The first thing she remembered hearing was a soft, sweet voice. Her instinct told her that it was her mother, but she would never know for sure. By the time she came out of her basket, the voice had not been heard for days. She looked with new eyes on a vast and lonely world. She was completely alone.
She called for her mother many times, but she never found a trace of her. It was as though she had vanished or had never existed all together. She wondered if she’d imagined it? If her mother was and had always been a figment of her imagination?
There was nothing left for her in the valley of her ancestors, not even her ancestors. The new world beyond it’s border held illimitable possibilities.
She learned how to feed herself and she learned how to fly. It was without grace, at first, but it came easier over time. What did not come easier were the looks.
Everytime she flew over a village, eager to see the humans and a bit nervous, they pointed and ran from her. No matter how often she tried to fly closer or sneak up, someone would always sound the alarm and they would disappear into their huts.
There was a man though who she came upon by a river. He was grubby with a thick beard. He made some symbol across his chest and uttered two words.
Bete Noir.
And in his actions she saw it, the fear of her and the fascination. It spoke in his every action as he spoke and backed away, lifting his furs to his pack to go.
It was the first time anyone had ever called her anything, so she took it for her name.
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