Chapter 3 (Aitvaras)-the Preacher Arrives, pt. 1

I am still munching when the gravel grates outside the window. The view of the forest is truly stunning- this world continues to dumbfound me! A metallic beast not drawn by horses… Only… gasoline? Ah, there they are: whispers of the current time hiss at me, explaining the odd appearance of the horseless carriage that has pulled up in front of our house. Certainly it is not a carriage as I had first believed, but it is a motor vehicle. A car, powered by gasoline. Gasoline is a fossil fuel that comes from the earth Herself; humans have been foraging it for over a century. At last, my powers are returning! My adaptability grows, and the time’s whispers with it. This is the first part of my new life I welcome; perhaps if I change enough, I can shed the past. Yet, the past clings like a serpent’s ill-fitting skin, and I feel I will never be free...

Despite my growing awareness with my budding power, I shudder as I take in the scene. Horses or not, the car is very much alive. Its headlights are eyes that never blink, never sleep. The girl is speaking to someone inside the vehicle, and she sounds far from pleased. Whoever resides within chooses not to emerge from the vehicle, and drives off as soon as Birute stalks back toward the house. Up close, she is more frustrated than furious, flipping her ash-blond hair back as she bends down, attempting to scoop me up- futile, I might add, for I am no pet!

“Bad news, birdie. The roof leaks, and we’re far away from any decent plumbing company. Looks like we’re on our own out here.”

Once again, I snap at her fingers, but this time she does not even yelp, instead looking miserable at my refusal of affection. I am not a lap bird, girl! Still, looking at her reminds me of nights I found refuge in a simple touch. And she does look tired… Reluctantly, I allow her to stroke my feathers, for as one who has experienced it, I recognize the sound of overburdened woe in her voice. I still will not allow her to carry me, however.

***

Maybe it’s the candlelight, perhaps it is the shadows. This place, this cottage, feels familiar somehow. I long to know more, to understand its history- after all, if I am to linger here for the remainder of her days, I might as well know what this place is. The environment simply feels so lovingly, heart achingly familiar, as though I have already been a part of its history. Yet this wooden structure is only over a hundred years old, which is far too young to be from my time.

Before I can rouse myself, my new master bangs open the door, startling me. At first, I can understand why she blasts in. It is pouring outside, but she does not seem perturbed by the weather at all. Lacking a heavy rain coat or an umbrella, she is soaking wet, her hair dripping onto the welcome rug as she takes off her light jacket to dry it by the fireplace. Her dress underneath is just as damp as her outer garments. Fruitlessly shaking the rain off herself, she notices me in the corner for the first time. “Well, hello there. Gonna assume you’re hungry again.” As if she has to ask. She is not even bothering to change, she merely walks into the kitchen to prepare lunch!

Nonetheless, she is right. My belly rumbles as I follow her. Oh good, she has brought more cream and honey! It is only after I fall upon my offering that I see her sigh and collapse into her seat by the desk, her head in her hands. Something worries her mind, making her weak and tired. Though I have sworn to never care for another human again, my indentured servitude nature compels me toward her. She did take me in, and is clearly poorly off; if anyone were to need a good fortune, it is her.

I can help with such things. After all, good luck is one of my specialties.

She has returned looking completely exhausted- or perhaps that is the flickering candlelight emphasizing the shadows beneath her eyes. She stands up and flings herself in a decidedly unladylike fashion into the armchair. I observe her calmly, not budging from my corner by the stove. She should feed me more eggs or cream and honey. Sadly, she does not look ready to offer me more delicacies. After tossing a couple of logs into the fireplace, she finally notices I am still there, staring.

“What do you want? I just fed you!”