– Felix
Felix glanced around. Everybird in the bush was here. Not just mudlarks but fairy wrens and honeyeaters; finches, sparrows, and miners; even lorikeets, galahs and cockatiels.
“Go Felix!” Someone yelled. Oh and of course, seagulls. He waved at Sarah and Steve and they gave him a pair of reassuring grins and ‘primaries up’.
He wondered if he should be nervous.
Ms said something but he couldn’t hear her over the sound of the wind whistling past the trees—and the thumping of his own heart if he was going to be honest with himself.
“How long did she say we have?” Igor squeaked.
“Til sundown, I think,” Bert said.
Douglas Douglas fainted.
Ok, Felix thought to himself. I can do this.
Granted, this was an unfamiliar section of the river, but somebird had gathered mounds and mounds of feathers and heaped up a pile of perfect pebbles. He glanced at the seagulls again. Steve winked.
He studied the muddy bank for strength and inspected the structure of the trees. It’s no different to last time, he tried to reassure himself. He found just the right tree, surveying the angles of the branches before choosing the perfect spot. The wind made it sway but not so bad to make him tree-sick.
Orville, Bert, and Wilbur chose their own spots close by. None of them spoke as they laid their mud bases. Felix collected feathers, hairs, and twigs, sticking them to the wet mud of the base.
He grabbed his keypebble before he forgot: placing it in the middle of the base for safe-keeping until he needed it.
One beakful of sticky mud at a time, he laid the walls. This was where the real secret lay, he was sure. Getting those feathers in at base level, while the mud was still wet: he wanted a soft layer that Amelia would love him for while sitting on their egg. The stickiness helped stop the feathers from escaping, too: this wind was getting tricky. Then, it was a simple matter of maintaining a thick padded lining all the way up the walls. Ms and Amy bobbed from nest to nest, whispering together like co-conspirators, but he ignored them.
From time to time he frowned as he checked and re-checked his physics. Every now and then he remembered to keep track of the sun and check his progress, to stay focused on the world around him.
The sun was in Felix’s eyes when he finished. Remembering Ms’s advice, he dunked himself in the river, watching the filth runoff until the water ran clear. Shaking himself dry, he perched on the branch next to his masterpiece.
He grinned at Orville and reminded Bert to rinse off in the river before giving him and Wilbur a primaries-up. He looked back at his perfect nest. A flower caught his eye. It was a wild violet. He plucked it, knowing Amelia would love it.
“Time,” Ms called. The last cocklings finished whatever they were doing with feathers and straw and hurried to settle in front of their masterpieces.
A near silence descended over the gathering, broken only by the occasional nervous plop of guano, an irritated pick at fleas, and the rustle of the wind.
Felix looked at his classmates. Where were the henlings? Orville shrugged. The sky turned golden yellow.
Just when Felix couldn’t take the waiting any longer, the henlings circled overhead.
“Sorry we’re late, Stormfeather.” Amelia said as they landed, shaking clouds of dust from their feathers. “It’s that westerly. I hope we didn’t keep you waiting long?”
“We weren’t waiting at all, my dear,” Ms replied, taking Amelia’s wings in her own. “My cocklings are honoured to have you here.”
“It’s a privilege to be here,” Amelia replied. She turned to the cocklings and raised her voice.
“We thank you all…” she said, although Felix could see she was looking directly at him, “…for the honour of judging your constructions and allowing us to choose you as our mates.”
“Allowing us?!” Douglas Douglas scoffed. “She doesn’t have to rub our beaks in it. We know it’s a hen’s world.”
“Oi,” Felix shushed him. “Don’t talk about her like that!”
Amelia strode to the first nest. It happened to be Orville’s. She called Durba to join her and they ducked inside. The rest of the henlings waited. The cocklings waited too: it seemed the afternoon for it.
When the pair finally finished their inspections the rest of the henlings puffed out their breast feathers, glided to the muddy bank, and strutted in and out of nests together, picking things apart, bowing their heads, whispering to each other. Felix felt sorry for the cocklings getting their work analysed and inspected literally to pieces. He made a note to check on Bert later, to cheer him up after the henlings walked right past his perfectly serviceable nest without a single glance; when a crash and a scream from the other end of the testing ground turned every head.
It was Igor’s nest. He’d built it just a bit too high, on a branch a bit too thin, on a day too windy by far. For a frozen moment in time no-one reacted. Then everyone reacted at once: Orville scrambled, reaching Igor’s side first, Bert and Wilbur right behind him. Even Douglas Douglas was there, offering platitudes. Felix exhaled. He wasn’t sure if he was feeling relieved that it wasn’t his own nest or guilty for thinking it in the first place. The henlings went back to their inspections. Igor stood stoically at his broken nest as his friends returned to their own.
“That,” said Ms. “Is survival of the fittest. Life is cruel.”
Felix felt tears burn behind his eyelids. He swallowed, and held his head higher. Bobbi walked past him, saying something tearful and sweet about his violet. Felix remembered how he used to feel and almost gave the flower to her.
He failed to notice that none of the henlings went inside his nest.
A cheer at Douglas Douglas’s nest caught his ear and he looked over in time to see Orville slap him on the back. Felix craned his neck but he couldn’t see what was going on.
There was some kind of fuss going on at Igor’s broken nest, too, but a glimpse of soft white chin was all he could see there.
Another cheer went up at, this one over at Denny’s nest.
The crowd tittered its approval at things Felix couldn’t see while he hopped from foot to nervous foot. He even noticed a surreptitious cockpurse or two being emptied on the odd lost wager and cursed himself for not thinking of that.
Where was Amelia? He saw Amy and tried to catch her eye, but her head was bowed too low. Was she crying?!
A jolt of fear pierced him. He nearly left his post, nearly went to ask her what Manfred had done to hurt her, but he didn’t want Amelia to get the wrong idea when she found his nest empty. He hoped Amy would understand.
Evolution: it's for the birds 