Post by melomar on Jun 13, 2020 9:46:17 GMT -8
Solo One: Stormy Hart
Date: 11 June 2020
Word count: 1218
Notes: A fateful meeting with Xerneas and a new home.
When Lilac was a younger bird than she is now, -- and really, who can say how old she is now? -- she lived within a flock of swablu and one or two altaria. They were a loose-knit group of family and friends; no parents favored their own offspring any more or less than another’s, but they usually flew together from tree to tree. And what a sight to behold, as if bits of sky shattered and fell from heaven, only to reassemble in the correct order once again as the flock settled in among the leaves.
Lilac was not big for her age, nor particularly intelligent (and the time she fell out of the nest is in itself an interesting story), but she could sing like no other swablu, not even those twice her age and with a lifetime of practice. To say her singing was beautiful was an understatement. It was the sun’s rays inciting dust motes and mist to riot. It was an icicle tinkling in the bone-cold early-Spring breeze as it cracked and fell to the ground. Nature was alive in Lilac’s song.
One day while pecking at the ground looking for food, she became entranced by a pretty-colored pebble. She scratched at the area around the pebble with her little claws, determined to pull it free and examine it. Try as she might, it would not come free of the soil, which had become compacted by a series of recent rainstorms. When her beak and claws were not enough, she wandered off to find a stick or sharp stone to pry it free.
As the young pokémon struggled to find the tool she needed, her frustration only grew, and her wanderings lead her astray of the flock. By the time she realized how far she had gone, she could no longer hear the other birds chattering. Unbeknownst to the little swablu, the skies above had begun to darken with thickening clouds. At first the twilight had been gradual and nearly imperceptible. Even if she had been within earshot, the avian colony had hushed their voices in the expectant silence before the storm.
A-ha! Finally the swablu found the perfect stick, broken and flat on one side, to dislodge the pretty pebble. Triumphant, she hustled through the underbrush and emerged, brandishing a stick in her beak--! If she expected fanfare, she got not a single peep. Silence had descended upon the forest and the little swablu had not noticed, now stifled by the pressure of thunderheads laden with rain. A distant rolling thunder approached and her preoccupation was forgotten. Her heart seemed to buck and jump a foot, two feet, in her throat. Then...
BOOOM!
A roll of thunder steamrollered above, quickly followed by lightning. By the time that first lightning struck, she was beyond all reason. She recognized storms, but she was absolutely terrified of them! The deafening noise! That light both heard and felt sucked all color from the earth. Shadows became thick and seemed to approach from everywhere. An unbecoming squawk escaped her lungs as, terror-stricken, she dropped the stick from her beak and fled blindly through the underbrush and back into the forest.
Rain began to fall in sheets that splattered the earth. Even under the forest canopy, large droplets pelted down to her level. With time, her intense fear waned, and in its place came the realization that she was becoming hopelessly lost. Wet and lost. The more she hopped, the worse it became. Her heart began to slow and a hot sob rose up from her belly. She was no longer terrified, but she was still afraid. Would she ever find her flock again? Would she ever get dry? Miserable and waterlogged, it was almost of no consequence that the thunder and lightning had retreated. After all, it was still raining.
Eventually she found the edge of a clearing. She hopped up the length of a dark log and perched in one of its dead, but multicolored branches. It could have been a stand of tall, spindly trees, if they weren't all naked and lifeless. From there she watched the rain fall and the mist rise. The rain had its own song that was both haunting and subdued. Patter, patter, drip! The green hues of the grass and the tree leaves were brilliant. The little swablu puffed up her feathers and began to preen. From where she sat she had begun to dry. Now was the time to make that state of total dryness complete. She spent several hours like this, unaware that her perch was yet living. And waiting.
The storm had separated the young swablu from her family and friends. This was her flock-of-origin. But now that she was lost, she had nowhere to go. So she spent the night there in the tree, alone for the first time in her life. Strangely, she felt quite safe and slept better than she had in her entire life. There were no clutch mates to fight with for food from their parents. No other birds to peck around on the ground to find breakfast, or any meal for that matter. There were no predators ready to strike, hidden just within the shadows. It was strange and wonderful. She had no idea why it might be this way, and began to wonder if it was a dream.
The sunlight reached through the clouds and pierced them with its rays. The violent storm was over. The little bird began to sing. She sang about her journey and the song of the rain. She sang of fear and joy. She sang her heart out for her perch, which she had discovered was no mere stand of trees. It was a Xerneas, which she had never seen before, but somehow knew, like all pokémon know other pokémon. She sang of the stag's beauty, the awe she felt, and the brilliance of those antlers. And when her song was done, Xerneas made her a promise.
You kept me company through the night, though you were scared. You sang for me with the glory of your voice. One day we will meet again and at that time I shall give you my blessing.
The little swablu guffawed. How could she meet Xerneas twice in her whole life? But she agreed anyhow; she would love to meet Xerneas again.
On her journey home, she went the opposite direction of her flock. She tried not to let her fear get to her. But another series of storms brought her to the edge of a wide, dry plain. There were grazing pokémon and birds aplenty, but no swablu or altaria for as far as her eyes could see.
Dejected, she very nearly decided to turn back the other way, when she found herself a perch that had just become unoccupied. She was absolutely delighted and landed squarely on top of a boy's towhead, the hair damp with sweat but otherwise soft. Chittering to herself, she made herself comfortable.
"Looks like you got caught by a swablu, Nige!" called the boy, Nigel Monday's, uncle amid a roar of laughs and jeers.
All around them, a chorus of laughter filled the swablu's ears. The boy's flock was inviting her to stay! What else could their song possibly mean?
Date: 11 June 2020
Word count: 1218
Notes: A fateful meeting with Xerneas and a new home.
When Lilac was a younger bird than she is now, -- and really, who can say how old she is now? -- she lived within a flock of swablu and one or two altaria. They were a loose-knit group of family and friends; no parents favored their own offspring any more or less than another’s, but they usually flew together from tree to tree. And what a sight to behold, as if bits of sky shattered and fell from heaven, only to reassemble in the correct order once again as the flock settled in among the leaves.
Lilac was not big for her age, nor particularly intelligent (and the time she fell out of the nest is in itself an interesting story), but she could sing like no other swablu, not even those twice her age and with a lifetime of practice. To say her singing was beautiful was an understatement. It was the sun’s rays inciting dust motes and mist to riot. It was an icicle tinkling in the bone-cold early-Spring breeze as it cracked and fell to the ground. Nature was alive in Lilac’s song.
One day while pecking at the ground looking for food, she became entranced by a pretty-colored pebble. She scratched at the area around the pebble with her little claws, determined to pull it free and examine it. Try as she might, it would not come free of the soil, which had become compacted by a series of recent rainstorms. When her beak and claws were not enough, she wandered off to find a stick or sharp stone to pry it free.
As the young pokémon struggled to find the tool she needed, her frustration only grew, and her wanderings lead her astray of the flock. By the time she realized how far she had gone, she could no longer hear the other birds chattering. Unbeknownst to the little swablu, the skies above had begun to darken with thickening clouds. At first the twilight had been gradual and nearly imperceptible. Even if she had been within earshot, the avian colony had hushed their voices in the expectant silence before the storm.
A-ha! Finally the swablu found the perfect stick, broken and flat on one side, to dislodge the pretty pebble. Triumphant, she hustled through the underbrush and emerged, brandishing a stick in her beak--! If she expected fanfare, she got not a single peep. Silence had descended upon the forest and the little swablu had not noticed, now stifled by the pressure of thunderheads laden with rain. A distant rolling thunder approached and her preoccupation was forgotten. Her heart seemed to buck and jump a foot, two feet, in her throat. Then...
BOOOM!
A roll of thunder steamrollered above, quickly followed by lightning. By the time that first lightning struck, she was beyond all reason. She recognized storms, but she was absolutely terrified of them! The deafening noise! That light both heard and felt sucked all color from the earth. Shadows became thick and seemed to approach from everywhere. An unbecoming squawk escaped her lungs as, terror-stricken, she dropped the stick from her beak and fled blindly through the underbrush and back into the forest.
Rain began to fall in sheets that splattered the earth. Even under the forest canopy, large droplets pelted down to her level. With time, her intense fear waned, and in its place came the realization that she was becoming hopelessly lost. Wet and lost. The more she hopped, the worse it became. Her heart began to slow and a hot sob rose up from her belly. She was no longer terrified, but she was still afraid. Would she ever find her flock again? Would she ever get dry? Miserable and waterlogged, it was almost of no consequence that the thunder and lightning had retreated. After all, it was still raining.
Eventually she found the edge of a clearing. She hopped up the length of a dark log and perched in one of its dead, but multicolored branches. It could have been a stand of tall, spindly trees, if they weren't all naked and lifeless. From there she watched the rain fall and the mist rise. The rain had its own song that was both haunting and subdued. Patter, patter, drip! The green hues of the grass and the tree leaves were brilliant. The little swablu puffed up her feathers and began to preen. From where she sat she had begun to dry. Now was the time to make that state of total dryness complete. She spent several hours like this, unaware that her perch was yet living. And waiting.
The storm had separated the young swablu from her family and friends. This was her flock-of-origin. But now that she was lost, she had nowhere to go. So she spent the night there in the tree, alone for the first time in her life. Strangely, she felt quite safe and slept better than she had in her entire life. There were no clutch mates to fight with for food from their parents. No other birds to peck around on the ground to find breakfast, or any meal for that matter. There were no predators ready to strike, hidden just within the shadows. It was strange and wonderful. She had no idea why it might be this way, and began to wonder if it was a dream.
The sunlight reached through the clouds and pierced them with its rays. The violent storm was over. The little bird began to sing. She sang about her journey and the song of the rain. She sang of fear and joy. She sang her heart out for her perch, which she had discovered was no mere stand of trees. It was a Xerneas, which she had never seen before, but somehow knew, like all pokémon know other pokémon. She sang of the stag's beauty, the awe she felt, and the brilliance of those antlers. And when her song was done, Xerneas made her a promise.
You kept me company through the night, though you were scared. You sang for me with the glory of your voice. One day we will meet again and at that time I shall give you my blessing.
The little swablu guffawed. How could she meet Xerneas twice in her whole life? But she agreed anyhow; she would love to meet Xerneas again.
On her journey home, she went the opposite direction of her flock. She tried not to let her fear get to her. But another series of storms brought her to the edge of a wide, dry plain. There were grazing pokémon and birds aplenty, but no swablu or altaria for as far as her eyes could see.
Dejected, she very nearly decided to turn back the other way, when she found herself a perch that had just become unoccupied. She was absolutely delighted and landed squarely on top of a boy's towhead, the hair damp with sweat but otherwise soft. Chittering to herself, she made herself comfortable.
"Looks like you got caught by a swablu, Nige!" called the boy, Nigel Monday's, uncle amid a roar of laughs and jeers.
All around them, a chorus of laughter filled the swablu's ears. The boy's flock was inviting her to stay! What else could their song possibly mean?