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Something is poking at her shoulder. AJ peels her eyes open, repressing a groan at the sharp prods. Through the darkness she sees the fluttering of wings, and feels a weight land on her knee.
Cautious, AJ tries to take in the woods around her. The clouds covering the moon leave almost no light. So, closing her eyes, AJ listens. The bark of the tree she and Flick had perched in for the night rubs against her back. She sits, completely still, for a few beats. Nothing. Not even the chirping of crickets or hoots of owls. The corruption had made its rounds through the area.
A little confused, AJ whispers to the shadow on her leg with narrowed eyes. “Flick, there’s no one here, why’d you wake me up?” The familiar gives a single caw.
“I don’t care if Drift’s sleeping in the tent again,” That was objectively untrue, AJ plans on teasing her as soon as she gets back with that information. Alas, “we have a job to get to right now.”
Flick leaves her place on AJ’s knee to circle in the air for a moment, eventually resting on her head instead. She twitters from her new perch, with disapproval in her tone even the mages at the academy would be able to understand.
“She… She’s keeping the book on her, huh? That upset about me leaving?” AJ smirks a little, ignoring the way her chest hollows at the mental image of Drift curled up on the ground of the tent, her message in hand.
“I shouldn’t feel bad about that, Flick. I told her I’m coming back, if she can’t handle a few days on her own it isn’t my problem.” Flick pecks her on the forehead. Not hard, but AJ still brings a hand to her head with an overly-offended hiss.
“Well what do you want me to do then? She wasn’t even around when I left to give a ‘proper’ goodbye.” Flick gives no response. AJ swings her legs around, so they dangle off the branch she sits on. She’s left to stare into the inky black void where the ground should be.
Drift is probably sleeping right now. Outside. The girl who grew up constantly having four walls and a roof. Because she misses AJ. That notion is pathetic enough to feel bad for her, right?
With a sigh, she grabs a book from her bag and begins to write. If Drift really needed reassurance, then AJ may as well give her something. She pauses for a moment, thinking of the last time she saw Drift in the tent.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Well, Open Book, neither am I. After a short while, AJ finishes writing. Flick, peering closely at the letter, nibbles her ear in approval.
“I figured she’d already asked for a poem, may as well deliver.” AJ rereads what she wrote and tears out the page. She folds the paper, but pauses before she can hand it to Flick. That same hollowness rises in her chest. No, different this time. It’s not like sending that note would be spilling her guts onto the stone. But sharing any of her writings, even one quickly cobbled together… Her mouth goes dry.
So she crumbles up the paper and throws it into the woods.
“I can’t send that!” AJ tries to explain over her familiar’s angry squawks. “All she needs to know now is that I’m coming back, and I can tell her why I left later. Nothing sentimental.” Flick remains irate while she writes a second, better, note.
“C’mon Flick, it’s this or nothing, could you just take it back?” Flick flaps around her head, string of complaints unbroken. “Please, Flick?”
With great reluctance, Flick takes the folded piece of paper in her beak and flies off. Not even a goodbye.
AJ leans back against the trunk with a groan, not willing to risk sleeping without her familiar to help keep lookout. Not that she would’ve been able to shut off the thoughts running around her head anyways.
~*^*~
There’s one too many Flicks when Drift wakes up. She opens her eyes to find them all, rather creepily, staring at her. After cracking her neck, stiff from a night on hard stone, she notices a slip of paper in one’s beak.
“You’ve got something for me, Flick?” The crow lets her take the paper with little fanfare, and starts preening her wings once her beak is free. Drift strokes them on the head as she reads the note. Her heart leaps to her throat when she recognizes AJ’s small, neat writing.
What the note actually says is… nice. If only composed of two sentences. She would be back by Tuesday, probably, and promised to explain everything then. Which, really, should be all Drift could ask for. AJ cares, this is definitely more than Drift ever gave her while she was away, and she’s coming back. Despite that, the tightness in her throat refuses to lessen.
“Thanks, Flick, I appreciate- oh.” The Flick who had carried the message opens her talons, dropping a ball of paper on the floor. Slowly, worried about ripping it, Drift unfurls the ball, leaving her with a severely wrinkled note. Her brow furrows. “Why is this one so damaged?”
Upon looking around the tent again, the fourth Flick had vanished. Okay then. The remaining three Flicks ignore her attempts at questioning, so Drift decides to just read the damaged second letter, noting it’s significantly longer than the first.
Drift,
You can quit worrying, it’s upsetting Flick. I’ll be back soon, and I’ll explain why I left then I promise.
Yours, AJ
It’s essentially a carbon copy of the original note, with one or two differences, she realizes with a scoff. But the bulk of the writing comes after the signoff, so Drift keeps reading.
(Since you asked oh so kindly earlier, here)
Nothing do folks at sea
Dread more than a storm.
Calm waves turn to into blades to mar oars,
Winds rip sails to shreds.
Leaving all those in misfortune stranded,
Just barely afloat.
When skies were clear the world was bright,
With plenty a fish to catch from the sea’s supply.
Was when sailors would bond, lay together at night.
All whilst knowing, if needed,
They would kill all the rest when the next storm arrived.
Two set off into the sea, alone.
Those who watched believed their fate
Had already been told.
By a lesson learned, years and years over:
At sea, allies only last till next cloud cover.
The world began to darken, as it always does.
One turned to the other, already sewn with distrust,
Ready, wanting, to be shoved overboard.
To fulfill what she knew from the start,
She taunted for violence, the only natural course.
But the other knew not of disloyalty,
Nor the very idea of betrayal.
She said, out and plain, ‘I will stay by your side,’
Even as rain pelted down
With a caring heart, and eyes so wide.
The first.
only in her head.
repeated the vow in kind.
Drift stares at the poem for a long time.
Really, it doesn’t say anything the original note, or the message AJ sent before she left, didn’t. No answers as to why she didn’t find Drift to say goodbye. Still no explanations, though maybe that isn’t the sort of thing to write down.
Drift doesn’t even try to fight the dopey smile on her face as she rereads the letter. She then tucks it in place of the old one in her pocket. Tuesday isn’t so far.