Nest Eggs

The wind was harsh, Miran noted. But of course, the day when the wind was quiet in Ventus would be the day Miran sprouted wings and flew away. She walked, her worn, dusty leather boots crackling with every step. Despite her father's efforts to save their money, which Miran was certain was spirited away by very cheap spirits, they were running low, and their next harvest would not be for at least a few weeks. They would be busy then, since they would have to haul the water.

"Should find a boat off this rock," she muttered bitterly to herself. She fantasized being so light that the wind would simply carry her away, across the world. Anywhere, she imagined, was better than home. Realistically, it would be quite some time before she had the means to pack her things and leave, unless she fancied a trip around the country with no food, no money, and no means to get either one. But damn if she wouldn't dream.

She adjusted the hood of her shawl, pushing the hem away from her eyes but not off of her head. It was far too warm, but she didn't trust her father not to trade it for their next meal. Left alone, he'd already sold her books, most of their clothes, and most of the furniture. They'd get it back, he said, but Miran didn't believe a word of it.

So when she set off towards a forest littered with fallen trees, she hoped to discover a bird's nest, filled with eggs or hatchlings.

"Ha!"

She would be lucky even to see a deserted husk, where birds may have lived at some point, but had long since abandoned. A small rodent could suffice as bait, if she could find so much as a rat. She remembered there used to be mice hiding near her home when she was younger, but they had long since left. Likely, they found a nicer barn, with nicer people, to live in.

She watched the tops of the trees as she weaved between and around fallen trees, under some and over others, careful and sure-footed enough not to fall or send trees tumbling on top of her. She only stopped when she came across a thin, meandering creak. She sat down beside it, pulled a small pouch from her side, and tried to coax some water in. The weave was tight enough to hold most of the water, though not for the entirety of her trip.

She kept her ears opened, hoping to hear a bird's whistle, or a crow's fabled squawk.