She bent lower. Placed the basket on the ground. Cast a glance at Nair, then turned toward the mother hen behind him before whispering something unintelligible:
"M...mm sanestioewioni."
He didn't understand the word—wasn't even sure it was a word. But despite being unable to clearly see her facial features, he could still guess certain subtle details, drawn from his old human experience: the tone of her voice, the rhythm of her breath, her gestures... He possessed a strange kind of understanding, extracted purely from body language.
He had no reply, of course. A faint, delayed, trembling chirp escaped him—something like a shy "Yes?"
She moved closer and cautiously extended a finger—not to touch him, but to gauge his size.
"Ninezinenimih?"
He turned his gaze away, toward the hen in the background pecking at the grains as if nothing was happening. The one who was supposed to be his "mother."
A small pang struck his little heart. Maybe her question had been about the hen… or maybe his mind was simply projecting meaning onto the unknown. Still, driven by either shame or instinct, he bowed his head slightly, as if to say:
"Don't ask me about her… please."
Then, suddenly, her hands surrounded his entire body.
He didn't flinch. He didn't have enough energy left to flinch.
And then… he was lifted.
It all began with a shadow.
From his low position, her towering body seemed to belong to another world entirely. Her height, her breadth, the way her steps displaced the soil beneath them without care… as if the mountains themselves had decided to take a stroll.
In his previous life, he'd never felt this contrast. He saw humans as humans—of ordinary stature, nothing more. But now? He was more like an ant looking up at a marble statue.
A statue… that moved.
Then her hand began to move.
It approached slowly—no threat in its motion, no sudden strike. But despite its slowness, it was overwhelming. Like a mountain collapsing in slow motion.
He froze.
Part of him wanted to run—but his legs wouldn't move. And another part… didn't mind.
It surrendered. Like someone handing himself over to a fate he couldn't escape.
And when her fingers touched him, he felt something he couldn't name.
They weren't rough, but not as soft as he'd imagined either.
A quiet warmth—neutral, human. A palm holding him not like a being… but like an object in transit.
Then… he was lifted from the earth.
The height wasn't great, but from his perspective, it was shocking.
The soil that had been before him was now beneath him. The trees looked smaller.
The hens below moved like figures drawn on a floor painted with faulty perspective.
He felt a strange kind of lightness. Not the lightness of flight… but another kind altogether:
The lightness of absence. The absence of control.
His wings flailed weakly, his head drooped to the side, and his chest burned with something close to helplessness.
'I'm entirely in her hand.'
The thought struck him like a delayed slap.
To be literally suspended between someone else's fingers…
To be in the grip of a creature who doesn't know you—
and doesn't care to.
'I am no longer the one who holds… but the one who is held.'
In that moment, comparisons opened up inside him—ones he'd never had the luxury to think about before.
His entire height barely spanned two of her fingers.
His weight? Almost imperceptible.
His breath? Unheard.
He had once believed that weakness was a temporary phase—something you pass through.
But now he realized… weakness might actually be the default.
To be reborn… from below.
Without authority, without voice, without even the luxury of choice.
What truly frightened him… wasn't the height.
It was the dependence.
If her fingers relaxed—he'd fall.
If she squeezed—he'd break.
If she forgot him—he might forget himself along with her.
Fragile enough to fit in a palm—
and human enough to feel it.
When she placed him back on the ground, she didn't set him directly on the food.
Instead, she lowered him beside the mother hen.
A faint pang of disappointment passed through his tiny heart.
He would've preferred if she'd just placed him on the food.
For—truth be told—he had never truly accepted her as his "mother."
But the moment he touched the ground…
Time seemed to freeze.
It wasn't just a physical transition.
It was something deeper—an inner crossing.
For the first time…
he stepped out of the straw nest, into the open world.
Onto real soil.
Into air that didn't just carry the scent of eggs and hens—
but of life itself.
The ground beneath him was slightly firm, but solid.
He sat for a moment, eyes wide, surveying the place.
Then, after a bit of hesitation, he lifted his tiny foot—
and placed it down again.
A simple step.
But to him…
it was his first conscious one.
He took a deep breath.
And his inner voice whispered quietly:
"A small step for a chick…
but a giant fall for a former human."
* * *
The girl quietly walked away and sat beneath the shade of a nearby palm tree. She resumed weaving the basket from palm fronds, as if everything she'd just done was nothing more than a routine task. She didn't look back at him, nor did she say a word.
As for him, he remained in place for a moment, staring at the new ground beneath him.
It wasn't the soft, tangled straw of the mother's nest…
but warm soil—its grains rough and steady, saturated with the heat of the midday sun.
'Finally… real ground.'
Over the past days, he had tried walking inside the nest.
But every time, he fell.
The straw would slip, tangle around his tiny claws, betray him.
But now… this ground was level. It didn't move—
at least not all of it.
Around him, hens moved freely—pecking at the ground or clucking softly.
There was the sound of a thin string swaying with the breeze—perhaps drying lines or decorations strung between wooden poles.
The air carried the scent of coconut, old ash, and the distant breath of the sea… all mingling together.
He lifted his head slightly.
The girl—still there—seemed uninterested. As if he didn't exist.
'Good…'
He tried to stand.
He braced himself to fall like before, but—
to his surprise—he didn't.
His legs found the earth.
They didn't sink into straw. They didn't slip.
He stood.
He carefully lifted his right foot—then set it back down.
A soft sound: tok—on the soil.
Then he lifted the other.
A second step.
Just like that…
He walked.
'I'm actually walking.'
An internal astonishment, mingled with an overwhelming urge to laugh—
if only he had a mouth to do it.
He continued moving, step by step, wobbling with unrefined balance—like an amateur dancer at a local talent show.
And then, before his eyes, he saw something that made him quicken his pace:
A shallow round plate, filled with something that resembled crushed seeds.
Next to it, a bowl—half full of water—carved from dark wood.
He stopped.
He knew this was the goal:
Food. Water.
But he didn't know how to reach it.
And yet, with each step, the certainty grew inside him—
that reaching the food wasn't a matter of distance…
but a matter of layers.
The plate was shallow, yes—
but still above him.
And the bowl of water?
It loomed like the peak of an iceberg, casting a shadow from a height that mocked his ridiculous size.
He looked toward the girl…
No response. No glance.
The hens?
Each was lost in her own world.
'what should I do?'