08-31-2026, 08:19 PM
The young prince rubbed against the rough bark of a tree, letting out a final yawn as he began his day. A dark ear flicked, and he found himself absentmindedly naming the species - a warbler, a mourning dove, a flicker - and could occasionally make out a message within the chortle. His granddam had spent his first year teaching him about the birds, giving them names and what to listen for. He still had a long way to go to call it communication, however certain words stood out from the rest. . . . Berries . . . Stream . . . Fair winds . . . it was enough to point him in the direction of breakfast.
As he began to amble through the unfamiliar forest, his mind wandered to what had been. He was named after a bird, his mother had told him. A rook is a black bird, a relative to crows and ravens. He had arrived to the world jet black, a mess of feathers and long limbs with white ticking on his face, immediately unafraid. Though he had greyed out to roan, his mother had never stopped calling him her “little bird,” much to his dismay in front of the other colts and fillies. Even on the day of his departure, she had mussied his forelock affectionately, wishing her little bird a beautiful life.
That journey, which had only started a few months ago, led him here. A strange new land, no friends or family, and countless opportunities. At the very least the birds here did not lie, which was a benefit to him; he arrived at a crisp stream and dipped his head to drink before moving over to a bush still heavy with fat sweet brambleberries.
And so, our little bird’s story begins.
|| OOC: Here goes nothing! I’ll make this post pretty at some point. Open to anyone who wants to meet the newest addition!