Petal Brightwing's Arc

Chapter 2 of 4

The horse slowed as the sun climbed high. The open land spread in every direction, flat and dry. Petal clung to the pale neck and felt her stomach pinch. She had left home with nothing. No food, no water, no shelter. Her wings ached. Her mouth was dry as dust. The thief's trail ran on for days, and a creature her size could not last that long. "We have to stop," she said. The horse halted beside a cluster of spiny bushes. Bright berries hung among the thorns, red and purple and orange. Petal flew to them. She reached between two spines and tugged a berry loose. It burst sour on her tongue. She ate three more, then cupped her hands and caught the juice to drink. The berries filled her belly, but night was coming. She had no place to sleep, and the open ground offered no cover. Then she noticed the pouch tied to the horse's mane. Its cloth was stitched with glowing marks. She had not seen it before. She pulled the drawstring loose and looked inside. At the bottom lay a small cluster of seeds. They shimmered with threads of light, like tiny leaves full of stars. Petal lifted one out. She did not know what it did. But the bush behind her held beads of dew along its thorns. She pressed the seed to a wet leaf. The seed swelled at once. A green shoot sprang from her fingers and climbed into the air. Vines spread and curled. Flower petals opened and folded over one another. In moments a round shelter stood on the dry ground, woven of living stems and soft blooms. It looked just like her home in the grove. Petal laughed and flew inside. The walls were warm. The roof kept out the wind. She tucked the rest of the seeds back into the pouch and tied it shut. Now she could ride all day and build a shelter each night. The open land could no longer starve her out. She found one more thing in the pouch. A round case of gold, heavy in her small arms. She opened the lid. A needle spun under glass, then stopped. It did not point north. It pointed straight across the open land, the way the horse had been running. Petal held the case to her chest and thought of the silver feather. She wanted it back more than anything. The needle held firm, steady as her own wish. It was pointing to the feather. "That's it," she whispered. "That's where it went." She no longer needed the fading scent. She had food, shelter, and a needle that knew her heart. Petal settled into the warm nest for the night and watched the needle glow. At first light, she would ride straight for the feather.