[SOLO] Migratory Birds Prompts (Parrothead)

[zeflamigo]

6. follow the birds

Parrothead could never stand the cold.

Perhaps it was part of her acha nature, her body unaccustomed to the slight chill of the swamp. The sight of frost on grass in the early morning was spectacular, but not worth the shivers that came with it. Then there was the rush to store food, the agitation and hurriedness from other, less laid-back kin. Winter came in and disrupted her time, her rest, her relaxation. And with everyone hiding from the cold, there was less fun to go around, less songs to be sung. Every time, Parrothead found herself cold, lonely, and bored.

It wasn’t long until she noticed the birds.

Gathered in great flocks, they made their migration South. South? Parrothead wondered. What reason would the birds have to migrate so? Were they also being called to a new land, like she was to the swamp?

No, the birds came back in the spring.

Perhaps, they were escaping the winter? The thought left Parrothead tingling with curiosity. Next winter, she would follow them on their journey. She gathered her few belongings, and followed the path of the migrating birds.

It was a long journey, and the shift of weather was not immediate. For a long time, Parrothead gave up hope that the journey would prove useful. She was tired, and not a very active acha. Still, she had no eagerness to return home. She wanted to see where this journey brought her.

Eventually, she reached an impasse.

The ocean.

The birds could keep flying over the water, but Parrothead could not. At first, this was a disappointing matter. Parrothead slept on it for many nights, trying to think of ways she might be able to follow across that body of water. Perhaps she could fashion a boat. Could she swim? Were there islands? Would she feel the ache of the swamp, if she made it that far out?

What if she was a bird? How she longed to be like them in that moment. Winged, and free from the constraints of the ground beneath her. She could fly over the water and always be warm and comfortable with a flock to call her own. She dreamed about it, again and again.

Finally, she was broken from her thoughts by hunger. She had run low on food, and now had to search to fill her stomach. She settled on some strange new foods, but found them all the more exciting. Eating her food, she watched the sun set over the horizon. Then, Parrothead understood.

This was paradise.

And this was her migration. It had not been cut short, it did not need more fulfillment. She could be happy here, with the strange food and strange dirt under her hooves. How had she not realized how beautiful and unique it was! Pale and coarse, contrasted by the blue lapping waves. Now she finally realized, she was not cold from the winter air here! Now, she shook with delight.

This was her home.

Perhaps, she’d make the migration back in the spring. Only to tell others of this beautiful land, where the border of the swamp met water. But she would never linger, and especially not during the winter.  

[zeflamigo]

4. water tastes different in different places

She should have known better. But she didn’t.

How was she supposed to know, though? The ocean water looked so much tastier than the swamp water. The swamp water was so often brown and muddy, and the ocean water was brilliant and sparkling blue. The ocean was so much more lovely, so much more enticing.

She should have known when she took the first sip.

It tasted so strange in comparison, so much saltier. Of course, she was shocked to notice a difference. She couldn’t tell if she liked it or not, so she continued to drink, as if the mystery would solve itself. She found herself thinking about the desert. What did the water taste like there, in the oasis? Parrothead wondered if it was salty like the ocean, but her memory of that land was so faint. It couldn’t have been salty… but it didn’t taste like the swamp’s water, either. The mystery made her head spin.

It kept spinning. Then, Parrothead’s view was spinning. When she tried to stand, her knees buckled underneath her. She almost started to panic, which meant she broke out of her standard calm demeanor. Her body was acting like she had been drinking fermented fruit, but she knew she was sober. What was happening? Was all she could wonder, stumbling her way around, looking for help. Eventually she found someone to keep an eye on her, and decided a nap would help the fuzzy feelings pass.

The delirium set in with her dreams. They started pleasant, with her watching fish jump out of the water under the full moon. They danced like she used to in the oasis, laughing and trading places with strangers as the music picked up in speed. She felt a fond warmth bubbling in her belly, contented and nostalgic.

“Dance!” She cheered them on, bobbing her head in time with them. Stumbling like a foal, she stood and marched forward, falling into the water. The banks suddenly felt a lot deeper, a lot darker than she remembered. The fish swam toward her, and carried her into their dance. They swam in time around her as she danced clumsily, trying to remember the moves of her childhood.

Slowly, they descended into the deeper water. Parrothead didn’t notice until it was too late, and when she could no longer see the hoof in front of her face, a deep panic started to set in. The fish, where did they go? They had to help her back to shore. Was she stuck here, under the water. Although she wasn’t drowning, she cried in her sleep.

Startled by a shove from another kin, she woke. Gasping and blubbering, she looked around with panic, thankful that she was still on dry land. They watched her carefully, placing a blanket of thick leaves around her. Shivering, she thanked them, almost laughing at herself for getting the others in a similar state of panic.

“I am fine,” She assured them. “A word of caution to you… Do not drink from the ocean, no matter how beautiful it may look.”