He whistled.

Standing at the edge of the known … the verge of the unknown … he whistled.

It was more a trill than a whistle. But not a birdsong. It was his and his alone.

Mother had forbid him playing in the forest. There was danger there. But the cool greens and warm browns called to him. The smell of the earth inspired him. The sounds of the life contained within made him want to seek their sources.

So he whistled. And he whistled.

She had come to him in a dream. He thought she might come to him now.

Digging his bare toes into the soft, moist dirt he rooted himself. Trying hard not to disobey Mother. But wanting.

Sighing with resignation, a sigh far too old and weary for one so young, he turned to leave. Patience is often hard won with age and wisdom.

Then he heard it. A soft rustle. A whisper in the air. The sound of a promise fulfilled.

He turned back. Motes of dust, in the sunlight slanting down through the trees, danced on her wings as her wings shaped the air around them. Black they were. So very black. All of her.

A hush came over the forest before him. The quiet of a frozen moment. He could feel anticipation building.

She had something in her beak.

Not daring to move, he didn’t even blink. Gliding in, she landed near his feet and placed what she was holding on the ground. She backed away. Stood still. Waiting. Watching.

He crouched down and reached out a finger to touch the thing she had left only inches from his feet. It was a rock. Black like her. Sleek but not shining with rainbows as she did. Smoothed by time and water. Round but flat.

He picked it up. It filled the palm of his small hand. He rubbed his fingers over it. It was cool and solid and weighed more than he thought it might.

Standing, he took from his pocket the half eaten sandwich he had been saving for later. Crouching again, he put the rock back on the ground at his feet. Stretching as far as he could, he placed the half sandwich near to her.

She did not move.

He took up the rock again and held it to his chest. Their eyes met. He could feel it deep inside. A shiver went down his spine.

She tipped her head to one side and then the other. She stepped forward and took the offering in her beak. Turning to leave, she cast one last look at him and he knew.

He was hers.

Perhaps, tomorrow he would disobey Mother and step from the known into the unknown. Just a little. Perhaps he would bring her some fruit and a walnut.

Again that night, she came to him in a dream and he knew.

She was his.

Images courtesy of Craiyon and BrainyQuote, respectively.