 The old female leaned into her mate, speaking softly. "I’m afraid for our children… they aren’t following the old ways anymore. They don’t know where they are flying." They sat in silence as the sunlight reached around them, warming their feathers in the cool dawn. She felt his bones creak as he shifted to gently preen the tiny feathers just above her bill. She closed her eyes, enjoying his familiar touch and the sun. After a few seconds, he spoke. "They are young, love… they are stretching their wings and trying their voices. Our parents feared for us at the same age… it is a cycle as old as the Journey. They will come back to the old ways that are good, and they will also make new ways. We must learn to trust them at the same time we teach them.”
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 The young wren sighed with relief as she realized she'd reached the final step of the soothbrew recipe. This particular soothbrew was exceptionally dangerous to get wrong, as generations of overzealous soothbrewers before her had discovered. Those who had survived their mistakes with only singed feathers were lucky.
The less lucky ones... Kettle's feathers prickled, and she shook her head. She needed to focus, unless she wanted to be one of them. She turned to reach for her nearly finished potion–-and froze. It was gone. Seventeen types of painstakingly-gathered materials, two months of pay for the reinforced Soothbonded glass bottle, and it was gone, consumed. In its place, cleaning its tiny mandibles, was now the most explosive ladybug in all the forest.  It was not the first time the vintner’s son-in-law had ended up there, and local passersby suspected it would not be the last.
 When the snow falls and the sunlight fades, then shall we all become scavengers.
 They had been best friends for as long as they could remember. They had been business partners for about 20 minutes–just long enough to buy the outfits.
 No one is sure when those two old hens decided to hate each other. The prevailing rumor is that a particularly enticing grub was encountered simultaneously from opposite directions.
 Deedle was only a couple of weeks old, but his mother could tell he was destined for greatness. He was a very special boy.
 They say she tamed it by feeding it her own eggs.
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About the BalladsThe Ballads of Remex are a collection of tales, legends, and fables about the Birds hailing from Remex. Though their species and stories vary widely, all are stories of Birds making their way in a world full of magic, predators, and intrigue. Archives
October 2018
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