Despite the woeful circumstance that commands our impromptu adventure…there is a whisper of promise. The latest utopia awaits, baited with a forked smile – willing to accept us with open arms. Still, had the fevered inflection of labor not been in full swing, my lips would’ve rang out their appreciation. How generous of the cruel, twisted conscious of misfortune, that it wouldn’t include drowning in a frothy, ivory mouth of salt.
Noah bends the air to his whim, mimicking the likeness of a steadfast avian predator. Vigilant features contort, steeling into the next onslaught as he corkscrews and paves our descent. Irises lift dejectedly, groaning at the beloved highway above us…grief is the first layer of snow, dusting the floor of agony with rejection. Yesterday, our anticipation had been on frivolous things; his safe return, the celebration of security and love. Not long ago…we’d dined on the false sense of impregnable freedom…deceitfully assuring us that our shelter wouldn’t breach. Bellies and hearts had been full; there were rituals and humble comforts. Skepticism had softened, our cushy mountain lowered the barricade of pessimism.
Look at us now…
Desperate…homeless…
Desperation is running on fumes and (alien) maternal clout. After a moment of wavering on the dwindling cusp of inflection, these weak feathers acknowledge that internal plea to disembark and tilt inward. Primaries deflect, stalling until I’m nearly parallel. Props veer outward…prepped…ears weave into their disarrayed nest-like sheath as these fore-hooves collide into that spongy turf. The intense, unexpected sharpness of gravity brings forth a tattered, miserable scream which is cut short by jarred incisors. A spritz of lacerated debris bolts upward on contact, bits of dirt/grass strike against my engorged belly and bat uselessly beneath these wings as they rotate into a dome-like bow. Damp hindquarters release the throttle, favoring rearwards in an effort to slow that forward momentum. Once I'm (relatively) stationary; the sickening wash of discomfort cries foul as those shock-waves dissipate, leaving me breathless and quivering. That miserable focus of articulation on my midsection eases off...Panting, jaws suck rapidly, feeding oxygen to these starved lungs.
I taste the filth of this lathered, heated body; splayed nostrils are welcome to dine on the panic that rouses my fear of the unknown. When the eagle draws near…my native (insane) anticipation for solution impresses a false sense of appeasement…willingly, the butt of this nose reaches outward for that familiar juncture between his honeyed throat and muscular neck. There is vitality beneath those rigid muscles; but that fortitude couldn’t be shared.
“Noah?” The note in his name begs for help…optics lift, slanting to find his expression. Please…tell me what to do… Temples crumble from the view they find and the realization of our plight…this fight couldn’t be won by him. We are alone. Gasps become severe while the corners of my eyes yield panic in the form of tears as another wave of anguish rears and snarls.
Peculiar, demanding pressure is building in my loins; instinctually, my dock elevates in a vain effort to relieve the intensity of affliction. Inside, the baby wiggles and squirms. Wooden limbs shuffle our combined weight side-to-side. The spool of dread in the back of my throat constricts, ‘walk,’ mini me orders…offering no explanation. There isn’t time to despair– though I felt the despicable curl of it siting in my belly, rotting like death. There isn’t time to dwell on miscalculations or broken promises. There was only the eagle, his comfort and that primal, miraculous language explaining the initiation into a sisterhood.
Grumbling legs propel me from his side, snail-paced. My head drops, inching closer to the floor. Pinions remain at half-mast, far removed from that heaving, foam-laden waist. Flagging twinges warn of the incoming wave; molten shoulders twist sideways, whiskered lips bend to inspect and rub against that undercarriage of constricting meat beneath the awn of my right wing. There is movement again, but this time…the shuffling is muted, dulled by a narrow, constricting sensation in those nether-regions.
Feathers slip inward, drawing resentfully closer to my sweltered, rippling flesh. ‘Lay down,’ the voice of my inner self is joined by non-argumentative impulse. Obediently, I bend forward, dropping knees first into the prickly, sweet turf. Rods of unseasonable sweetness cradle my worn and conflicted soul. Far above, the sun bears witness, his unblinking eye sneaking a glimpse from behind the clouds. When that next contraction comes strongly, the collection of all four branches extend. Eyelids pinch shut while my head sways inward– the frantic cry of another lament is lost between clenched teeth. The latest of said cramp fades into a torment of anticipation...
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Madly...my gasping breast shoves through that failed evergreen barricade. Rogue branches tear sharply into my coat; trying to hold me back as they claw and bite. Red-rimmed irises are filled to the brim, their center is gaping in wild hysteria…they hardly register the sound of my namesake before the eagle is thrown into battle. My tunneled vision grazes the cloudy vantage of that racing brown/black scene as it whisks alongside; flashing, hunter eyes and snarling, toothy mouths emerge beside me.
Bristling bodies, yeasty mouths! Their teeth and claws are prepped, hungry; soldiers rise from the smog of dawn like the undead. Feathers are shoved outward, forcing the woods to recede; they thrash downward, scrapping twigs from their slumber. I pump, racing hard and fast…breaking through the cover like a quail from her honeyed nest. Shrieks of terror echo over the valley…Irises flex downward, searching the dark huddle with sickened anticipation. Noah…my fear is nourished on fabrications of his body, spilled and torn apart. The light fleeing from his astonished eyes…
No…
Despair morphs into something hateful; something dark, furious and grieved beyond reasonable measure. Pinions bend, circling that cold, snarling current even as my waist begins to throb… twinging in warning…’ease off,’ lips curl backwards, defiant, “Noah!?” Seconds pass...his tawny frame ignites from the undergrowth!
@Noah
