Still Searching

Come one, Come all, Come on and Join the Weary Kids

It should be a normal day and as far as Wilbur knows, it is. The sun shines through his cracked window and he can hear his loud brother from downstairs. He's chatting their father's ear off while he's making breakfast for them. Wilbur smiles to himself. His life is simple, but it's a good one. He doesn't want it to change, even if it's boring to everyone else. He stretches his arms and dark blue wings, that are placed right above his waist, stays down a couple more minutes, and then finally gets ready for the day. He trades his pjs for clothes, brushes his brown curly hair, missing his pointy ears with the hair brush, cleans teeth, he washes his pale blue face that is freckled with darker blue stars, and plays a couple of notes from his guitar before heading downstairs.

"Look who finally came down," Tommy smirks. His arm lays on the table while the other one leans on his leg. Wilbur's chest squeezes and he wants to do the same to Tommy but refrains. He can't let him know he thinks his baby brother is cute. He looks like Wilbur, maybe a bit skinner, and well, his tone is yellow instead of a navy blue. Blond hair, baby blue eyes, yellow tinted wings above his waist, and pale yellow skin with darker yellow freckles.

"There's no problem in taking it easy," Wilbur returns his expression. He settles down next to his brother. Their cottage isn't small but it's not big either. Four rooms upstairs, a kitchen, one bathroom, and living room downstairs. It's decorated with natural light, many blankets, a fireplace, drawings, rugs, all homey things. Their father sets their plates of food in front of them. Scrambled eggs, bacon, and crispy fries.

"Good morning," Phil beams. He places a soft kiss on Wilbur's head and then takes a seat next to him. His father looks much like Tommy, or well, Tommy looks like him. But he has four wings around his shoulder blades, his gold hair is straight, and no freckles are found.

"Good morning. What are we doing today?" Wilbur turns to face his father. His father always has them do chores around the small farm they have. Wilbur used to groan about it when his late mother made it and made it everyone else's problem. But now, when their world is thrown into chaos, it's a nice distraction.

"Well, you could use more practice." He gives a sheepish grin. Wilbur's smile fades and suddenly all the warmth leaves his body. He pokes at his food. "I know you are a better hunter than the rest of the village. But these creatures are more dangerous than the animals we hunt."

"I didn't sign up to kill sentient beings," Wilbur glares at his food. I didn't sign up for a war. He wants to say out loud but it sounds too selfish.

"Sentient or not, they are a threat. Do you want them to kill this village too?"

"There are plenty of hunters out there, why do I have to do it?" He swings his arm out towards the village.

"If Wilbur doesn't want to, I ca-" Tommy begins to say.

"No!" Phil and Wilbur answer at the same time, turning to him for a moment.

"Why not! I'm a big man," Tommy whines.

"You're a child," Wilbur huffs and rolls his eyes.

"I'm twelve, I'm not a child!"

"You are!" He slams his fists on the table.

"Wilbur, don't take it out on the table." Phil pinches the bridge of his nose.

"I want to be useful," Tommy continues.

"You are useful and you can be a hunter when you're older. Seventeen at least, like Wilbur. But for now you're more useful at the house." Phil places his hand on Tommy's shoulder.