"Here," Emile whispers, near inaudible against the crunching approach of Maurice's feet.
I crouch, setting Emile's small cage on shadowy dirt — he extends his wings, keeping balance on his bar, then flattens errant feathers with his beak.
"This is too obvious," Bevy says sleepily, his tiny hands squeezing my arm. "Maurice will get us." I gaze past the edge of my hood into his pink ferret eyes.
A swish of tangled ferns and cracking branches, and I feel Maurice behind us — my heart races.
"Come out, come out," Maurice drawls deeply in his guttural baritone. "Wherever you are."
Copyright (c) 2021 by D.Lasala-- Image by D.Lasala with DALL-E, 2022