Closed Muse [Mae]

[Rhylund Vauler]

75th Fall 512 AV A cool breeze ruffled the last remaining brown and auburn leaves still clinging to the trees that peppered the fields and farmlands arching out from the city-castle of Syliras. The afternoon sun shone down from high, casting a blanket of mild warmth on the farmers and their fields below. Rhylund sat with his back against the trunk of an aged tree that he could not name, above wild grass with his legs crossed beneath him. He watched a few of the land’s stewarts mill about their daily tasks from a considerable distance, making sure that little more than a single note of his lute could be carried to their ears upon the wind. A notebook, with its pages filled by many lines of prefabricated music staves, returned his frown as he looked down into his lap. The right-half was spotless and pristine, begging for a musician to fill it with the flowing lines of any given instrument: the dreamscape of love or adventure pleading to become manifest. Meanwhile, the left was littered by a reckless catastrophe of blotches of black-ink. Several, hastily-drawn note heads were eviscerated by straight lines carved with frustration, marking them as invalid. Rhylund ripped the page out with a sigh and crumpled it up before tossing into his wide-brimmed, felt hat laying upside down beside him. It was not the first to be condemned this day to an early grave. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the tree. Fragments of what he had dreamt up on the search for the day’s moments of solitude still swirled throughout his thoughts as he plucked mindlessly at the lute nestled against his chest. Bits and pieces of different songs came and went, stitching together an unfamiliar hybridization of mischief and romance, intrigue and placid calm. Green iris' came back out from beneath heavy lids as he spotted a lone leaf the color of the setting sun drifting slowly down from the branch above. His eyes crossed as he watched it near his nose before blowing a gentle stream of air to send it on its way.

[Mae]

The pursuit was on.

Flitting from limb to limb, the gentle rustling of the wind through the leaves masked any sound that her wings might make as the little wren tailed the giant, delicious looking dragonfly. It floated lazily on the breeze, buzzing back and forth over the mildly swaying grasses in search of whatever it was dragonflies searched for as her short, fluttering bursts of speed gradually bringing the little songbird closer and closer to her prey.

It had to be the right moment before she pounced; the grass of the field that the pursuit stretched over was tall enough that, should the dragonfly veer its course at all, the little bird would lose her shot; she could navigate through the tall, weaving stalks with ease but her intended prey was much larger than she normally sought. It would make things much more difficult and she was simply hungry.

Stray beams of light bounced and glinted off the dragonfly’s gossamer wings as it slowed to a wobbling hover over what looked like a budding weed amongst the tall grasses; it was an opportunity too big to pass up. Perched on the thin twig of a branch just above where her next meal paused, Mae waited but a few flutters of her rapid heart before launching into the air, a small brown bullet as she dove downward. The dragonfly didn’t even stand a chance.

Tiny talons extended, the sharp nails of one foot ripping through a delicate wing while her sharp, needle-like beak sliced through the insects abdomen upon impact. Following the momentum of her dive, Mae bore her catch to the ground, pinning it beneath her feet as it feebly buzzed and squirmed in its final death throws. Quick, sharp pecks ended the things misery as the wren decapitated and quickly gobbled up the dragonfly’s head, a wing, and a bit of the tail soon followed.

Gorged and with half of her kill still remaining, Mae trapped the rest of the dragonfly in her beak and with a few small hops, took to the air once more; if she brought it back to her nest… Swooping and flitting through the branches and around the swirling breeze, disrupted as it passed through the leaves of the trees, Mae only heard the familiar rush of air over feathers the moment before the hawk dropped out of the sun, talons extended towards her.

Instinct took over as the little wren veered into the leaves of a large, old tree, chirping angrily as the claws of the big raptor narrowly missed her. The high pitched scolding continued as she hid among the close-set branches, hunkered down against the trunk, brown feathers blending easily with the bark of the tree as the hawk circled once, then twice, before turning to soar away.

A jubilant, defiant song burst forth from the little bird as her attacker left in search of easier prey, hopping energetically from branch to branch until she bounced on the springy end of low hanging limb, her chocolate feathers puffed in what could have been pride. It took only a few ticks for the little songbird to realize that her hasty retreat had cost her the rest of her meal.

It wasn't until she fluttered back towards the ground in search of the remains of her kill that Mae heard the strange string of notes. They were carried to her on a fitful breeze, her curiosity suddenly peaked. It came from around the very tree that had saved her lift. It wasn't hard to locate the sound, the little bird lighting upon a branch not far from the lounging musicians head.

[Rhylund Vauler]

The aerial stand off between the two birds had gone completely unnoticed by Rhylund. His eyes had drifted shut again as his attention was turned inwards to traverse the the corners of his imagination. His hands continued to move across the lute, picking apart old riffs before rearranging them anew. A small frown bit at his bottom lip as he continued to search for the right notes to sate his creative drive. A sigh heaved his chest and the lute resting against it while a light shake of the head pulled back his lashes. His eyes rolled towards the sky as a particularly lusty line slipped its way out of his fingers and across the neck of his instrument. He was surprised to find that he was no longer alone. His head angled with a curious tilt in imitation of the tiny bird sitting above him. "Well hey there, little fella." He addressed the creature with a soft voice. The humming of his lute never faltered, but the image of his smallest admirer─at least, he was keen to imagine that this bird was doing just that─caused his hands to exchange the sultry notes for ones a little less suggestive. "Have you come to give me some advice, friend?" A smile embraced his features at the thought of talking to an animal as if he were expecting a response. He looked back down at his lute and the empty song book before his frown reappeared. "I just don't understand how it comes so easily to some..." His left hand closed the book then tossed into his hat to rest above the day's crumpled failures. "...but, maybe this is not how it's supposed to be done?" The makeshift melody began to wonder down another path, growing darker with nostalgic timbre meant to slightly rend the emotions. He sat and listened in silence before looking back up at the bird. "Maybe not," the statement was clarified with a gesture of his head towards the strings as they rang again with neutral color. "What do you think people want to hear?" His smile returned as he looked back down at his lute, not waiting for the answer he knew would never come.

[Mae]

A chirped cascade of notes was the only response the musician got from the little bird, her head canting slightly to the side as she focused those little black eyes on the human below her, clearly listening to the notes that were plucked from the instrument.

Mae waited until the music stopped before hopping a few inches down the branch so that she could properly see this human’s face; he was speaking to her still, and while she understood the words, the little wren had no interest in them at all. It was the wooden thing in his lap that intrigued her. All thoughts of food and danger gone, Mae cut the man’s final question short by opening her little beak and trilling a melody that all birds seemed to know.

It was a loud, proud song that pierced the air with its clarity, her little chest puffing out as she sang, the branch bobbing and swaying beneath her as the wind lifted to carry her notes along. The song was a simple one, used by mothers to call their children to them; it was a song Mae had heard since childhood, even if it hadn’t been her mother that was calling.

The last note was held for a tick or two before the little wren fell silent, her feathers puffing proudly until she was almost twice her original size, her head tilting back and forth as she watched the wooden box below her for a response. But the lute stayed silent, unable or unwilling to answer her call.

Offense was a rather human emotion, and Mae, having little use for her other form whilst alone in the woods, was hardly inhibited by such unnatural feelings. But it was this slight, this…this refusal to respond to her song that sent the bird down from her branch to light on the humans knee, those beady black eyes fixed upon the lute with an unblinking stare.

Survival dictated that humans were to be avoided, but in this case Rhylund was simply ignored as Mae hopped back and forth on his knee, posturing before the lute like she had seen other male birds do, her feathers still puffed and her chest thrust outward. A few more notes were trilled, peaking as if almost a question, with a short pause afterwards as she waited for a response.

When none came, Mae shrieked her disapproval and set to the side of the lute closest to her with beak and talon, her wings flapping wildly while she attacked.

[Rhylund Vauler]

Rhylund's eyes snapped to the corners of their sockets as the little bird erupted into a burst of high-pitched singing. The surprise caused his fingers to lay still on the strings. He watched the creature for a moment, puffed up and tilting its head with what he took to be curiosity. The bard followed the bird's gaze back to the ground in font of him─or beneath him? "I'm not sure I have anything you would wa-" His words fell short as the tiny thing plummeted down from the tree branch and onto his knee. The surprise he felt fluttered somewhere between astonishment and weary anticipation; its small size kept him from leaping to his feet. Green-eyes danced along with the small bird as it seemed to silently interrogate his lute. "You like this, little guy? It's called a lu-Ay! Ay, stop that!" The tiny thing became a blurry mess of feathers and stabbing pecks, aimed for the body of his instrument. His arms moved to shield his well-being as he cradled the wooden lute as if it were a child. He stood as quickly as he could, using the tree behind him for support out of fear of removing his arms and hands from protecting his trade's necessary tool. A few wayward pecks nearly penetrated the long sleeves of his blue coat before he was able to straighten his legs and remove her perch. "Now, you knock that off!" Talking to a bird. It was nearly as strange as the animals behavior to begin with, but what in the world could have made it behave so? "It isn't food, and it isn't going to hurt you." His voice leveled out towards something more of a calm demeanor as he took a few steps back and searched the tree limbs above for a nest. He supposed it should be common knowledge that any animal could react violently if they thought their young to be threatened: no matter what their size. Rhylund quickly turned the lute over in his hands a few times to inspect it for damage. Tiny scratches were all the bird had managed to inflict, but it still felt as if someone had defiled his finest possession. It was his finest possession. "Now, listen, little bird." An exasperated sigh escaped his lungs as he heard himself speak. "Talking to an animal like it understands table manners. Rhylund, you have lost your mind." His right hand fished out his flask from his pocket while his left kept his lute safely at bay. He stood and watched the thing in silence, unsure of what it would do next. The flask was raised to his lips as he gave the cap a twist with his teeth before taking a drink. Another sigh and a shake of the head was all he could manage: the day's venture into crafting his own songs had seemed to come to an indefinite end.