Sleep

She wasn’t a particularly small child – her limbs were long and straight, and her body built much like that of the willow tree. Indeed, the golden curtain of hair that fell endearingly into her bright red eyes completed the mental image.

“One more story, Momma?”

Shayna’s mother chuckled and reached over to grab one more well-worn book from the abundant shelf. “One more, and then it’s off to sleep, dear,” she reproached lovingly, selecting a volume and propping it up on her knee so her daughter could read over her arm.

Shayna eyed the book and frowned, the curve of her beak drawing downwards. “No, not that one.”

Her mother looked over at her quizzically. “Then which one?” She folded the book on her lap, waiting.

“Our story,” the child replied with a bob of her head.

“Oh, Shay, that one has to wait.”

Shayna huffed, blowing wayward bangs away from her large, expressive eyes. “But, Momma, I’ve waited long enough.”

“You asked me the same question six months ago, sweetheart, and I told you, when you’re older.”

“But –”

Her mother fixed her finger to Shayna’s beak-tip, hushing her. “Shay, another time. Now, which book do you want, otherwise it’s light’s out.”

Shayna sighed. She was old enough – the brightest in her class, so the teacher said. College reading level, higher math comprehension that was beyond her friends. She’d tried asking the other villagers, but they were as tightlipped as her parents. Why wouldn’t anyone tell her the reason behind their little family having feathers and wings and beaks? The children of the village weren’t mean to her, but they certainly weren’t forthcoming, either.

Her mother watched her with a certain amount of regret. There were reasons for everything, and their silence was one of them. “Shay.” When her daughter didn’t answer, her mother almost felt compelled to break her vow, but held back at that crucial moment. “Shay, let’s turn in for the night.” Her daughter mumbled something unintelligible and the elder took it for assent. She climbed out of bed and began the time-honored tradition of tucking-in. Up with the fluffy comforter with its midnight blue color and splattering of golden stars. Gently, lovingly, she smoothed Shayna’s hair, arranging it about her pillow. A small red hand emerged, fingers waving. Her mother smiled and retrieved the well-loved stuffed Arcanine plushie from where he had been sitting on the toy box, regulated there during story time.

“Goodnight, Shay,” and she bent down, flicking her tongue over her daughter’s brow.

“’night, Momma.”

And then she was gone, melting into the darkness as she turned off the light, a winged silhouette against the doorframe.