Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!”
The witch brings me news, supplies and quests.
She must be stealthy. If she ever brings trouble to the blast doors I cannot let her in. She is getting old now. Her close cropped hair is grey, white and silver under her helmet. Her face has always been gaunt but now her eyes have faded and her eye lids droop a little.
Lately I have helped her when I find her on my perimeter. A crow snaps twigs to distract a scouting party. An owl drops tinder into a campfire fire to cause a billow of black smoke to warn that people are near.
They are little things I don’t tell her. There was a time I would report on my progress, I’d tell her how much further I could sense. But I do not seek to please her any more. I have met her purposes and she does not question me about new skills. Only my kills.
I sit on the floor of the eyrie and close my eyes. I reach out to my birds, pictures flitting through my mind until I see a movement I want to follow. The witch. I settle in with one small bird to track her progress. Sometimes she stops and stares at my birds. I have many.
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There are rules about getting in to see me. The witch must use all her subterfuge to get to my tower and I must put her through all the checks. When I was young she could sneak up on me easily. She came often when I was young and she stayed and taught me more of how to live, how to scout, how to push at what I could do from my tower.
When I let the first bird roost up above she told me to kill it and I did of course. Unquestioning.
But when the next bird began to build a nest I let it. If it interfered with my organic system I would move it out. In and out it flew. Sometimes it fluttered down the stairwell and stole some of my hair. My hair is bio-wrought. Strong and soft and malleable by me wherever it goes. The bird built a microcosm for its eggs. One thought from me could have crushed the shells and trapped the bird. But I cradled the small family, made room for her mate. I brushed each alabaster orb with my hairs and maintained their temperature.
When a hawk came to steal a chick I shot it dead. It was only the work of nine hairs to form the arrow.
Later the owls came. I offered them sanctuary too.
The birds got on well with my system and one night, as an owl took flight and hunted its meal, I found I could go out too. I had eyes. I could go outside.