Another long, hot night of distressing dreams had left Zayzann more exhausted than when he first tried to sleep. Relentless summer rains had prevented him from lounging on the balcony for rest, so he'd spent the sticky, humid evening curled up on the floor of the spare room. His nightmares were still bothersome, but he vowed to grant Iris a reprieve from his clingy habits and midnight scratching. The only other place for him to sleep was the spare room.
D*mmit. Why can’t I get any relief? Zayzann scratched mercilessly at his back between his spinal ridge and wing connections. Despite long arms and sharp nails, he remained unable to scratch the ceaseless itch. At this rate, I’ll go mad.
The midday heat of a balmy July Tuesday had seeped into the spare room, drenching the poor Paxoram in sweat. He knew at once that he reeked of a combination of back sweat and body odor and traipsed out of the spare room to feel the ambient coolness of the air conditioning. Zayzann peeled off his dark V-neck shirt as he ambled into the bathroom to check himself out in the mirror. He stripped down to his tailored underwear and the necklace Iris had given him and assessed the haggard mess that was reflected back in the glass.
Zayzann sighed at his disheveled mirror image, with its noticeably gloomy expression and worrisome changes of appearance. He rubbed at his ribbed throat pouch with three fingers and noticed how red and dark the flesh had become. He’d seen other males display rich, radiant hues back home, but he’d never paid much attention to them. An absentminded flick of his finger against the pouch sent goosebumps down his arms and forced his cranial feathers to rise.
“What the?” Zayzann spotted another area of concern. The hidden ridge of yellow plumes under his normal cranial feathers had a subtle tinge of reddish orange bleeding into them. Zayzann pawed at each with eager fingers to see how far down the new color spread. It was fortunate that the inky staining wasn’t terribly deep or pervasive, but its presence caused Zayzann’s eyes to boggle.
I don’t understand… Zayzann flattened his crest back with a clammy palm. Is this some kind of side effect from being on Earth?
The worried Paxoram turned the cold-water knob on the bathroom sink to wash his sweaty face, but nothing came out. Zayzann furrowed his brows to examine the faulty sink until he startled at a familiar, violent bashing against the front door.
“Miss Alcazar, are you in?” Mrs. Rozniak bellowed between forceful strikes against the battered, helpless door. “I’m here with Maintenance to fix the water leak in your building. It should only take a few minutes.” Without waiting for a response, Debra began unlocking the door.
Zayzann gasped sharply at the sound of the brass knob turning, grabbed his wadded clothing, and made a dash for the spare room. The door closed behind him just as Arthur and Randall trudged through the entryway with tool bags in hand. The veteran and his apprentice approached the bathroom and began their work of examining the apartment for water leaks.
Clinking noises of metal on metal grated on Zayzann’s nerves as the two men worked. He tried to distract himself from the noises by focusing on articles in the spare room and spotted an overturned notecard sitting on the floor. Zayzann snatched the card with a long, black toe talon and brought it close enough to read.
Morning, Zay.
Didn’t want to wake you. There’s a water leak in the building. Maintenance might stop by, so be sure not to be seen. Take care.
Iris
“I don’t see anything on this side.” Arthur grunted as he searched under the bathroom sink. “Try takin’ a look at the access panel for the water pipes in the spare room closet there.”
Zayzann shuddered as he braced himself against the door and pressed until it threatened to creak under his pressure. His anxiously flicking tail jostled a few books on a nearby shelf and tugged at the cloth covering Iris’s incomplete painting on her easel. The distressed Paxoram shook his sensitive tail vigorously in attempts to dislodge the offending cloth from tickling him further. The stubborn, ragged edge refused to untangle from Zayzann while he tried not to make a sound that might alarm the gangly apprentice.
“Hey, Artie, the door’s stuck.” Randall shoved against the opposite side and tried his best to force the door open. “There’s no lock or nothin.’ Can you help?”
Arthur grumbled at the youth’s continued lack of sensibility. “Forget it, Randall. The leak’s our priority. Gimme a hand with this here…”
Still ensnared in the easel cloth, Zayzann remembered a useful trick to extricate himself without moving away from the door. He tugged at his bottom lip with sharp teeth and forced a localized shift to retract his tail. The easel cloth came with his receding feathers, removing the drape completely from the canvas.
The busied grumblings of Arthur and Randall faded away as Zayzann stared, wide-eyed and mouth agape at the incredible marvel standing on the paint-smeared easel. It was a perfect recreation, a snapshot of time, and a painted portal to a distant reality all in one…
High atop the viciously wind-swept crags of the Zhalterran gorge, Zayzann recalled the scenery in vivid detail. Everything from the jagged, cruel edges of the crystal-laden gorge walls to the lush green and gold carpet of aromatic grasses in the valley below were just as he’d remembered them so long ago. He bristled at a harsh blast of hot air from a nearby thermal vent, which carried calls from exotic animals from deep in the lowlands. Zayzann’s nose twitched eagerly to soak up the familiar scents of his home world and the welcome comfort they provided in memory.
“Oy!” The sharp call of a young female Paxoram startled Zayzann where he stood, forcing his toe talons to dig into the dusty rock face underfoot. He turned to face her, and an awkward smile crossed his parched lips as she greeted him with a friendly pat on his shoulder. “Are you excited for tomorrow?”
“Honestly? No, I can’t say that I am.” Zayzann deflected as he pulled his claws from the wind hewn perch. Excited wasn’t the right word for it. Apprehensive or nervous was closer to the truth. “Are you ready to try this season?”
“I think so.” The ivory-plumed Paxoram demurred and broke eye contact with Zayzann first. She had the most vibrant lazuline eyes and insightful stare that seemed to sense Zayzann’s discomfort without additional questions. “If I can’t do it this season, I’ll fall behind the rest of my clutch, and—” She trailed off and squinted into the rising sun until its rays tinted her half-covered irises to a violet hue with their intense, crimson light.
In truth, Zayzann had dreaded the next day, which was the morning of the season’s “Trials.” It was tradition on Zhalterra to gather the young fledges to gauge their abilities and assign ranks among the tribe. Zayzann had passed his initial trials last season, which included hunting, fishing, and his first flight. He’d come into his adult feathers since then and found himself picking at grit between his flight feathers with apprehensive energy as he awaited the inevitable.
“Hey, Tarenn?” Zayzann scratched nervously at his neck as he chose his next words purposefully. “Do you think I have a chance against the older males this year? I’m still not as big as them, and I’m not much of a fighter…”
“Don’t talk like that.” Tarenn comforted with a gentle smile and furrowed brows as she strained to remain positive. Her expression betrayed a hint of defeat and despondency that lingered under a veneer of warmth. “You aren’t the biggest or the strongest contender this season, but I think you’re pretty scrappy. That counts for something, believe me. Besides, it’s your turn to cheer me up, silly.”
Zayzann shot a subtle glance at Tarenn’s wings and drew his ears back once he’d remembered. A patch of exposed skin soaked up the heat of the morning where her feathers had been destroyed on her tail and left wing. It was an unsightly ugliness that signified Tarenn’s inability to fly properly and was an eyesore for anyone looking for a suitable watch-mate. Through no fault of her own, Tarenn suffered a terrible injury at the jaws of a Zhalterran crystal beast several seasons ago and was lucky to have survived at all. Perhaps lucky wasn’t the right word for it.
Female Paxoram were also expected to participate in the Trials, but Tarenn had failed her flights twice already, and no one had ever been known to try for a third time. Her anxiety was obvious, even to Zayzann, who watched her pace the long crag of the gorge peak while fanning her gold-tipped wings to soothe her nerves. This was truly her last chance for acceptance, and her desperation was palpable.
It must have taken her ages to scale this peak on foot to be with me. Zayzann realized belatedly. I wonder why she’d go to the trouble, just to spend time with a friend before the Trials.
An unwelcome guest arrived from the southwest, crunching his heavy, gray talons into the rock beside Tarenn and spooking her with his callous descent. Zayzann’s mind snapped back to his more pressing concerns, which included this brutish male Paxoram with dingy brown feathers and a flushed red throat pouch. Tarenn ducked out of his strike radius as the intruding Paxoram batted at her with outstretched wings to get her to move away from him. If he’d hit her any harder, she might have toppled off the cliff face, and then…
“Watch what you’re doing! You could have hurt her.” Zayzann growled. The intruder simply flashed a smug grin at the pair without comment. “What do you want, Dovaal?”
“Me? Nothing much. Just checking out the competition,” Dovaal tilted his head and continued to smirk, “or lack thereof.”
Dovaal stood a full head taller than Zayzann and was far broader to boot. Though his feathers were drab, he was clearly gifted with superior strength and power that only a fool would discount or ignore in a potential watch-mate. His chief crimes included a self-centered bravado and a profound short-sightedness that could charitably be called stupidity. Dovaal was also a regular instigator of scuffles amongst his season’s fledges, mostly to amuse himself and test their mettle against his own.
Tarenn swallowed hard as Zayzann stood in front of her to block Dovaal’s approach. She couldn’t be sure that Zayzann could catch her if Dovaal decided to bat her off the cliff with a well-timed strike, and the thought rattled her greatly. She knew, deep down, that Zayzann would try to save her, but also that he couldn’t possibly hope to stay aloft as they would undoubtedly careen towards the sharp rocks below. Dovaal was cruel, miserable, and aggressive, which put the fear of imminent death in poor Tarenn.
“P*ss off, Dovaal.” Zayzann snapped before the malignant intruder closed the distance between them to mess with Tarenn. “If you’re looking for a fight, I suggest you be patient. You’ll get your fill tomorrow, I’m sure.”
Zayzann flashed rows of glittering teeth into a fearsome snarl. Even if Dovaal was physically stronger than Zayzann, the blue Paxoram’s bite was nothing to sneer at, and would definitely keep him from participating tomorrow if he were caught in it. “We’ll see how confident you are tomorrow. Same goes for you, freak.”
Dovaal turned tail and took off for the valley below, gliding easily on the thermal gusts from surface vents until he approached the little village. Zayzann’s eyes traced his flight path as he secretly hoped that the brute crashed into a tendril tree on his way down, until a distressing sound caught his ear.
Tarenn had dashed past Zayzann’s outstretched wings and rushed towards opposite edge of the gorge peak as fast as her legs would carry her. Her ragged breaths were stunted from labored sobs as she sprinted towards the cliff edge with wings unfurled and flapping wildly.
It was painfully obvious that Tarenn was ill equipped to lift off and fly without significant help. Zayzann sprang into action to catch his friend before she made a tragic, foolish mistake, but she was already several lengths ahead of him. He simply wasn’t fast enough to catch her at his current speed. Zayzann clenched his jaw shut and reluctantly opened his dorsal vents to expend his precious energy in attempts to catch Tarenn before she jumped.
“Tarenn! Stop!” Zayzann bellowed to the unhearing woman. “Don’t!”
The glittering golden wing tips flashed once more in front of Zayzann before Tarenn took a final, forceful footfall onto the gorge rock. Her eyes shut reflexively, and she drew a final breath before liftoff.
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