Flight School: Predator

The Third of Two

The coming of February was not typically characterized by the wave of heat that stung Pipa in the face. Her eyes watered and she blinked, sitting up in bed before slumping back under the covers for there was an ache in her lower back that proved itself most uncomfortable to the canary.

Then the covers were uncomfortable as well and she groaned silently, sitting up again. She removed from the covers her legs that were dead, dangling them over the side of the bed, willing—for the fifth time of the day—for them to move. Alas, they remained limp and lifeless, almost as though the will was not her own and the legs; someone else's.

"Felice!"

She looked up. A nurse was coming towards her, eyes wide. "No, you are not allowed to go out."

"It's just along the corridor—I won't go any further. Really." The canary protested, feeling as though this wait for her friend was awfully drawn out and she didn't want to stay any longer because the infirmary was like an oven.

"No. Your lunch is prepared. You have to eat it," the nurse insisted, taking her legs by their ankles and placing them back where they belonged: under the covers. "I will be right back. Don't you dare move."

She moved Pipa's wheelchair two bed's across—out of her reach—to ensure this.

Pipa had wished to be in the chair before Io would arrive; so that she would appear, at least, ready to be discharged, looking pleasant enough to deflect the worries of the boy who often surfaced whenever she could not seem to move her legs.

Therefore, the brief and salient creak of the door came to her as a sad surprise.

"Io! I'll be ready soon so," she stopped.

It wasn't Io at the door—it was Luka.

Pipa would have apologized and at least corrected herself for her mistake but the double shock came to her as quite a blow. She had met his eyes by accident and felt the immediacy of fear seize the cage within, ratting its bars.

But there was something else—a stroking.

"Where is Io?" The eagle closed the door behind him, keeping his distance. Pipa was trying to deduce where his Avian was, but there was no indication of dark wings. Sylvey however, was quick to hide under the covers.

"He's...not here," the canary swallowed, speaking at a pace so slow she could hardly believe it. "You're looking for him?" Of course he was; why else would he ask? She chided internally. "I don't know where he is."

Luka approached.

And the moment was in his first step—he seemed to slow in Pipa's eyes and all of a sudden she was very aware of his presence and the urgency, the immediacy of the thing seizing her heart became far too strong for her to handle. He sat a bed away, facing away from the girl.

Pipa really didn't wish for him to stay since every passing second was like a plastic knife scratching the surface of cheap Styrofoam, but she voiced nothing. How to?

How to speak—when there was no permission and the lips sealed by fear not to be dispelled; how?

"You're...going to wait?"

Luka nodded silently.

"I don't know if he's going to come."