needs rain, the reassuring press of feathers against his down, shutting out the cold  and the big  and the wide  and sealing him off — safe — and alone but for her.

He needed his mother.

Desperate, he scraped at the air with his claws — beat his wings, feeble though they were, and flipped sideways. The bitter taste of dry dirt coated his tongue like poison. Gravity bore down with the weight of a giant, and defeated, the chick lay still.

An anguished cry overflowed from his heart, echoed and re-echoed by every fibre of his being — 'Don't leave me!'

But she took no notice.

Utterly dismayed, the chick ceased fighting. Exhausted muscles refusing to cooperate any longer — not daring to call again lest he attract predators — he lay as if dead. Helpless, alone, and so, so afraid.

A vengeful, merciless wind hissed through the trees, carrying a threatening chill. With deceptively gentle fingers it probed the falcon's still-damp down, creeping like an icy-legged spider across his skin. Frozen talons sank deep within his bones.

Within moments his muscles had locked fast.

The torturous seconds ticked by like minutes. The minutes like hours. And the chick's small heart beat dangerously slow.

Weariness infused every muscle, but it was the grief — the aching, immeasurable pain of knowing he had lost her, she was gone, gone forever and had abandoned him — conspired with the pitiless cold to strip him of everything.

Time took its toll, unstoppable as the rising sun.