Flight School: Predator

Distant Close

He didn't thank him. The nightingale recoiled after hearing the predator speak, as afraid as he was relieved. The wait was long before his knees finally gave out and he slid into the shadows of the bridge, seated on the flagged stone floor. He held his legs close to his chest, quiet in the night.

Slayne was taken aback. The gaps between every stone was caked with dirt and covered in dust; there was no reason for Jiro to rest here or be seated in a manner so different from his usual position—orderly and disciplined. His pet sniffed.

He was crying, again.

Was there anything he should say, now that they'd already met?

The sight before his eyes was foreign; strange. Yet, oddly comforting. The owl's mind could not comprehend the reason for this, and neither did it attempt to do so. It was never a dweller and Slayne preferred it to remain that way. After all, what was the use—the purpose of making everything unnecessarily complicated and uncertain when there existed a path so simple and easy?

"Don't sit here."

His pet raised his gaze, startled. "I-I'm sorry?"

"Don't sit here. Don't sit like that. Go back to your room."

Slayne was not aware of how he sounded to the nightingale. In fact, he wasn't aware of how he sounded to the rest of the world that existed beyond his windows—it didn't matter. He tried to get the message across and it was conveyed, albeit at the cost of discomfort and fear.

"Yes, of course, I, yes I should do that. I'll um, I'll go now," his pet scrambled upright, pushing himself off the ground only to fall once more. Embarrassed at his inability to carry out a task as simple as standing, he tried again but still, the strength of his legs failed him.

The nightingale raised the back of his hand to his eyes to clear his vision. "I...sorry, that was...I don't know what's..."

He couldn't seem to move, all of a sudden. It was as though he had shackles bound to his ankles and a weight attached to the end of them, preventing any form of escape. Slayne didn't quite understand what went through his mind when he decided to take a seat beside his pet, on the floor of the bridge. He sent his Avian to guard the other end—just in case some Nocturnes decided to come along and interrupt their private moment.

They waited in silence.

The night was empty, however, only because Slayne was so used to hearing his song in the heart of the night. He felt the onset of something heavy and blank in the absence of the nightingale's voice. What was his name? Was it alright to ask? Would he think it inappropriate?

Slayne had not a clue what went on in the minds of prey. He didn't ask.

Instead, he started by humming. Humming the tune of what he'd hear night after night. By now, the creature within had breathed the very song it heard—and so repeating it to himself like he'd do so even during the day was now a second instinct of his.

The owl started slow; finding the key a lot lower than he first imagined it to be, now that the original source was right beside him. He didn't do it justice at all.

It was on the third note—barely seconds into the melody—that his pet began to see a light in the darkness of the night. His eyes widened as he peered up. Stunned.

"That song."

He doesn't stop.

It was difficult once he began, after all, it being locked in his cage together with the creature that adored it so. His pet remained fairly bewildered by the scene that was unfolding before his eyes; the tune his ears were hearing.