Of Branch and Honey

"Do you hear it?" Sigi asks with brimming innocence. "I said do yo-"

"There is nothing yet to hear! In the briefest moments your mouth is shut, I suppose I could hear it quite well."

"Yara, you sure used an awful lot of words just to tell me to be quiet."

She shoots Sigi a glare, not one of disbelief or irony, but rather oblique warning. "And yet you still yammer... Would you prefer I used sticks? Or rocks?"

"And risk scaring away all the little critters? You wouldn't dare..."

"You're right." Yara loosens her frame, ready to do battle with her sibling's playful mood. "Know that the preservation of tranquility stays me more than any amount sisterly goodness."

"What's trackquitily?"

"Tranquility. Figures you wouldn't know that one. Peaceful silence, undisturbed by rude goblins and their incessant- their never ending, questions."

"...Well then what's pre... preserfation?"

"Keeping something. Like keeping quiet. You think you could do that?"

"Maybe..." The words practically curl out from her mouth, followed by a narrowing of shrewd eyes. They still have some ways to travel, a fact Yara wonders may be eternally true if her sister remains in tow.

They reach the overlook, an autumnal sprawl covers otherwise unremarkable dirt. Freshly bared trees peek from masses of firebrand foliage, leaves long shed, now a single soggy mass. Far from the perfect conditions required for scavenging a nest, but, certainly the ideal scenario for spotting one. The ease with which Yara noted the perched bundle of branches days prior filled her with little sense of accomplishment; rather a distinctly consuming anticipation for the arrival of mother owl and the eventual feeding of her young.

Crouching with a fixed stare, Yara positions herself in the perfect vantage point. She rests her chin near the edge of a rocky outcrop, and with considered shuffles forms a groove in what little mud paints the high ground. She could stay here for hours, entirely contented on hope alone. She dare not even blink.

"Well can you see it?"

"Sigi" Yara turns simmering "I beg you, do not force me to scout alone."

"Do as you will." She crosses her arms and arches her spine in a visible act of defiance. "Your decisions are yours, no hand forces them, but you will feel mother's strike your cheek for abandoning me. Again."

"How is it only I am ever to abandon you? When I'm the one who is most often alone."

"Because I am quicker and I make sure to run home first. And if you remain searching for a glimpse of your fat little bird, I'll reach mother first again."

"Does she not tire of your attempts to pour poison?"

"I would never hurt mother!"

"No Sigi... sigh." Sometimes she forgets her age. Barely seven winters. Yara rises to a crouch, an attempt to plead face to face. "Never mind. Promise me you will be silent. Please."

"What for? What reward will you give me?"

"Is the sight of the owl not enough?" Sigi wears a look of total disbelief, as if her sister could ever be so stupid to think they would share a passion, least of all one so tedious. She doesn't even dignify the misstep with a response, though she stops short of drool leaking from a mouth agape in over exaggerated shock. "No... I didn't think so..." Yara considers her next words with baited care. "There is a store of bread and honey under the floorboards in the corner of our room. It's yours." With that transfer of ownership a glaringly white smile emerges from Sigi's dirtied face. "If" Yara grabs her by a collar of matted furs "you do we as we agreed." She kicks a little, as any child does when acquiescing to surrender.

"I knew you were saving your food."

"That's because you're so smart. My little Sigi."

"You have no need of honey, if you are happy to be this sickeningly sweet."

7 winters indeed. Long, stormy, tempestuous. "Well, are we agreed?" She releases her grip.

"... Yes."

"Good. Now settle in. And you are in no way quicker than me..."

Nothing of note occurs in the lingering minutes that pass, as Sigi grows rightfully restless. "Father told me that, though they usually fly solely at night, a barn owl may traverse the day to find food for its children. For love. It will be quite the sight, don't you think Sigi?"

"I don't care. What batch of bread is it? Not the one mother burnt last week?"

"I'm not sure."

"What do you mean you're not sure? Is it like charcoal?"

"Why don't you run home and check if it's so important to you?"

Sigi settles in a sulk, all furrowed brow and twisted scowl, picking at her blackened nails. Yara awaits her owl, in the ache of a body locked in place for much too long. Singular boredom motivates a retreat, in the stretch of those dull movements, like an escape from sleep. With Yara's back to the nest, she scans for her little sister, who clearly braved a withdrawal with far greater ease. She is slightly annoyed she failed to savour the silence, or even mark its passing. Yara decides she will return replenished, perhaps in a hour or so, perhaps after some broth, as if all the stage merely required a reset; a close of the eyes so the world might return full and alive.

Supposing she did indeed return first, Yara approaches her mother at work. "Yara, where is Sigrid?"

"Stuffing her face with my secret stash of honey..."

"You mean the one you thought you hid from me? You're mistaken, she's not in your room. I expected her to return with you... Go fetch your sister. I expressly told you tire her out. Why is it I am still weary of her games?" With petulant stomps, Yara scours the homestead. The stables, the grain store, even the well. Admittedly the image of her sister sat crouched in that dark pit provided her with a few crumbs of amusement, but they were quickly abandoned. "Sigriiiiiiiiid? Do you not hear me calling? Oh. I see. You're finally silent. Do you really think you can stifle your chuckles for long? Mother is not amused, so please, announce yourself. Sigi! Now is not the time for play!" Her voice is becoming increasingly shrill and desperate. There is no humour carried in it at all now, as her mind and feet race. Where could her sister be? She hopes her mother is mistaken and she will indeed find her covered in sticky sweet globs of honey, to be admonished and nothing more. No. Not lost or hurt, stolen or dead. None of those things.

Yara prises up the floorboards and her heart sinks. The food is undisturbed. Does Sigi remain in the woods? It has been but an hour, barely enough for any commanding misfortune...

She runs.

Through brambles, thick and cutting.

Past clawing branches, winding roots.

Forgetting to breathe.

For her.

Will she find Sigi in place? Giggling at the turret peak of hatchling beaks, those newborn yelps for food. No. She will find nothing. Desolate nature, commanding life in place, how hollow the wind's screams make it.

Yara kneels in defeated prayer. She will not cry, not yet. Not while panic wells, pulls her head in erratic lurches, for the shock of her hair, the bounce of her feet, any sign. Any proof to refute her guardian failing.

Darting from cracked bark, to creeping mist, to dark eyes, full and round. Amber wings as if lit by dying ember. Her owl at last. No comfort in the crowning sight, no relief or joy, just a resigned silence.

"What must be invoked? What deal must be made? I will be lost and she will be found. And that will be enough..."

Those unblinking orbs of cosmic darkness, betraying nothing at all. To Yara, her defeat reflected. No. Her resilience. She stands in commanding clarity, stilling the shake of expectant limbs. "Great hunter. Grant me your sight, so I might track my dear sister. Your swiftness, so that I may find her before nightfall. Carry me in claw, on wing if you must. Feed me to your young. Anything for her safety, and sight restored."

Commanding wings outstretch as beams of light, pure and blinding. Yara can only close her eyes. They open to a forest. Not their forest. Or at least not their familiar stretch.

Cleared of any distraction, spelt in clay richness, a child's journey, indents of cascade wonder. She chases down the footsteps, so small, surrounded by everything.

There. Nestled in a spiral of carved bone, Sigi.

"My Sigi."

Safe.