That Don’t Impress Me Much : Part 20

  • Post category:Writing

Wordcount: 334 words
Rating/Warnings: PG-13
Summary: Baron’s day goes from Worse to Even Worse.

NOTE: This is the first draft of a story, so it will most likely contain plot holes, retcons, and other inconsistencies. I’ll come back and fix things once the story (or arc) is complete!

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Baron Watching Hatching

Dog and Winter had both found their riders and Baron found himself even more alone. He could not find the heart to be jealous, he’d used up all his energy crying out Storm seemed uncomfortable with the situation and Baron finally ended up hiding behind Flame in order to escape the worried treating him like in injured bird.

He’d been at Oak Grove for the last three years and this was the first hatching he’d been to since his own. He remembered how it had felt, that sleepy haze of the shell and then the bright sharp world that he broken into. Life had been very very simple and very very perfect.

And Ian had been alive.

Baron watched the newborn foxhawks mixing with the children who had crowded down to greet them. There was something achingly lost about the joy they felt, playing as two kids or puppies and children would play. Full of the moment and full of wonder at everything new.

Even the adults were not immune to the charms of newborn fluff and everyone was having a good time.

There were flares of future trees as some of the luckier foxhawks had their first meetings with their riders to be. It would be years before the bond happened, but it was always a pleasant rush to have that first touch of minds. The humans might be oblivious but the chicks had a grand old time.

Oddly, the golden foxhawk did not have a future tree. He turned to focus on it, confused. But all he could see was a wide open field, blank and unbounded. Golden foxhawks were rumors only, there had not been once since his mother’s mother’s time, but he’d never see a hatchling without a future before.

And then, all of a sudden, that changed. The hatchling looked past the crowd and caught sight of May standing talking with her father and the future tree flared into bright, terrifying clarity.

And in every single branch, May died.


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Martha Bechtel

My name is Martha Bechtel and I write fantasy and science fiction stories, paint small model horses silly colors, cast resin and plaster magnets, code random code (and Wordpress plugins)... Come on in and join in the fun!