Leon Tremayne's Arc

Chapter 6 of 6

Leon crouched at the water's edge with fish pellets in his palm, arm stretched toward Tempest. She glided closer, neck extended, and he held his breath. Her beak snapped forward—past the food and straight into his wrist. Pain shot up his arm as he jerked back, pellets scattering across the water. Blood welled up where her beak had caught skin. Tempest hissed and beat her wings, spraying water in all directions. Leon stumbled backward onto the muddy bank, clutching his wrist. She'd never actually broken skin before. He'd moved too fast, pushed too hard, gotten too excited about his progress. His throat tightened as he watched her retreat to the center of the pond. All those days of patience, and he'd ruined it in five seconds. He pressed his other hand against the wound and walked back toward the cabin, leaving a trail of red drops in the dirt behind him. Back at the cabin, Leon wrapped his wrist with gauze and stared at the metal cart he'd assembled near the steps. Baskets overflowed with mushrooms, nuts, and wild plants he'd collected over the past three days. Each basket held different foods he'd planned to test with Tempest—offerings to see what she preferred. Now the whole thing felt stupid. He kicked one of the cart's wheels and watched it roll a few inches. She didn't want his fancy foods or his careful planning. She wanted him gone. Leon walked to his shrine near the tree where he'd hung Tempest's feathers. The white stone bowl in the center still held water, but the petals had turned brown. He touched the glass lantern someone had placed nearby—probably another worker who'd tried and failed with Tempest years ago. Cracks spread through the clouded glass, and a bird's nest sat inside the metal frame. Even the lantern looked broken and forgotten. Leon pulled his hand away. That's what happened when you tried too hard with a swan that didn't trust anyone. You ended up with scars and failed experiments, just like the scratched stone trough he'd spotted by the pond last week. Someone else's abandoned attempt. He sat on the cabin steps and opened his notebook to a blank page. His wrist throbbed under the bandage. Tempest had let him wade close for days, had eaten near him, had stopped attacking every time he showed up. Then he'd pushed for more and lost everything. Leon pressed his pen to the paper but didn't write. Maybe Dr. Martinez was right to warn everyone away from her. Maybe some animals just couldn't be reached. He closed the notebook and looked toward the pond. Tomorrow he'd have to decide if trying again was brave or just plain foolish.