The Legacy of Dirty Birds

Deadwings and Their Hospitality

Deadwing didn't move. "It's Calum, right?"

"He please. Do you happen to know another deadwing called Holly?"

He nodded, bristling at the neck, big, black, billowing wings loomed from his back. Calum burned with questions, but something told him he wouldn't get very far with his porcupined companion. He didn't want to be here, Tarif wouldn't want him to be here.

Calum just tried to finish the soup, but as they both ate in silence, the more embarrassed he was and the more and itch crept up in between his shoulder blades. His mind was absent when he reached back to scratch until his fingers brushed something warm... and feathery. Definitely feathers. Calum's heart skipped a beat and his empty bowl fell the ground with a loud clatter

The welf's gaze snapped back up at him.

Calum craned his neck around and to his horror saw he'd grown two veiny lumps that looked like arms but with considerably less skin. They were like small, shriveled, flesh claws covered in rust-colored nubs. His whole back felt like it was covered in those protrusions. Where he wasn't bandaged, the red feathers burst forth, dry and soft, almost fur-like.

"What the hell?" Calum gasped, each inhale came faster than the last one. "What... what...What is this?"

He kept twisting around to stare at them, seemingly a pair of young, partially damp wings growing from his back. They were so ugly. Each movement stung, and to his horror he realized he knew what muscles made them move. They twitched weakly and Calum fought the urge to throw up the soup he'd just eaten.

"What is this?" What did you do to me? Why are they wet? Gods I just want to go home. Please take them off, please—"

Deadwing put his hand gently on Calum's shoulder, and didn't react when the red-haired boy flinched. Calum realized he was gasping for air, and stopped talking just to breathe. He looked up at the creature before him—who he now shared common traits with—and forced himself to calm down. Deadwing didn't seem entirely menacing in that moment, until his lips parted and Calum could see his slightly pointed canines. Maybe he was about to speak, maybe he was about to bite.

Calum took one more look at him, then passed out, again.

When he woke up, there was a warm, damp cloth across his forehead. Then the memories came rushing back. He sat up, and threw off the blanket. Holly was sitting there next to his bed, surprised, one of her arms in a sling. She looked like she had when High Welf Opaling had thrown fire at her, with long pointy ears and big wings.

"Hey birdie, how are—"

Calum reached behind his back, and couldn't help the whimper that escaped as he realized the flesh knobs were still there. It was all real, not a horrible nightmare. Why couldn't this at least feel real, instead of a claustrophobic, fever-induced, hallucination?

"Calum, look at me." He glanced up; her dark hazel eyes were still there, still the same. "You're okay, you're safe, just like I promised."

She wrapped her arms around him, squeezing gently with her good arm, and Calum found it within himself to take a deep breath. Her hug was warm, and he did feel...safe... He thought he did. His forehead felt less like a high-pressure melon when she pulled back.

"Take it in slowly, okay kid? You've had a rough few days." She ruffled his hair.

Calum wanted to ask more questions, but couldn't bring himself to. His body was still waking up. He was still coming into existence in this new place, this new form. He realized he was disconnected, like a stranger in his own flesh. Calum frowned, and looked up at Holly, almost asking if she knew who he was. Deadwing was still here, he watched from the table. He wanted them to go away, he wanted Tarif to tell him what to do.