Barbecue Season

"Beautiful day."  Esther smiled.

"Uh-huh, perfect day for a barbecue."

"Smells wonderful."

"It should.  Saul started at the crack of dawn."  Delilah glanced over, making sure the little ones were staying back from the pit.

"Your barbecues are always perfect, what's your secret?"

Delilah lowered her eyes modestly. "It's all in the meat.  Saul has and eye for choice morsels."

"Did he get it at market?"

"No.  Saul prefers the old ways.  Mama always said, "Choose a mate who bows to tradition"."

Esther wrinkled her snout. "Silas is too squeamish.  He can't abide their tears and begging."

Delilah hid a yawn delicately behind one paw.  "Excuse me."

Esther waved off her apology. "Preparations are so exhausting."

Delilah nodded.  "Yes, but the cubs enjoy barbecues and it's so nice, having all the neighbours over. After hibernation, we're all so tired of one another."

"And ravenous."

"Yes."  Delilah's tongue flicked out over her sharp teeth.  "This should be an extra treat. Saul snared three young, tender ones."

Esther growled appreciatively, sniffing the wonderful sent of roasting flesh.  Wild humans were so rare these days.
 
 

"Netkika, it's time."

"No, Talos!  Loren is too small!"  Netkika's large, almond-shaped eyes were bright with tears. She had been unable to sleep, had watched the sky through the cave entrance, turn from the grey of predawn to the bright, burnished pink, heralding the morn . . . and the Fledgling Flight.

"Loren is two full turns from his birth.  The people will not consider him, human, until he flies." Talos rose from their sleeping pallet and drank deeply from the full water bladder, hanging by the cooking fire.  He bent and stirred the embers, fanning the glow to life with his wings, while he carefully added smaller sticks to feed the newly ignited flames.

It was cold, far too cold for this time in the season.  Turns past, the women would have already planted the grain seeds.

Netkika could not stop a brief and bitter laugh.  The soft, white down that covered her face, flushed red from her strong emotions.

"Talos?  Are you blind? Less children are born.  More fall in the Fledgling Flight!" Netkika's wings fluttered restlessly.  "Loren's muscles aren't developed. He will fall and die!"

Netkika glanced briefly to the back of the cave, where her small son slept, oblivious to today's importance . . . today's death sentence.

Netkika turned to glare at her husband.

"If you insist upon this. . . barbarity . . . I will leave you!  Moriah says I cannot have any more children.  I have lost too many to the Cliffs.  I cannot bear to lose my last!"

Talos stiffened, his wings wide spread before he twitched them back, tight against his shoulder blades. He felt helpless.  Netkika's words cut at his heart.  Five children, lost to the Fledgling Flight.  Leta, their first born and Loren, were all that remained.

"The Elders — "

"The Elders live in the glory of the past."  Netkika stated without inflection.

Her wings opened and closed with her agitation, fanning the air about the cave, air, a shade too cool.

"How many strong children have been born to the people these past fifteen turns?  Name one family that has not suffered tragedy because of the custom of Fledgling Flight?"

"We will be shunned. Loren will suffer."

Netkika hastened to her spouse's side and into his arms.  "Others have been shunned.  We are not alone, Talos."

Talos enclosed his mate, his wings enfolding her.  He was thankful for Netkika's outspoken ways, for her ability to put into words his own nebulous fears.

The world was changing. The people must change also, or die out.

Talos could envision in his mind's eye the far future.  The people's wings would, slowly, over many turns, disappear completely.  The people would be forever earthbound, but they would continue with dreams of flight invading their nights.

His obsidian gaze rested upon their sleeping son.  Loren's wings would not strengthen. He would never fly.  Talos blinked the wetness out of his eyes, but, his son would live!