A flash of blue, deeper than shaded pools. A beat of wings, heavy as the drums of the earth. A whistle, sharper than a hawk's cry, yet softer than sparrow's coo.

"Teng?"

Delia’s voice brought him back to the world around him. Round pebbles tumbled underfoot as he stumbled. He blinked, catching his reflection and hers in the shimmering, rippled water. “What?”

They stood knee-deep in a creek, a ways from the village. Naked and wet, the wind cool but not unpleasant on his bare skin.

“Your skin—it’s clean enough, I think.”

Teng looked down. He held a freshly tanned hide, slick and dark, its surface gleaming wet. Smooth, yet dimpled in places. He came back to himself and turned to Delia with a sheepish grin. “Sorry, I was… somewhere else.”

She sighed, nimble fingers checking her own hide for stray hairs. “It’s like you’re always drifting these days.”

She cast him a pointed look before wading to the bank, her slim frame navigating the creek’s slippery bed with ease.

Teng muttered at his wandering thoughts, then followed.

Ever since that day at his hidden crevice, the blue bird haunted him. It came to him in dreams, in flashes, even in waking moments. He hadn’t told anyone about it, and that day, after missing his tasks and coming back late in the afternoon, he’d earned the longest scolding he’d ever gotten.

Since then, his mother barely let him out of her sight, keeping him to tan hides each day. The tanning of skins was a long, grueling process. Delia, daughter to one of the hunters, had shown him each step, for which he was grateful—if also a little embarrassed.

They clambered onto the creek’s bank, where willows bowed and branches swayed in the soft breeze.

Around the trees, aunties and girls worked the skins, softening them with a rhythmic dance of their hands. The aunties’ fingers danced across the hides, swift and skillful, a blur to Teng.

Teng dropped down beside Delia, reaching for another hide.

As he used the bone shiv to scrape away fur, his thoughts drifted again to the bird, its feathers, and the way they pointed and fluttered, hinting at something more. He could feel it in his bones.

But then, his mother always said he had a vivid imagination. Shaking his head, he focused on the task at hand. He’d have time later to look at the feathers and uncover their mystery.

Most of the other boys worked with their fathers—building, digging, sparring—while he sat here with the girls and women. How was that fair? He was a boy, almost a man. In less than a cycle, he would have to brave the wilds alone and return with an offering.

And here he was, with the girls and the aunties.

Delia laughed. “Stop it, Teng; I can’t focus with all your grunting and groaning.”

Teng looked up at her. “What?”

“Is it so terrible working with us?” she teased, a playful light in her eyes.

“What do you mean? I never said that!”

“You didn’t have to.” She smiled with a twinkle in her eye. “You know, most boys want to get closer to us pretty girls, not run away.”

“I—” Teng began, then coughed. Now that he looked, Delia was rather pretty. She had a softness in her face the aunties didn’t have, her skin warmed by the sun, and eyes as clear as the morning river. Her damp black hair fell in clumps over her shoulders, with small feathers tucked here and there.

He felt a warmth rise to his cheeks. “You’re the one who distracted me!” he shot back, louder than he’d meant.

Delia and the girls around them laughed. Even his mother and the aunties chuckled, making Teng’s face burn hotter, like a live ember. He went back to his work with renewed fervor, and time flew by.

But each time they spoke after that, his mind grew muddled, his tongue stumbled, and he felt the heat return, helpless against the flurry of laughter around him.

When the aunties rose, signaling the end of work, Teng grabbed his skins and hurried back, to the great delight of the girls and aunties.

As Teng crossed the village square, he spotted the other boys stacking wood by the hemlock tree, their laughter ringing through the air.

The earthy scent of split logs greeted him as he approached, hides slung over his shoulder and water dripping from the edges. A few boys glanced his way, their eyes lingering on the damp skins. Jiri, tall and broad for his age, caught Teng’s eye, the normally expressionless boy with seemingly trying to suppress a smile.

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“Look who’s back! The one with all the girls!” One boy said with a chuckle, earning a round of laughs from the others. Teng, like he had done so much this day, flushed. He knew they meant no harm, just… they were loud.

Kai, perched atop a stack of logs, jumped down with a grin.

“Tell us, Teng,” he said, trying to sound serious but failing as he snickered, “how’s the tanning work going? The aunties showing you their dance steps yet?”

Teng rolled his eyes. “Oh, sure,” he replied, cool despite the warmth in his cheeks. “I’ll show you some moves once you’re done carrying sticks all day.”

The boys roared with laughter, some clapping their hands in approval. Kai walked over and clapped him on the back. “Lucky, that’s what you are,” he said with a grin. “Getting out of all this chopping. Just you and Delia, down by the creek. Bet that’s why you don’t mind so much.”

“It’s not like that.”

“Sure, sure,” Kai winked, leaning in conspiratorially. “Hey, speaking of ‘not like that,’ my brother said he’d teach me how to fight with sticks. Said I could bring some others along too – if we don’t mess around.”

Teng’s heart hammered in his chest. Kai’s older brother was practically legendary to the younger boys; he’d faced the sharp teeth of a tiger alone last year and lived to tell the tale, though his right arm had been mauled badly and he'd been forced to step down as a hunter. Just the chance to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him, to learn how to wield a fighting stick, felt like a call to something bigger.

“Really? I mean, he actually said that?” Teng asked, barely able to contain his excitement.

Kai nodded, glancing around to make sure no one else overheard. “Yeah, last night. But it has to be quiet and away from the village. Just us, all right?” He glanced at the boys stacking wood. “We’ll sneak off, but no word to the old folks. They say the spirits decide our paths, so no training until the ritual.”

Teng nodded eagerly, feeling a surge of energy he could barely contain. “I’m in,” he whispered, gripping Kai’s hand.

As he turned toward home, a grin stretched across his face. He felt the damp hides clinging to him, grounding him back in reality. For the first time in a while, he felt like more than just “the one with all the girls.” Then again, it hadn’t been that bad. A smile tugged at his lips. Delia really was pretty.

###

His mother entered the hut sometime after him, her face warm with a smile. She cupped his cheeks and tousled his hair playfully. He tried to pull away, but she held on, laughing, until he stilled.

“Go on, Teng,” she said. “Do what you like for the rest of the day. Tomorrow, we’ll be making things from the skins, so don’t have too much fun.”

His face brightened, and he scurried out of the hut. He passed by Uncle Bato, sprawled as usual in his shady spot, fast asleep, mouth open with a trail of drool to one side. Teng snatched up a fallen branch from the hemlock tree nearby and tossed it, sprinting away as Uncle Bato jolted awake, sputtering and cursing, vowing vengeance.

The day was warm, though he felt the coming of the cold season in the shifting wind and the shorter daylight. Soon the hunters would find fewer tracks, as beasts took shelter in places the cold and wind could barely reach, forcing the hunters to venture farther from the village.

Teng reached his favorite crevice and began the familiar climb. It felt easier this time; his steps seemed lighter, and he didn’t need to hurry. The sun was high, and he knew dinner wouldn’t be ready until it began to sink, just before dusk.

When he reached the final ledge, he moved quickly along the stone path, its surface seeming to glimmer beneath his feet. His heart beat with anticipation—he’d waited so long to return to this place.

He uncovered the small stones that hid the feathers and the bone, pulling them carefully into the sunlight. They gleamed as before, untouched by time. He’d thought about what to do with them over the past days. He knew marrow needed heating before it could be eaten, but he hadn’t even considered eating the feathers. First, he’d have to crack the bones—something he’d already tried, in vain, the last time he was here. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t chip a single piece.

Still, something had changed, even if he had only eaten the flesh. He could feel a new power within him. He could climb faster, jump higher, and breathe more easily. The essence had strengthened him in a way he’d never heard of—all from a single, strange blue bird. Sure, meat and blood made a body stronger over time, but not like this—not overnight, not from a single meal.

He ran his fingers over the feather, watching its delicate lines as a strange warmth began to settle into him, like butterflies fluttering deep within but softer, lighter. Maybe cicadas?

He dropped the feather, startled, as the warmth faded, pooling in his belly. With wide eyes, he picked it up again. Each time he focused on the feather, tracing its lines, he felt the essence within him stir, as if drawn to the mystery hidden within the strange pattern. The essence flowed through him, making him feel light.

He felt there was more—something he couldn’t quite name yet. As he put down the feather, he tried to keep his essence flowing as before, and for a while, it did.

As he drifted across the ground, he laughed, moving so freely, like in his dream, like a bird, like the blue bird he imagined soaring through the clouds. He bounded forward, springing lightly from one foot to the other, and each step felt as if it carried him farther than the last.

That damned monkey wouldn’t catch him now—it was as if the wind had become his friend, lifting him with each stride, nudging him forward, wrapping around him like a breeze that knew his every step. He felt his feet barely skim the earth, like his body knew secrets of the air he’d only just glimpsed.

One day, he thought, maybe I can soar too?

Smiling, he lifted the bones, marveling at how small and impossibly light they felt in his palms. Each one, no thicker than a reed and smooth as river stones worn down by time, held an unexpected hardness—unyielding to his touch, as if forged by wind and sky rather than flesh. Every bone was resilient yet weightless, delicate yet enduring. And from these too, he sensed… something. Yet, no matter how he tried to grasp their mysteries, the answer slipped away.

With a sigh, he gently tucked the treasures back into their hiding place. Focusing so intently had left him slightly woozy, more than it should have done, but there was a new bounce in his step as he climbed down the cliff, feeling lighter, refreshed. The bones too, held a special power, he was sure of it. To unlock the secrets of the feathers and the bones would be his honor, his way of showing respect to the bird and the sky spirit.

And now, he had more than just the mysteries to look forward to.

Tomorrow, he’d join Kai and the other boys for secret training. If his mother found out, she wouldn’t be pleased—and the elders would be furious. But what was the worst that could happen?

A grin tugged at his lips as he imagined himself sparring with a stick, learning from Kai’s brother, who had been a hunter.