The footsteps lead away, slowly. The stride of a confident, comfortable man, of medium build. It’s irritating. The ground is cold and has a smooth, metallic texture underneath my feet. The base of a small birdcage.
It’s dark, I assume it’s night time by the small flicker of candlelight in a further room. In times like this, I’m grateful for my inhuman eyesight – owls have a particular ability to be able to see fairly clearly in low levels of light. My eyesight is in the middle ground, not quite the accuracy of an owl, not quite the dullness of a human. Good enough to confirm that I’m in a human home and, from the look of it, I'm high up, on a shelf perhaps? There's a bed on the other side of the room. It's warm, as a bedroom presumably would be, with not much smell other than the light hint of lavender and leather. There are silver metal bars around me. Vertical only, with just enough space between for me to reach an arm out. Looking upwards, the bars meet up onto a roof of sorts. A circular metal covering, essentially the same as the base.
There’s space for me to walk a few paces and stretch out my wings, but otherwise, it’s fairly small. It may be confusing to know that I’m somehow in a birdcage – how in the world could someone fit in one of those? A little-known fact of my species is that we alter our size to fit the available space. We used to be popular pets among humans, although this became illegal after many deaths of owners. Harpies – half human, half bird, are particularly fond of consuming anything with a head, and this isn’t limited to their human captor. Of course, not all harpies eat humans, some avoid such a thing. Others aren’t even carnivores, but the majority of us are. I certainly am.
Most people in this situation would wonder what was going on, how they got here, or how to escape – but I’ve been through all three thoughts with not much help. I know what’s going on: I’m in a huntsman’s cabin, inside of a cage. I got here through my own immaturity. I attacked a young man from a village, didn’t pay attention to my surroundings and was captured by a hunter. I’ve tried to break free of the cage, with a lack of success.
Don’t get me wrong, the hunter isn’t the villain here, after all – I ate a man’s head, that’s more than likely a cause for concern. That and he easily could have simply killed me, he has no reason to keep me alive. But in my opinion, I’m not the bad guy either; I was simply going about my day, and I had a snack, he’s keeping me in a cage despite the fact I’ve done nothing to hurt him. It’s just rude. It’s downright insulting.
How in the world does he expect me to sleep on such cold metal? I suppose I have my wings for warmth but honestly, does he not have any consideration of decent hospitality? Who am I kidding, he more than likely hasn't heard of ‘decent’, I don't think most humans have. Especially not if he's planning to keep me as some...Some pet.
I am not a pet.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
“I do worry about you Ven, I don’t see why you insist on living so far into the woods, loneliness is an easy route to illness you know.”
“Oh, shush Calina, leave him be will you? He isn’t just going to move into the village because you so clearly want his hand in marriage.”
“Grandmother!”
Ven laughs, watching the two women chatter across the old wooden table where they sat. There were three of them, all sitting together. Venator, or Ven, as most people referred to him as simply - a young man who lived deep in the forest of Viswen, well known for being an exceedingly skilled hunter. He was tall and stocky, with short dusty brown hair and light eyebrows above his heterochromatic eyes - the left bright yellow, the right a deep orange. His skin was pale, smooth but littered with small scars and marks, hard to notice from afar. His chin had a knick out of it, a scar from long ago, that curled around his jawline slightly - which was well defined and sharp.
He primarily wore a brown sleeveless shirt of sorts, buttoned up, underneath a long leather coat. His trousers were made of the same fabric, but baggy, with a leather belt holding them around his waist, and silver metal coverings on his kneecaps. It was an unusual outfit, one could say, especially when coupled with the large leather boots on his feet. However, he would argue that it allowed him to move freely and blend in with the forest. Ven wasn't a fashion orientated man.
The tall young woman sitting across the table from him was Calina, or Lina as many called her. She was tall and lanky, dressed in a long black puff-sleeved dress, with buttons down to the beginnings of her waist, which hung straight down to her ankles - stopping just above her black heeled boots. To match, she often would be seen wearing a dark hat, tipped upwards slightly to reveal bright green eyes, pale white skin, a small button nose, wide smile and dark brown hair that fell to her shoulders. Calina was the apprentice of her grandmother Ada, learning to become a healer, and born to a line of witches.
Ada, the last of the three, sat next to her granddaughter. Unlike Calina and Venator, she was a lot older and shorter. Fairly shorter than the other two and draped in a long homemade gown of sorts, she was wrapped in fabrics and smelled strongly of lavender and other herbs. Her hair was a mix of greys, matching her similarly coloured eyes, which were partially closed. As usual, her mouth taught in an amused smile, creasing the skin around it. Ada was the village healer and witch, an old family friend of Venator, who practically raised him after his mother passed away.
“Lina, honestly I’m fine. I prefer living alone. I visit you both almost every day anyway,” Ven smiles before continuing, “Besides, I’m not completely alone.”
“Ooh, who’s the lucky lady, eh?” Ada interrupts, nudging Ven with her elbow and winking, her face creasing as she grinned. Lina looked visibly concerned, although it wasn't clear whether it was from the thought of Ven being with someone, or just due to her grandmother's behaviour.
It wasn’t unlike Ada to tease so much, she knew how much it flustered Lina. Lina and Ven were raised together - it was no secret that they were close - Lina having a particular interest in the man. Ven had always avoided the subject, for reasons unknown to Ada and her granddaughter.
“Actually, he’s-”
“Oh, so it’s a man.”
“Ada! He is a bird. I got myself a bird. Look, you’re going to give Lina a bloody heart attack!” Ven laughed, rubbing his hand up and down his face before sighing. “You know I have no interest in anything more than friendship quite yet. It’s not my thing,” The hunter brushed his lap down, standing and pushing the wooden chair he’d been seated at back under the table, “On that note, I’ll be heading home. Thank you for the tea ladies. Same time tomorrow?”
It wasn’t long before Ven had said his goodbyes, left the small cottage, mounting his horse and waving to Lina and Ada, who both stood at the window of their home. Ven loved them both, but they could be hard work, well. Ada could be hard work, Lina was fine. Ada cared, and wanted the best for them both, she just seemed unable to stop with the constant teasing. She meant well, but Ven still felt bad for Calina. He didn’t want her to get the wrong idea, he just wasn’t interested. It was hardly a personal thing, he had his reasons. Lina simply wasn't his type he supposed, not due to her personality, but other factors he had no say in.
Comments (1)
See all