Immortal Darkness: Shadow Across the Land (40 page)

It was after listening to his mate utter
these words when Xemson allowed his many thoughts to clutter his
mind once again. Strange how he could have been silent and calm on
the outside—yet full of conversation on the inside.

The main topic on Xemson’s mind was one of
chaotic and puzzling proportions. With these thoughts in mind, he
gave a short grunt. Such thoughts were the following: humans
setting up fires in what could be considered forest; and the same
humans cutting down trees using objects Xemson had never before
seen.

I think I can understand why Leyoht’s no
longer living with his parents
, Xemson concluded.
The humans
probably did it—but why?
It was while thinking up an answer to
this question when Leyoht zipped his way just under Xemson’s beak.
The breeze given to Xemson was just enough for him to release a
sigh of frustration.

The other side of this story, however, proved
to be a side of excitement and frustration.

Unable to wait for Xemson to teach him how to
fly, Leyoht brought it upon himself to attempt to teach himself. In
order to do so, he ran out into the stormy weather—his wings spread
out and flapping. Only a few times did he find himself gaining
altitude in this storm’s presence.

Every time Leyoht had gained altitude brought
hope and joy to fill his head. Every time he’d gained altitude also
brought the fear of touching the ground again. Unfortunately for
the young owl, he couldn’t seem to stop touching the ground for
more than a heartbeat. As a result, anger and fear began to fill
his head.

“Come on!” he grunted every time he found
himself losing altitude. Because of his growing frustration, Leyoht
unwillingly flapped his wings in a non-rhythmic pattern. His
wingbeats only continued to grow worse until his left and right
wings no longer flapped at the same corresponding times.

At this point, Leyoht felt as if his wings
were starting to do whatever they wanted. He took notice of this
and finally gave up on trying to fly on his own—a grunt of
frustration escaping from his beak.

Wondering where Leyoht could have been,
Biaulae decided to pop her head through her home’s exit and watched
as her friend stood in the storm’s path—staring blandly at his own
feet. A hint of curiosity caused her to hop over to Leyoht and ask
him what was going on.

“Leyoht?” she began. “What are you
doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Leyoht
snapped while turning her gaze toward Biaulae. A pause of silence
came into play before he looked down at his feet and sighed, “I’m
trying to teach myself how to fly—since your
dad
isn’t
helping me.”

“Come on!” Biaulae retorted. “He only
just
now
told you that he was going to teach you how to fly—and
you’re already getting impatient?”

A small moan of disapproval for his friend
surpassed Leyoht’s beak.

Biaulae quieted down a bit when she perked
Leyoht up by continuing, “My dad’s always told me to be patient.
You’re not going to get your way with him if you’re not.”

A sigh of agreement toward his friend
surpassed Leyoht’s beak.

A moment of silence came between the two
young ones before Biaulae wrapped her wings around her shoulders
and complained through a clattering beak, “Whoa—c-come on, Leyoht.
It’s too cold out here!”

Not showing any response to the storm, Leyoht
gave his friend a quick nod just before following her into the
tree. Every single footprint Biaulae left behind reminded him of
his recently failed attempts to show his face to the sky.

Leyoht continued to look down at his feat as
the warmth of the hollow splashed up against his body like the
steam from a geyser. It wasn’t until he heard his name, “Leyoht,”
uttered by Xemson when he took his gaze away from his feet.
Slightly shocked by the sound of his voice, Leyoht's gaze made a
flash from his own feet to Xemson's voice.

"I don't think I'm going to be able to teach
you how to fly just yet," Xemson explained. "It's just too stormy
right now."

Anxiety clinging to his stomach, Leyoht began
to panic when he asked, "But you'll be able to teach me
today
, right?"

"I don't know," Xemson sighed. "All I can say
is--that I'm sorry." In an attempt to slip his way out of the
conversation before Leyoht could have began to complain, Xemson
turned his way toward the hollow's exit--hoping the wind would keep
Leyoht away.

Leyoht, however, found himself too
dumbfounded to take any recognition toward Xemson's absence. Rather
than complain, he stood in one place; all he did was stand.
Frustration and fear caused his feet to glue themselves to the
messy ground. His blood frozen, the urge to make another attempt to
fly violently buzzed in his head.

Coming Leyoht's way was Biaulae, a portion of
the snow from the outside storm still melting in the midst of her
feathers. It was just before starting a conversation with him when
she shook the melted snow from her feathers.

“Hey Leyoht,” she began. “How’re you holding
up?”

Leyoht used all his emotional strength to
hold back any impatience he’d held within his mind. In the calmest
way he could, he asked of Biaulae, “How would you feel if you found
out the day you were supposed to learn how to fly was pushed
back?”

“What do you mean?”

His blood coming to a boil, Leyoht responded
with as much honesty possible, “Your dad says I might not learn how
to fly until tomorrow. How would you feel if that same kind of
thing happened to you tomorrow?”

“Well,” she hummed to herself, “I guess I
would be upset, but I wouldn’t get as mad as—well—
you
are
right now.” On the contrary, Biaulae knew with every bone in her
body that this was
not
true. If such a simulation were to
come unto her shoulders, Biaulae was positive she would start
acting with even more negativity than Leyoht.

Leyoht began to wish his friend hadn’t
uttered these words; he wasn’t able to tell if she were purposely
trying to annoy him or if she were trying to give a
perfect
type of personality to herself. “Just shut up!” he snapped.

Hearing these words, Biaulae found her mind
being tossed around a multitude of different emotions. Was she
really showing off as much as Leyoht seemed to be implying?

Rather than leave an apology for his friend,
Leyoht allowed a sigh to slip through his beak.
Why did I have
to do that?
he resented of himself.

It was just after being yelled at by Leyoht
when Biaulae brought herself away from him—fearing she would only
get herself yelled by the black owl at once again. As a result, she
decided to make her way over to the tree’s exit while asking
herself,
When are these storms going to end?

In an attempt to find out exactly
how
this storm felt, Biaulae stuck one of her wings out into the open
air. The result of doing so caused a sensation of tingling
proportions to swim throughout her blood. Such a sensation made her
feel free—as if she could have glided out in the bustling breeze
with the single spreading of her wings.

It was while Biaulae celebrated with a wing
sticking out into the outside world when Leyoht sat and thought to
himself,
My black feathers; are they doing something to me?
The thought of his newly-blackened coat brought up thoughts of
mystery and shame to swell up within his head.

Oh well,
he silently sighed. A moment
of mental silence surpassed his mind before he began to think of
the only topic his mind seemed to be able to bring up: the topic of
flying.

A tingle spread from Leyoht’s head all the
way down to his talons. Wherever this tingle could have come from
was obvious to him at this point. This sensation mixed in with
excitement, anxiety, and disappointment—almost completely taking
away the ability to sit still.

Besides being able to take sensation of a
cool breeze slamming against his ears, Leyoht found one of the true
advantages to flying was the ability to catch his own food. Being
able to hunt for his own food with his own talons gave Leyoht the
feeling of responsibility—slamming onto his shoulders with the
weight of boulders. For what seemed like decades had he longed for
this sensation. However, he would never be able to reach out and
touch it without first spreading his wings into the air.

Hunting, allowing the incoming breeze to fly
past his ears; what could have possibly topped this all off? In
Leyoht’s mind the answer was simply put: freedom. Only by flying
could Leyoht truly feel free. Only by flying could he escape from
the cold grasp his parents’ death had placed upon him. Only by
flying could he achieve true freedom in this world of his.

Thoughts of hunting, breezes, and freedom all
followed up from flying. But it was after a moment of mental
silence when Leyoht’s thoughts converted from the advantages of
flying to the techniques of flying.

Leyoht was well aware of how most owls’
feathers functioned—as the case should have been for an owl his
age. He was well aware of his feathers’ ability to flap about in
the air without making the slightest noise. As far as he was
concerned, only the smallest owls were unable to remain silent
while flying.

I wonder if it’s possible to fly
upside-down
, Leyoht thought, stifling a yawn.

Boredom began to cloud Leyoht’s mind with
these few words slipping his mind. Boredom turned to tiredness;
tiredness into sleep. Before he could have made an attempt to shake
himself awake, darkness penetrated the depths of his mind and took
control of his body.

--

He’d awoken at the brink of dawn—his back in
need of a stretching, his wings in need of flapping. The feeling of
having accomplished nothing this morning caused him to pick himself
up on his feet, a yawn pushing itself out of his beak.

For an unknown amount of time had Leyoht
slept in the midst of a place he hoped he could someday call home.
How long he’d been sleeping, however, would turn out to have been
longer than he’d first expected.

Within a few steps had Leyoht found himself
making contact with a sheet of snow that had been spilled into the
tree. His feet running cold with unease, he resisted the urge to
release a yelp of surprise as he yanked his feet away from the
snow.

How long was I asleep?
Leyoht finally
came to ask himself.

With a turn of his head, Leyoht took notice
of his friends—noticing they were still asleep.
Darn it!
he
swore. Focusing only on Xemson, he wondered,
When is he going to
wake up?

In an attempt to kill some time, Leyoht
sauntered over toward the spilled snow. A bead of sweat rolled down
his face as a pang of anxiety stung his stomach.
I hope it’s
not
that
cold out there!
With a bolt of energy coming to
his feet, he used all his stealth to pass through the snow in the
tree without waking anybody up.

An unaccounted-for number of steps came
underneath Leyoht’s feet as he made his way into the midst of
outside world.
I wouldn’t have to go through this if I could
only
fly
!
he silently grunted. It hadn’t taken long for
him to notice his toes growing numb with the freezing temperature
of the snow.

While his first attempt had been nothing
short of futile, Leyoht abruptly thought to himself,
Maybe I’ll
be able to teach myself how to fly today—without Xemson’s
help!

Realizing just how dangerous this way of
thinking truly was, Leyoht stopped himself in the midst of lifting
his wings up into the air. If it had happened once, it would most
likely happen again. He’d known this fact for sure from experience.
How else would he have known this?

While his mind objected to what his stomach
was telling him, Leyoht decided to flap his wings more and more.
All the while did he release a series of frustrated grunts. He did
so almost entirely with the intent of taking his feet out of a
sheet of snow—but to no avail.

“Leyoht, are you okay?” called out Xemson’s
voice from the tree.

A spark of fear spread throughout Leyoht’s
bones at the sound of Xemson’s voice. Now that he’d thought of it,
he
was
making a lot of noise in his futile attempts for
flight. How he couldn’t have realized this before was beyond his
understanding.

“Come on, Leyoht,” sighed Xemson. “All you
have to do is wait.”

“But that’s the
hard
part!” Leyoht
snapped while locking his gaze onto Xemson. “How can you think I’ll
just be able to
wait
for something that I’ve already been
waiting for since the day I was born? Tell me—how?”

Finally had the moment arrived when Leyoht
realized just how incompetent he truly was. His weakest link was
finally visible. Only by impatience could Leyoht break away from
his true self: a kind, loving person.

The very thought of having figured this out
only just now made him feel ignorant. How could he have been so
ignorant this whole time? But—in a sense—was everybody ignorant
without realization?

A moment of silence passed before Leyoht
continued, “I—I’m sorry.”
What’s coming over me?

Before Xemson could have made a reply to
Leyoht’s apology, Biaulae suddenly came crashing into the freezing
outdoors, a yawn forming in her beak. Blinking a small array of
tears away, she flicked her gaze toward the two men of the
house.

With another small blink of her eyes, she
allowed a burst of energy to spring beneath her wings. “Are we
gonna learn how to fly today?” she wondered hopefully.

It was at this moment when the three owls’
gazes snapped onto the sun. It was a clear, crisp day; what could
have gone wrong today?
Absolutely nothing.
Sweeping over the
three of them was a misty cloud; how satisfying!