Chapter Text
Phil had always been a lone flier. In some species that was the norm, but, as a magpie, it made him stand out like a sore claw.
By all rights he should have been as social as the rest of his family, meeting atop the street lamps and chatting over a morsel of food, but Phil never felt comfortable surrounded by the cackling conversation of his peers. And he had certainly tried.
As a fledgling, the importance of making these social connections was drilled into him. “ You never know when you might need something to eat, ” he could still hear his mother argue, “ A friend could be the difference between life and death. ”
But as much as Phil wormed his way into groups of other young birds, as much as he politely answered their questions or cackled along with their jokes, he longed twice as much to take off into the nearby forest and just see where his wings took him. He could see himself soaring high as hawks, finding untouched berry bushes and fields of fresh snow, sleeping in the windy branches of a mountaintop tree. He would get lost in the treeline, none the wiser as what could have been his new flock left him to daydream.
After a few weeks, he flew.
He didn’t offer his parents a goodbye; they wouldn’t have expected one. The night wind blew purpose into his heart and, without so much as a second glance, he was gone.
The spring air chilled beneath his feathers as he powered up higher and higher into the sky, eye membranes working hard against the weather, until, with a final flap, he leveled out and let himself fall into the wind. The currents were volatile, and it took almost every ounce of instinct he had to not be sent head over tail towards the ground, but he hardly noticed amidst the awe glowing in his chest.
The night sky stretched uninterrupted in front of him, only the navy of clouds speckled the horizon. Above him hung a sprinkle of stars and the silver shine of the moon, illuminating the tops of clouds as though they were solid. Below was a reflection of the sky, sparkling points of light in small clusters no bigger than a talon each.
Phil gaped at the light beneath his talons, marveling at how easily he could cover everything he had ever known with the flap of a wing. He had spent his whole life in no more than a cluster of stars. But now he had seen an entire galaxy, dark and turbulent yet new and awe-inspiring.
He sang wholeheartedly for the first time in his life, set his wings to the slope of the current, and never looked back.
Phil woke with a shiver atop a snowy branch, his talons loosening their grip as he took in the unfamiliar surroundings once more. There was nothing but peaceful pines and the gently whistling wind, and he knew that even if he flew five tree-lengths higher, there’d be no more landmarks than that. Just like when he left his home, there was nothing but him and freedom.
Flapping up to a higher branch, he took a minute to stretch his claws along the flat wood, relieving the aching muscles. While he had built up strength in his talons after months of sleeping on branches, they had never quite adapted to the strain of keeping him upright while he slept. At least not almost every night for the past year.
He should probably have built a nest, found a safe hollow, something to give him peace of mind and his talons a welcome rest, but there wouldn’t be a real point. It would take as long building the nest as he would spend sleeping in it, before a new breeze would pass by that beckoned him to new pastures and new skies. And even if this meant huddling in branches overnight and nursing aching talons in the morning, it was all worth it.
A cold bead of water landed on Phil’s head, sending a shiver down his spine, and he flicked it off with an annoyed click. Not even the pines were a safe haven against the cold anymore. The snow had recently begun melting away, leaving a rain of freezing droplets on treetops, just waiting for their next victim.
With a glare at the impartial tree, Phil fluffed up his wings and took off deeper into the forest. If there was anything the steadily warming weather might offer, it would be bundles of lethargic insects ripe for the taking.
It was certainly a feast. Aside from the occasional surviving berry bush, the winter had been incredibly scarce for food. And considering it was his first ever winter, Phil counted himself proud even to have survived. He knew the birds he grew up with would be huddling and sharing with their flocks, warm and well-fed despite the season, but Phil had this overturned rock. It was crawling with sleepy centipedes and beetles, and the worms in the moist soil barely had time to move before being yanked into the sunlight.
And it was all his, like a reward for the harsh independence he chose. He even left a few bugs clinging to the rock, his stomach gently protesting against the large volume of food.
He stretched his wings joyously, about to spring into the air, when a shrill screech radiated through the trees and stopped him in his tracks.
The boreal forest he was searching through was always filled with sound, even in the quieter winter months. Mammals of all sizes were out and about, and after enough time their sniffs and rustles and padding feet were drowned out as ambience, unless they were especially near or fast. That’s why he mustn’t have noticed. The hasty paw steps, the rapid, excited breathing, the low growls of a creature with something to find. And the victorious yips of a creature with something that’s already theirs.
Phil didn’t exactly know what drew him in the direction of that screech. He already knew what must have happened, there wasn’t sound of a scuffle afterwards nor the predator’s disappointment, but the call wouldn’t stop replaying in his head. It wasn’t a squirrel or a mouse, it was too clear of a tone. It wasn’t a songbird, it was far too loud. No adult raptor he knew of could make such a shrill note.
He winced as he caught the gap in his own logic, wings almost failing him as he struggled to maneuver around two particularly close trunks. His talons clung to the bark for balance, halting his momentum and nearly sending him wing over wing for the few feet to the forest floor. He managed to steady his wings last minute, skidding onto the leaves upright and only a little frazzled.
He was nearby, he knew, but he couldn’t help but hesitate one more time. There was only one outcome to this, one that Phil would rather avoid seeing, so why were his legs still taking him towards the clearing where it must have happened? Was he just morbidly curious? Or was there still some vain hope in him, a kind he hadn’t felt before?
Phil tensed as he prepared to round the final trees, oddly ungrateful for his full stomach with the scene he expected to see. But what stared back at him, eyes wide and panicked, was the last thing he expected.
A small bird, barely more than a hatchling, bathed in the blood of a young fox.