"CHICKEN?" I chirp in outrage to the mockery of a comparison, clearly a response that the living alarm clock didn't expect.

Upon hearing my my shrill exclamation the wrinkled old man gasped loudly and staggered backwards, hands grasping at empty air as he desperately tried to catch himself. Of course, he fails to stop himself and topples overboard in a hilarious fashion, causing a modest splash of lake water to shower on-board, which I expertly dodge by hopping in reverse. In all honesty, I don't know why chicken offends me as much as it does, but that's besides the point, there will be no mercy to those who insult me as such! There will be a reckoning to be had!

I hop to the opposite side of the boat in time to see a wrinkled face pop out of the water, surprise written in every wrinkle. We silently meet our gazes for a few seconds before the man wades to the wooden pier and plops himself atop the old whethered wood with an excessively audible grunt. He takes a moment to compose himself and catch his breathe (mostly catch his breathe) before he looks back at me in shock.

"Did you just speak?" He gasps out between breathes, disbelief evident in his tone.

What a strange question. Is speaking so strange? I speak all the time, it's the easiest thing in the world! But now that I think about it, I haven't really heard anything else talk before. The closest thing to a conversation I've had was the little exchange I had with that blue bird when I first left my tunnel, although he never spoke, only responded, not really a conversation. Perhaps my unrivaled genius is to account for my linguistic talent! That must be it! Golly gosh I'm so amazing!

"Of course I spoke!" I say, perching on the boat's side. The man's look of shock evolved into flabbergasted at my answer. "I know I slept in your boat without asking, but that's no reason to call be a chicken! So rude!"

The man just gapes at me, unable to say anything other than eventually choking out a flimsy "s-sorry" as I stare him down. Silent seconds pass as a myriad of expressions form in the soaked wrinkles, from dumbfounded, to thoughtful, then calm, and finally resting at puzzled.

"You must be a tamed animal then" he says while nodding his head and crossing his legs to a sitting position. "Scared me half to death you did, then you made me think I was crazy!" he continues with expressive hand gestures. "I've never heard of a talking tame! That's unreal! What type of bird are you?" he asks with with unexpected cheerfulness and engagement.

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The answer is obvious... "I'm not a chicken" I say helpfully. I'm glad he's chosen to rectify his mistakes, he seems nice enough, I will consider forgiving his insult. It was quite enjoyable to watch him get drenched in that yucky water, I think we're even and he doesn't seem to mind being wet anyway.

"Indeed" He chuckles. "So why did you choose my boat as a bed? Also, where's your tamer?" as asks while twisting around to scan the treeline.

Tamer? I've never heard of that, but it doesn't sound very nice.

"I don't have one" I chirp.

The old man turns to face me again, this time sporting an apologetic look in those deep-set wrinkles, but not just apologetic, there's real in sorrow there too. "My condolences, I can only imagine the pain you must have gone through" he croaks, voice cracking in sadness. Maybe he lost his tamer? He obviously upset about me not having one. I seriously have no clue what it means. So confusing.

Time to change the subject!

"I was sleeping in your boat because I was suuuuper tired!" I say in attempts of changing the subject. Seeing him sad is making me kinda sad, those wrinkles hold great power! "But originally I wanted to use your boat to get to that big tree over there" I say while raising a wing and waving it behind me. "Would that be alright?" I appeal with my best singsong whistle.

"You... need my boat?"

"Yes please, I really, really need it and I promise to give it back too!"

The man looks at the boat, looks at me, looks at the tree, looks back at me and then looks at my wings. I already know what he's about to say and I can feel the embarrassment flushing my cheeks.

"If you're injured, I have some healing spells that should fix you up good as new!" he says with a smile. "Although I'd be a mite sad to see you leave so soon".

Not what I thought he would say, but this is even worse! He doesn't realize that I suck at flying, he thinks I'm crippled and can't fly! How can I tell him that I'm too fat!... I mean, not strong enough. I have to think quick, I need a perfect alibi to distract from the fact that I'm a failure of a bird and also convince him to lend me the boat. Something like 'My flaps need to recharge' or 'I'm scared of heights', anything is ok, as long as he doesn't know the truth.

"I'm not hurt, I just can't fly because I'm too heavy" I chirp without thinking... Oh god, what did I just say. What have I done? It just blurted out! I was thinking too hard and got distracted! He's never going to take me seriously now. I can already feel the tears welling up. It's all over, the boat, the tree, my only goals in life... all... gone, wasted by a single slip up.

The man offers no reply as he rises to his feet with another excessively loud groan and shuffles to the end of the pier while rubbing his knees. I can't even bring myself to follow his movement, I just stare at the place where his was sitting, too ashamed to react. Even if he pushed me off my perch, down into the watery depths, I don't think I would even care, maybe I'd welcome it. He probably hates me now.

"I don't mind at at all" He suddenly outbursts in a chipper tone, scaring me and almost making me jump overboard myself, he then reaches over and tugs the boat closer so he can board, startling me further. "I was actually going there to begin with. I wouldn't mind having some company for once! Certainly not everyday you get to speak with a talking bird!" he bellows as he deftly swings his body onto the center seat, pulls out the oars from beneath the seat and locks them into their little symmetrical notches at the sides.

"My name's Bartlon. And I have many questions for you, my little bird friend!"

All those tears that were welling up.. yep.. they're falling freely now. What a truly kind soul, to look past the faults of a bird unable to 'bird', this man is a saint, a very wrinkly, very old and a very soggy saint, but still a saint nonetheless.

"WHA- What did I do?" He worryingly asks.