Chapter 1, pt. 2-I Awaken

 The meal lulls me closer to my former, domesticated self. My eyes droop against my will as I gaze into the hearth, the flames reminding me disturbingly of my previous encounter with humans. The knights who almost destroyed me. The Teutonic Knights-I shudder involuntarily-are not anywhere nearby. For the first time in many years, I am safe. Safe enough for recovery; every morsel, every flame strengthens me. Unconsciously, I inch closer to the hearth, looking only into the orange, flickering spires of brilliance. Before I know it, I sleep black, endless dreams.

The girl now sits in the armchair, reading a book. For the first time, I care to notice that the words are in a bizarre language, one I do not recognize. Hmm, she must be well educated to read scripts in a foreign tongue! Noticing me staring at her--despite my efforts not to show it--she motions for me to flutter into her lap, but I turn my head away. She may have granted me shelter for the evening, feeding me and giving me respite, but I am far from grateful. We can be nothing other than foes. Master and servant. As Fate has taught me, such a combination can prove lethal.

“Suit yourself,” she murmurs, turning back to her book. All I do is return to meditating by fire light. Another life I didn’t choose, another human to serve. Lucky me. Turning back to the girl, I ruffle my feathers some more. Hunting those bugs does not seem so terrible now, for at least then, even in my weakened state, I was free. But no, the girl--Birute--had to find me beneath the linden tree. All there is left for me now is emptiness as the fire fails to warm me.

***

I awaken to an empty, silent cottage. I am still curled up by the fireplace, though the ashes have long since grown cold. My stomach rumbles, but I am too lazy to search for nourishment, so I tuck my head beneath my wings. I do not know or care where the girl is--or rather, I am struggling not to care. My duties are already twinging at me, trying to rouse me to action now that she is gone, but I ignore them. I am done serving people--not that I could, anyway, given my present condition... I tell myself this even as I know I can never be done doing so. It is in my nature, my life force, my essence to serve. I will never be free. Despite a thousand years of trying, I acknowledge servitude as my destiny even as I refuse to accept it. Humans cannot change; neither can I.

Though my eyes are closed, I sense her nearby. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I stir myself enough to raise my head over a wing. For the first time, I notice the shelves full of books, most of them in the unusual, unknown language, but some are written in Lithuanian. The more I observe, the more obvious it becomes: Birute is nobility. I have served enough to know the possessions common to all nobility: wealth, gowns, vast lands. Yet if she is indeed a noblewoman, her current living situation is ridiculous, for none of the hallmarks are here. The house is a crumbling ruin, her yard is meek, and the only hint of jewelry I can find is a golden pendant with a single, smoky quartz glinting in the moonlight. Indeed, the more aware I grow of my surroundings, the more I realize how worn down the structure truly is. Cobwebs sprinkle the corners and liberally smother the ceiling, the wooden planks are leaning, creaking together and apart. A windowpane is shattered, and another is boarded up completely. The floor I was snuggled into is a dirt one. Even the furniture is shabby, worn, faded. No riches to be found. Perhaps she is a noblewoman who has fallen into financial disgrace. It would not be the first time. And that is something I can easily remedy, if she deserves it.

I risk rising, leisurely stretching my feathers and begin trotting, pecking around. Truthfully, I am more curious about my new home than I wish to admit, though only as a necessity to know as much about my current master and home as I can. If she is cruel, I had best grow accustomed to it; if she is kind, I will reward her accordingly.

I hear humming outside the only intact window. I poke my head up to risk a glance, and see the girl bent over some bushes. She is picking raspberries! Strange behavior for a fallen noblewoman--most would wring their fair, delicate hands in worry, bemoaning their fate. Why do they always blame Laima when it is often themselves who have been careless with their wealth? No wonder she occasionally jinxes a mortal; I would find such cursing irritating myself. At best, nobles would be meditating silently on their grief. Far from doing either, this human is actually working the land. She is being useful.

This mortal is behaving so strangely! I will continue watching her before deciding how best to serve her, for serve her I must. My impulses will not be ignored for much longer. Perhaps things could be worse for me.

No sooner have I ducked from the window than she enters the cottage.

“Oh good, you’re exploring! You’re getting better. You were sleeping mostly for the past week. At least I didn’t kill you by accident…” I’m not so weak as to be killed by unintentional food poisoning, human.

“Hungry?” She asks. She then sets her basket upon the table and goes to the fridge to fetch my offering of milk and honey. At least she seems to understand her part of the bargain so far. I consume two bowls before I am satisfied. Then she makes her breakfast. Oh, she simply had to make--! Is that delicious odor--eggs! She is cooking another omelet!

When she turns her back, I cannot resist leaping atop the stove and pecking at it. “How the hell did you get up there?!” She demands, hands on her hips. She looks wary now instead of mothering. I jump back to the floor, determined not to look sheepish. Reluctantly, she sets the pan of pecked omelet down at my feet.