Nishiki
The special treeOrpheus showed us really was magnificent. It was an ancient elm with gnarled branches that had been struck by lightning once so that half the tree was charred and barren of leaves while the other bloomed with bright green growth. The naked branches arched over a large pond, giving us the perfect combination of air and water.
"This is it," Weston said. The awe in his voice was enough for me to understand how much this tree meant to him. And not just him, but me as well--it was the place where he would lay his eggs. Where our babies would hatch.
"Well, shall we get started?" I asked.
Weston nodded. He shifted and soared up to the tallest, sturdiest branch. I watched from below as he pecked and scratched it, testing its strength. When he found it sufficient, he puffed out his feathers.
"Perfect," Weston chirped. "Now, Nishiki, my love."
That always made me smile. "Yes?"
"Find me the biggest, longest branches you can find. I need small twigs too, and tufts of fur, but first I need to lay the foundation."
I managed not to make a sex joke about it. "Big and long branch. Got it." Looking around, I found one right by the base of the tree. I lifted it and called out, "Like this?"
Weston flew down and took the branch from my hand, pinning it to the ground like it was a piece of prey. His fervor was startling, but it was also endearing. Weston was in a wholly different headspace right now as he built his nest.
"Hm." Weston put the branch between his sharp beak, biting down. "Acceptable."
"Only acceptable? It's huge!"
Weston hopped up on my shoulder, careful not to dig his talons into my skin. "Bigger," he muttered. "It needs to be indestructible."
I sighed and scratched the soft feathers on his chest to soothe him. "Okay. I'll look again."
Weston nodded, then snatched the branch on the ground and carried it up to the tree. I watched in amusement as he fussed with the perfect spot he'd chosen, arranging and rearranging endlessly.
I made myself useful by scouring the forest floor for similar branches, but only ended up with a few measly sticks. Weston said they'd be okay near the end of the process but he needed bigger ones first. The lack of success didn't bother me; my alpha instincts kicked in, flooding me with determination. Whatever my mate needed, he would get. Our babies depended on us.
With that burst of confidence, I gathered branches for another hour, finally ending up with a decent haul. I placed them by the base of the elm so Weston could collect them easily. When I glanced up at the naked branch in the sky, Weston was distracted. He didn't seem to notice me or my haul, so I got back to work.
Then I noticed something from the corner of my eye. At the other edge of the pond was a long, dark shape sticking out of the water. It was only when I focused on it did I realize it was a massive branch--exactly what Weston was looking for. He must've been so busy with his rearranging that he hadn't noticed it yet.
He'll really love this one,I thought with a grin.
Shedding my human form, I leapt into the pond as a koi. My sleek body darted through the water. As I approached the branch, my heart lifted. It was even bigger beneath the surface and perfectly shaped to sit on the elm tree. It would be a fantastic base for the nest.
Just as I was about to reach the branch, sharp talons dug into me.
And then I was airborne.
I had no air. Or rather, there wastoo muchair. My assailant had snatched me out of the pond in an all-too familiar situation.
Except this time, my attacker wasn't Weston.
My round eye saw a dark brown body and a pure white head. A bald eagle.
My first thought was that it was a mute animal trying to make a meal of me. But then I heard the self-congratulatory laugh.
"That was easy," the eagle said. He was a shifter.
A strange sense of calm descended upon me. Unlike the first time, I wasn't afraid. I felt no fear or panic.
But I was really,reallypissed off.
I thrashed hard in the eagle's grip. Unlike Weston, the eagle's talons weren't vice-tight, like it was cocky and sure that I wouldn't put up a struggle. With one violent wrench, I tore myself from its grasp.
