The bird and the bear - 2 short Wingfeather fanfics (SPOILERS)

The Bird:

Artham Wingfeather sat perched atop the bow of the ship. The wind took his wet, wild hair and whipped it away from his face. The thrill of each crashing wave made his lips twitch into a smile, he had never thought he would get to feel the waves beneath his feet again.

 Though, every time he turned around, a familiar tirade of accusing voices awoke in his mind.

The large, feathered wings were just another reminder of how he had failed. Failed his kingdom, failed his family, failed his king, and failed his brother.

He quickly shook himself before he fell prey to the guilt once again, focusing on the calming crashes of water around him. He snuck a peek over his shoulder, seeing Podo Helmer at the wheel. The old pirate had come alive with this voyage, loving every second of it. His unruly white hair swept around him, those huge hands holding strongly to the wheel, keeping the ship on course.

 Artham turned back to the waves, feeling a numbness coming over the wings.

He could not yet accept them as his wings. It was just too strange to think of.

He stretched them, then instantly realized his mistake, as the wind hit them from all sides.  

He scrambled desperately, trying to keep himself atop his perch, but he had yet to figure out how to use the elegantly shaped claws that were now his hands, and despite his best efforts, he only managed to scratch up the wood.

Then, with a very high-pitched yelp, he fell towards the waves.

But, in that moment of terror, some deeply buried instinct took over. His flailing turned into strong wing flaps, his whimpering turned into steady breathing, and his wings extended to their full width. With each great swoosh of air the wings churned out, he began skimming along the waves.

His hands and feet trailed in the water, and a smile crept upon the man’s haggard face. Then without a second though, he put all his strength into flying, and within seconds he was shooting into the air, racing the wind and dancing atop the fluffy clouds. A cry escaped him, one of freedom and strength.

The cry of an eagle who had learnt to fly.

The Bear:

A low moan rumbled in the darkness. A moan filled with heart-wrenching grief and despair.

It was answered with a hiss, and then a smack to the bars surrounding the cell.

The creature behind the bars whimpered, cowering in the corner.

A chorus of hissing laughter echoed.

“I never would have guessed that beast had once been a king.”

“He certainly doesn’t look like one!”

“Or act like one! Look at him, cowering in the corner from a few measly lizards.”

The taunts cut deeper than the creature had expected. They tore more holes in his already shredded heart. Tears sprung to his eyes. The creature tried to swipe at them, but all he managed was to scrape his cheek with the clumsy, malformed paws that had appeared where his hands had once been.

A thin stream of red stained the matted fur on his face, mingling with the silent tears dripping down his snout.

A sob escaped him. Everything the animal had ever loved had been taken from him. It all but seemed the Maker had forgotten him, and he cried out again, this time in pain, at that awful thought.

What if the Maker truly had forgotten him there? Deep in the caves, deep in the cold mountains, deep inside this animal’s fur.

 His heart wrenched again, and he fell to the slimy stone floor. He could not say the words he wished, he could not speak, but deep in his heart he screamed to his Maker.

PLEASE! I BEG TO BE FREE OF THIS PRISON.

He wasn’t even sure if he meant the real prison surrounding him, or the prison of fur and paws that he was in.

A sound echoed in the dark, not the hissing, nor the clanging, not even the scream of a fellow prisoner.

A quiet sound.

Something so gentle, one had to be begging to hear anything, to hear it.

A small breeze ruffled the creature’s fur. And on it, a scent only a nose as highly equipped as his own could have picked up.

The calming smell of salt water reached him. The creature found himself atop a ship, dark hair whipping behind him, grinning as saltwater hit his face.

And in that moment, the Maker freed him, not physically, at least, not yet. But mentally.

And in an instant, instead of a creature, there now stood Esben Wingfeather. High King of Anniera, father to the Jewels of Anniera, ready to follow the Maker’s call.