Welcome to Gaia! ::

It was a perfect day. Well… almost. The sun was hot, and it was pretty humid, and Teddy could feel his hair sticking up in places, but that was okay. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that he and Cary had gotten up early -- like, early early, before the worst of the heat -- so they could claim their favorite bench at the park, tucked beneath the big oak trees where the birds always gathered.

Cary had even surprised him that morning with binoculars and the newest edition of his favorite bird identification book -- both borrowed from the library, of course. He had hugged it to his chest like it was treasure. Sure, he wasn’t allowed to keep it, but that was okay. He would just have to memorize all of the pages he could.

Now he sat, perched at the edge of the bench, binoculars lifted awkwardly in front of his glasses as he scanned the branches. Somewhere nearby was a cardinal singing. He could hear it, a trill that was sharp and cheerful, but he hadn’t spotted it yet.

He did his best to stay very still, like a statue. But his legs had a mind of their own. They were swinging gently beneath the bench, half from excitement and half from nerves.

In his pocket, his fingers brushed over the tiny finch charm. He always brought it with him. Maybe it was lucky. Maybe it was just a neat little thing that he liked to keep with him. Either way, it helped to hold onto it while he waited.

It was a long while before Teddy said anything. Not because he didn’t want to! He always wanted to talk to Cary. But because, well… something about the quiet felt important. Like… if he breathed too loud, or wiggled too much, the cardinal would disappear and the whole morning would be ruined.

Cautiously, he peeked sideways at his brother, just to make sure he was still there.

He was. Of course. Still hunched over his notepad, scribbling away while sweat clung to his neck and hair. Teddy felt a weird mix of guilt and something almost like pride seeing him like that. Cary could have said no! They could have waited for another day! He could have complained or told Teddy that they only had a little bit of time before they had to leave. But he hadn’t said any of that.

Teddy’s legs swung a little slower. In his pocket, his fingers curled tighter around the little bird charm. He didn’t really believe in magic. Not like the kind that was in books at least, but--...

Something about the little bird felt like it mattered. Like it was watching over him. And the little hawk was watching over Cary.

“I know it’s hot,” he finally whispered, but his voice was so quiet that it almost didn’t come out. “Thanks for coming out with me, anyway.”

He couldn’t bring himself to look at Cary when he said it. Instead, he just kept watching the treetops through the binoculars, pretending like it wasn’t a big deal. Pretending like the words hadn’t been struggling to come out, lingering on the tip of his tongue and making his throat tight with anxiety for the last ten minutes.

“...You can tell me if you get too hot and we have to go. I won’t be mad,” he said softly after another moment. But he hoped they could stay there. Just a little longer.

Teddy didn’t answer right away, but he nodded just slightly. Just enough to let Cary know that he heard. He set the binoculars down in his lap, and for a second he didn’t care about the cardinal anymore.

He glanced over at the bottle of water in Cary’s hand, how his fingers were curled around it like it wasn’t a big deal. Like it was just water. Except it wasn’t just water, not really. It was part of the reason the day was perfect.

“You’re the best big brother,” Teddy said. It came out easily, like it was a fact. Like saying the sky was blue, or that birds had feathers. He said it without looking at Cary because sometimes it was just easier that way, but his voice was soft with sincerity, and he was careful when he reached for the bottle.

He only took a small sip before passing it back, even though he was pretty thirsty. He could guess that Cary was probably pretty thirsty, too.

“Next time, I’ll bring you water,” he decided after just a moment, using the back of his hand to push his glasses up his nose. “I’ll put it in the freezer the night before, so it’s extra cold.”

The sun was filtering down through the leaves in gentle patches of light. There was a small breeze that passed -- not enough to cool them down, but enough to make the leaves rustle around them. Teddy tilted his head back and looked up into the canopy again, hands back in his lap. He pressed his thumb against the little finch in his pocket.

“I hope we see the cardinal. I think it would be good luck,” he said softly, almost like a prayer.

Down the path a little ways, mostly obscured by a patch of bushes with white flowers, Eld was strolling down the path. He wasn’t moving very quickly. If anything, his pace was almost meditative, almost like someone just enjoying the stillness of the morning.

He was dressed casually, like he wasn’t trying to draw attention to himself. A button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Simple slacks. He kept his hands in his pockets.

He didn’t seem to be approaching them. He stopped near the base of a tree, not far from where they were, and tilted his head back as if to listen to the birds singing above. A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he looked simply content to exist.

Teddy blinked, pulling his gaze from the trees above them, squinting in the direction of Cary’s finger towards the nearby tree.

It took him a second to spot the figure. He hadn’t really been paying attention to anything but leaves and the sound of birds and shadows in the trees, but once he saw him, his eyes brightened.

“Yeah, that’s him,” he confirmed with a nod. He didn’t wave and he didn’t call out. There was always something about Eld that made him want to be quiet. Not because he was scared of him or anything, but because maybe he might miss an interesting story he was going to tell, or maybe he would pull Eld away from whatever deep thoughts he was buried in.

Still, he sat up a bit straighter on the bench, but his legs had stopped swinging. He rubbed his thumb a little harder over the finch charm in his pocket.

“He watches us at Abby and Henry’s house sometimes,” Teddy said softly, not as a warning or something to worry about. Just… sharing what he knew to be true. “Not when he’s actually telling us stories or throwing a ball with us. But when we’re playing by ourselves, sometimes I’ll see him sitting in the garden just watching us. I think he thinks we don’t notice. Abby says she would rather him be there than not, just that sometimes he likes to sit and think and maybe we make him feel better.”

Teddy smiled a little at the thought. Not to be malicious or teasing or mean. Just a comforting thought. He didn’t mind being watched, not when it was Eld. It felt different, like Eld was making sure nothing bad got close. It felt a lot like Cary watching him.

“I bet he already saw the cardinal,” he decided, his lips tugging at the corners. “I bet the cardinal landed right in front of him and said hello.”

The tree Eld leaned against was warm beneath his palm. The bark was rough and familiar, and the scent of earth and summer filtered through the air with the sunlight through the leaves.

It wasn’t his intention to be noticed just yet.

He didn’t move right away. There was no urgency. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the way Cary’s posture seemed relaxed in a way that he rarely allowed for himself. Teddy was bright eyed as always, despite the darkness of grief and sorrow that he could tell was lurking just beneath the surface. They’d been through a lot, even though Teddy never spoke of his troubles beyond the superficial -- not being able to see a bird that he wanted to see, or how he wished he could fly, but was going to figure it out in his dreams.

But as Eld glanced over at them, he couldn’t help but think that they seemed well today.

Eventually, he pushed off of the tree with a slow, steady motion and made his way toward them. He approached from an angle that he hoped wouldn’t feel intrusive. Just enough to be present but not disruptive.

When he reached a respectful distance, he nodded his head in quiet greeting.

“Good morning to you both. I hope I’m not interrupting. It’s a beautiful day, although I dare say a bit too hot for my tastes. I like the wind and chill of the mountains,” he shared with quiet enthusiasm, glancing back up into the trees for a few moments, before looking back at Teddy and his binoculars.

“That instrument of yours. To look at birds more closely, correct? I believe I saw a lovely red bird just a few minutes ago. He seemed to be in good spirits.”

He didn’t sit. He didn’t move closer. He would give them a chance to decide if they wanted him to stay for a little while, or if he should be on his way.

Teddy leaned forward, binoculars still resting in his lap. He watched Eld the way he might watch a rare bird that came to perch on a nearby branch. Carefully. Attentively. Not wanting to scare him off with too much noise or motion.

When Cary spoke, Teddy glanced over to him. The corner of his mouth had curled into a small smile, quietly amused but not wanting to draw attention to it.

“He knew it was mine,” Teddy whispered to his brother, cautiously optimistic. “The cardinal.”

He looked up at Eld again, this time a little more directly, like he was testing the energy between them. He knew Cary was protective, and in some ways he wanted to prove that Eld was okay, but he also wanted to make sure he didn’t miss anything that Cary would pick up.

“Was it a boy cardinal? With the bright red feathers? Or a girl one? I think both are lucky, but they mean different things.”

He didn’t explain what they meant though. Not yet.

Instead, he shifted so his knee bumped softly against Cary’, a kind of wordless reminder that he was there, and Cary was with him, and everything was okay. Eld wasn’t a stranger. And even if Cary didn’t understand why Eld made him feel safe, Teddy could feel it. It wasn’t always easy to notice, like breathing, but it was always there.

“You can sit,” he chirped, finally. It wasn’t demanding. Just an offer. “If you want. You don’t interrupt anything,” he added after a moment, because it felt important to say.

Eld smiled gently at Teddy’s invitation, and the way Cary remained still but alert. There was tension in the older teenager. Guarded. Protective. But Eld didn’t blame him for that. The world demanded vigilance from those who’d endured loss or hardship, especially when there were still things left to protect. He didn’t know what these two boys had gone through, but whatever it was he knew it hadn’t been fair.

He took a slight step forward, just enough to settle down on the grass beside the bench instead of sitting on the bench itself. He wanted to be near, but not intrusive.

He draped his arms loosely over his knees, hands relaxed.

“It was a male cardinal,” he confirmed, glancing upwards into the trees as if searching for a flash of red again. “He landed on a low branch, not far from where I stood. Tipped his head at me like he was considering something. Then flew off before I could say anything clever in return.”

There was a glint of humor in his eyes, although tempered by the weight that always seemed to be carried behind them. It was a quiet kind of knowing that he’d come to recognize in ‘old souls’ here on Earth.

Cary had that sort of weariness about him, but Eld felt that was more because of what he’d endured in this life, rather than a reflection of his lives in the past.

“I think he was keeping watch. Or maybe delivering a message. Cardinals have a way of finding those who need a reminder of what they’ve still got,” he hummed thoughtfully. His gaze turned to Teddy then, in a way that was both kind and knowing.

“You have a good heart,” he said.

Teddy paused, thinking quietly to himself for a little while, letting Cary’s question slowly turn over in his head. Cary’s voice always pulled his attention in a way no one else’s ever could. It was soft, but strong. Not because it was loud, but because there was something solid to it. Something that felt safe.

“What message…” he repeated, glancing back up into the trees. He didn’t see any red of the cardinal, but he tried to imagine that he could see it.

“I think maybe…” he started slowly, his voice soft. It was just a whisper, but not because he was afraid, but because he wanted to keep the thoughts from flying off.

“Maybe it was just to let us know to keep going. Or maybe that there’s something that still needs to be seen, something that’s special that we don’t know about because it’s difficult to imagine.”

Like magic, maybe. Even though he didn’t really believe in that stuff.

He looked down at his hands, and then over at Cary, taking comfort in just being there with him. He didn’t need anything from him, just to be close.

“I think the message is that we’re not alone,” he finally decided. “Even when it might feel like we are.”

Eld didn’t speak at first. Some people rushed to fill silence, but Eld always preferred finding meaning in pauses and the quiet. Things that weren’t said out loud could be as powerful as things that were.

He let his gaze linger in the trees, but he wasn’t really looking at them any more. He was remembering an age from long ago, in a forest far away. When a boy used to climb to the tallest branches just to see if he could catch a glimpse of wings on the horizon.

“That is a very wise answer,” he said with a small smile. “Sometimes, messages are not made of words. They are moments. Drops in time. A bird returning to the same branch again and again, even when the world keeps changing around it.”

Perhaps he was like that bird in more ways than he cared to admit. He’d seen his own world change, and all he could do was watch. Until a narrow path brought him here.

He turned his attention to Cary. It wasn’t a challenge, or even to try and pry into his thoughts. But he did look at the young man with pride. As someone who’d lived long enough to know the weight that boys like Cary carried, and how deeply rooted that kind of vigilance could become.

“You protect your brother well,” he said. There was no condescension in his voice, no performance. “I understand the caution. You do not know me. But he trusts you. And you trust him. That is a bond strong enough to weather most things.”

A faint smile returned to Eld’s lips, although it was a bit too solemn to reach his eyes.

“The message,” he said after a moment. “It could be as simple as what Teddy suggested. ‘Keep going.’ That what matters most is not how loud the world gets… but how closely we decide to listen. How we hold what we love near to our hearts, while leaving them space to fly when they are ready.”

Teddy’s face lit up at Cary’s smile, even if it was small. That was okay. It didn’t need to be big. He could always tell when Cary meant something, even if it was guarded and cautious. That was just how Cary was. He didn’t always say everything that he felt, but Teddy knew how to read between the lines. Well… most of the time. At least when it mattered. At least when it came to how much Cary cared about him.

“I like how it looks from your eyes, too,” he said simply in return, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Even if you don’t always say it out loud.”

He bumped his knee against Cary’s again, this time a bit more deliberately. It was a small gesture, like he wanted Cary to know that he meant what he said. That Cary didn’t have to say everything for Teddy to know how he felt. He might not understand everything -- he was still young, he knew that -- but Cary had always been there for him, even when it was hard. Especially when it was hard.

He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose as he glanced over at Eld with a small smile. “They were really good,” he chirped in agreement with Cary, sitting up a little straighter. “I keep mine with me all the time. It’s lucky. Or maybe it just makes me feel lucky. I don’t really know if there’s a difference.”

But then he frowned, eyebrows scrunched together as something suddenly occurred to him. He twisted a little on the bench to face Eld better.

“Did you make a bird for yourself, too?” he asked, curious. “Or just for us?” He wasn’t saying it to accuse Eld of anything. It was just genuine wonder about what kind of bird Eld would carry with him, if he had one.

A small, gracious smile tugged at Eld’s lips in response to Cary’s compliment. He wasn’t blind to the fact that Cary was making a genuine effort when he offered that much. Eld didn’t take it lightly. He knew how Cary usually was when he and Teddy were over at the Gallos’. How he kept to himself. Always attentive and always present. Quiet, but vigilant. The kind of protector who didn’t need to announce himself to be effective.

“I appreciate that,” he said with a small nod. “I try to make things with care. I believe things made by hand carry a kind of memory with them. A small echo of the person who shaped them… and the one they were shaped for.”

He glanced at Teddy then, his smile a bit warmer now. “You bring yours with you? Then I would say it found the right home.”

As for if he made one for himself, he paused for a moment. There was something unreadable in his expression. Not sadness exactly, but it was something old and quiet.

“No,” he said gently. “Not yet.”

He reached into his pocket then, and when he removed his hand he revealed a small, polished disk of wood. There was no carving started yet, but the grain was dark and fine.

“I’ve been carrying this piece for a while though,” he admitted. “Waiting to know what shape it wants to become.”

He looked up at Cary again, his tone still conversational but a bit more lighthearted. “I don’t birdwatch. Not formally. I learn by watching… everything. I like to believe it is how I stay connected to things. To the world. To the people in it. Birds are honest, even when they are frightened. They remind me of home,” he hummed thoughtfully, brushing his thumb over the smooth piece of wood.

“I carved yours because I saw what belonged to each of you. A hawk. A finch. That kind of knowing comes easy sometimes. But for myself…” he paused, his voice low but soft as if he was thinking deeply about something. “I think I am still waiting for the answer to find me.”

Teddy’s head tilted just slightly, almost like a bird would, when Cary spoke.

A magpie?

He didn’t know what he’d expected, but it hadn’t been that. Not because it was wrong! But because it was interesting. Cary didn’t usually speak in riddles or ideas, not unless you asked him to, but even then it was careful. Purposeful. But this sounded like Cary had been thinking about it, even if he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

“I like that,” Teddy said after a moment, a warm smile tugging at his lips.

He didn’t launch into one of his usual tangents, nor did he start rattling off facts about feathers or migratory patterns or myths. Instead, he just watched Cary for a moment and how he looked down the road instead of at Eld. How his hand covered part of his face like maybe he could hide something. Something Cary didn’t want anyone to see.

“You always remember the birds in the stories,” he chirped softly. Even the small parts, Cary always seemed to remember. And there was a lot to remember, and Teddy didn’t exactly give much time for things to sink in before talking about some other bird, especially when he was excited about something.

He glanced towards Eld, but stay turned towards Cary, because no matter what, he would always look to Cary as the center of his universe.

Eld studied Cary as he sat there across from him on the bench. It wasn’t forceful staring or prying, just curiosity.

There was an art to having the restraint Cary showed. Eld knew it well. He recognized it -- not just in the way Cary sat, but in the way he didn’t speak, the way he didn’t look directly, the way he didn’t admit that he might be thinking deeply about something. His silence was protective. Something that only evolves through necessity.

So when Cary suggested a magpie, Eld didn’t laugh or tease. He didn’t treat it like a joke. Instead, he let it rest over him like a warm weight. The thoughtful understanding of someone who certainly knew their birds -- even if it was by association.

“A magpie,” he repeated quietly, trying it out himself. “That is a good bird.”

There was no irony in his words, nor any riddle. Just gentle agreement.

“They are clever. Observant. Perceptive. They remember what others overlook, and they are not ashamed to keep it. And they are… adaptable. I think it suits me,” he admitted with a small, grateful nod. “Maybe it suits you, too.”

He held up the smooth piece of wood, turning it carefully in his hand. “Maybe the shape is starting to show itself after all. Thank you, Cary.”