Flying Blind

– Felix

Felix sat on the branch outside his nest, watching the sky grow greyer by degrees and trying not to be nervous. Call To Quarters was long finished. Even the common mynas had finished their screeching and the first of the koels was calling from nearby.

He spied the first star of the night and fidgeted. It was almost moonrise.

“This is stupid,” he muttered and tried not to fidget again. “Right,” he stood up decisively. “That’s—”

“Felix!” Manfred landed next to him as quietly as a hawk. “You did it! You waited for me!”

“Well, actually, I was just—”

“Come on. Let’s go. Before it gets too dark.”

“It’s already too dark.”

Manfred lifted off on quiet wings. “You’re not scared are you?”

Felix grumbled, let go of the branch, and followed his new friend. Taking off was also easy when you couldn’t see the ground.

“There you are,” Huma greeted them as they landed in Civic Park. “I was beginning to think you’d pigeoned out.”

“Is this it?” Felix asked, looking around. A magpie cleaned her beak with her foot, a kookaburra stared at the fountain, a crested pigeon roosted in the open, eyes almost closed, and enough seagulls to start a fatal fight if someone happened to throw a chip milled about on the open grass.

“Who’s navigating tonight?” Manfred asked, ignoring Felix’s question.

“Teri or Chandak, I think,” Huma replied.

“Chandak?!” one of the seagulls asked. “Isn’t she…errr…you know…a cleaner?”

As if on cue, a sharp flapping of crow wings created mass seagull panic. But it was short-lived. They circled straight back down again like seagulls.

“Did someone call for a cleaner?” The crow licked her beak. This time the seagulls stayed scattered.

“Listen,” the magpie cocked her head mid-preen; a deep, thrumming bass call reverberated across the park. It came from everywhere at once. “Must be Teri.”

Felix whispered to Manfred. “Teri’s a tawny frogmouth?!” He tried not to picture a big, sharp beak, or the fact he, Felix, was probably only a quarter her, the frogmouth’s, size. “They make me nervous.”

“You do know they don’t eat birds, don’t you?” Manfred whispered back.

“They do small ones, like us.”

The kookaburra turned from the fountain and leaned in to whisper to Felix. “I’d keep it down if I was you. She’s right next to you.”

Felix jumped, but laughed a weak sigh of relief when he realized the kookaburra was only joking. There was no bird near him. Not unless she was disguised as a broken branch. And really, they may be camouflaged, but surely not that—

“Hello, small bird,” the broken branch said, before flying to the ground and raising her voice. “Alright you lot. Listen up. Anyone wanting my services, follow me. First stop, the Tick and Cow.”

As the other birds rose into the air, Manfred slapped the still-frozen Felix in the beak.

“Ow! That hurt!”

“Are you coming?”

Felix was grateful for the safety of the flock as the dark grey twilight transformed into an inky black velvet. He was lost in seconds.

“Maybe this was a bad idea,” he whispered to the patch of slightly less dark beside him.

“At least you’re not as scared as Orville,” the patch responded in Huma’s voice.

“Orville?” Felix glanced around. “Is he here?”

“No. That’s my point. Now,” she continued. “When we get there, you’re going to want to find a species that’s used to long-distance flying—maybe a crow, or a silvereye, or even some of the honeyeaters—”

“An eagle,” Felix interrupted.

“Well…yes…if you have the guts. But my point is, the sooner you can ask the better. A couple of nectars in and all you’re going to get are fireside stories about the mice this big,” she held out one wing wide, “and the even bigger one that got away.”

Felix had the sense trees were closing in over them. He glanced up. Sure enough, the stars were blotted out by a leaf canopy. “Are we sure this is safe?” He asked.

“It’s too late for questions now,” Manfred told him, landing on a nondescript branch. “We’re here.”