Bird Eyes || Tomtord

Flight

Out.

He needed to get out again. Because out meant closer to Tom, and he needed that. But out also meant down, which he wasn't as okay with. Of course, it didn't have to mean down, if he tried hard enough. Out could also mean up.

A noisy chirp of annoyance left his beak. He silently wished that he was reborn as a land animal. But wings would be a great component to have, that is if he could get them to work.

He found out the fact that he was avian after his depressed episode and a mouthful of sustenance. He had a feathery, brown belly, a sharp beak, and beige toes spouting cunning talons. He had thought that he would get a more docile reincarnation, being a murderer in his past, but the world had rebuilt him into carnivore instead.

He also found that he could no longer move his eyeballs around. They just stayed put, and forced him to move his neck around, which was surprisingly easy. He could rotate it nearly all the way around his head. Creepy and weird, but cool.

Tord looked down at the ruffle of feathers he had on his chest, at his wings that looked strong enough to fly with, and then at his family. He didn't know how long he should stay with them, or how long instinct told him, for he was blinded by the overpowering need to find his beloved Tom.

He could assume that he had waited long enough, although he didn't know for sure. He was sleeping a lot, though less and less nowadays, and it felt like he had waited for at least a month.

He walked to the edge of the nest and spread his wings to their fullest. He looked back at his siblings, who were watching him carefully and curiously. He turned his head back into the open air and then down. It was still too high for comfort, but that was fine. He had wings; he could fly. How hard could it be?

He breathed noiselessly for a moment, and then another, procrastinating. He watched for an opportunity, something that would either urge him out or stop him from trying. The tree he was in beginning to fall over, or a menacing looking predator, to which he found none.

The he thought of Tom. Yes, just think of him. Think not about the impending doom of possibly not being able to fly and falling helplessly to the ground. Think not of what happens if he gets down but can't get back up. Think not of this, nor that, only of Tom.

He aimed at a sturdy looking branch that he could easily glide to and leaned forward. At first, he was falling, and he felt like he would die. He didn't quite hear the rush of the wind, but he felt it brushing against his feathers. He was weightless and frightful and full of adrenaline. Then he forced his wings down to flap once and then return to their full span.

He wasn't really thinking at that moment. He was more so just letting it happen. He was watching himself like it was a movie, but if the main character just so happened to crash and die, he would as well.

He cut the air swiftly. It was a quick thing that happened, but also a mesmerizing and adrenaline-filled adventure. As he neared the branch, he jutted his body upwards and his feet forwards, sharp talons ready to latch onto the branch. He slammed down onto the tree a bit too hard for comfort but he was on the tree. He wasn't falling to his death, he actually landed on the tree. He let out a caw in victory to his family, being so proud of himself.

Then there was the issue of getting back up to the nest. There's where the bigger problem lied. He could glide easily, yes. But actually flying upwards is another story. He mentally slapped himself in his stupidity, his immediate attempt to get away had failed.

Having no other choice, really, he lowered his body and stretched out his wings, just hoping that he might actually succeed in getting back up, instead of being on the ground, vulnerable to an attack. He shivered at that thought. What an gruesome and plain way to die, being attacked by some animal and not having the means to escape, just because he left the nest a moment too soon.

Tord thrusted his body upward and his wings he shoved down. His body lifted an inch above the branch abruptly and he flailed. His talons grasped the branch again and he froze to recollect himself. He breathed for a moment, calming the thrashing river of worry in his gut.

He bent down again. He was going to get up there. His wings dropped and lifted him again. In the split second that he felt absolutely weightless, he raised his wings and shot them down again. As he rose higher in the air, he angled his flaps to push him towards the nest. Adrenaline rushed around inside of him. He felt liberated.

He was going to do it. He was going to find Tom.