Zephyr has a minion!

Zenith the Iceprong

✶

Zephyr stuck his tongue out and wiggled his rump before taking a flying leap at the pile of snow. It was, fortunately, soft and powdery, displacing in a shower of sparkles. He giggled, wiggling a bit before managing to stick his head out.

Unlike some, Zephyr had been fortunate enough to be born in the lands of winter. ‘Fortunate,’ of course, being subjective. Many would whisper in nervous tones about famine and frost, driving those who survived to desperate means of doing so. And those were the lucky ones, surrounded by the frozen corpses of those who did not.

“Killjoys!” Zephyr would argue, before snorting at his own joke and bounding away. It was not that he did not know these things were a part of winter. But he would argue they were simply a part of life no matter where you were. His conversations with his friend Jaela certainly supported that. Okay, maybe not the freezing part, but cold wasn’t the only dangerous weather.

“Zephyr,” a weary lain said one day. “Your head is always in the clouds.”

“No,” he said back. “Yours, maybe, when you fly into them.”

“You know that is not what I mean,” the lain said. “Once upon a time…”

Zephyr suppressed a sigh.

“There was a young lain who believed he would always be safe and sound. He had strong wings to carry him into the sky, sharp eyes with which to look out for danger, and a meadow full of food.”

“Did winter arrive?” Zephyr guessed dully.

“But he was young,” the lain continued as though they had not spoken. “And had not yet experienced all the seasons. Winter arrived, but slowly. First, the leaves turned orange and gold, and he remarked on this with delight. Then, they fell from the trees and rotted away. There was a surplus of food as the insects feasted.

“Then, the insects disappeared, and frost coated the bare branches. The young lain then found himself without food, and he had not thought to stuff his nest with moss before it was gone. He waited at his regular haunts for food and found nothing. Soon…” the lain paused dramatically.

“He died?” Zephyr offered.

“He died! Ambushed by a starving anyu.”

“Of course he did,” Zephyr said, the lain huffing a bit. “But let me tell you a story as well. Once upon a time, there was a young lain who believed he would always be safe and sound. He had strong wings to carry him into the sky, sharp eyes with which to look out for danger, and a meadow full of food.”

“And then winter arrived,” the lain said.

“Yes,” Zephyr agreed. “Though he had not yet experienced all the seasons yet, he knew what was to come. Because an elder lain, when he remarked on the changing of the leaves with delight, advised him to both appreciate their beauty and their warning. ‘First, the elder lain told him, the leaves will change. Now is the time to stuff one's nest with warmth.’ The young lain did so.”

“Now,’ the elder lain then said, ‘is the time to dry some insects before they hide. Store them with berries for later, as food will become scarce.’ The young lain did so.”

“Winter arrived, the first drifts wondrous and confusing. The elder lain met him at his nest and said, ‘Now, I will show you where the insects hide.’ And they both flew out to a fallen log, and after scraping some bark away, a feast was revealed.”

“Always mind yourself when so low,’ the elder lain said through a beakful. ‘For others hunger, and distraction is deadly.’ And they both took to the wing as an anyu entered the clearing.”

“Bah!” the lain said as Zephyr finished his story. “That is just being shown how to survive. How will you truly learn if you are just told what to expect?”

“It is kindly sharing one’s knowledge. Winter can be cold and bitter enough. Why make it more so? There is still plenty to learn.”

“Because,” the lain said sourly.

“Because then you will spend all your time trying to survive,” Zephyr said. “Alone! And while you are doing that, you will miss the beauty of winter. Look at the snowflakes! They are all unique. Supposedly. They sorta look the same to me…”

Zephyr squinted at a pile on a nearby branch, then shook his head and focused. “Anyway. Look at how some trees still have their leaves! They are sharp, and barely edible, but they fill the air with such a delightful smell. And bright red berries decorate the snow. Don’t eat them, by the way. They are poisonous.”

“I know that,” the lain said.

“And I am glad. But what if you had not? I lose nothing from telling you.”

“Bah.”

“Humbug!” Zephyr said, beaming. “I can enjoy the wonders of winter and be aware of its dangers. Oh, don’t be that way!”

The lain flew off, and Zephyr rolled his eyes again before bounding off to another snow pile.

Hours passed, the sky bleeding orange and purple as the sun set. Stars began to twinkle, and Zephyr hummed contently as he settled on a hilltop. There was a fluttering of wings, and the lain landed next to him, a bundled cloth in his talons.

“Hi,” the lain said.

“Hi!” Zephyr replied.

The lain then huffed and opened the bundle. Inside were a number of cookies—oatmeal and blueberry, by the smell of them. Without saying anything else the lain pushed the cookies towards Zephyr, grabbed one for himself, and joined him in looking up at the sky.

Night properly fell and the stars faded, replaced with the blazing colors of the northern lights. The snow glimmered as if to replace the stars, and they were three cookies in before Zephyr broke the silence that had fallen between them to say, “These are really good.”

“Thanks.” The lain said gruffly.

Eventually the lights faded, and the lain flew off without another word. “Happy holidays!” Zephyr called.