Essence of His Soul (Part 1)

They came when the night was still. No crickets singing to the light of the moon, no rustling of leaves left in the wake of passing animals, or snap of a twig to shatter the oppressive silence. Swift footsteps carried them ever deeper into his domain, shadows flowing into shadows, like thieves in the night, they closed in on their prey. They used a strategy employed on numerous hunts previously. It was foolproof and guaranteed success.

Maybe it was the quietness, that uneasy stillness, the familiarity of background noise that usually punctuated the air when he took his rest that was absent. His unease grew until it burrowed deep into his bones. He sat preternaturally still, every shiver through the air he mapped and disregarded. There was nothing to confirm his suspicions. Until a disturbed bushel below his perch quivered unnaturally. Before he could flex his natural weapons for defense, a metal mesh enclosed him. It rendered him immobile.

He struggled in the restrictive confines of his prison, vocalizing his fury and warning this new enemy vengeance would be his. He was unable to rend flesh from bones. The tightly woven material kept his reach to a minimum. Although, he could see his fate moving ever closer, still bars, a heavy padlock, and no way to escape. Yet. As the bars slammed shut and rang with the tone of finality, he spied the eyes of the other inhabitants. He knew they would be of no help, nor did he expect it of them. Resigned, he whispered his goodbye and silently promised he would see his home again.

It was a long journey, he knew, that took him further and further from all that was his. At first, few voices soon transitioned to many, the salt of the ocean on the wind and the lapping of the waves in the distance. They shouted back and forth, grunts, wood creaking, and fabric snapping. His crate set down in almost total darkness; no longer could he see or feel the minute rays of the sun. After, there was only rocking to and fro, the muffled thuds of solid soles overhead. Then the violent loss of gravity only to be knocked senseless with its downward momentum. He didn't know how long he fell in and out of consciousness. His captors did not deem him worthy of water or a morsel of a meal. But he also knew he was built sturdy, his endurance unmatched. He would survive.

The smell of metal and filth was the first thing to penetrate the fog of unconsciousness. The familiarity of wet grass after heavy rainfall, the distant calls of animals, and the smell of baked earth on a clear day were gone. Instead, the churning of too many people clustered in one area, the cacophony of voices, and the screaming of children paralyzed his senses. It wasn't that he was unaware of such things back home. He had chosen to stay away from it, and they reciprocated. Another thing he found disconcerting, he had no idea where his captor's road ended. But he suspected he would prefer something else to the destination.

***

"Ah, gentlemen, I see your hunt has proven successful."

"Ai, he wasn't as formidable as some of our past conquests, but he is the rarest."

"Yes. And would be a splendid addition to my collection."

"Is this one destined to be gutted and stuffed as well?"

"No, he is much more useful to me alive. Now, gentlemen, if you will, remove the coverings. I would like to see my prized possession."

"Yes, sir."

Owlishly, he blinked until the dark spots dissipated from his vision. He ruffled his feathers to appear larger than he seemed and let loose a scream worthy of a banshee. He flexed his claws; in case the potbellied man mistook his display as a warm welcome.

"By god. You said you had no trouble capturing him?"

"Not all, sir. But I should warn you he's a mean fighter. He got Billy across the arm, almost severed the limb. Right, Cod?"

"Right. I suggest declawing, sir."

"Nonsense! Then what would be the appeal?"

One of the men negligently shrugged his shoulders, "Your funeral."

He cleared his throat, "Yes, well, right this way. I had his enclosure prepared."

"Positive we'd get him, did ya?"

"I paid good money for you to do your job. I would have expected nothing less." The sharp eyed glare he directed at their leader promised retribution if he did not deliver.

They passed grand hallways and decorative rooms; large family portraits hung on every surface. Crystal chandeliers dripped from high ceilings, and heavy curtains outlined the windows. Down one such hallway, a tiny head of curls peeked around the corner and watched their procession. Finally, they stopped at one of the massive doors, and with a flourish, the plump host threw open the doors, revealing a gilded cage; that stretched from floor to ceiling. The domed top made entirely of glass, giving the illusion of freedom. Inside, towering trees, grass, and boulders. From the smell, he knew as fake as the indulgent smile plastered on the owner's face.

He also knew once inside, escape would be nearly impossible. Though he fought hard, the days without food or water had weakened him considerably. A thick manacle encased his leg but not so heavy as to hinder flight. Once imprisoned in the imitation of his home, he took flight, testing the boundaries of his confinement. They watched his progress and stepped back to admire their success. The only satisfaction he had as he postured and screamed his displeasure, the men would walk away with souvenirs from his talons adorning their bodies.

"He's glorious. His wingspan alone is massive. I cannot wait to see him in action."

"Wait. Are you trying to have that thing fly around? Are you out of your mind?"

"I assure you, I am not. But it will be a near thing. Now, excuse me. I have calls to make and events to arrange. You can see yourselves out."

"Sure thing, Mr. Haggerty. Pleasure doing business with you."

His worst nightmare had come to fruition, taken from his home to be the spectacle of humans at the whim of another human. As they filed out, he settled on a high branch. The same mop of curls he saw earlier inched their way into the room. She stood shorter than him in height. He watched as she fearlessly approached the cage gazing up at him in wonder, and in a small voice, she beckoned him closer. Intrigued, he glided down and crouched so they could see eye to eye. Her laughter was like windchimes as the gust from his descent ruffled her hair.

He reared back when she attempted to reach through the bars to touch his plumage. As her eyes filled with tears, a foreign emotion sparked in his chest that urged him to allow the touch. Her touch was as whisper soft as the air through his feathers. Once satisfied, she left with a Cheshire cat grin. Left alone, he realized his error, that he came when called.