Fire in the Woods

Sequel to my previous short story, "Four Birds".

I sleep long nights, wake to unsatisfying mornings, still lost. The phoenix continues it's pathetic descent, adamantly refusing to neither ignite nor die. I grow disgusted looking at it.

I still hear the occasional call of the sparrow, but it has flown far away from me - its voice seems silly and unhelpful in my plight.

My hawk, my old companion... I rarely see her and when I do, I am the brunt of attack and must flee her talons.

The raven, stoic and steadfast in her desire to help me, sits atop a branch, staring. She tries to help and does so in small ways, but the journey to salvation lies beyond her capacity to lead me through and her heart sinks when I stumble.

This plight is wearisome and I have had enough. I struggle to my feet and begin the arduous task of gathering materials for a fire. If I'm going to be lost in these woods, I will do so on my terms. As I build a pyramid of roaring comfort, I look toward the raven and she is smiling, though her gaze is not on me... what is she looking at? I follow her sight and my eyes fall upon the phoenix I left on the ground. Her feathers seemed brighter, her eyes seem keener.

I warm myself by the fire and grow to find myself looking at the forest I had wound up lost in and for the first time, basking in a sense of ease.

Perhaps my journey to find the way out had always been the wrong one. Perhaps I had always been better suited to find my path within the winding trees and delicate balances of moss and thorns. Perhaps, this was where I belonged.... perhaps this was home. The phoenix chirped.