33 Something Beautiful (1/2)
The air bit at her hands and face, windy and fierce far colder than it should be for the late fall. Even with the wind, the smell filled her nostrils, something strong and half wild. Something that ate meat.
She opened her eyes and looked up at Arren, the wind tousling his dark hair, a light smile on his face. He turned her away from him.The sky, clear and blue stretched for miles in front of her, below the rocky cliff they stood on, the Kingdom spread out before them. She stepped away from him, closer to the edge, to see more. His shadows danced at her feet, ready to catch her if she slipped.
She turned, a question on her lips even as she looked past him, at the wooden doors and the half shaped tower, a structure that was barely carved out of the mountain, waited behind him.
”Come my little bird, I didn't bring you all this way for the view alone,” his lips were curved in a sly smile as he reached for her hand again. It's warm, she thought as she took it following him to the entrance.
The smell doubled as the doors opened but Isilla hardly noticed it. Above her in large nests were great hawks, huge and magnificent, resting peacefully.
She lifted her hand over her mouth, open in awe at the sight. The flying mounts of the Dark Realm that she had only heard of in stories during the long years of war or seen in the distance were only a few steps away from her, their feathers catching the sunlight that streamed through large openings in the ceiling, deep, dark blacks to dusty reds.
”This is one of the aeries. There are others. Most are larger,” Arren said, close to her ear. ”You see now why your pet couldn't accompany you.”
She nodded slowly.Larger than this? she thought counting twelve birds, some with babies nestled under their wings.
”We keep nesting mothers here,” he explained as he pulled her gently closer to one. ”You can touch them. Hold out your hand. They are very friendly girls. That's why I brought you here.”
She did as he said, reaching her hand out to the animal, her feathers a light brown. The animal shifted revealing two small, bald, pink hatchlings the size of dogs. The mother moved carefully around them observing Isilla's hand for a moment before pressing her sharp beak gently into her palm.
Her heart pounded in her chest, the small touch communicating the power and restraint the creature held.
”Her name is Chicken, Julen named her when he was much smaller. If I had known she was going to be such a good breeder I wouldn't have let him. Go ahead, touch her feathers,” Arren coaxed gently as he touched the animal's neck to demonstrate that it was alright. ”I breed them for patience and calm, not aggression.”
She reached past the bird's beak and to small feathers around it, letting them slide smoothly through her fingers.
She turned to Arren. ”You?” she asked, the word simple enough for him to read on her lips.
He smiled, ”I don't spend all of my time in my offices.”
”Ah! Prince Arren! We didn't know you were coming!” a man called entering the large space from a door that she had not noticed. Red color rose like a stain over his bald head, his face hidden behind a bushy beard. Very worn and patched clothing covered his staunch body.
Arren waved the man's words away, ”I didn't say anything. I wanted her to see things as they are.”
”The Princess,” the man choked out. ”Thank you so much for visiting our humble aerie!” he words slightly muffled by his deep bow.
”This is Iker, he is head of this aerie. Please stand old man,” Arren said, his tone familiar and friendly.
Iker shook his head as he stood, ”I am just a servant to the Crown. This aerie is run by his Majesty.”
Isilla looked back at Arren and he shook his head, ”Don't listen to him. He disagrees with half of my judgments and then we just do what he wants anyway.”
”You flatter me, Lord,” Iker said glancing away.
”Since you are here, prepare Gray Wind,” Arren ordered casually.
The man nodded. ”It was very nice to meet you, Princess Isilla.”
She smiled as he turned back, leaving them alone again.
”I help raise them. It was something that I began years ago. Their care is very calming,” he explained.
She reached in her pocket for her book. These are not for war, she asked.
He shook his head, ”Not at all. They have a calm temperament. I suppose they could fly in battle but it was not my intention when I was choosing which birds to breed. I wanted something that was just, beautiful.”
Red rose to his cheeks and he looked away from her, embarrassed by his own words.
She touched his hand and smiled. That sounds very nice, can you tell me about them, she wrote.
He nodded and began to speak on the hawks in his care. He walked her around the room pointing out each one giving their names and ages. He showed her the babies, explaining their care.
”There are more. These mothers have just hatched their young but there are some older ones, I thought you would like to hold them.”
She nodded, her smile wide and he met it taking her hand again leading her through the door that Iker had come through. The space beyond meant more for people than birds. Smaller and warmer, the smell of the greater space lessened.
”There's a back way up through here, so we can transport sick birds deeper into the aerie. And of course the young ones begin their training here before we move them them up,” he explained as they walked past halls that would more correctly be described as tunnels until they came to another wooden door.
”We take them from their mothers when they have all their feathers. Then they stay here where one of the younger apprentices is always around to feed them every few hours,” he said. Soft light from the open windows filtered down onto the colorful mass of downy feathers.
She turned back to him, questioning.
”Go ahead, they are perfectly safe. Watch,” he crossed the room and squatting to the ground, looked over the mass of soft feathers. He pulled one from the center. The animal came up easily looking at Arren with one dark eye. Its feathers a mix of gray down and sleek spotted dusty red.
He handled the small fledgling for a moment, speaking softly to it in a strange language, rubbing its head before he held the bird out to her. ”You keep a nightmare as a pet but you're afraid of a baby bird,” he teased.