Work Text:
Pluma sat cross-legged on the grass, helmet in her lap, going through the motions of realigning the barbs on her feathers. It was a meditative and time-wasting task - the perfect thing to do while waiting for Joushoumaru to return so they could go back to the small estate where Bakunetsumaru and his family lived.
She was jolted out of her thoughts at a rock plinking off her pauldron, and the young knight looked behind her to see a group of musha kids clustered at the other end of the small, park-like area of grass and trees. They all seemed to be around her age.
Deciding to ignore the laughter coming from them, she turned back to her helmet.
Five more rocks hit her over the course of the next ten minutes, which she continued to ignore while hoping Joushou would be done soon.
Pluma didn't bother trying to get them to stop - this wasn't the first time this group of kids had decided to pick on her, and she could talk to them for hours about it. . . And then they'd just do it again whenever they and Pluma next encountered each other.
CLANG!
A seventh rock, bigger than the previous ones, collided with the back of her head, sending her forehead into the crest of her helmet. The young knight wobbled, stunned, managing to stay sitting upright while trying to process what had just happened.
Tears sprang to her eyes as the pain registered, Pluma investigating the spot on the back with a wince. She wiped her tears, shoved on her helmet, and marched away, hands clenched into fists.
She met Joushoumaru just as her aunt was leaving the shop, and brushed off the musha woman's questions about if everything was alright.
The ride back to the estate was quiet, with nothing to distract Pluma from the pain radiating through her head.
When they arrived, she brought in Joushou's bag, placing it in the kitchen, and then retreated to her room.
She removed her helmet, setting it on the bed (which she hardly used for its' intended purpose), and crawled underneath into her nest. It was a cozy mess of blankets, pillows, and a few stuffed animals. It was the place she felt the safest, other than being with her uncle.
Pluma tugged a light blanket over her, curled up, and tried to ignore her aching head.
She wished her uncle was home.