suggested listening: Peach Plum Pear - Jennifer Avila (Jnew Cover)

https://youtu.be/iEs90hVLvI0

Gwynek idly ran his thumb along the edge of the shark tooth. Strangest thing - a gift from one of those fat little bluebirds that makes its own in the Fortress. It was given after he encouraged it to eat what it liked - which at that moment was a torban leaf from atop the bench. Naturally, the young elf was inclined to provide something in exchange - so after a quick jaunt to the bakery, he returned with a piece of cornmeal bread.

The bluebird was all over it after a nudge and a word of encouragement. Crumbs spraying about as it wildly pecked at the proffered meal. The new adventurer that Gwynek had met that day excused herself so she could clear the out some Thyrils.

The day had been a pleasant one. Busier in the Fortress than he had expected, but full of pleasant company - from the glib and witty hunting type to the Sylvankind cleric, from bright eyed new adventurer to the expert healer - it all sat rather well with him. Despite the lot of them being virtual strangers, there was a comfortable, somewhat familiar rhythm to it all.

Then he was alone, but for that pudgy bluebird, chirping happily as it feasted on bread. Gwynek leaned back on his palms, tilting his head back as he drew in a deep breath and shut his eyes. Winter dry with florals and woodsmoke, he held those scents for a long moment as the sun's apricity grazed his delicately featured face. Exhaling, his eyes slowly opened. If ever a place were to feel like home, it would have been there.

But it wasn't quite home. His parents lived just outside the Fortress, and wherever they were home could not be. He had crossed mountains and oceans to be as far from them as he could be - and whenever he was in the fortress he felt guilty for not visiting. Conversely, he knew how visiting them would go. They would see him as their willful child in a stupid hat, playing at swords and magic. They'd scoff at his declaration of being a war witch, roll their eyes at his accomplishments - few as they were.

He had razed 34 Grimswarm Warcamps, at least half of those single handedly. He had sunk the ships of over 200 pirates, and sent nearly 6000 predacious souls to rest forever in the deep. He had delivered Eni, the last of Omiko's people on the Isle of Caligos, to River Run - doing his small part to ensure that none from the village were left behind. In the year it had been since he left home, and the five or six months of adventuring he had done in that time, he has accomplished at least some things of note. Still, he lived in their shadow - and it was silly, and stupid, and he hated it - but there he was, no matter his feelings on the matter.

Bluebird hopped to the bench again, picking through strands of pothinir grass, selecting choice blades of the stuff and setting them aside. Gathering materials for its nest, casting aside what did not work, setting aside what would. There was a metaphor there, Gwynek knew, but it felt sour in his mouth; and he smiled as he continued to watch the bird, wistful and maybe a little rueful, though no less sincere for the simple joy of its little life.

Despite its courage in approaching Gwynek - the little thing was easily startled. At first by a parade of troops marching by, and then moments later by an adventurer in a busy hurry of activity. Just like that, the spell was broken and off it flew, the efforts of its sorting abandoned. He wanted very badly to help it, so he gathered up the grass and followed it eastward as best he could.

He placed the grass on the street and the bird hopped along branches of trees lining the street, twittering and chirping. He looked expectantly at it, and was likely viewed with some concern and suspicion by passersby. Off it flew again, and he gathered up the grass, and followed after once more. It was as futile to convince the bird to take the grass as it was ridiculous to continue to follow it and hope that it could deliver the young elf to realization - to some solution that would cure his history, or resolve his past hurts. So as it flew away again, he wished it luck.

Gwynek tucked the shark tooth into his pouch and sighed. It was just a bird, after all...

A delicate little creature, fearful as it was bold, spoked away from the labors of making a happy home. Clever, perhaps, but not unique in the substance of his struggles, nor the source of his flight.