The Fledgling

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Copper had known the fury and fear of the black tinged heart she had been born bearing. In death her soul found an unnatural freedom. She had foolishly taken the path of the Faithless, lived and died outside the guidance of the gods and for that had walked alone as an aberrant, abhorrent soul-smear. That time she had spent as a ghost still haunted her dreams.

Love and sacrifice had gifted her with a new form. She knew it was new and perfect, just like the magic the goddess Mielikki gave the one who created it.

Copper knelt, her back against a pine. Benge was asleep. The holy ranger deserved rest; she did not deserve his guarding. It was right that she guarded him, the one who surrendered his life to the forest to give her life again. His presence emboldened her; never was living so vital as when he needed her protection just as now.

She smoothed back her cinnamon hair, tucking it behind her slightly pointed ears. It would still be a long road until they reached their homeland, the woodlands known as the King’s Forest. Their keepers had been generous in hospitality, but when the hierophant sent word that the great green wyrm had been exterminated, Copper surrendered herself to the seductive call of the forest to which she belonged. Benge no doubt felt that yearning for home as well as he had smiled when she insisted they leave that night.

The greenhorn druidess felt ashamed she could not have stayed to defend the land. She knew there was nothing she could do though; she was still a fledgling under the caring wings of Mielikki’s flock. There would be a time when she would stand among the fearless and unflinching, but, as the hierophant said, that time would follow this in its order.

The weight of night faded as the yellow haze of dawn heralded the spring morning. Copper watched as the sky took on its day colors, shifting from starry black to a dusty gold. From its golden hue, the sky then faded into a color she knew no name for: a dull blue tinged like an angry bruise. Soon the sun floated into the watery sky, paired by a thick, smudged cloud that lined all the west in its dark charisma. Its gloom then began to pour down on the trees below it, smearing its form upon the horizon.

A scent crossed the morning air and halted Copper’s admiration of the dawn. It was a green smell, a scent common in any forest, but stated in a precise way. Perhaps it was the combination of flowers and leaves or the quantity of dew on the air or perhaps it was just something that enveloped her that sent a shock of memory through her.

The breeze was the same as the wind that blew the cold through her as she reached the top of the Great Oak. It was the same breeze that carried the rumbling voice of the hierophant, Shadovar the Plant, up to that high place announcing her place within the forest was assured by the goddess’ blessing. The wind dashed around her body, bringing her to that place and binding her there again. It held her so tightly, as if to remind her that she was indeed solid and real and that the air would never ignore her again. The air was thick with the promise, that promise made truth in flesh and sensation. The warmth of the dawn would not pass through her unfelt; the heat of the sun did not ignore her as unfitting or unnatural. Sunlight played off her every hair, each curling thread shinning like a child’s smile.

She spread her arms wide, opening her robes to let the light beam through to her skin. She studied the crimson blackness hidden behind her eyelids. The clinging cold of the night melted away, and Copper circled her arms, yearning to capture twilight and dawn together in her embrace. If she could reach up to embrace the sun, if she could somehow express her joy in all the vivacity, all of the life, within and around her, she would. If the sun would burn her for her love, then she could not find a better use for her life. Even if she received life again only to surrender it in gratitude for it, she would do it now, do it for every mote of light and gulp of air she experienced.

Copper inhaled, expanding with the breath. Her robes fell away.

~~

“Shadovar, I’m sorry,” wept Benge. "I searched for days. I saw no tracks... there was nothing of her."

The large, bark-skinned hierophant snorted. Animals clung to his woody body; bits of spirited fur, scales, and feathers made play and life unaware of their home yet attracted by his goddess’ gift. The orc-shaped tree man grinned a wood-tusk grin. He tossed a bottle down at the knees of his best warrior, the sylvan paladin.

Benge blinked his tears of failure from his eyes. His cleared vision revealed a familiar sight: a bottle of Plant Ale, Shadovar’s finest brew.

“Drink up, Beng,” he said extending his arm. A fiery hawk swooped down onto its master’s limb. It tilted its keen head to the side, observing the man’s sorrow.

Benge took up the ale. Without question, he drank the nut-flavored draft. After wiping his face of beer and tears, he said, “Great Hierophant, why do you reward my failure?”

The Plant laughed deep and slow. “Heh heh, I’m rewarding Copper’s success.”

The hawk turned on his arm, hanging by both its talons and wings. Its form grew, faster than Benge could capture with his eyes. Faster than his bleakness could turn to bliss, Copper hung like a chattering, silly squirrel from the plant-orc’s arm.

Benge ran to embrace her. As he ran a hand through her hair, he pulled a single, red feather from her curls.

“She’s fully fledged now,” the master druid chuckled.

What was Copper's life like before? Take a peek in:

Copper and Calathias  (13+) A duel decides the fate of two lovers... #825081 by Chris & Christina McCoy

1037 words

Please excuse the strangely placed italics; they are for a contest.