For several days we saw very little of Maj. We did wonder what might have happened to her but didn’t dare go to ask. Her parents were never the warm, inviting kind of people, and we feared it might be them to receive us at the door instead of little Maj.

Of course, now we know where she was at that time. In those days she left her room only to eat meals and gather worms. It would have been a strange sight if anyone had paid her attention – the recluse worm girl. In a sense, I’m glad we didn’t catch her at it. We would have made fun of her for it, unable to understand the truth of the tale unfolding, just as some of my readers won’t get the truth of this tale unfolded.

And while we all thought she was in a bad fix, she was actually living some of the best days of her life. Piloncilus was a ray of light in her semi-dark world; a warm day in mid-autumn. And it was a warm mid-autumn day when that sunlight began to fade.

Cloudless skies over the course of a few days caused an accumulated warmth uncanny for those cold months. Maj normally left her Upperwindian friend in the top drawer of the small dresser in her room. That way there was no danger that he’d be discovered if her mother or father entered for any reason.

The day was so pleasant, however, that Piloncilus asked to be left near the window. The breeze and fresh scent from the Varjaw and Jiccirka reminded him of the fresh wind that always pushed past his nest at home. She agreed to it, knowing she would only be out long enough to grab a few worms. And she wanted him to be in good spirits for the surprise she was saving for him, a strip of meat ration she had pocketed from last night’s supper, and a pair of long, blue feathers she had found near the river. The meat, she thought, would be a welcome change in diet after several days of only worm. The feathers might remind him of home. Perhaps his thousands-of-years-old mother’s pinions lined the nest where he was hatched and raised.

She imagined the baby opinicus in his Upperwind nest for seven entire years. Boredom was her first thought, but he had mentioned that there was no boredom or loneliness there. She considered what it would be like to live in an egg for so long, waiting and listening without being able to say a word. Perhaps his fifty years as an egg was what made him so wise. The wisest people, after all, were those who first learned to listen. Her second thought was fear. He was so helpless, and it seemed risky having to be mouse-sized for years and years. Danger wasn’t the same in the Upperwind either, she supposed. But he had fallen into Lowerwind, and here in Lowerwind things were different.

Just then, the thought still echoing in her mind, she looked over her shoulder at the window of the room where she had left him. A pale cat with discolored tufts stalked along the roof. It sniffed at the sill and dropped down into her room.

“No! Stop!” she cried, sprinting back toward the house. “Stop! Stop! Pilo!”

The cat was still inside when Maj burst in. In one quick glance she saw two things at once. First, she saw the cat fly underneath the bed, a flash of cream and brown. Secondly, she noticed that the scarf-nest was empty. She lunged to the window and pulled it shut with a slam. The room darkened considerably. She knew that if the cat stayed in the room, she could be sure Piloncilus would too. She was determined to find him, even if she had to cut open the cat’s stomach to do so.

She threw herself onto all fours and saw the cat staring from under the bed, something fluffy in its mouth.

“Drop him,” she commanded, and slapped her hand against the floorboards.

The sound startled the animal. It dropped its prize to let out a sharp hiss.

“Now get out from there!”

Then she heard a weak chirp. That small sound gave her the courage she needed to charge. The cat hissed again, cowering to the corner. Maj reached out and took the grey-pink tuft of thin plumage into her hand, receiving a four-lined scratch down her arm as she did. She rolled out from under the bed and inspected the handful, for the first time totally certain it was her friend. Small beads of reddish black indicated where he had been hurt.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

“Oh, Pilo,” she whispered. She held him against her chest with one hand as she stood, and pushed the window open with the other. The cat stopped for one more hiss before leaping out, but Maj was too worried to be mad at it. She paid it no attention and fastened the window shut.

She laid out the scarf and gently set him on top. His breathing was rapid and labored.

“Can you speak?” she said, her voice shaky.

“Yes, Maj.”

“Oh, thank the Wind,” she muttered. “But you’re hurt.”

“Yes,” he said again.

She looked down at her shirt. The first day she had met him it was mud. This time spots of blood were stained into the fabric.

“I’m so sorry, Pilo. I’m so sorry.” She began to weep.

“Hush,” he said. “It was my fault if anyone’s. I asked to be left out in the open. But let us not jump to blaming people.” He shivered. “I am cold, and I bleed.”

“Okay,” she said, wiping a little spit off her mouth. “But I don’t know what to do.”

“Think it through, big one,” said Piloncilus. “Have you been hurt before?”

She looked at her arm. Tiny red beads began to form like unevenly dotted lines where the cat had scratched her. “Yes,” she said.

“And what did you do? What did your mother do?”

“She…” The girl sniffled, her eyes still blurry with tears. “She washed the wound. Then she bandaged it.”

“Then do that, Maj.”

And that she did. She pulled back his wings and feathers gently, looking for where the skin had been punctured. Then she dabbed a wet cloth on those spots, trying not to hurt him further. For once she felt too big for a job. Her tiny fingers felt fat and clumsy with such a delicate creature in her hands. Piloncilus remained still, trying not to chirp or jerk when pain stung through, but a few times the pain won out. The cuts were mostly on his back and wings. She had to pin his wings to his body to bandage him up.

“Well done, Maj,” he had said before falling asleep in her lap. Maj put her hands around him to keep him warm.

She left her room only for a quick lunch and to purloin two things from her father’s supplies, a leather pouch used for water, and a small box that had once contained a ration of black walnuts.

The pouch and the box were both for warmth. The bleeding had been controlled, but the shivering continued. So, she filled the leather bag with hot water and put it in the base of the box with the scarf-nest atop it. She tested the warmth with her fingers, not wanting to cook the poor opinicus-lion-bird. It was cozy, not hot, and perfect. The shivers quickly subsided, and Piloncilus could finally rest.

“I’m sorry you had to come here, Pilo,” said Maj after a long while in silence.

“Maj,” he managed. His head shook in weak, slow sweeps. “It has been the greatest gift of my life.”

“Stop.” She was crying again. “You don’t have to say those things just to be nice and make me feel better.”

“That’s not why I say it. I say it because it is true.”

“But life is perfect in the Upperwind. You said so. There’s no hunger, no sickness, no pain, no death.”

“I have learned the perfection of the Upperwind through the imperfection of your Tufaltha. There cannot be imperfection if there is not somewhere something perfect to compare it to. Do you understand that?”

“I think.” She leaned on the dresser where the box sat. He was beginning to speak like the old, wise dragon again.

“Here in Lowerwind, you can come to know perfection by what you suffer.”

She frowned, trying to grasp his meaning.

“I was dirty and cold when you found me. You taught me the value of cleanliness and warmth. I could never have known the satisfaction of Tufalthan fullness if I hadn’t first been hungry and empty. Maj,” he said, “what we lose teaches us what we have. The bits of perfection that we are and that we have are beautiful. Do you agree?”

She nodded. “I suppose so.”

“The bits of life that are letting me speak and breathe are beautiful. The sadness and worry in your eyes give testimony to the love and care you hold in your heart for me. Those come from the good times, bits of goodness we’ve shared. Do you see it, my big friend? Do you see it?”

“Not as clearly as you, I’m afraid,” she admitted, “but I think I get it a little.”

“Well,” Piloncilus said. “All that just to say, I am glad I was allowed the trip: falling through stars to be with you.”

“I’m glad to have met you too,” she said. “I just hope you’ll be alright.”

“Even if I would have died, it would have been worth it.”

“Don’t talk like that. You’re fine.”

The day darkened. She had refilled the bottle with hot water four times throughout the afternoon and early evening, and she spent a good while trying to figure out a way to keep him warm through the night. She decided on flipping the box upside-down and setting it over Piloncilus under her covers. The blankets kept her warm enough, so it should work for him as well. The box would keep her from crushing or bruising him if she rolled over in her sleep. Piloncilus agreed and was soon asleep under the walnut box.

He was tucked away, safe, and out of sight. Maj smiled to herself as she settled in under the covers. A lot had happened during the day. Her friend – perhaps her best friend – was hurt. But despite it all, she had saved him, bound his wounds, and kept him warm. She had done him good, and he had voiced how much he appreciated her and being a part of her life, her world, her… Lowerwind. She smiled and drifted into dreams, knowing rest was the best thing for them both.