Obsidian Thornwing's Arc

Chapter 14 of 18

Obsidian walked the ridge trail with the braid pinned to his shoulder for the last time that season. He rehearsed the words on the way. He had never asked for leave before. He had never asked for anything from the guard except the chance to earn the braid, and he had earned it. Now he needed the guard to give something back. The captain heard him out in the post yard. Obsidian stood at attention and said his wife was with child and he was requesting the full paternity leave owed to a bonded officer. He did not soften it. He did not explain the cabin or the bond or the two years of quiet walks. The captain looked at his pale blue wings, then at the braid, then wrote the order on a slip of bark and stamped it. "Eight weeks," the captain said. "Report back after. Congratulations, Thornwing." Obsidian saluted. He walked out with the slip folded in his hand and did not open it again until he was past the tree line. Eight weeks. Longer than any stretch he had ever had off his feet. He felt lighter and heavier at once. He stopped at the ridge and looked down at the cabin. The red mushroom cap glowed faintly in the afternoon light. The small wooden birdfeeder hung by the door, swaying. The green lynx sat under it, watching the path for him. Obsidian raised a hand. The lynx flicked its tail once and did not move. Inside, Sylvara was at the table cutting roots. She looked up with her eyes twinkling when he closed the door. "He signed it," Obsidian said. He set the bark slip on the table between them. She read it. She put her hand flat on the paper. "Eight weeks," she said. "Then back." "Then back," she agreed. "Enough to build the room." He unpinned the braid from his shoulder and hung it on the peg by the door. It was the second time he had hung it there instead of wearing it home. This time he did not look at it again. That night he lay beside her with his hand on her belly. The walls held their low glow. He felt the small second warmth under his palm and matched his breathing to hers. He had spent his life training for the next order. Tonight there was no next order for eight weeks. "Obsidian." "Mm." "Tomorrow we start the room." "Tomorrow." She closed her eyes. He kept his hand where it was until she was asleep. Then he watched the ceiling and made a list in his head. Boards. Nails. A window on the east wall for the morning. He wanted to make everything perfect for the love of his life and their baby.