The Adventures of D’artello

The sky had become a twilight mix of black thunderheads and bright sunshine. Rain began to pour down in just certain areas, something uncommon but D’artello always loved to stand in the rift between storm and clear skies. He found himself in the humid fields with flowers he had picked and a large, deformed pyramidal rock he’d uncovered and moved himself. A memorial for his friends, a place where he could let it all out and no one would notice. His hair was wet and limp over his face, he pulled a strand from his cream colored eyes. Cold but unafraid he rose and held the promise charm to drop it amongst the flowers.

Too big a part of him did not want to give up on Tanya. He re-grabbed it and placed it back around his neck. Squatting back down and organizing the flowers again he sat for a long time in the field, staring at the ground and giving a self made sermon to an audience of one. Tanya, he thought so hard, so hard that he found his arms hugging himself, missing the beloved younger sister. Joseph, he felt a brotherly remorse and coming with it was every memory of his hometown and a life that used to be easy. Dad, this thought woke him from his trance, why did he think of his father just then? He cried about him just as long as he cried about the others, but he was alive. For another hour at least he cycled through his friends, mourning their loss and bawling to himself.

Eventually, when he was able to stand, he wiped his tears and looked up at the sky, and at the surrounding environment. There was something very wrong, having little to do with nature, humans aside, his world was trying to tell him something, that it was dying. The sun began to glare into his eyes, soon the rain would trickle to a stop, gradually as all things do.

He perked up a bit at this fact, this inalienable law of nature, a law of gradient. If all things end gradually, then there is still time to save everyone, they couldn’t possibly be gone in an instant. Putting his palms to the sky, he awaited this rare phenomenon. Like a startling shockwave the rain went from downpour to drought. His body even shook with suddenness of absence of the hard droplets. Sudden, he thought. Nature had torn his recent epiphany to ribbons, but before he could realize this fact, down came a hawk from the trees. A beautiful brown bird, gliding over the winds and chasing the storm.

At first he paid no mind to it, but it landed just in front of him then perched itself up on the memorial, staring at him through its left eye. About three feet tall and gorgeous mahogany and egg-shell feathers it stood proudly as if to coach him through this moment. It was a perfect lifelike example of the depiction on his helm. It outstretched its wings as if to get his attention and speak words of wisdom, but how could it? It was no parrot with a message from some far away scholar to deliver. When still he did not stare it directly in the face, it gave a loud screech, obviously directed toward him. Then cocking its head to the side again to get a good look and make sure he was paying attention.

He looked up suddenly at its strange behavior, fancying he should approach it, that it’s what the bird wants. Holding his hand out, he approached the animal, getting so very close. Just inches away now his hand could already ruffle the feathers. Just before the bird skittered off into the sky, he swore he felt it press its head within his palm. He watched it flap overhead, in the same direction, chasing the storm, beckoning him to come along.