By Seth C. Jones

The sun scattered glimmering rays of life throughout the leaves and branches of the forest. As the trees swayed in the cool breeze, the light danced on the forest floor in a brilliant show.

Aenid, unfortunately, didn’t have time to appreciate the light.

She sat in her nest high above the ground, preening her bright green wings. Her leaves—growing where most birds had feathers—required constant attention to keep insects from grazing on them. Once she’d finished, she turned her attention to her chick.

He didn’t have a name yet; he wasn’t old enough to choose one. Aenid feared he’d never reach that age. His leaves wilted, his eyes struggled to remain open as he rested in the nest, staring up at his mother.

“Peep.” The chick’s body trembled with effort.

Aenid rested a wing over his eyes, waiting a few moments before his breathing steadied.

Wilter’s Sickness. Without proper leaves, her chick would need something to eat.

That was all he needed. Food and sleep.

Once she was sure the chick was asleep, Aenid flung herself from the nest and flapped through the branches. The sunbeams kissed her leaves, banishing Aenid’s hunger. She dove through a small loop formed by a vine, pulling up from the ground in time to let the edge of her talons scrape the warm dirt.

Aenid flew higher, landing on a branch and surveying the world below. The trees here were sparse and small, scattered across the ground like fallen leaves from a mightier tree. That should have made finding rodents easier, but Aenid couldn’t spot one.

Distantly, the sound of the longlegs’ village crept into the serene forest. The crack of wheels on stone and the shriek of metal hammering metal. A thin veil of dust marked the town, close to Aenid’s new perch.

She searched the clearing for a meal once more but came up with nothing. Maybe the creatures were in the longlegs’ village.

Aenid launched into the air. As she approached their town, the black smoke and clouds of dirt that followed the longlegs muddied the sunlight. The hunger in her stomach crept back up now that the light was diluted.

She swooped down to one of their strange nests. It was almost as tall as Aenid’s tree and much wider. Stones had been fashioned into odd shapes and stuck together. A large section of the longleg nest had been removed, and Aenid wondered why.

These creatures must be terrible at making nests to leave such a hole without purpose.

Curiosity itching at her wings, Aenid glided down to the large opening.

A large longleg sat inside the room, playing with a handful of shiny metals. The fur on his head was a striking gray; it reached down to his chin and stretched farther than she’d known a longleg’s fur could.

She hopped into the room, her head flicking around in wonder. There were so many collections, and Aenid knew them to be collections, around. Tomes, metals, and all sorts of things.

Then she spotted it. A small disk sat on the edge of another opening in the wall, releasing steam and heavenly scents into the air. Was this what made the longlegs so big and healthy?

Aenid flapped over to the disk, ignoring the longleg’s grating scream. She landed beside the small disk, staring at its flaky skin in curiosity. She could smell meat inside it, but she’d never seen an animal like this. Perfectly round, with small slits on its flat face, releasing those wonderful smells.

She punched through the crust and pulled out a small chunk of what was undeniably flesh. It had a tougher texture than rat meat, and there was a char on it Aenid had come to recognize as the residue of the longleg’s fire.

Aenid stretched her wings out, ready to take off into the sky.

Something struck her in the side with the force of a falling mountain. She was sent tumbling through the air, falling to the ground before she could realize what was happening. With a wet, painful crack, Aenid smashed into the ground. Something in her wing shattered, and several of her leaves were torn away.

“That’ll teach you to touch my pies!” something shouted from above.

“Mr. Scrooge!” Another voice called from above. “Was that necessary?”

“Cratchit!” the first voice roared. “Go find another pie!”

“Mr. Scrooge, I—”

“Bah! I’ll get it myself.”

The selfish longleg leaned out of the hole in its nest. “That was my pie, rat!”

Aenid struggled to her talons. She stumbled and tried to catch herself, but that only sent another shock of agony through her wing. A pained screech escaped her beak, but she managed to stay up.

And, somehow, she still held the food in a small pouch inside her mouth.

She slowly hopped through the longlegs’ village. Nobody else attacked her like the old one had, but she still kept a wary eye on each passing giant.

After the sun disappeared behind the horizon, Aenid reached the end of the longlegs’ town. Outside of the dust cloud, the dimming rays of sunlight worked to mend her wing; it would take weeks to finish.

She didn’t have that time.

Aenid tentatively stretched her wings out. She flapped once, clenching her talons against the instant agony. She flapped again. And again and again until she was in the air. Aenid ignored the pain, soaring through the air toward her baby.

After a few minutes of endless torture, she saw her tree. It was as if the sun had risen again, banishing her pains and warming her heart.

Aenid flopped into her nest, shaking a few twigs loose as she did.

Her chick lay there, its eyes opening blearily when Aenid brushed it with her wing.

She tipped her beak over, spitting her stolen meal into her chick’s gaping mouth even as hunger bit at her. Once she’d finished, the chick snuggled closer. Aenid could already see its leaves growing greener.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Seth is an aspiring writer trying to find his place in the world. He likes to read and is looking forward beginning his college life. All sorts of nature inspires his writing, from the rustle of the wind running over leaves to the dimming light of stars long dead. And he knows that one day his books will rest on library shelves across the world.

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