Homecoming

Grackle shuffled around in the bushes, eyes shut tight to avoid the branches currently smacking him in the face. He felt around on the ground with his chin until it hit something soft. Carefully he picked up the clump of feathers and backed up out of the brush. The branches tugged uncomfortably on his soft baby fuzz as he limped over to the small pile of leaves he had been collecting. The hot air pressed against him. He scratched his chest uncomfortably.

The fires had mostly died out. They had eaten up all the available fuel in the area and either blazed on further away or sputtered out upon hitting a barrier. A fly buzzed in his ear, and he shook his body aggressively. It came back and landed in the feathers on his rump. Irritated, the baby cryo dropped the bunch of feathers and twisted in a circle, hissing and nipping at his own flanks. It had been a long few days for him, and he was sick of it. Finally with a wail he darted off towards his leaf pile and buried himself in it. Over the course of the last few days he had burned himself several times. Right now, there was an angry patch of tender, burnt flesh on the back of his right leg he had gained soon after hatching.

Whimpering, he shuffled out of the leaves and grabbed the feather clump. He placed it in the pile of leaves and turned back around to continue gathering. Dark clouds were beginning to claw their way across the sky. He wasn’t sure what to think of it. He had seen dark clouds before, but they always seemed to rise from the fires. These were completely disconnected from the earth below. He stared in awe at the gathering clouds. Maybe the sky was on fire? It didn’t seem to be. Maybe it was something else then. Grackle snapped his head quickly to the side at the sound of wingbeats. Slowly he stepped back into his pile of leaves, covering his dark feathers with them. The wingbeats passed and he waited a little longer before shuffling back to his feet.

He limped towards a dead tree, its roots were wreathed in the branches that had rotted and fallen. First, he tried grabbing and dragging the log with his mouth. Pfffptffpttfptffft. The baby cryo shook his head and scraped his tongue against his teeth. The log tasted like char and dirt, and small flecks of the rotting bark stuck to his tongue and between his teeth. He gagged and dug his claws into the bark as best he could. He managed to drag the log back a few inches before the bark gave way and sent him toppling backwards. He got up and snorted. Now he really wanted to move it. What better way to teach the log a lesson than to make it part of his nest. He got behind the log and dug his small crests in, shoving with all his might. The burn on his leg sent sharp pain up into his hip but he just gritted his teeth and kept pushing.

After about an hour, the log was nestled up against the leaf pile. Grackle collapsed on top of it, his injured leg twitching uncomfortably. He bit his tongue and held in a wail of frustration. All that time and he only had one log. He looked up at the large smoke clouds in the sky again. They covered the whole sky now, and a wind had picked up. He sniffed the air, it smelt strongly of condensing moisture. He frowned to himself. Wet smoke? Was that a thing? He shook his head and pushed himself back to his feet, wincing at the pain in his heel. No matter, he needed to figure out a good cover for his nest still and the logs were no longer an option. The hatchling gathered small sticks and did his best to tent them up against each other. He was still very young, though, and every once and a while his tail or shoulder would bump the unfinished roof and send sticks across the ground. Finally, with a hiss of frustration, he gave up and shoved the sticks away. The wet smoke in the sky was getting darker now. Grackle huffed and sat down. His poor little leg was killing him now, and he just wanted a break. The log he had shoved over made for a nice point to huddle against, and he spread the feathers over it before snuggling up against it.

He awoke to a wet feeling on his nose. Stirring, he listened as the world slowly faded into focus. There was a quiet light tapping on the leaves and ground around him. His legs were still so sore from shoving the log around. The hatchling opened his eyes and looked up. Water was falling from the wet smoke in the sky above him. He shivered a little. This nest didn’t do much when it was wet. Too bad he never finished that roof.

Grackle heaved himself to his feet and looked around for a more sheltered spot. All the lower foliage was lost in the fires the previous days, and the trees weren’t much help when the water came in sideways on the wind. He wandered around the area a little, shivering and doing his best to keep the water off his body. It was futile, and eventually he was soaked to the skin. The chick’s soft baby feathers clung to his body, offering no protection. Sniffling, he made his way back to the nest. He would have to keep working on it, he hadn’t considered the possibility that water would ever be anywhere but the ground. He shoved himself deep in the leaves, shivering and wet, hoping the ground might keep him warm until the clouds passed. As he waited, he did his best to come up with ideas for ways to keep the water off him in the future. Provided the shivering pile of leaves made it through the night.