A Home

"Cheep! Cheep...! CHEEP!"

A hoarse groan escaped the throat of the young boy as his lids slowly fluttered open, revealing his misted, emerald irises.

"The tim—?" he groggily paused midway through his words.

A hazy black covered half of his vision, hovering closer till he could even spot the minute intricacies of its inky, beady eye. And then with a sigh, he abruptly rolled over to his side, sending the being tumbling off his forehead into the gently sloping grass.

Although his eyes snapped shut once more, the fading, shrill protests of his feathered friend were plenty enough to clue in on what had happened next. But did he mind? Nope.

On the other hand, in a heap over a flattened clump of dandelions, the baby bird finally reared its wildly fluffy, black head. Then with a slight tilt, it took a glimpse of itself before puffing out its chest in frustration. The down feathers it had preened to perfection had been ruined!

Glaring at the unmoving giant underneath the verdant canopy of its broad tree, the tiny nestling charged toward the boy's palm— and delivered the hardest pecks it could muster.

Instantly, the boy yelped as his upper body shot upright. Then once he spotted the naughty bird, he blurted out its name with a scowl, "Whistle!"

Not one to back down, Whistle glared back, as best as any tiny bird could do. After another huff or two, the boy grabbed Whistle before it could flee and growled,

"I'll strap you onto the nest if you don't behave. Got it?"

Ceasing its squirming, the nestling eyed the disheveled boy before it for a moment and then unmercifully jabbed the web of skin in between his fingers.

It was unknown if the boy had bitten his tongue or not, but hurriedly, he pulled a bandanna out from an empty, cloth pouch hooked to his short-sleeved tunic's belt and wrapped the bird into a burrito— extra tight.

Whistle attempted to extricate itself but to no avail, so it feigned a faint, in hopes that he would loosen the fabric.

But the boy simply prodded its 'limp' body lightly, muttering dourly, "I know you're faking it."

After no response, he shifted his weight with a grunt, leaning against the hardwood timber behind him with the inert nestling in one hand while running the other through his tousled, raven hair.

A light sigh escaped his lips, "Even my birthday is no exception..."

Placing the 'burrito' next to him, he languidly stretched his sore limbs and relaxed with ever drooping lids. With a single whiff, the familiar, lingering aroma of the timber behind him mixed with the rich yet earthy scent soothed his irritated mood.

"Nothing beats nature," he finally mumbled with a small smile tugging at the ends of his lips. His lazy, emerald gaze flitted over the nearby dandelion weeds dotting the sunlit clearing to the towering trees in the distance, which felt like dark, wooden protectors surrounding the field.

Then his eyes widened, "Wait, what time is it?"

"Cheeeeepp..." Unwilling to be forgotten, Whistle tried to grab his attention, but the boy merely ignored it and lifted the chain of a silver pocket watch instead. Popping the lid open with a click, his gaze settled on the glass surface for a brief moment.

His jaw dropped as he scrambled to his feet hastily, "Crap! I'm supposed to be halfway home by now!"

Stuffing the 'awakened burrito' into the pouch— protests or not— the boy agilely swung himself onto the nearest branch, climbing this way up the lone tree into the foliage. Pushing away the leaves, he found what he was searching for: the bird's feathered nest with the latest set of colored ribbons he brought over— and was that strands of his hair?!

'Okay, they're not the weirdest things Whistle has brought over...' the boy mulled, though he couldn't help but wonder if he might go bald somewhere from this naughty thing.

Then without delay, he dumped the newly freed Whistle into the nest. If bird glares could kill, he was sure he would have been dead multiple times over.

He stressed with a wag of his finger, "I'm going home; don't you dare fall off the nest since I'm not going to be here to pick you up this time."

In reply, Whistle stuck up its butt at him. Utterly speechless, the boy quickly spanked the bird.

Squawking with fury, the nestling turned for another round, but unfortunately, the heartless boy had already slipped away.

As the boy scurried off, the nestling propped its fluffy head against the edge of the nest, watching him eventually disappear into the dense woods at the borders of the clearing.

Once gone, the tiny bird returned to its grooming, eyeing at its nest before pausing at the raven strands stuck in between the crevices. With a small peep, it snuggled closer to the strand, its gaze slowly gravitating to the last place where it saw the boy.

As though wishing for his return...

...

Giving the watch's dial a quick glimpse every so often, the boy nimbly hastened over the twisting roots covering the forest floor.

Then, skidding to a stop, he leaned against a trunk with a hand, allowing his fingertips to trace the rough grooves of the damp bark with curiosity while catching his breath.

With a cursory glance, he broke into a grin once he noticed the familiar, prickly bushes concealing the road further up ahead.

'Almost there,' he mused, his eyes again peering at the time— which gave him the impression that the minutes ticked slower, feeding into this habit.

Yet this time, a flowering plant near his tightly fitted boots caught his attention. The boy crouched to examine it, only to detect the faint scent of an wild onion.

Then with his fingertips digging into the softer soil, he uprooted the plant, discovering a small bulb at the base.

'Mm, it's all right...' he reassured himself inwardly as he pocketed it in his pouch before getting up. And a short while later, he emerged from a gap in the prickly undergrowth onto the gravelly road, not only with his pouch bulging with herbs but also the spare pockets of his knee-high, oaky shorts.

A low, playful hum could be heard from him as he secured them properly.

"Now then," he brushed off the loose dirt on his palms with a clap, "time to head home!"

...

"Thwack...thwack..."

The hacking noise stopped before the split pieces of wood fell onto the ground with a satisfying thud. Lowering the axe, the well-built man wiped the sweat off his tanned, olive skin and placed another piece onto the chopping block.

Just as he was about to swing, he heard something in the distance and turned toward the sound. His grin widened as he observed a boy dashing towards him.

Placing the axe against a rack, the man outstretched his arms. "Welcome back, Kalani! Ug—" a husky grunt escaped from the sudden collision into his arms.

"I'm back, Dad!" Kalani exclaimed excitedly before wrinkling his nose, "And you reek of sweat..."

"Listen here, aren't you speaking of yourself?" his father retorted as his arms clamped down onto his son with a bear-like hug till the boy patted his back repeatedly in surrender.

Chuckling at his son's pitiful appearance, the man waited for his son to catch his breath before asking, "Did you find anything?" While speaking, his cedar irises glanced at the herbs protruding out of Kalani's pockets.

As though rejuvenated by the question, the boy hastily nodded while he pulled out his stash. Then cupped in his hands, he held up the mound of plants he had managed to collect to his dad.

When the man inspected them, he paused momentarily, "Did Whistle do this?" And he carefully touched the reddening, tender parts of his son's hands.

Recalling this, Kalani pouted as he replied, "Yeah, it's driving me nuts..." Spying his father's frown however, the boy then added with a mutter, "But it only does this rarely, so you don't have to worry about it."

While unaware to Kalani, his father's lips curled upward into a smile, bemused at the boy's excuse as he continued to sift through the pile. "Next time I'm free, let's visit the bird together."

Then the man stiffened. Lifting a flowered, wild onion, he squinted before creasing his brows, "Kalani, did you eat this?" His son blinked blankly for a second.

"No...? You told me to not eat wild plants," Kalani replied as he met his father's burning gaze. "Why?"

The man let out a sigh of relief, "This isn't onions but death camas. They're poisonous." His son shivered.

'If I hadn't asked,' Kalani pondered before erasing such thoughts from his mind. "C-can we throw them away? I'll not pick any more plants..." the boy lowered his head, nervously wringing his tunic.

A calloused yet warm hand rested on the boy's head. "Don't be afraid, see?" his father gestured toward another bulbed plant amid the pile, "This is an actual onion plant. Actually, most of these are not even poisonous."

When the boy remained silent, the man knew he had to put it another way, "And I— was in a similar situation as you in the past."

At those words, his son perked up somewhat.

"There were some poisonous... 'plants' in my life, and they made me really ill. If it wasn't for your mother's timely advice, I probably would not have made it. However, such is life! We all make mistakes we can't correct by ourselves sometimes.

That's why we have each other," the man firmly stated. "And you know, when I met those 'plants' again, I fuc—inally uprooted them on my own."

"Fu?" Kalani voiced out before his dad suddenly rumpled his hair while oddly laughing aloud.

"Now would you look at the time!" he hastily remarked amid the boy's disgruntled glare. "We should go home!" A grumble then interrupted him, and they both paused.

This time, his father guffawed for real as Kalani's cheeks burned. Though before the boy could respond, the peal of a bell rang from a distance.

"Peter Walkers! Get your ass over here!" a woman's yell reverberated across the waving fields.

Glancing back at his father's frozen expression, Kalani snickered. "Guess it's not only my stomach complaining to me today," he remarked wryly.

But his dad simply smirked, "Watch and learn."

Sticking out his tongue naughtily, Kalani scampered off, but before he went far, the boy turned aside and beamed, shouting with a wave, "Thanks, Dad!"

Stroking his chin, the man let out a deep chuckle at his son's vanishing figure as he finally eyed his unfinished business. It was only after stacking the split logs onto the metallic rack did he slip the rope straps on, hoisting the load deftly while conveniently mounting the axe over his shoulder.

"I reckon he isn't going to get far," he muttered as he glanced back at the setting sun.

...

Later, while occasionally peering at the warm, orange tinge of the horizon from the window, a fair woman paced around inside the cottage near the front door. Her slim frame coupled with her sparking jade eyes and light freckles would have made a lovely sight if it weren't for her grim look.

Once she heard heavy footsteps outside, she swung open the solid, oak door. The words she had intended to say halted mid-way once she spotted Kalani held in her husband's arms, and her darkened face softened with a smile.

"Kal, welcome home, sweetie," her slender fingers ruffled his raven hair fondly, even more so when the boy presented the plants to her.

After being put down, the boy was immediately enchanted by the intoxicating aroma of herbs and spice wafting from the doorway. "It's smells so good in here, Mom," he shyly admitted while attempting to hide his tiny gulps.

On the other hand, his dad sheepishly smiled at his wife while setting down the filled rack under the roof's eaves, commenting, "Your loyal husband has returned~" And then with a gentle pull on her waist, he planted a tender kiss on her ear.

Despite the successful sneak attack, evident from the faint brush creeping on her cheeks, she cast a glare at her husband, one brow raised, "And what were you up to this whole time?"

With a wronged expression that could put an actor to shame, the man admitted, "A fairy tried to convince me to leave with her, but I refused since I have a much more stunning one waiting at home."

"And me?" Kalani followed it up with a tease, hoping to see his dad slip up.

With a flick to the forehead, his father smugly replied without a trace of a doubt, "An imp."

Before Kalani could protest, they both heard her say, "Hmph, I'll forgive you this time." His dad's cedar gaze lit up.

"See, this is what I call the power of love, son!" his father cackled gleefully.

Blocking his ears, Kalani groaned, "Someone, please cleanse my ears..."

His mother cleared her throat after batting away the kisses sent her way, "Kal, take a bath, so we can eat dinner." Nodding, the boy eagerly hopped on one leg as he yanked off each boot— much to their amusement— and rushed upstairs to his room.

"You too, hun," she said when a broad hand slipped into hers, pulling her outside. "Peter, my shoes!" she softly cried out.

Then taut, sinewy arms lifted her against his chest, leaving her bare feet to dangle in the cooling air. "Adeline, could you burn this for me," he whispered lovingly as he held up the death camas.

The lady lightly pinched his cheeks, "And I assume you'll keep me hostage out here unless I do it." He blinked innocently in reply.

With a scoff, she grasped the plants as a bright, azure flame swallowed the death camas whole, leaving nothing behind.

"Now, before I cook you for delaying the meal preparations," the flame illuminated her forced smile, "put me down."

As timid as a mouse, he placed her back inside and followed her into the kitchen in the back with a stack of wood under each arm.

...

Reaching his room, Kalani practically flew past his bed and into the bathroom where he glanced at the oval mirror above the sink. A boy of light, olive complexion and gleaming, emerald eyes gazed back at him— behind the ravaged mess of his black hair.

His brows scrunched a little as a nervous laugh escaped him while he washed his hands. 'It looks as if a bird nested in my hair,' he then recalled when Whistle was on his head earlier, 'which may or may not have happened.'

After taking off his clothes, he plunged into the tub and got to work with the soapy suds. But as he handled the soap, it suddenly slipped out of his hands.

'Ah, I'm not going to be able to grab it!' he thought urgently, but alas, the soap was already nearing the frothy water he stood in.

"Kal..." a faint call made the soap appear to freeze mid-air, and his outstretched hand swiftly grabbed it.

He paused with confusion flitting through his eyes, but he put the strange feeling of uneasiness to rest as he thought, 'Did Dad call me?' When a few seconds passed quietly, he finally brushed it off as outdoor noise and resumed bathing.

...

A while later with a smile on his face, the boy emerged, trailing the ever growing aroma down the stairs and into the dining room.

When his mom and dad noticed him, they beamed,

"Happy 12th Birthday… Kal!"

A shiver ran down his spine. Instead of his parents, the strange voice from before had spoken his name. Alert, he glanced around, only to be fixated at a minute crack in the floor below him begin to spread like a delicate web of glass.

But instead of fear, a sense of unwillingness crossed his mind, as though he wished this moment would never end.

"KAL!"

...