Ylvir finished off the last of his breath, letting it die through the penny whistle and the note he left on, taking the song with it. He frowned, looking down to his long-time companion, Dandy who cocked her head at him, ruffling white feathers.
"I just feel like it's missing something," Ylvir complained to her. She bobbed her head in sympathy but made no sound.
Ylvir's beastly face contorted in serious thought as he scratched mindlessly at his head and the dark, velvety horns that had begun to sprout there with his sharp claws. As Ylvir grew older, he found his appearance only became more terrifying. His form broadened some with lean muscles, each of his wings the size of himself, his claws and spines and teeth grew longer and sharper, his scales hardened, and his fur and feathers slowly lost their youthful fluffiness as he molted and shed, which was quite the ordeal for him to clean. But his mother repeatedly assured him that he was still as soft and warm as the day he was born.
"I want to go to the village," he said suddenly with his gravelly voice, determination glimmering in his red eyes. Dandy squawked and fluttered her wings wildly in answer.
"I know. I remember perfectly well what happened last time," he replied, rubbing a clawed finger against the disfigured scales on his stomach. "But I want to do something different. I don't think I can stand doing the same things over and over much longer. It's boring here. I want an adventure."
The chicken clucked at him. He rolled his eyes.
"Of course they wouldn't approve. That's why I'll sneak out."
Dandy made more chicken sounds, occasionally flapping a wing or cocking her head to the side for emphasis.
"I'll wear a disguise," Ylvir answered. "It doesn't have to be a good one. Probably a cloak or something. I don't plan on interacting with them, so it shouldn't matter. I just want to see what they do with their time. I want to know how different it is. I want to see if it's anything like the books."
Dandy had no reply for him for some time until she pecked the forest floor around him then cocked her head so one eye looked directly at him.
"The next time Dad makes his trip. It's the perfect opportunity."
She scratched the ground with her talons and clucked more, giving a tiny flutter of her wings.
"That's just rude," he disapproved, but with humor held in his eyes, then continued. "I'll hide in the cart. He won't see me. I'll make sure of it."
"Ylvir!"
Ylvir's sharp ears twitched at the sound of his mother's voice. He sniffed the air curiously, then looked down on his friend. "Guess it's time for dinner then. Smells like bread and soup. Come on then. Let's get back."
He jumped from the low hanging branch he crouched on, landing softly on the mulched forest floor with a whoosh of his sizable wings. He gently picked Dandy up, carrying her with one arm. She flapped her own white wings and gave him a questioning cluck as he trod his way back to his home, his figure hunched slightly so that his dark, feathery appendages wouldn't drag on ground behind him and collect damp leaves, twigs and dirt as they were prone to do.
"What? No, it's not chicken," he laughed at the hen, lying to her. She could tell he wasn't being honest and promptly gave an indignant peck at the arm that held her, making him nearly lose his hold on her. "Ow! Alright, it is. Are you happy? Why do even care? It's not like it's someone you know."
She squawked at him with fury, thoroughly berating him. "You're right. I'm sorry I was so inconsiderate. But what do you want me to do? You remember what happened the last time I tried to hold off on meat. It was nearly you that ended up in my stomach. I don't have any choice in whether I eat it, but I can decide where it comes from, and I'd much rather it be a chicken I don't know than one I do."
Dandy gave one cluck and left it at that. Ylvir left the towering, vibrantly green trees behind him and approached the small chicken coop that one or two fellow hens could be seen strutting and pecking at the dirt. He set his companion down amongst her kin, leaving her with a small wave and toothy grin.
The aromatic and savory smell of the soup and bread was overpowering when he opened the cottage's door, setting his mouth to water slightly. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until he stepped through the door and closed himself in, wrapped in the warmth and smells of his mother's cooking. Her face didn't take long to reveal itself, a smile on her face, a twinkle in her eye, and flour on the tip of her nose. Ylvir gave a rough-sounding laugh at the sight.
"What," his mother asked with a confused expression until it cleared a moment later in understanding. "I've got flour on my face again, haven't I? Where is it?"
"Your nose," he answered, brushing a finger against his own for reference. She quickly dusted her hands off and rubbed the spot.
"Have I got it?"
"All gone," he confirmed with a closed smile and a nod.
"Well, come on. Sit down then," she said, pulling a stool from their small table, already set with three bowls of steaming soup and a fresh loaf in the center. "Let's eat."
"Mum, you're supposed to let me do that for you," he criticized.
"Nonsense, dear. I'll pull your seat out if I like," she waved him off. "And I can pull my own chair out, thank you very much."
Both miffed and amused, Ylvir settled himself into his seat, his mother about to do the same until the cottage door could be heard opening and shutting again, his father making his appearance, looking worn and tired, but slowly relaxing in the comfort of his home.
Aloris came to her husband's side, taking his face into her hands. "Oh goodness, dear. You look downright exhausted."
"Prob'ly cause I am," he sighed, leaning into her hands.
"Did something happen," she asked in the same concern Ylvir was beginning to feel.
Reul sighed again, pulling away from her hands and digging his own into a pocket. An air of confusion and curiosity filled the room as he removed a rumpled paper from it, unfolding it then handing it to his wife to read.
Ylvir's hackles rose as his mother gasped and gave an "oh my", her eyes roving the page over and over.
He stood up promptly. "What? What is it," he asked, stepping closer to see what it read for himself.
His mother turned the paper to him, and he read it carefully.
"A festival," he inquired. "I don't understand. What's so important."
"Sweetheart, keep reading," she instructed as Reul slumped in his chair at the table.
"'A warm welcome and sincere appreciation of five hundred pieces to the mysterious woodland flautist, should they deem to make an appearance'," he read aloud, then looked to his mother as it dawned on him. "Does that mean...?"
She nodded to his unfinished question. "Yes, I think so."
"But why?"
"It don't matter," Reul said. "Yer not goin'."
"But if I went, it says they would pay me," Ylvir urged. "And they wouldn't even have to see me. They'd just listen. I could even make a career of this. We could live more comfortably. We wouldn't have to barely scrape by every winter. You wouldn't have to work so hard for so little."
"I work cos it's my life and my duty," Reul said firmly, pressing a finger to the table for emphasis. "You and I both know that sittin' around an' doin' nuffin all day is no kind of life. We all do our parts 'ere, and I know for a fact ya ain't gonna be content even with that much longer if you ain't already sick of it. Our work is our life."
Ylvir frowned. His father had hit the nail on the head, but, "Dad. You can't work forever. And if you keep it up like this, you'll wear yourself 'til there's nothing left of you in no time. At least let me do this and help. I'm not saying you have to stop working. You just shouldn't have to do it like... like this."
"I'm not a charity case, boy," Reul growled almost as well as his son could. "We do plenty well on our own. Yer not goin' ta that festival, and that's final."
Ylvir almost gave his own guttural growl, but held back. He remembered his plan, and now he had more incentive to go to the village. So instead of arguing with his father further he gave a low, "Fine."
Aloris frowned, eyeing the males of her household. They were locked in an intense stare down, their figures equally stiff and stubborn. She simply gave a rueful sigh and smile. "How about we eat before the food gets cold, hm?"
They both gave gruff nods, and Ylvir and Aloris sat with Reul at their small dining table. Dinner only aided slightly in easing the tension, but it was still thick enough to be cut with a knife served as a bitter dessert as they all ate in relative silence, the only sounds being that of bowls being scraped and soup being sipped.
Reul was the first to finish, leaving the small kitchen with a peck on his wife's cheek to the single bedroom and recuperate from his long day with some much-needed sleep. Aloris watched him leave with concern still on her eyes, never having left since he had entered the cottage. And despite Ylvir's current disgruntled feelings toward the man, he could not deny that he too felt great worry over his wellbeing. If he hadn't, there wouldn't have been an argument in the first place.
Aloris turned to her son. "Ylvir, I want you to go."