The first raindrop hit my beak mid-yawn.
I blinked up. Gray clouds had crept in while I dozed, thick and heavy like a wool blanket pulled over the sun. The breeze had cooled. The air felt heavier, soaked with the smell of wet bark and ozone.
I didn't mind it at first.
I even liked the sound of the rain starting light little patterns against the leaves, the soft hissing of mist settling in. There was something peaceful about it. This felt something like nature's own white noise.
Then came the wind.
And the sideways rain.
And the roof leak in my second nest.
Turns out, the "perfect spot" the witch suggested was not, in fact, waterproof. The hollow in the tree fork had a hidden crack just above it, which now served as a delightful little funnel that directed rainwater right into my feathers.
I tried adjusting, shifting, pressing myself into the driest corner.
It didn't help. Every time I got comfortable, a fat drop of water would land on the back of my neck like nature's version of a cold slap.
By the time thunder rumbled across the sky, I was soaked, shivering, and 100% done.
I launched from the nest with a frustrated chirp and glided down through the rain.
The witch's house glowed gently in the gloom with a soft amber light behind a frosted window, flickering like a beacon. The smell of something warm and sweet drifted through the storm, and my wings instinctively angled toward it.
I landed on the porch railing, water dripping from my feathers.
She opened the door before I could even fluff myself.
"Well, look what the storm dragged in," she said with a smile, standing in a doorway that smelled like cinnamon and firewood.
I shivered. She stepped aside and gestured inside.
"Come on, then. No use being proud about it."
The inside of the cottage was like a hug.
The air was warm, filled with the scent of herbs and rising dough. A fire crackled in a stone hearth. A small black kettle steamed on a cast iron hook, and shelves lined every wall, jars of dried flowers, bundles of hanging herbs, stacks of books too old to have titles.
The black cat sat curled on a cushion beside the fire, looking supremely smug.
I hopped across the wooden floor, leaving tiny wet footprints. The witch clicked her tongue and pulled a towel from a chair, kneeling to gently wrap me in it.
She wasn't rough. She didn't coo or make a big deal of it. Just quiet hands, steady and practiced, drying my feathers like she'd done it a thousand times before.
"Storms come fast this time of year," she said. "Especially the ones that aren't just weather."
I tilted my head, beak poking from the towel.
She gave me a look that said You know what I mean and yeah, I kind of did.
Storms came fast in life, too.
She placed me gently on the wide wooden sill of her front window. It was dry, cozy, and slightly warm from the nearby fire. A perfect perch.
Outside, the rain intensified becoming heavy now, thundering against the roof, forming rivulets down the glass. But inside, the world felt slow. Safe.
She poured herself a mug of tea and took a seat across the room, pulling out her journal.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Well, I didn't speak at all. Obviously. But even mentally, I stayed quiet. Just… watching the rain. Listening to the fire. Letting myself breathe.
The witch glanced up after a long moment.
"You don't talk much," she said softly.
I blinked.
"Don't worry," she added. "I don't need you to."
She reached for something on the nearby table, a small wooden plate with two little honey biscuits. She slid it across the sill toward me.
I pecked at it. Warm. Buttery. Lightly spiced.
Comfort in baked form.
"I used to be like you," she said after a few bites. "Always rushing toward something. Even rest had to be earned. If I wasn't doing something 'important,' I wasn't allowed to stop."
She sipped her tea, eyes distant.
"I got tired. Eventually, I stopped chasing. And this place found me."
I chirped, softly. Not a question. Just a sound.
She smiled at it. "You'll find your place too, little soul. Or maybe you already have."
The fire crackled again. The storm roared outside, but it was background noise now. A distant hum.
For the first time since I'd arrived in this world, I didn't feel like I was just passing through. I didn't feel like an intruder. Or an accident. Or a soul misplaced.
I felt… present.
Like maybe I didn't need to prove anything to just exist.
Yet again, thinking that maybe, existing was enough.