#Yellow-faced Myna

[canon-gabriel-quotes]

Thoughts on what kind of bird gabird would be/look like/based off?

My personal pick just for the theme of it would be a Luzon bleeding-heart

But for something more visually on brand there are a lot of options! I tried to pick ones that people probably haven't seen before :]

From the top left to right -

Egyptian vulture

Yellow-winged cacique or Mexican cacique

Golden myna

Black-and-gold tanager

Black-faced dacnis (they can have white or yellow bellies)

Hooded mountain tanager

Silvery tanager or Silver-backed tanager

Common sunbird-asity

Black-throated magpie jay

Blue-bellied roller

Beach kingfisher

Great hornbill

White-bellied sea eagle

Madagascar blue vanga

[actualbird]

rating luke cards solely based on how handsome peanut looks in them

dear reader, come with me on this magical journey through a 1.6k word long post where i arbitrarily rank the visual renditions of tot's best character: peanut pearce the myna bird

-

basic tier: he looks lovely, but there are things that could be improved

last CG of SSR Peaceful Place and the first two CGs of SSR Shape Of You: basic teardrop shape

these are good peanuts, but ive put them in this Basic Tier because they default to the Basic Teardrop shape of how birds look when theyre just chilling, wings closed and pose perched. the overall shape is also kept generally smooth without much texture.

essentially, to me, this is the bird equivalent of 🧍‍♂️. nice to look at, but could definitely do with some flair, yknow?

first two CGs of SSR Under The Milky Way: now THIS is a basic pose with some FLAIR. alas, it's still basic tho

while hes still in the basic teardrop, there’s more Personality happening here: his body is angled in a way that shows his curious demeanor examining the tiny peanut blob handle luke made, the lighting and coloring shows off a more textured rendition of his plumage, his folded wings dont blend with the rest of his body thus giving him more depth. 

it’s a GREAT basic pose! 

if the previous peanuts were like 🧍‍♂️

this peanut is like ✨🧍‍♂️✨

third CG of SSR Twinkling Eyes: obscured by luke's (granted, beautiful) big head

i like how peanut looks here but it wouldve been nice if the fairy house window were just a bit bigger, or maybe the placement of all the things in this CG cld have been moved to allow peanut some more visibility, especially given how prominent peanut’s Role is in the story of this card. as it is though, he still seems to be in a basic pose, but i like how the lighting differentiates the parts of his body instead of being just one big smooth black teardrop. 

also, this CG gets points here because peanut looks extra chunky.

and lastly a special case for this tier...

the third CG of SSR Perfect Partner: PEANUT IS THAT YOU??

originally, i wanted to put Perfect Partner-peanut in the Better Tier, because i really appreciate his fluffiness here, his open wings, and that the animation for this CG shows him flapping his wings. however, Perfect Partner-peanut is also very much a Proto-peanut. 

Perfect Partner is among the roster of regular banner SSRs, and thus one of the very first cards available in game and probably one of the very first ones illustrated, and it shows in peanut a lot. he looks different.

i figure the artists were still getting a feel of either 1) how to draw birds or 2) what Kind of myna bird they wanted peanut to be. there are a lot of kinds of mynas, with their defining characteristics usually in the shape of the yellow face markings and also other plumage colorings, like in the wings.

here, peanut is lacking his specific kind of signature yellow markings that he has in all the other cards, where the yellow is visible under the eye and then looping around the back of the head. Perfect Partner-peanut instead has his yellow marking Just on the nape. additionally, peanut’s eyes here arent the beady little black we usually see, and are instead black with yellow lining. and lastly, all these factors make him look much wilder than the usual peanut we see in later cards.

usual peanut is rounder, a bit more simplified and smoother (in terms of texture), and all in all he just looks friendlier. Friend Shaped. meanwhile, Perfect Partner-peanut with his beak detail, feather coloring/texturing, open talons that are posed like hes gonna GETCHA make for a more intimidating look.

basically, Perfect Partner-peanut looks to me like beta design peanut. and thats alright! i still love him dearly! but it is jarring when you start to look at the details, and that unfamiliarity makes this peanut rendition one that still couldve had some improvement

peanut in all the other cards: who are you?

Perfect Partner-peanut: im you but i look like i could kill a man. or worse…a pigeon.

-

better tier: NOW we're getting some good bird visuals

first two CGs of SSR Peaceful Place: VERY GOOD BASIC POSE

okay so if the first few basic peanuts were like 🧍‍♂️

and then the Under The Milky Way basic peanut was like ✨🧍‍♂️✨

THIS basic peanut is like 🌈✨🧍‍♂️✨🌈

IT’S ABOUT THE IRIDESCENCE!!!!!! his wings and body are still differentiated in the rendering, the lighting bounces off of his plumage in a very nice way, and hes FLUFFY LOOKING!! 

unseen in the above image is also how lovely peanut’s animation is here—which i didnt make into a GIF because im scared tumblr will eat this post for the 87494837568th time if i tried to put a GIF in—where peanut’s head endearingly tilts and moves in a curious and interested-in-what-birddadluke-is-doing way. and the movement is really dang fluid too, who was the 2d rigger in charge of animating this peanut?? i hope they have a good day today. this is a really good peanut and i like him very much

both CGs of MR Entrusted Feelings: the real love interest is peanut

it’s from here onwards that you may observe that ive got a bias for peanut renditions that have him with his wings open and flying. and im very right to have that bias cuz hes a BIRD OF FLIGHT, it’s lovely to see him doing what birds of flight do best! FLYYYY!!! that being said, this peanut didnt get into the Best Tier because his fly animation is a tad too jelly-like for me; it’s fluid and smooth but slightly off cuz it doesnt seem like his wings have uh…Bones. which is important for birds to have, if they wanna be doing stuff.

still, i like this peanut enough to put it Better Tier because hes so adorable!! hes hovering, his body is beautifully rotund, and his Visage is so enrapturing that hes who mc is focusing on and looking at in this card! she isnt looking at luke, shes looking at PEANUT! 

you better watch out, luke…ur bird might just get ur girl 

both CGs of R Gaze: 👏STRUT! YOUR! STUFF! 👏

now, at first glance, this card seems to follow the basic teardrop pose again with no flair….until you swap through both CGs of the card quickly. because not only does luke strike a pose in here, but pEANUT DOES TOO!!!!

literally just for that, this card ended up in the better tier. hes Feeling It.

both CGs of R Reunion: sorry my owner is a pathetic wet dog of a man

following the thread of R card peanuts that get so much better when you flip through the CGs, this is a good one. while the visuals are basic, the visual storytelling within it happening when u go through the CGs is IMMACULATE.

peanut looks like he was giving luke a peptalk so luke will stop being so nervous, like “get it together, dad, act cool,” and then luke fails at acting cool so peanut looks into the camera like “yes i know hes still cringefail but hes cute, right? give him a chance!” wonderful amazing never been done before. we love a bird that doubles as a wingman (pun INTENDED) 

first CG of R Partner: TAKE A GANDER AT THOSE WINGS!!!

we’re going to skip over CG 2 of this card because it’s just another basic teardrop but

while this isnt my favorite depiction of peanut As A Whole, this is definitely my favorite depiction of his WINGSSSSSS

theyre so majestically and gorgeously spread out, the back wing is so beautifully articulated at the joints showing the Real shape of a wing (whereas a lot of visual renditions tend to treat wings as just this One Big Flappy Thing, instead of these cool foldable beauties we see here), the FLUFFINESS AND ROUNDNESS OF THE FEATHER EDGES, and how you can cleARLY see the layering of the feathers in the coloring, the primaries and secondaries clearly different from the coverts, IT’S ALL SO GOOD!!! literally the only reason why this isnt my top favorite is because we cant see his beautiful face. but please know that this one is SUCH a close second

-

that leaves us to the last one…and this last card is actually the reason i made this whole post in the first place. only one card managed to charm, bewitch, and beguile me, managed to delight everything i love to see in a visual rendition of a bird

best tier: second cg of R Following The Wind

even if this was the card that inspired me to make this post, i hadnt planned to make this my top fave. i saw this card and was struck by handsome he was and wanted to go through everything else and this one just so happened to STILL end up on top. Why?

full body seen and nothing is obscured from view, his cute little talons are spread out too

wonderful texturing and not just a single smooth black tear drop

wings spread out doing some Great flying AND the wings are articulated at the joints to show the lovely shape of how wings are

coloring on the feathers is clear in the different type of wing feathers present

AND

HES

CHONKY

so it’s currently my top favest peanut-in-a-card of all time. THAT! IS! ALL!

-

so there you have it. every luke card that has peanut in it ranked based on how much i enjoy how peanut looks in it. my concluding thought is that i hope we see peanut more, i never get enough of seeing that little guy. 

fly high, fellow peanut enjoyers. 

[archive-of-artprompts]

🦚Send in a number + Character and I'll draw them in an outfit based on that bird🦚

Allen's Hummingbird

African Crowned Crane

African Emerald Cuckoo

American Goldfinch

Anna's Hummingbird

Asian Emerald Cuckoo

Asian Koel

Atlantic Puffin

Azure Kingfisher

Bald Eagle

Barn Owl

Barn Swallow

Barred Owl

Bat Falcon

Bearded Vulture

Bee Hummingbird

Black Swan

Blue-And-Yellow Macaw

Blue Crowned Pigeon

Blue-Footed Booby

Blue Jay

Bohemian Waxwing

Brahma Chicken

Broad-Billed Hummingbird

Bronze Fallow Cockatie

Canadian Goose

Cassowary

Cardinal

Common Raven

Coua

Dusky Lory

Diederik Cuckoo

Eastern Brown Pelican

Egret

Emerald Starling

Emperor Penguin

Emu

Eurasian Hoopoe

Eurasian Magpie

European Starling

European Turtle Dove

Flamingo

Frigatebird

Fruit Dove

Galah

Gambel's Quail

Golden-Breasted Starling

Golden Pheasant

Gouldian Finch

Grandala

Great Hornbill

Great Horned Owl

Greater Blue-Eared Starling

Green-Legged Partridge

Gurney’s Pitta

Hawaiian Honeycreepers

Hoatzin

Hooded Crow

Horned Sungem

Hyacinth Macaw

Kadaknath

Kakapo

Keel-Billed Toucan

Lilac-Breasted Roller

Long Tailed Tit

Luzon Bleeding-Heart Dove

Mandarin Duck

Mountain Bluebird

Montezuma quail

Mute Swan

Nicobar Pigeon

Northern Oriole

Painted Bunting

Paradise Tanager

Peafowl (peacock/peahen)

Peregrine Falcon

Pileated Woodpecker

Pink Cockatoo

Rainbow Lorikeet

Red Crested Turaco

Red-Necked Tanager

Resplendent Quetzal

Ribbon-Tailed Astrapia

Ruby-Throated Hummingbird

Scarlet Macaw

Secretary Bird

Snowy Owl

Stork-Billed Kingfisher

Sulphur-Crested Cockatoo

Superb Bird-Of-Paradise

Superb Starling

Victoria Crowned Pigeon

Violetear

Violet-Backed Starling

Violet-Green Swallow

Wood Duck

Wilson's Bird-Of-Paradise

Yellow-Crowned Woodpecker

Yellow-Faced Myna

Zanzibar Red Bishop

[birds-mid-noms]

Yellow-faced Myna (Mino dumontii)

© Brian Cox

[strawberrykobold]

Myna!!!!!

[ibijau]

30 day otp - day twenty six: Zoo

26. Z - Zoo. The otp+ spend some time observing and/or interacting with animals.

Not sure about this one tbh but eh

also why this IS the last letter of the alphabet, the prompt list does go to the end of the month so this isn’t the last ficlet of the series!

“I found it on the way,” Lan Xichen explains, his face filled with worry. “I thought perhaps you might do something for it?”

Nie Huaisang says nothing, and carefully inspects the bird that his lover brought him. It has dark feathers, yellow feet and a dull yellow beak, and while the yellow markings on its face haven’t started appearing yet, there’s no possible doubt that it’s a young hill myna.

One with a wound on its right wing. It’s hard to say at first glance, but the way that poor thing is moving makes Nie Huaisang suspect that the bone might be broken. If so, there’s a good chance it will never fly again even with good care. Wings are tricky.

“Can you do something for it?” Lan Xichen anxiously asks, while next to him Jin Guangyao sighs and shakes his head. 

"Er-ge, I've told you, that wing looks too damaged. It wouldn't fly again. It'd be kinder to just kill it rather than to condemn it to a miserable life." 

Nie Huaisang shivers. He was thinking the same thing (birds aren't happy stuck in cages) but hearing these words from Jin Guangyao brings memories of Jin Rusong. It's not been long since Nie Huaisang has discovered the truth about Qin Su's parentage, and the dangerous legacy that Jin Rusong carried in his blood. 

Whatever else he was, Jin Rusong had been a sweet little boy. Nie Huaisang liked him well, and Lan Xichen adored him and spoiled him whenever he had the chance. They'd both cried after his death. Nie Huaisang had even wondered if his old friend hadn't been punished enough for his crimes with that loss, if they shouldn't count themselves even. 

Then he'd found out the truth. 

Better death than a miserable life. 

Suddenly, Nie Huaisang wants that bird to live, at any cost. Just out of spite. 

"But it's so pretty!" he says with as foolish a smile as he can manage. "I've got to try. Thank you Er-ge for bringing it to me. I'll go right away to… Ah, but no, we must work first…" 

Lan Xichen smiles indulgently. So does Jin Guangyao, but it always feels different coming from him. 

"We'll head to your office and start looking at those letters you mentioned," Jin Guangyao offered. "Go set up your new little friend and join us after." 

"Thank you San-ge! I'll try to be quick!" 

He darts off as quickly as he dares with the young bird in his hands. It will live, and even if it never flies again, Nie Huaisang will make sure to give it a happy life.

The bird’s wing never recovers, just as both Nie Huaisang and Jin Guangyao had predicted. And just as Nie Huaisang promised himself, it leads a good life. After weeks of careful care, it becomes the tamest of all his birds, and iswell behaved enough that Nie Huaisang often keeps him on his shoulder while taking care of sect business. It is smart enough to understand when it needs to be silent, and mischievous enough to cause enough trouble to give its master an excuse to drop work early.

The bird’s only real fault is that, for some reason, it detests Jin Guangyao and shouts loudly whenever he is nearby. A real shame, and Nie Huaisang always apologises with tears in his eyes, but it simply cannot be helped, it has a mind of its own. Jin Guangyao does not appear too upset by this, but Nie Huaisang enjoys whatever petty suffering he can inflict upon that man.

By contrast, the bird adores Lan Xichen. That is because it’s a very clever little thing with excellent tastes.

It might also be because Nie Huaisang is desperately trying to teach his feathery companion to recite poetry at his lover, and gives it many treats whenever it gets a line right. Lan Xichen teases him for being sappy, but is flustered each time and so clearly delighted by the attention that Nie Huaisang feels encouraged to continue.

“I’m surprised you’ve never given it a name,” Lan Xichen notes one day, as Nie Huaisang is kneeling before the cage to feed his little friend a piece of apple. “The others have one.”

“So does he,” Nie Huaisang replies, scratching the bird’s neck and earning a happy little trill.

Lan Xichen comes closer, and carefully joins with the petting. The bird falls silent a moment, before becoming even noisier once it figures that it is touched by someone it likes.

“And what is it called then?”

“It’s a secret,” Nie Huaisang announces.

“Secret!” the bird quickly screeches, loving the word as much as its master. “Secret, secret!”

Lan Xichen laughs. “Two against one I see. Am I so untrustworthy that you can’t share this with me, A-Sang?”

It’s a joke of course, but Nie Huaisang can’t help tensing a little. Thankfully, Lan Xichen doesn’t notice, because the bird has tired of being scratched and jumped on his hand, clearly hoping to be taken out. Lan Xichen promptly obliges, which results in some happy vocalisations and a few ‘good boy’ thrown at him.

“You really won’t tell me its name?” Lan Xichen insists after a few moments of watching the bird excitedly jump along his arm and up his shoulder, where it stays to play with his hair.

“If you guess it, I’ll let you know,” Nie Huaisang offers.

“Hm. Do I get a hint?”

Nie Huaisang hesitates. “It’s a second-hand name,” he admits at last. “You’ve heard it before.”

His lover looks intrigued by the idea, and tilts his head to look at the bird on his shoulder.

“Baxia?”

“No,” Nie Huaisang laughs. “I think my brother would return from the dead and strangle me if I named a bird after something of his. He hated them.”

“He hated that you spent too much time on them,” Lan Xichen corrects. “The birds themselves he didn’t mind. He’d tell us sometimes he was amazed how well you trained them. And… Secret, for the name?”

“They were well trained because I spent so much time on them. Lately, this one is the only one I can really take care of properly. It’s not called Secret, but that’s a neat name. If I ever get another one maybe…”

“Hm. Another hint?”

“If you find it, you won’t like his name.”

“Wuxian,” Lan Xichen immediately offers.

“Another good name for the next one!” Nie Huaisang laughs. “And he is mischievous enough that it would have fit him, wouldn’t it?”

Perhaps sensing that the conversation is about him, the bird starts flapping its wings until Nie Huaisang offers his hand for it to hop onto.

“You’d have gotten along great with Wei Wuxian, wouldn’t you?” he coos at his feathery friend. “You’d just have to call him pretty and he’d give you so much fruit! He’d joke about wanting to eat you, and then he’d spoil you”

“Pretty!” the bird repeats.

“The prettiest,” Nie Huaisang agrees, giving it a small kiss. “But it’s getting late for little birds, and I’m hungry. Let’s go have dinner?” he asks Lan Xichen as he returns the bird to his cage. “You can continue thinking on its name as we go.”

Lan Xichen agrees distractedly, clearly deep in thought about that mystery. Nie Huaisang smiles and takes his arm to lead him away from the aviary.

Behind them the bird vocalises a little longer, but before long Rusong turns its attention to its food and falls silent as the humans leave.

Someday, Nie Huaisang might be able to share his bird’s name with Lan Xichen, and explain how it was the only way he could think of honouring a child whose life was cut short because he was judged unworthy of existence.

[blackcurranthurricane]

The flower

*My first post and the first time I’m sending a story out into the public domain.*

     In the pearly light of dawn the neem tree sits unruffled. The blooms are yellow, the leaves green and stark against the lightening colours of the sky. All is still. The streetlights start to go out one by one. A dog barks somewhere, as the sun starts to creep into the arms of the clouds. A blush forms on the cheek of the sky, in the pale rosy pink of new day. The cacophony comes now, of birds, loud, raucous. A simpering Myna is heard from the Guava tree, accompanied by a throaty bulbul. A murder starts its hoarse shrieking, and the pigeons nestled on the telephone line start cooing. From the main road, the taxis  start sputtering their exhaust fumes into the crisp morning air with the rumbling of rusted engines. The newspaper boy starts his rounds, the thump of newspapers being flung coming ever closer. The sun climbs higher. In a sudden burst of light the first of the rays breaks through the clouds and bathes the restless world beneath it in a soft light.

The man turns on his side. His eyes are open, but unfocused. The breeze through the window makes the curtains flutter. He stirs. An unassuming character, with salt and pepper hair, and a thin, lined face. The flat behind the closed door of his bedroom is silent, cold, and lifeless. The calendar on his wall reads Monday. He rises, sitting at the edge of his bed, eyes downcast, feet firmly planted on the cold  floor. Slowly, ever so slowly, his feet seek his slippers and he stands. The doorbell rings, and the bedroom door is wrenched open. With a deliberate stride towards the front door, it is opened in due course, the maid is ushered in.

The bathroom door closes, and the sound of the shower can be heard across the flat. The maid cleans the flat and makes breakfast. The man is dressed for work. A white collared shirt, grey trousers, a tan belt, and tan shoes. Perhaps his socks are interesting, perhaps not. He eats his breakfast, reading the newspaper. The maid leaves, without a word. The newspaper is folded, the plate dropped in the sink and the man leaves. The door shuts, the lock clicks, echoing into the silent flat. A clock ticks. The furniture creaks, once.

A quick glance around the flat tells one nothing. The walls are white, the furniture is standard wood or cane, and old. Inherited, perhaps. No paintings adorn the walls, and the curtains are monochrome blue cotton. Only On closer observation does one notice slight personal touches. The Sunday edition is opened on its crossword page on the writing desk. There are books, detective stories, littered about the flat, all dog-eared. The one on his bedside table is a battered old copy, with coffee stains.  

It seems so very out of place, almost preposterous in its existence, in this impersonal abode. Resting on the shoe rack , in a tall glass, is a single tulip. He had no vase. The flower was an unwelcome intruder. What was to be done? Offered by the boy from downstairs, with a gap-toothed seven-year old smile, he had to take it. It was given a glass, and was relegated to the shoe rack. It is three days old now and bloomed the day it was plucked. A startling pink, it seems to be impressed on the back of the eyelid as one blinks. The yellow  stamen is stark against this pink. The green of the stem, twists artfully into the glass, where its bottom half is distorted in the water. It is lovely, lovelier than anything in that flat, decadent its beauty. 

The summer heat presses down on the world. The sun that was so timid at the coming of dawn, is now harsh, unforgiving in its white-hot glare. The flower droops, somewhat, but it exudes an intoxicating perfume, that coats the air around it. There is no-one to see the graceful droop of its head, nor smell the scent it gives the world. Perhaps, with insolence, at being treated in such a manner, a petal drops. It lands on the floor, and it feels as though the world has stopped in its track. A kind of horror is palpable in the dense, hot summer air. The wind starts blowing viciously, and the windows shudder in their frames. A draft makes the flower sway in a manner that can only be described as graceful, and despondent. 

The man returns home, at night. He rushes into his room, changes, and eats the food his maid had prepared in the morning. He retires, and is asleep in minutes.  The flat is dark, untouched, in this routine existence. The flower is bathed in the moonlight. Its five petals have turned slightly brown at the tips. It looks defeated.

The next morning, when she sweeps, the maid notices the petal on the floor. She sweeps it up, and looks at the flower. There is a bitterness in her eyes, and a kind of reverent awe. She seems to be biting her tongue today, looking at him in quick glances. His eyes are trained on the Tuesday edition. She leaves, and he barely notices. His departure to work is swift. As the door thuds closed, one more petal falls. Outside, there is cacophony. Inside, it is deathly still. A fly lands beside the fallen petal, and stays for a while. And then, he flies away, out into the heat and bustle of the city.

Four petals remain on the tulip. The next morning, the maid does not hesitate when sweeping up the petal. The day after, two more petals fall. They are cleaned away. No trace exists of them. The flower still looks beautiful, retaining just two petals. Vivid pink, tinged a little brown and still splendid.

It is a Friday, and a single petal remains on the tulip. It holds itself there steadfastly. The departure draws closer, until, finally, the man leaves and the day passes. As night approaches, the flower seems to be losing hope. It droops morosely, and the petal looks fragile. It is not ugly, but it is not beautiful. It simply waits.

He returns. His eyes are bloodshot, his head is reeling. He mutters savagely. Striding up and down the apartment, his hands grip his head, and he turns sharply on his heel, coming face to face with the flower. He gasps, and walks towards it. What happened to it, he wonders. There is a childlike confusion, written across his face. The confusion is replaced by horror, as a draft blows through the apartment. He catches the petal as it falls. It is wrinkled, brown and pink in his hand. A crushing sense of despair pervades the otherwise serene night. He gazes intently at the petal for a few precious moments before he gently, lets it go. It drifts to the floor and rests there, sad, and dead. A single tear drops beside it. They lay there, side by side, the tear and the petal, on the marble, in the still of the night.

- A.R.K

[lindoig6]

Inner-city Bird Diversity

Birds on our Balconies

We live in a small high-rise on the edge of the Melbourne CBD, on the lowest level of apartments, 6 floors above street level.  We are on the intersection of two heavily trafficked streets, with constant construction and traffic noise all day and most of the night.  We have two outside terraces and despite the noise and pollution, we have been visited by many birds over the years we have lived here. The list of 19 species that we have seen on our terraces is as follows:

Common Blackbirds

Grey Butcherbirds

Pied Butcherbirds

Sulphur-crested Cockatoos

Pied Currawongs

Rock Doves (Feral Pigeons)

Spotted Doves

Galahs

Silver Gulls (ubiquitous Seagulls)

White-plumed Honeyeaters

Australian Magpies

Magpie-larks

Common (Indian) Mynas

Little Ravens

House Sparrows

Common Starlings

Song Thrush (barely-fledged chick – no idea how it got there)

Red Wattlebirds

Domestic chicken (presumed escapee from a higher apartment in a nearby tower)

In addition, I have also seen regular flypasts by several of the above species as well as four more that have not actually landed on our terraces:

Peregrine Falcons

Nankeen Kestrels

Masked Lapwings

Rainbow Lorikeets

Birds nearby

Most people imagine that big cities are virtually devoid of wildlife and what there is, is limited to cats, dogs, rats, mice, sparrows and seagulls.  But landings and sightings from our apartment, less than a kilometre from the centre of the city, number 23 species and I have seen at least another 15 on my walks across the Yarra into the CBD.  They include:

Eurasian Coots

Little Black Cormorants

Little Pied Cormorants

Great Cormorants

Darters

Pacific Black Duck

Nankeen Night-herons

White-faced Herons

Australian White Ibises

Australian Pelicans

Welcome Swallows

Black Swans

Chestnut Teal

Grey Teal

Crested Terns

I do quite a lot of bird surveys and within a further kilometre of home, I have reported personal sightings of at least the following 41 additions.

Red-tailed Black-Cockatoo

Long-billed Corella

Black-faced Cuckoo-shrike

Black-fronted Dotterel

Red-kneed Dotterel

Maned Duck (Australian Wood Duck)

Pink-eared Duck

Great Egret

Superb Fairywren

Grey Fantail

European Goldfinch

Australasian Grebe

Hoary-headed Grebe

Common Greenfinch

Pacific Gull

Hardhead

Swamp Harrier

New Holland Honeyeater

Sacred Kingfisher

Eastern Koel

Musk Lorikeet

Bell Miner

Noisy Miner

Dusky Moorhen

Spotted Pardalote

Red-rumped Parrot

Little Penguin

Crested Pigeon

Red-capped Plover

Australian Reedwarbler

Crimson Rosella

Sharp-tailed Sandpiper

White-browed Scrubwren

Silvereye

Grey Shrike-thrush

Royal Spoonbill

Yellow-billed Spoonbill

Pied Stilt

Australian Swamphen

Willy Wagtail

Little Wattlebird

Who would have thought I could possibly have seen 79 different species of urban birds within a kilometre of Southbank – in an area of less than 4 square kilometres? Other people have obviously seen other species as well, so maybe this figure might be closer to 90 species.  The landscape is certainly not barren, but I am lucky.  I live close to large areas of saltwater, freshwater, marshland, luxuriant parks and gardens with a good range of habitats for so many species. Away from this area, the variety and abundance of wildlife is rarely as prolific.

[jontycrane]

Port Moresby Nature Park

Port Moresby Nature Park

Understandably one of the most popular places in Port Moresby, the Nature Park is the best (or at least the easiest and cheapest by some margin) way to see the incredible native animals of Papua New Guinea up close.

The first enclosure was a converted WW2 structure relocated from downtown Port Moresby. It was home to some of the most colourful birds in the park, such as the Eclectus Parrot,…

[kumeko]

rath ki rani (queen of the night)

Character/Pairing: Rika/Mc, Rika/V

A/N: Written for the @mysmelovethroughtheages zine.

Summary: “This can’t go on much longer,” Rika murmured, pressing a kiss against MC’s wrist. In the distance, a peacock cried mournfully.

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Rika woke at dawn, the palest yellows and oranges painting her room. Outside the palace walls, birds chirped cheerfully, eagerly greeting the rising sun. While once she hadn’t known the names for these birds, each one was now a familiar friend. Myna, darzan, basanta, she recalled the words of her adopted tongue as she languidly stretched.

 It was too early to be awake, too hard to fall asleep. She rolled over to her side, to MC sleeping soundly next to her. Rika rose to her elbow, playing with the dark brown tresses splayed over the intricately designed pillows, the brown standing out to the reds and yellows that decorated most of the palace. Her fingers skimmed MC’s dark brown skin, the warmth of it rivalling that of the Indian summer heat.

 “This can’t go on much longer,” Rika murmured, pressing a kiss against MC’s wrist. In the distance, a peacock cried mournfully.

 -x-

 “Welcome. I will assist you until you have learned our language, your highness,” the translator said, his voice clipped and to the point. There was no grace in how he pronounced Korean, each word barely understandable. Rika fought the urge to correct him.

 Her own pronunciation of his language was no better.

 “Thank you.” Rika nodded, clutching her wrist. Her husband’s palace was nothing like the ones in Korea, whether it was in colour or in style.  Looming in front of her was a fort made of red clay and marble, imposing as much as it was impressive. While she had learned about India from her tutors, she had not expected to go there herself. Maybe she should have paid more attention to their history lessons.

 However, it was too late now. Standing here, in her colourful hanbok, delicate embroidery running the lining, she felt out of place. Even her hair was done up differently than the women she saw around her, with their long braids and tassels. Her fingers dug into her skin as she surveyed the palace entrance. More than a dozen servants lined the entrance, hands clasped as they bowed their heads to her. Flowers rained down from the tops of three elephants. Noticing her gaze, the translator added, “There will be a more elaborate greeting in the main courtyard, your highness.”

 “And my husband, V?” Rika asked, trying to keep her smile up. Everything was overwhelming—the sounds, the sights, the smells. She longed for something familiar, something she knew, even if it was a man she had only seen for a few hours on their wedding day.

 “He is waiting inside.” The translator gestured to the door. “While you were wedded according to Korean custom, we must now have a local ceremony for it to be official here. Welcome to your new home.”

 That’s not the right word, Rika almost said. Home did not exist for people like her, just residences, just temporary abodes. Even Korea could not be called home.

 It wouldn’t be too long before she was sent packing again, anyways. Rika knew how the game was played and it was never in her favour.

 -x-

 “Sorry you had to come all this way,” V murmured when they were alone, after all the festivities had finally died down. As expected of a royal wedding, it lasted long into the night and Rika was positive she could see the sun rising. “I know it must be hard.”

 Rika resisted the urge to frown, not sure if she was understanding him correctly. Her anklets chimed with every step. “Pardon?”

 Their path was lit by candles, their flickering light reflected off the gems imbedded in the wall. In the dim light, V’s long white shirt gave him a ghost-like feel. Rika could barely make out his expression as he leaned forward, gently squeezing her hand. “I know we never had a choice but I want to make you happy.”

 Happy. Rika blinked, not sure what to make of this prince, of his words. Of this land that was so different and yet so similar to her own. Already she had heard the servants gossiping, telling tales of the mistress’s child, brought over to cement the bond between the two territories.

 No matter the language, the insults were still the same.

 Intricate henna ran down her arm like shadows, dark spots that contrasted with her pale skin. Rika followed the lines to her hand, to his fingers intertwined in hers. Somehow this gesture was stranger than the clothing she wore, the long skirts and heavy veils that looked like they were lined with gold. “Thank you,” she answered, in lieu of saying nothing.

 “I’ll leave you for now.” V let go, a smile on his face, and he backed off toward his own chambers, their separate quarters only connected by this one common hall. “I hope you sleep well.”

 She could still feel his hand, long after she’d retired for the night.

 -x-

 “Home,” Rika repeated to herself, lying in bed. “Home.”

 If she said it enough times, perhaps she could believe it. If she said it enough, maybe it would be true.

 “Home,” she said, and tried not to think of cold smiles, of sharp words.

 -x-

 “Wake up, your highness.” A soft, hesitant touch awoke Rika. Blinking, she stared up blearily at a woman with long brown hair, most of it braided back neatly. A stray lock escaped and brushed Rika’s skin as the woman leaned over her, prodding Rika’s shoulder. Noticing her stare, the woman flushed red and stepped back. “Sorry to disturb your rest, your highness.”

 Your highness. The title grated on her ears, an honour she had neither earned nor deserved. Rika sat up, her golden hair spilling over her shoulders in a disarray. Running a hand through it, she noticed the woman’s vibrantly coloured clothing, pale pinks and greens that somehow suited each other far better than they ought to. “You are?”

 “Ah.” The woman’s blush deepened, her almond hands clasped together as she bowed. “I am MC, your main attendant.”

 “MC.” Rika rolled the name in her mouth, the foreign syllables pleasant to her tongue. MC swallowed nervously, her eyes wide and blinking. She looked as awkward as Rika felt and for a moment, she was glad to see she wasn’t the only one out of place. Looking out the open terrace connected to her room, Rika could see clear, blue skies. “It’s morning.”

 “Yes, your highness.” MC smiled, a small thing like a budding flower waiting to bloom. She straightened her posture and headed to the door. “I will prepare your clothes for the day.”

 “My clothes…” Rika glanced to the still closed trunks nearby, the brand-new clothing her adoptive mother, the queen, had bought solely for this marriage. All of it was still closed tight and she did not want to open it.

 “We have prepared many traditional outfits for you,” MC added, following her gaze to the trunk. She tucked the stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Unless you would prefer something from home?”

 “No, I would prefer something else.” Rika tore her eyes away. There was nothing she really wanted from it, nothing that she could consider hers.

 “Excellent.” MC bowed once more before turning around. The scent of flowers lingered after she left.

 -x-

 “I hope you enjoyed your night.” Having just exited his quarters, V greeted her with a smile, as bright and warm as the sun. “Were there any issues?”

 Her husband was open, far too open, and she wanted to flee back to her room, to hide under the covers. She wasn’t sure where she stood with this strange, strange man who did not demand anything of her. How much of that expression was honest and how much a lie? Rika gripped her hands tightly. “I slept well. Yourself?”

 “Me too.” V’s eyes crinkled as his smile deepened. He stepped forward, his hands slowly reaching for her.

 Rika resisted the urge to step backward, to crash into MC as she fled the room. It had been strange enough when MC had touched her, her hands firm as she dressed Rika. There was no malice in V’s actions and Rika didn’t know how to react to it.  When she didn’t move, he carefully wrapped his fingers around her wrist. His touch burned, his skin skimming hers as he slid her hands through something. Before he let go, he placed a small kiss on her inner wrist, causing the maids behind her to titter.

 “A wedding gift,” he explained as she stared at the bangles on her wrist, bright green and reflecting the sun. They gave a soft clang as they hit one another, like small birds chirping.

 “Thank you.” She wrapped her other hand around the bangles, still warm from his touch. Perhaps V was honest then, about his feelings for her, about this marriage. Rika had not expected love, had not even hoped for it, but maybe it was possible.

 Maybe even she could be loved.

 -x-

 When Rika was young, the maids told tales of two siblings. A brother and sister who escaped death, climbing to the heavens to become the sun and moon.

 I’m scared of the dark, the sister had told her brother, clutching his hand when it was her turn to take to the skies.

 Then I’ll be the moon and you’ll be the sun, the brother had answered kindly, patting her head reassuringly.

 Rika had been scared too, but no one had come for her.

 -x-

 “Here are the gardens, your highness,” MC gestured as they strolled behind the main palace. Around them, fountains of waters shot up and long pathways led into smaller closed gardens, surrounded by stone or hedges as a fence. They were very systematic, squares of flowers surrounded by squares of water. Peacocks, doves, and other birds wandered through, barely giving them a thought as they walked.

 Rika examined each place on their tour with interest. She could only name maybe half of the plants and animals she spotted. “They are impressive.”

 “Over there is my favourite place.” MC indicated a path that led to a small building. She smiled brightly, the words bubbling out of her. “No one goes there but there’s a little grove inside and the branches look like a lattice.”

 “That sounds lovely.” MC had a magnetic smile—whenever Rika saw it, she wanted to smile too. A pair of rabbits scurried across the path and Rika watched them disappear into the bushes. “There are a lot of animals here.”

 “For your enjoyment, your highness.” MC pointed to a row of mesh cages on their right, large rooms filled with more birds and rabbits. Quickly glancing at Rika, she fiddled her fingers. “If I could…”

 Noticing her hesitation, Rika smiled kindly. “Please speak.”

 “What was your palace like, your highness?” MC twirled her stray lock with a finger. The real question, what is Korea like, lay underneath it all.

 “Our gardens were more…” Rika paused, trying to think of the right word. “Wild? Water?” She frowned, not knowing how to translate.

 Sensing her difficulties, MC bit her lip before hesitantly adding, “Manicured?”

 “Manicured?” Rika repeated, not sure what it meant.

 Flustered, MC rubbed her upper arm slowly. “That means…um…neat and clean?”

 “I see.” Rika considered the word and shook her head. “Partially but not quite.”

 “Then maybe…” MC’s brow furrowed, deep in thought, and Rika covered her mouth to hide her laugh. It was rather cute how seriously she was taking this. “Organized?”

 “Not really.” Rika crossed her arms, tapping her fingers against her skin. “We try not to manage our gardens as much—to have it as natural as possible.” When she noticed MC’s enthralled stare, she looked away sheepishly. “Not that I’d know, I did not get to visit them often.”

 “Why?” MC’s brow raised, puzzled.

 “That’s…” Rika bit her lip. Even now, as far away as she was from Korea, she could still feel her aunt’s shadow loom over her. “Maybe next time?”

 “Whenever you want to.” Her expression was terribly gentle before MC turned away and pointed at the path to their left. “Do you want to see the fish? We have a pond over there.”

 -x-

 “I will be in the next room over, your highness.” MC carefully blew out the candles in Rika’s room, leaving only a sliver of moonlight to light her way. “If you need anything, just call.”

 The tightly woven strips sank under Rika’s weight as she shifted her position, watching MC slowly pick her way out of the room. Their rooms were not too far apart, and it was strange to sleep this close to another, to not be alone in this darkness.

 Rika closed her eyes and repeated her mantra to herself, I am home.

 -x-

 “How is lunch, Rika?” V asked as he sipped his tea.

 He was the only one who called her by name anymore. Seated on a cushion nearby, Rika curled her toes. His eyes had been on her all morning, only straying when another called for his attention. She didn’t know what to do with this level of attention and all it did was remind her of last night, of his hands on her as they consummated their marriage. “Good,” she managed.

 “I’m glad.” His lips curved up and she tried hard not think about what else that mouth could do. About what else that mouth did do. Her skin still burned from playing with the sun.

 -x-

 MC’s hands were gentle as she brushed Rika’s hair. Her fingers combed through her locks, slowly separating any tangles with a delicate touch. “Your hair is very thick, your highness.” As though to demonstrate, she braided Rika’s hair quickly and then let go. Within minutes, her hair whirled open, incapable of maintaining the shape that MC’s did so naturally.

 Rika laughed; no matter how many times she’d witnessed it, it was still amusing. Reaching up, she twirled one of MC’s bands with a finger. “Your hair is so different.”

 “Y-yes,” MC stuttered, her cheeks tinted pink. “Just a little, your highness.”

 Something about that expression made Rika want to tease her. Pulling the strand closer, she kissed it. “Very silky too.”

 MC’s skin turned a darker red, almost bursting into flames. Particularly since this forced her to lean in closer, to have her face just next to Rika’s. Perhaps her aunt had been right, there was something sadistic about her. She saw all of this and wanted nothing more than to spread that red to her ear, to her neck, to the skin that disappeared beneath her shirt.

 “Your highness?” MC’s voice trembled.

 But Rika was a princess and she had to be kind and gentle. Releasing MC, she faced the mirror once more. “Sorry for the interruption. Please, continue.”

 -x-

 If V’s smiles were like the sun, his kisses were like the rain. Gentle and life sustaining, his lips pressed against hers with no more force than that of the breeze. If Rika wanted to, she could step back and away, and she had no doubt he would smile at that response. There were no clouds to this prince, no shadows to hide in, and it threatened to burn her away.

 -x-

 “I did not think you were serious, your highness,” MC whispered, sitting across from Rika. They were out on the terrace, the night stars strung above them like the anklets around her ankles. She looked around furtively, still nervous about their actions. “Are you sure I will suffice?”

 “You are more than good enough.” Rika watched as a cloud covered the moon, leaving them in near darkness. Bird cages decorated her terrace, gifts from V, and the slight rustle of wings were the only movement from the sleeping creatures. “I want to be more fluent. I have to live here, after all.”

 “That’s good but wouldn’t day lessons be a better choice?” MC wrapped her arms around her waist, her fingers tapping on her hip. “You will lose sleep this way and I know his royal highness could arrange for a far better tutor than me.”

 A tutor. Rika bit her lip, shaking her head. She had met enough new people to last a lifetime. Besides, it was humiliating enough to learn a new language without having to worry about a stranger’s judgemental gaze. “I’d rather have you.”

 MC smiled, torn between troubled and pleased. On her lap, she played with her fingers as she gazed around. “Do you want to start with the birds? On your right is a myna.”

 -x-

 Seated outside, Rika head a soft cry, a bird wailing in the midday sun. Looking around, she tried to spot the creature. “What’s that?”

 “A peacock.” MC looked around before pointing to a nearby tree. “Over there.”

 “Where?” She shaded her eyes, blocking out the sun. The foliage was thick and a breeze gently ruffled the leaves.

 “There.” MC pointed at the base of the tree. A brown bird bobbed along the ground, blending in with the earth. As she pulled back, her hand grazed Rika’s shoulder and she recoiled as though stung. “I’m sorry, your highness.”

 “It’s fine.” A thrill ran through Rika’s spine, not unlike the one she got from V’s kiss, and she didn’t know what to do with it. Brushing a lock behind her ear to distract herself, she added, “You can call me Rika.”

 “Huh?” MC stared at her as though she grew a second head. “No I—I can’t, that…you are—”

 Rika grabs her wrist, another spike of electricity running through her bones. Ignoring it, she shook her head vigorously.  “When we’re alone, when no one is there, please call me Rika.” She hated the desperate edge her voice took, the pleading tone to it. “Please.”

 MC swallowed, her lips parting slightly before she nodded. Slowly, hesitantly, she called out, “Rika?”

 “Yes?” She smiled gratefully. It had been too long since she’d last heard her name.

 -x-

 “You can open your eyes now,” MC murmured in the shell of Rika’s ear. She was close, far too close, but Rika couldn’t bring it in her to push her away.

 Instead, with a repressed shiver, she opened her eyes. The sight before her made her gasp. There was something ethereal about the palace gardens at night, something different about the flowers as they glowed faintly in the moonlight. The moon hung above them, heavy and pregnant, and Rika remembered being locked in the dark, with only the faintest sliver of light to stare at.

 “Do you like it?” MC asked, shifting on her feet.

 Now she wasn’t alone, not anymore. Rika smiled at MC gratefully. “It’s beautiful.”

 MC gave a small smile, a crescent moon, and pointed at pale white flowers. “We call those the Queen of the Night. They’re very fragrant.”

 Rika sniffed, a sweet, cloying scent filling the air. “That smells nice.”

 MC brushed a strand of hair back, hooking it around her ear. The movement caught Rika’s eye, the sight making her swallow. Following her hand, Rika caught it, pulling her closer. She could see her reflection in MC’s wide eyes before she leaned in and kissed her.

 For a brief moment, she was afraid it was a mistake as MC stiffened in her hands. Then MC pressed back, far more aggressive than Rika had credited her with, her lips parting as their kisses deepened. If V burned her, MC froze her. There was something entirely different about this, something that felt, for once, entirely Rika. There was no marriage or compulsion with MC. There was only desire, only want, only the feel of her skin against Rika’s.

 Her kisses tasted a little like freedom and Rika drowned in them.

 -x-

 “I’ll chase the shadows away,” V murmured into her skin, his breath hot. A shiver ran up her spine as he planted a kiss on her shoulder, his touch gentle. “I’ll protect you from the dark.”

 Once she would have been content with that. But Rika had come to know the moon’s faint rays, the night’s beauty. She could no longer run away from the dark.

 -x-

 From the palace roof, Rika watched the sun set, the last rays of light tint the evening sky. The clouds glowed, outlined in gold and pink, and she leaned against MC’s shoulder.

 “What is it?” MC asked, threading her hand in Rika’s.

  In the privacy of her quarters, there was freedom. Freedom in MC’s arms, in V’s love, and for a woman who never had a choice before, she had too many now. Rika pressed her lips to MC’s temple, feeling her tremble from the touch. “It’s nothing.”

 This couldn’t go on for much longer. A reckoning was coming and Rika had to make a choice.

[myths-of-fantasy]

Snippet 6 - A Place to Call Home 1

Rusty rolled over in his newly created nest, not bothering to assist Myna in constructing hers. He ignored his sister shooting him a dirty look and started in on a thorough grooming of his coat for the first time since a few days. It had been a long time since he;’d gotten the chance to properly groom his coat. The talk with the Overseers had been… tense to say the least.

They had at least found the right cat - The Blue Star was apparently actually named Bluestride and the ‘star’ was part of her proper title. There were others ‘stars’- Overseers like Bluestar and each ruled a different sector. Magpiestar seemed familiar - and he seemed to recognize them too. Maybe one day Rusty would be allowed to follow up on that.

He glanced briefly to his left as Kite casually undid the edges of his nest.

“Hey!” he protested.

“We’ve always shared a nest before,” said Kite flippantly. “I already made two lone nests for us to stay in. You built yours in the middle of the den, so it’s becoming the shared nest.”

Rusty gave a put upon groan but stood and helped her dismantle his carefully constructed nest. Myna gave him a smirk that he ignored and pranced over to help them.

When it was done, Rusty flopped back inside of it and started grooming his pelt once more. Kite and Myna climbed in and settled beside him, beginning to groom his pelt with him. Rusty purred softly, twisting and running his tongue along Myna’s shoulder. As annoying as his sisters could be, they were all he had left.

---

“Psst, psst!”

Rusty opened his eyes groggily, locking in on a pair of cautious yellow eyes that occasionally darted away from him. He tensed minutely and flexed his claws in as threatening a manner as he could without getting up, while his scrambled brain frantically tried to decode the situation.

“Woah, no need for that tura,” said the loud voice quickly.

Rusty yawned, his jaw popping a bit as his head cleared.

“Graypaw?” he asked, confused.

“Yeah!” he purred. “Or just Grayir since I think we’re about the same age.”

“Oh,” said Rusty. “Is ‘paw’ another rank term?”

“Yeah, it refers to a cat who is younger than you and needs guidance,” Graypaw explained. “You only have to call me Graypaw when we’re around Overseers though - I don’t mind being called Grayir or even just Gray.”

“I’ll call you Gray if you don’t mind calling me Rusty.”

“Nice to meet you Rustyir,” Graypaw chirped.

“Ugh, take your chattering outside,” Myna grumbled, throwing a paw over her face.

“It is pretty early.” Rusty yawned. “What are you doing here Gray?”

“I just wanted to know if you wanted to meet the other cats our age,” said Graypaw. “I had to come early because mom and Bluestar are going to be deciding on my discipline for letting you past the barrier and I had to get to you before anything was made official.”

“We’ll be there,” grumbled Kite. “Just shut up or go away.”

“Sorry,” said Rusty biting back another yawn. “We’ve been travelling for a while so-”

“That’s alright,” said Graypaw. “I’ll see you guys in a few days.”

“A few days?” said Rusty.

“There’s no way my mom is letting me leave the den for a while after what I did,” Graypaw admitted. “I’ll probably spend these next few days - maybe even moons - as Graykit or looking after Bearkit and Honeykit.”

“Okay,” said Rusty settling back into his nest. “Thank you for letting us in.”

Graypaw studied him and then smiled, “I’d do it all over again.”

---

It was a half moon before Rusty and his sisters saw Graypaw again.

In the meantime, they went about setting up their small territory. Weaving brambles along the edge of their den to ensure that there was only one way in and one way out. They got their fresh kill place set up, digging a hole beneath a nearby tree and filling it with leaves so that when they placed the prey inside, it would have minimal dirt on it.

Myna and Kite went sniffing about a reported the scents of three dens near theirs - two long-established ones and one fresher scent. Their neighbors hadn’t come to meet them yet and Rusty was hoping it was because they didn’t care instead of them plotting something on them.

They took the time to mark their own scents around their area, careful not to mark too intensely and come off as aggressive. No need to start a fight.

Rusty was in the process of polishing off a sparrow when the brush began rustling drawing his attention. He glanced up, and his gaze fell on Gray pushing into their clearing with a long furred molly beside him.

“Hey Rustyir,” he said enthusiastically. “Where are you sisters?”

“Kite’s taking a nap and Myna’s out hunting - who’s this?” asked Rusty nodding to the molly.

Gray’s ears flattened with embarrassment.

“This is my mom,” he said. “I’m not allowed to travel alone until I can be trusted again.”

“Harsh,” Rusty drawled, rolling to his side and stretching out. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you - my name is Willow.”

“Many thanks to your son for letting us in - I don’t think Myna could’ve survived another night out there,” Rusty remarked, licking the blood from his mouth. “She was refusing to eat because she was the oldest.”

“What do you mean?” Gray blinked.

“We’re too small to hunt most of the voiceless creatures,” Rusty explained. “So our food was limited. Since she’s the oldest, Myna fed me and Kite and let herself starve. If she’d died, then I would’ve been responsible for feeding Kite at the expense of me.”

“That sounds like a hard life,” Willow murmured. “Where are your parents?”

“Dead.”

Rusty turned his head at Kite’s voice, the molly emerging from the den under the bush. She stretched her legs, yawning loudly and shaking her pelt before trotting over and slumping down beside Rusty.

“You talk a lot,” she grumbled.

“Dead?” Willow echoed looking at Gray.

“Yeah, dad died first protecting us - then mom went not longer later,” Kite said, leaning into Rusty who sighed but licked her ears. “Then our older siblings died one by one.”

“We don’t know for sure that Fawn is dead,” Rusty pointed out.

“We waited for three days after that Mangemouth made off with him,” Kite countered. “If he was coming back, he’d be back by now.”

Rusty slumped a bit accepting her words. He still held onto a bit of hope that since they hadn’t seen Fawn actually die, that his brother could still be alive. Kite rubbed their cheeks together soothingly and Rusty was pained to understand that Kite had never known anything but death. Their uncle had died the same day she opened her eyes and since then, the Farcreatures were constantly trying to pick them off.

“Well, you’re safe now,” said Willow snapping Rusty out of his thoughts. “Graypaw wanted to take you to meet the other paws today.”

He looked at Kite who waved her paw in a, "whatever you want" kind of motion.

“Okay,” said Rusty. “But let’s wait for Myna to come back.”

[haddonfieldproject]

1.1.7. Halloween Night 10:33pm

7️⃣

<<PREVIOUS⏺<<CONTENTS>>

Haddonfield, Illinois

After having been rejected by Dylan Rawls and, by association, little Maddie Keane, Cammie Cornell had wandered outside, descending the brick steps, and walking the twenty yards or so of paver stones to the gated end of the driveway. There she had clutched the iron bars and stared out at the corner of Orange Avenue and Matthew Street, where the gothic spires of the Comforter of Sorrows Roman Catholic Church dominated the what little remained of the sky behind a twisted net of oak tree limbs that obscured most of the soft orange light from the streetlight and further shadowed the street in the dark.

The last remnants of Trick or Treaters hustled about, most of them teenagers, too old to be out trick or treating anyway. Two young girls, one dressed as Catwoman and another as the Joker's girlfriend Harley Quinn stopped to take a selfie together in front of the church and then ran away giggling. Movement stirred among Cammie's legs, startling her. She looked down and saw a black cat, it's tail sticking straight up, rubbing it's head along her shins. The cat looked up with bright green eyes and gave an almost soundless “Meow”, beckoning Cammie to pet it's head, which she bent to oblige, but was startled again, this time by a thunder clap. The sky lit up in greenish lightning and Cammie took off running back toward the house.

As she ascended the top of the stairs, she looked back. The cat was still there at the end of the driveway, looking back at her with a mix of curiosity and distain. Cammie adjusted the bumblebee attenae on the top of her head and gripped the door handle to go back inside.

It was locked.

She knocked three times on the door hard and then found the doorbell and pushed it.

The home theater inside Ellen Rawks aka Misty Dawn's house was pretty much soundproof. And even if it wasn't, the action packed sounds of Ripe Blood was sure to block any sounds coming from outside of the room. Chelsea held a bag of popcorn in her lap, chewing exhurbantly while some poor sap on the big screen was having his intestine devours by a crowd of the recently undead. Behind her, Penny had her head buried in Josh's lap, who watched with mild interest. His mind was really on the fact that, even though Penny was trying to divert her attention away from the movie screen, she was giving his crotch her full attention with her hand down his pants.

Down the hallway, Maddie and Dylan sat on two blue beanbags with Nintendo controllers in their hands playing Mario Kart. The volume coming out of the 30 inch flatscreen before them was borderline deafening, but still, Dylan thought he heard something. He abuptly hit pause and turned to the little girl next to him.

“Did you hear something?”

Her little brown eyes were wide. She shook her head.

He waited for a moment, and then hit the pause button again and they resumed racing.

“You'll never catch me!” He called.

“Yes I will!” She giggled.

Cammie had given up and started down the paver path along the side of the home, passed a few large windows with blinds closed, another made of glass blocks and dark, and then around some tall holly bushes. She came to a low gate, pushed it open, and passed two hulking air conditioning units, a short and fat generator, and the pool pumps before rounding the corner. The pool house lay before her, along with the swimming pool itself.

I could totally go for a swim, she thought, wiping sweat from her brow. Her costume was hot, and it literally felt like summer outside. She daydreamed breifly about stripping down to her panties and driving in when thunder boomed again, forcing her to abandon such thoughts and scurry along to the sliding glass doors along the back of the house. She gripped the handle on the first one she came to and pulled to the right. It slid open with ease and a blast of cool air hit her face and she sighed.

The doors opened into a little parlor, something her mother called a “Florida Room”. In front of her, beyond another sliding glass door was the living room, with the kitchen and dining room beyond that. There was a side door on either side of her though.

I wonder where these go to? She thought, and padded across the little space, around a large potted plant and wicker set of chairs and endtables. She gripped and opened it.

It was a bathroom.

A “half bath”, as her mother would say, to be exact.

Well, that's no fun. She smiled to herself, shutting the door behind her. She bypassed the furniture and plant in the middle of the room and stepped over to the door on the other side.

This opened into a long hallway. It was dark, there were two doors on each side and one at the end of the hall. All of the doors were shut except the second door on the left, this was cracked and there was a soft and shifting light coming from the room.

It's a TV, she knew.

Someone was either watching TV or had left the TV on in that room.

She shut the door behind her and cautiously stepped toward the open door near the end of the hall.

As she grew closer, she began to hear the audio.

“Bottom of the eighth and the Cubs have one man on. Leo Nelson, the switch hitter at the plate, looking to drive in a run for the Northsiders.”

She peaked into the open doorway and saw what she had figured all along.

Baseball.

There was a baseball game on a television that sat on a small table at the end of the room. Opposite the TV, sitting in a wheelchair, and staring at the screen with icy blue eyes was an elderly man in a white shirt and plaid pajama pants. He had tubes in his nose that ran down along behind his back and into a green tank on the floor beside him with red letters that read: OXYGEN.

Cammie smiled and spoke up.

“Hello.” She said.

The man didn't react. He didn't even turn his head.

Cammie tried again.

No reaction.

Cammie frowned.

There was a small black cloth office chair beside the wheelchair. Silently, she allowed herself into the room and sat down next to the old man. The chair squeaked and swiveled as her little body, clad in a bumble bee costume plopped into it. Cammie folded her hands in her lap and faced the television.

“Here's the pitch, and a swing, and Nelson fouls it off, Oh and one.”

Maddie put the controller down.

“I don't want to play Wii anymore.” She said.

Dylan shrugged. “What do you wanna do then?”

“I don't know.” Maddie said.

“Wanna see my birds?” He asked.

Her big brown eyes shone bright.

“Okay!” She said.

She followed the older boy out of the playroom and to the next room, his bedroom.

On the right side of the room was a large wooden frame waterbed with a heavy looking mahogany bookshelf attached to the back as a headboard. This was full of comic books. There was a dresser centered on the far wall, along with a bookshelf on one side and a small writing desk on the other. On the left side, dominating the wall, was a very large white bird cage. Maddie didn't notice hardly any of this however at first. The first thing she noticed was the smell.

She gripped her nose. “Something stinks!” She said nasally.

Dylan blushed. “I know. I haven't cleaned their cages yet today. And I think I forgot yesterday too.” He looked down at his feet. “Maybe the day before, I don't know...I can be bad with cleaning up their poop.”

He padded across the room and grabbed an aerosol can from off the top of the dresser. STINK-AWAY DEODARIZER, the label read. He sprayed it in an arc above his head, squinting. Then he took a deep breath.

“There,” he said smiling, “smell now. Does it still stink?”

The little girl let go of her nose and took a big whiff. It still smelled bad, but now that bad smell was covered a little by a good smell. It was bareable.

She nodded. She didn't like to hurt people's feelings.

Maddie approached the cage.

“That green one is a Parakeet, and those two black ones with the orange bills are called Mynas.” Dylan said, pointing toward the cage.

“What's the white one, it's pretty?” Asked Maddie.

“Rawwrk Pretty!” The Parakeet, perched on an artificial branch in the corner of the cage squawked.

“Oh it can talk!” Maddie exclaimed.

“Yes,” Dylan nodded, “That white one is a cockatoo.”

“That's a funny name!” Maddie laughed.

“I have treats you can give them.” Dylan smiled.

“Okay!”

Dylan opened the writing desk and pulled out a small red bag.

KAYTEE FIESTA, the white letters on the front said.

“This is dried fruit,” Dylan said, “They love this stuff. I just got a new package from Amazon the other day, I haven't opened it yet.”

He pulled out a small blue pocket knife, unfolded the blade, and slashed the top of the bag. “You can throw it at them and they'll catch it out of midair.”

“Neat!” Maddie exclaimed.

They took turns throwing the little treats to the birds. Every time one of the little creatures would snap one of the small pieces out of the air with their beaks, Maddie would shriek with joy.

After awhile Dylan closed the bag and set it on the little writing desk next to the still unfolded pocket knife. “No more,” he said, “Too many will make them sick and then there will be more poop for me to clean.”

The little girl wrinkled her nose. “Eww.” She said and then her attention focused on something on the dresser behind her. “What is that?” She asked.

Dylan turned behind him and saw what she was looking at.

“That's a cannon ball!” He said, pulling it off the top of the dresser toward him. He took a step back under it's weight and bumped into the birdcage, rattling the thin wire frame of the cage.

“Rawrk cannon ball!” One of the birds shrieked.

“A what?” Maddie asked.

He put it into her arms. “We went on a class trip to Joliet last October to see the Civil War reinactment. I guessed how many gumdrops were in the glass mason jar and the grand prize was a real live cannon ball. It was 616!”

The cords in Maddie's neck were sticking out and her face flushed. “It's heavy!” She groaned.

“Oh yeah, sorry!” Dylan said and took the cannon ball from her.

“Thanks.” She sighed.

He set the large black sphere back on the dresser.

“My mom also got me some Confederate money, look!”

He pulled some yellow bills from off the top of the dresser, along with some coins.

“That doesn't look like money,” she said, looking at a fascimile of a bank note from Tennessee.

“Well it isn't like the money we have now, and look at the coins!” He held out his hand and some of the coins he was presenting teetered and fell to the carpet. Maddie bent to retrieve it.

“Oh crap!” Dylan said and bent as well, but he was too close to the dresser. His butt struck the drawers and he bounced off. The cannon ball on the top of the dresser began to roll, dropping over the lip of the front of the piece of furniture and right down on the back of the little girl's head with a sickening thud.

Her tiny legs went limp immediately and her face hit the carpet, her arms, having nowhere else to go, crumpled under her little torso. The cannon ball bounced once with a muffled THUMP on the rug and rolled in front of Dylan's feet. He froze, still holding the fake money in one hand, mouth wide.

Lightning struck outside.

It roused him.

He dropped the money and bent down next to the little girl.

“Maddie?” He called her name and pulled her over unto her back.

Oh no! I'm gonna be in so much trouble. He thought.

Her eyes were half open, as was her mouth.

“Maddie!” He called again.

A gurgling sound came from her mouth and little right leg began to spasm.

“It's okay Maddie,” he soothed, rubbing her shoulders. “It's gonna be okay, you're gonna be fine.”

Her left leg began to spasm as well.

“Come on Maddie, snap out of it. You'll be fine, just lay still.” He coaxed.

A little bit of white spittle began to gather at the corner of her mouth.

“Lay still Maddie it's okay!” He urged.

Her whole body was convulsing now, and her eyes upturned until all he saw was white.

“STOP IT MADDIE!” He cried, tears welling up in his eyes.

Her tiny fragile body lurched and heaved.

“LAY STILL I SAID!” He screamed and in one swoop grabbed the pocket knife from on top of the desk.

He brought it down on her.

She continued to convulse.

“STOP MOVING!” He screamed, and brought the knife down again.

He lifted it.

Then brought it down again.

And again.

And again.

NEXT>>

[shepherdsvoice]

2020

Part of me wants to say that 2020 was just a terrible year. And in some ways it was. But I can’t ignore that in so many ways it wasn’t. In the macro, it was, for the most part, a pretty terrible year. It was a year of frustration and anger and disillusionment and violence and disappointment. I fear that it is a year that will have long-lasting and far-reaching repercussions. But in the micro, I am blessed to say that I was not too affected by the situation. I know that I could have and should have conducted myself with more grace and patience this year. I let my anger and frustration and worry take a hold of me and I took it out on those around me. But when I put aside those emotions, I can appreciate all the blessings I received.

I am grateful for all the unexpected time I got to spend with family this year. I am so grateful for the seven months I spent with Mom. Probably the last time we’ll ever live together again and maybe the closest we’ll ever be. I am grateful for that strange spring and that loooong summer that in some ways doesn’t feel like it happened at all. I am grateful for watching the sun rise most mornings from the sunny little office that I painted yellow. Watching the first wisps of pink crest the hill and illuminate the dew on the lawn and the grey cat on the fence and the roses blossoming on the bush in the back corner of the garden and the downy white blooms on the crepe myrtles. I am grateful for the chill of the hardwood floors in the morning and the baking heat as the sun shone full through the windows in the afternoon. I am grateful for calling to Rosie through the thin, warped glass windows as she lay on the deck or sniffed under the gate. I am grateful for Friday Facetime sessions with Ngawang. Sitting in the sweltering office and talking about nothing and everything. Making plans for future trips and lamenting what the world had come to. I am grateful for sitting on the top step in the afternoon when I was finished with work. Listening to Genesis or Leviticus, drinking strawberry milk or eating berries or an acai bowl, the sun browning my back and Rosie coming to sit beside me, nudging her head under my arm. I am grateful for throwing the Frisbee with her and playing keep away and running around the back yard under blindingly blue afternoon skies or beneath pale pink and purple sunsets as the crows squawked and returned to their roosts in the tall trees on the ridge.

I am grateful for my morning chats with Mom. Walking into her room once I finished my morning meetings, and commiserating about the news and laughing about our lack of plans and lamenting her empty retirement and complaining about my boss and talking about the neighbors who passed by on their morning walks and boxing with Rosie as she lay at the end of the bed. I am grateful for afternoons on the front porch, watching the little world go by on C Street, joking with Steve and Bill, playing American Trivia, reading languorous novels while Mom read the paper, looking at houses on Zillow and whiling away the long afternoon hours. I am grateful for weekend mornings at the dog park. For walking up the hill in invariably inconvenient shoes then sitting high on the bench at Gerstle Park as Rosie trudged through the ivy and did her looping patrol of the hillside. Or sunny, windy days at Mill Valley Park, watching dogs reluctantly run the agility course or race across the broad lawn after a ball or Frisbee or dive unhesitatingly into the muddy shore of the bay. And I am so grateful for mornings at Piper Park. Sitting on our favorite bench beneath the thin maple, looking out across the verdant lawn at Mt Tam standing sentinel over us with Hall nestled in the middle ground where I spent so many hours playing soccer or sitting in a circle with my friends in the back corner of the field or laughing over our lunches at the picnic tables. I am grateful for the familiar faces at the park, the people whose dogs’ names we knew but not their own. I am grateful for iced chai’s sipped on the park bench as mom and I talked about our school days while Rosie lay panting in the tall grass behind us in the shade of the great willow tree looking out at the high creek.

I am grateful for our afternoon drives when there was nothing else to do. For the chance to explore Marin. Driving down Center Street through sleepy Fairfax and over the hill to San Geronimo. Cows and granite boulders and scraggly trees dotting the fields that crept up the hillsides as hawks circled overhead. I am grateful for that long, straight road through that wild, wonderful country. I am grateful for the shaded windy road through the redwoods towards Nicasio and the little white school house on the corner. I am grateful for the backroads towards Petaluma past the Nicasio Reservoir with hills so vibrantly green and rolling and tranquil that I was reminded of Ireland. I am grateful for the turn onto Petaluma Road and the lazy bends up the hill with sudden vistas of the valley below. And I am grateful for the 37 towards Sonoma and Napa, for the horses on the hill and the bridges over the bay and the beached boat on the side of the road and the long low lane through the marshes. And I am grateful for all the laughs and talks we had during those drives while bluegrass and rap and oldies and classic rock played on the stereo. I am grateful for afternoons at Stinson and Rodeo when we could forget the wider world and enjoy the simple beauty that California still has to offer as we watched dogs and children frolic in the surf and dig in the sand.

I am grateful for my trip with Michelle and Dash. For honky tonk country music and long lazy drives through the central valley and the sunshine in LA and the quiet of Utah and the vastness of the sky and the rainbows of Bryce Canyon and the awe-inspiring beauty of Zion and the blinding white of the Booneville Salt Flats and the gaudiness of the Las Vegas Strip and my grueling hike with Dash and our long talks on the road or in the evening. I am grateful for the time I got to spend with Michelle. For our tours through the City and the East Bay, spending the whole day exploring and talking and complaining and laughing, agreeing on so much. For our dinner on New Year’s Eve, driving to a hilltop in South SF and eating dumplings out of to-go containers and exchanging Christmas gifts and trying to make sense of the craziness of this year. I am grateful for the time I got to spend with her family. At her niece’s birthday party while the children splashed in the pool and her dad told me about Nauru. And at Samuel P Taylor as we sat around the campfire and sang Russian and Slovakian folk as Steve strummed along on the guitar. And at Labor Day weekend with Mom, eating hotdogs with Michelle’s parents under the sprawling oak in their backyard and seeing Lenka and Janka and Kimmie and Alex. Mom and I talking on the way home about the unique sadness of being an only child and the joy that a big family brings.

And I am grateful for my three trips to Hawaii this year. And especially for this last one. I am so grateful for cool mornings on the lanai, watching the shadows recede across the lawn and the sea lighten from grey to blue in the morning sun, the myna birds stirring and shrieking, me slowly drinking my guava juice while reading or embroidering and then sitting with Dad and talking about movies and psychology and ideas for articles and albums. I am grateful for morning walks on the beach, for the dogs and the surfers and the damp sand and flip-flops left in the shade and the waves creeping up the shore. I am grateful for lunches on the lanai or at Hula or Mama’s. For the tropical rainstorm at Hula Grill as I drank my strawberry daiquiri and for the light rain at Mama’s as the colossal waves crashed against the coast. I am grateful for drives along the seaside while music played, with the multi-hued ocean to one side and the steep, sculptured mountains shrouded in fog on the other. I am grateful for lazy afternoons napping and reading and playing trivial and scrabble and cards. For time to be together and relax. I am grateful for home cooked meals, the three of us joining hands around the table for grace and piling the plates to one side to talk after we’ve finished eating. I am grateful for our dinner at Spago’s, watching the sun set behind the palms and the lights illuminate the beach, sharing sushi and keeping an eye out for celebrities. And I am grateful for nights after dinner watching good movies and bad. Talking through plot points, arguing about Gal Gadot’s attractiveness, predicting the storyline of Soul, and marveling at the athleticism of Gene Kelly. I am grateful for the warmth and beauty and slowness of Maui.

I am grateful for the breath-taking sunset that I saw from the plane last night, the sun dipping down into the Pacific and bathing the hills of Pacifica in gold while the city sparkled farther north. I am grateful for the sunrise I saw today from the back of an Uber on the New Jersey Turnpike, the sky confetti pink and yellow, silhouetting the Manhattan skyline across the Hudson.

This has been a hard year. A trying year. But a year for growth and reflection and pause. A year that threw most of my goals and hopes out the window but that gave me so many other blessings in return. This was the first year since 2013 that I did not leave the country. I got to spend 365 days in the country that I love so much and I got to explore new parts of it and fall in love with it more even as I worry over its future. I spent every holiday this year with people I love, Fourth of July with Dad and Susan, my birthday with Mom and Ray, Thanksgiving with Ngawang and Aja and Deanna and Abina and Ritcha and Christmas and New Year’s with Dad and Susan and Mom and Michelle. I must admit that I am glad that 2020 is over but I am thankful that I lived it.

[luckystarchild]

I finally got a mini for my D&D character! It’s my first ever mini, though she’s not my first character (far from it).

There was only one Tengu/Kenku wizard figure on Amazon, but I don’t mind because she’s PERFECT.

I’m going to paint her soon. I’ll model her coloring after a Myna bird, with blue-black feathers, yellow patterning on her face, and an orange beak. Will likely choose a wine-colored cloak and use a bit of modeling clay to rework her staff (not crazy about what appears to be a goblin head mounted on it, lol).

My character’s name is literally a cheerful series of whistled notes and a touch of rushing wind (Kenku can perfectly mimic sounds and voices and tend to name their children after ambient sounds). But since no one in the party can pronounce her name, they tend to call her…

…“Whistle”, or just look at her and whistle (the barbarian tends to spit while doing this).

She’s a wizard. The Kenku are descended from a cursed deity, doomed never to fly but to always long for the air. She saw a wizard fly and realized she could fulfill her race’s instinctual urge by studying the arcane arts.

Whistle’s character came together super quickly when I read the wizard description, which states that wizards generally have a moment of epiphany that draws them to magic. The race and the class just fit!

She’s rather reserved, preferring to shrewdly watch from the sidelines rather than getting in the middle of things. The Kenku aren’t trusted by most of society so she’s accustomed to being mistreated, but she loves her friends and is very sweet with them. Whistle loves to sing and has a fondness for flowers. She has a mischievous streak, though, and is not troubled by violence or less than ethical decisions made by her party.

She also has a tendency to eat small rodents whole, she rarely blinks, and often mimics the words and voices of people around her rather than use her own words. It’s creepy. But she does it while wearing a flower crown, so make of that what you will.

The Kenku can only speak words they’ve heard others speak. This sometimes limits her ability to communicate…which is hilarious, because she’s got the highest INT of her party, so she spends a lot of time flapping her hands/arm feathers in the background as her more charismatic party members make terrible, terrible decisions.

Thanks for reading! :)

[aftaabmagazine]

Our Town

By Rahnaward Zaryab Translated from Farsi by Farhad Azad

[caption: Illustration by Mahro based on the artwork from the original publication of the short story.]

- - - 

Our town is a town of great horses and beautiful carriages. Every day when the sun chooses to sit, the elegant carriages with their strong horses adorned with colorful pom poms park under the tall sycamore trees that line the street. These carriages have their distinctive customers. Most of the patrons wear crisp parhans and tunbans with long coats made of silk. It isn't necessary to ride these carriages. People ride them for fun— everyone knows it.

When the sun decides to sit, black-colored mynas crowd the branches of our tall sycamore trees. These birds, with their yellow beaks, perch on the white branches of the sycamore trees and make sounds. At this time, in the fading light of dusk, our town swells with the chirping noises of the mynas as the charming carriages with their well-dressed riders cruise on the only paved street in our town. The horses tread hard on the paved street. The stomping sound of the hooves arouses the people.

When the sun wishes to sit, the pulse of our town beats faster. It appears as if our town has risen from a slumber— after a dull, long day.

At this time, the blaring sounds of the radio and gramophones flow from the cafes and restaurants.  Groups of people eat and converse at these places.

Our town is a town of beautiful horses. Most likely people have observed countless times Timur Bai and his son Rajeb passing on the only paved road in our town.

Timur Bai is a short, slender man. In our town, no one remembers his smile. He has a silvery-colored complexion like a shiny, crusty mask on his face— his beady eyes are lined with red veins and charged with anger and haterade. At the end of his chin, a goatee dangles; when he sits on his horse, the strands of hair wave in the wind.

Timur Bai with his small and bony body frame has a frightful look—people are frightened by him. Bai, fierce and violent, is extremely wealthy. And yet, he has never set foot in a car. He always rides on his black horse accompanied by two large, strong horsemen. Although rich, Timur Bai is stingy. When the time of accounting money cames near, out of fear, the mouths of his peasants dry up. Rajeb does not resemble his father. His body type didn't match his old man because Rajeb is slim and straight— tall like a  plane tree. He has soft white skin— like the texture of the sycamore trees in our town. Rajeb is twenty years old.

Albeit he is scared of his father, Rajeb does things that aggravate his father. Like when the sun decides to set, the pulse of our town beats faster, Rajeb along with his group of friends become intoxicated. On the only paved road, with the chirping of the mynas, he springs into drunken rants.  The young people circle him. In the middle, Rajeb speaks about everything and back to back bellows against his father.  He barely keeps his balance as he points to the mynas perched on the sycamore trees and asks his friends, "Do you know what these mynas are saying?"

One person in a syrupy voice responds, "No...you tell us."

Rajeb raises his shoulders, "These mynas are saying that my father is a devil."

His friends yell, " Nice! Bravo!"

Rajeb asks, "Why doesn't this devil die?"

No one answers.

Rajeb asks again, "Why? Why doesn't he die?"

Again, no one responds. Rajeb scowls at the perched mynas and waves his hands. The mynas start to fly. With satisfaction, he curses at the black birds. He shouts, "Why doesn't he die?"

Timur Bai with his bodyguards arrive. Rajeb's white face turns whiter. Timur Bai yells at his monstrous men, "Beat him up!"

The two gigantic fellows immediately dismount and start beating Rajeb. All the mynas fly away from the sycamore trees, and our town's main street turns silent. Underneath the pounding feet and hands of the large men, Rajeb says, "You will die one day...at last, you will die."

The old Bai's goatee trembles angerly. He orders, "Hit him harder!"

Rajeb again says, "You will die one day...at last, you will die."

Out of fear, no one interferes. The thrashing ends. Sweat pours from the faces of the bodyguards.  Rajeb, practically unconscious, deliriously growls, "You don't know anything...you animal, you don't know anything...you animal, you don't know anything!"

He vomits.

The old Bai spits at him and rides away. Out of the corners, the group of friends comes out. They pick up Rajeb and take him to a cafe where he sleeps.

Another day, when the sun decides to sit, Rajeb is drunk again, he strolls with his friends on the only paved road in our town. He shouts and speaks ill about his father.

Timur Bai has just one child. His two other wives passed away, and only Rajeb's mother is alive. Rajeb's mother loves him dearly. By any means, she provides money for her son, and he blows it on vice.

One day when the sun decides to sit and the beat of the town rises, Rajeb and his entourage, on the only paved street in our town, howl drunkenly. The mynas on branches of the tall sycamore trees chirp and the horses' hooves clatter on the paved road causing a stirring sound.  Rajeb again starts ranting against his father. Suddenly, from afar one of his father's bodyguards advances. Appearing worried, he dismounts from his horse and walks close to Rajeb. He takes Rajeb to the side and speaks in his ear. Rajeb bents down from uncontrollable laughter. The bodyguard freezes in bewilderment. With his hands, Rajeb gestures to his entourage to gather near. Perplexed and surprised, they surround him. Not able to control his laughter, he mutters, "That...that old devil!"

Again he leans lower and blasts out with loud laughter. He tries to straighten himself, "That old devil is dead!"

His companions fall in absolute silence. He looks at his father's bodyguard and asks, "Is this it? Tell me it isn't so?"

The giant bodyguard swallows his spit and replies, "Ah...that is it."

And then slowly adds, "You need to go home."

Rajeb, as if he had remembered something important, commands, "Carriage! Bring a carriage!"

After a minute, eight new beautiful carriages with fine sturdy horses arrive and rush towards Timur Bai's house. Rajeb, with two of his closest friends, sits in the first carriage. Rajeb yells to his father's bodyguard who is riding ahead, "Have you changed his clothes?"

The man replies, "No. Your mother said until you come no one can touch them."

Rajeb says, "Well done, mother!"

Then he yells at the driver, "Go faster!"

The driver lifts the whip into the air.

When they arrive at the house, his old dad rests motionless on the bed. His spiteful, hateful eyes are closed. The skin of his face still glows— like a light layer covering his face. His mother cries. When she sees Rajeb, she exaggerates her sobbing and says, "You are a now an orphan...my son...you are an orphan."

Rajeb responds, "Everyone goes this way...everyone."

He quickly starts rummaging through his father's pockets. He discovers a bunch of keys in his side pocket. As he shows the keys to his mother, he says, "I've them."

He stands up and motions to his companions, "Do you see...do you see."

His shouts, "I told you that he would die one day! You see?"

He shows them the keys, "Once I had these keys, I could beat anyone. Now the keys are in my hand and anyone that I want, I can punish them."

Then he looks at the two bodyguards of his father. The huge men shake. Rajeb walks towards them, rattles the keys in front of their eyes and shows an intimidating, insidious smile.

Suddenly the two bodyguards beg, dropping to their knees, "It isn't our fault. By God, it isn't our fault."

Rajeb laughs aloud, "I know. I know."

Again he jiggles the keys, "It is the key's fault. These keys."

He kneels between the two bodyguards and hugs their heads, "Get up. Get up. We'll all get our revenge from these keys."

His mother standing quiet asks, "What are you saying?"

Rajeb answers, "Do you see. Do you see what I'm saying?"

He then shouts at his companions, "What are you waiting for? Let's go to the garden!"

He shakes the keys— making a noisy, clattering sound. He says, "Now the keys are in our hands. Let's go to the garden."

His mother again says with anger, "Have you gone mad!"

Rajeb laughs, "For years I waited for these keys to fall into my hands."

Again he rattles the keys.  A few older men prepare to intervene, but Rajeb does not allow them, "I told him the same thing."

He looks at his companions, "You tell them. Didn't I say that?"

They all answer, "Yes, you said it. You said it."

Rajeb walks out of the room. His mother continues to cry. The old men and old women whisper, and Rajeb yells, "Let's go to the garden!"

His entourage shrieks with happiness, and the eight carriages that brought them dashes towards the garden.

All night and into the morning they drink and listen to music. The following night they do the same and continue night after night. He doesn't know who or how they buried his father. On the tenth day, his father's bodyguard came to him. He speaks into this ear.

Rajeb groans, "Oh my God!"

As he begins to cry, his friends circle him. He says, "My mother is dead!"

He immediately races to his home. His mother, like his father, rests motionless on her bed. Rajeb kisses his mother's cold feet and sobs, "The keys. Those damn keys!"

When they bury his mother, he weeps and says, "What am I suppose to do? Mother, what am I to do?"

After the burial, he does not leave his home for a week. It is unclear what he is doing.

At the end of one day, when the sun chooses to sit, Rajeb appears under the sycamore trees. The people of our town notice him and happily walk towards him. Rajeb does not notice his friends. He smiles, lifting the sadness from his face. He looks up at the mynas with their yellow beaks perched on the white branches chirping. From a distance, on the paved road, the sound of horses is heard. The radio and gramophones play loudly — our town's pulse throbs faster. Suddenly Rajeb begins to laugh. Then he raises his hands at the mynas sitting on the  sycamore trees and says to his friends, "Do you know what these mynas are saying?"

His companions timidly respond, "No...you tell us what they are saying."

Rajeb lowers his head and says, "They are saying that one day we to will die."

No one says a word. Rajeb continues, "But the keys are still in my hands."

In the shadow of the sunset, the sound of the mynas overflow from the branches.  The lovely carriages with their strong, sturdy horses drive around. The pulse of the town intensifies.  Rajeb repeats, "But the keys are still in my hands."

He takes out the keys and shows them to everyone, "Do you see...they are still in my hands."

As if throwing a rock, he shouts, "They are still in my hands!"

The mynas fly away. Again Rajeb shouts, "Let's go to the garden!"

His friends cheer with joy and run to the horse carriages.  Again the sound of music is heard in the garden, the aromas of kabobs fill the air, everyone is intoxicated, everyone is laughing and chuckling, and howling like drunks throughout the night. In the wee hours, the morning breeze blew. Rajeb turns gloomy and says gently, "My God."

Without saying anything to anyone, he mounts his horse and rides to his mother's grave.

The next day, he didn't come out. And he didn't come out the following day. One week passes. Two weeks pass. After forty days, the people of our town see Rajeb crossing the paved road. It is morning. The town is slowly waking up, looking weary. Still, the cool morning breeze flows. Rajeb rides a black horse. His two large bodyguards ride next to him. The people look surprised that his sideburns are gray. His face looks cold and depressed—as if he had never smiled before. He eyes do not radiate with happiness; they look angry and hostile. Hatred has grown in his eyes. His old friends do not dare to come near him. Rajeb with his two large bodyguards, ride past the paved road and disappear.

He arrives to inspect his lands– the first time in his life he has done this.

- - -

Notes

This short story appeared in April - May 1982 issue of Zhandoon magazine. The setting of this story is in northern Afghanistan. 

About Rahnaward Zaryab

Rahnaward Zaryab is an Kabuli born novelist, short story writer, journalist, and literary critic and scholar. He was born in 1944 in the Rika Khana neighborhood of Kabul, Afghanistan.

Celebrated Afghan Writer Recalls Kabul Of Decades Ago

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New York Times, By Mujib Mashal

[rantsandaves]

WTF: What The Florida

I breezed through Alabama and Mississippi, stopping to spend a day at Dauphin Island. I finally arrived in the Great Birding State of Florida on April 10th. I remember crossing the state line from Alabama to Florida. A big smile came across my face as I was right outside Pensacola. Wow! Florida! I'm so far away from home, look at how far I've come! What an amazing time I will have! 

I was in Florida for what seemed like years. It was only two weeks. I have mixed feelings about Florida. I thought about breaking the blogging of this state up into bite sized chunks to focus on favorite birding spots like I did with Texas, but I'm just going to give it to you straight.

THE GOOD Florida has some of the most beautiful beaches in the world. I swam in the clearest waters I've ever seen in my life in both the Gulf and the straight up Atlantic. I know that's not saying much because I'm from Los Angeles, but these beaches are world famous for good reason.  

As you may be aware, Florida also has hecka birds. And I saw hecka birds. Huge, amazing, exciting highlights include: Mangrove Cuckoo, Snail Kite, Limpkin, Purple Gallinule, Magnificent Frigatebird, and White-crowned Pigeon.  

 An absolute favorite species of mine that I saw in abundance in Florida was the Anhinga. I saw my first Anhinga back in Texas, but I never get tired of them. They're also called water turkeys or snake birds. They are neither turkeys nor snakes. Their scientific name is Anhinga anhinga. Family Anhingidae. Try to forget that one. 

The biodiversity is incredible in Florida. You can go from swamps to beaches to pine forests in a matter of minutes. You can change biomes the way people change lanes in Florida: in quick succession without even thinking. Which brings me to the next section...

THE BAD Florida drivers. Oh my god. What is it about driving that is so hard here? Does the humidity fog up your brain? Do you have a death wish? Is it that when you're driving, you suddenly realize where you live and your life choices have led you to believe that the only way to leave the state is to also leave this realm? Double yellows mean nothing. Neither do turn signals. Or red lights! I felt I got the quintessential Florida driving experience when I was cut off by a Mercedes Benz C-Class Sedan towing a speed boat near Miami. When I come back, I'm considering flying. Or hitch hiking. Air boating. Teleporting. Anything but driving. 

Oh and the mosquitoes. The mosquitoes don't care about rules either. Douse yourself in deet and light yourself on fire and they'll still try to get at you. I made the mistake of hiking in the Everglades on a boggy trail in late April. The rain when I started the walk fooled me into believing the mosquitoes weren't that bad. The rain was sporadic, however, and when the drizzle would stop I could not see the trail in front of me because there were so many little biting insects trying to eat my face. Never had I been so welcoming of the rain on a hike. 

Also not good, I tried for a number of birds and did not get them. I tried to see the rare Western Spindalis (Code 3) but with no success. I went after Boobies and came back boobless. No Mynas, Ani, or Bahama Mockingbird (Code 4.) Bummer city. 

THE UGLY

Pictured above is the first sunrise I've ever seen over the official Atlantic Ocean, not just the Gulf of Mexico. Pretty awful, right? Ignore all my griping, Florida is amazing. I'll be back again in the Sunshine State to snag all the birds I missed later this year. Until then, I'm headed up the East Coast to see many more Atlantic sunrises.