literature

An Itch

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Literature Text

The soft wind blew a chill into the honey combs, stirred by the winter air and the landing tiercel who stood before a draped fabric in rich red, bearing the family insignia. His figure pushed past, fluttering the fabric along the pale stone. Inside a hen was around the bend, along with a newly turned fledgling at a low bearing table cluttered neatly with herbs. The day was drawing to a close in the Saraph territory as the sun set, the decorated tunnel kept warm by brazier's out before the windows, rich red curtains hung high and pulled tight against the night's cold. The torches emit a sweet smelling smoke, which filtered out through the opened windows, tinted with herbs. Winter had come hard and fast, promising to leave a frost in the morning if the temperature dropped any lower.

The hen mashed and ground herbs, the pestle grinding in the clay pot smoothly. To the side sat the little black chick, brown eyes wide and eagerly taking the round and round motions of the paste inside. Feathers were everywhere, scattered around the sandstone floor in blacks and blue, causing the tiercel to chuckle as he approached them both. The hen spared him a glance fanned with dark lashes, while the young chick threw him a bright smile and perked ears.

"Sabella," the tiercel's voice held a the beginning of a question as he returned a quiet smile to his daughter. "How has the day been, anything new?"

"Besides the molt and an itchy chick, Abbott?" Sabella finally flicked those brown eyes at him, pausing in her work. Her voice was bitter, something she hadn't meant. Gathering her wits, she spoke more softly. "No, nothing is new thus far with Lahela..."

"Mama taught me how to tell the herbs apart," Lahela countered, knowing that was knew. She rose to her hooves and talon tipped feet, sending little blue feathers scattering with the breeze of her stubby wings. "To help stop the itching!"

Lahela bounced eagerly around her father's legs, his left wing lifting in order to let her pass by unhindered. She was excited, searching his adornments and satchels in hope of a present. Sometimes she was presented with a shiny object, if the day had been good. It was usually a good day, so when she paused at his side to nose the satchel at his side she was surprised to find nothing.

"Not this time, my dear," Abbott smiled to her, watching her pick her beak away to try the other side. It had been a slow day, but filled with business transactions for the spring. He hadn't the time to find something on the way home.

Seeing nothing new on her father, she gave up. She wasn't put off however, there was always tomorrow and the days to follow. Soon as the three year old chick did the third pass, she stopped in order to turn and lift her small wings in order to pick up a hind hoof and scratch at her molting feathers behind her ear. Her mother chided her, to which the chick shook from her itching in favor of rushing up beside the hen once more.

"Stop the itching, you say?" Abbott eased closer, himself tempted by the poultice. He also wanted her mind off the lack of a present, even though she continued to smile. "Pray tell, my little La, which of these is the reactive agent to stop the itching?"

"Besides pure will?" Sabella giggled, turning her head down to Lahela who seemed struck odd by the question.

Lahela stared at him wide eyed, giving one owlish slow blink before turning her beak down to the array of plants. A few dull blooms, mostly muted greens from the stores or merchants. She lifted her front claws, setting them on the table covered in white cloth. Her head tilted, trying to remember which ones her mother had told her. There were four types of plants, each different looking when they were beside each other. Neatly stacked and in bundled rows, some clippings here and there ready to be used. Her concentration ran through her, small feathers lifting and causing a new tingling sensation along her neck.

"Is it... this one," Lahela reached forward, careful with her claws and held up a bundle of sweet smelling dried plants.

"Not quite," Sabella sighed, but there was a mirth in her voice. A light one in a tired voice, she'd been working all day on creating the poultice to soothe the aches of all her patients. "That's to cover up the smell, try another one."

"Oh," Lahela set the bundle back down carefully, letting out a quiet breath. "I've got this, it's going to be..."

A wind picked up, fluttering the red fabrics in front of the doors and playfully dusting molted feathers in light swirls. Abbott cast his eyes to the breeze, studying the young black chick carefully as her concentration grew. Sabella was trained on her daughter, the room deathly quiet besides the whispers of feathers and fabrics against the gentle breeze. Lahela's nose flared, taking in the bitter scent of the plant on the table much more clearly. She reached again, scooping up the browning herb and holding it out to her mother with her beak open in a beaming grin.

"It's this one," Lahela said, the scent growing less and less until all she could smell was the sweet plant on the table. She looked to her father and then back to her mother, eagerly beaming at them both. "I know it this time! It has to be this one," she was dead set on it. This one smelt the worse out of the group.

"Well done," Sabella smiled, taking the herb in her mouth and setting it into the bowl. She ground it wit quick movements, talons curled neatly around the pestle.

"Very well done indeed," Abbott whispered under his breath, flicking his tail. "Seems that something happened today after all, right La?"

"Yes, Papa!" Lahela giggled, before turning her head and sifting through her side to get that darnedest itch.
Featuring Little Lahela
Winter, Year 1987
The Honey Combs, Saraph Territory


+ 3 Skill Points - 1000-1999 word lit [Skill Shown.]
+ 1 Skill Point - Training (NPC) with any skill level.
^( Not sure if that counts, if wrong please correct me. )

Having a hard time connecting with my fawnlings, so I figured I'd try my Saraph hen! Happy with how this turned out, hopefully the muse will keep coming.

Anomalous-Chronicles
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