a silent film he'd watched a thousand times before
Marcus let the circle tighten, each pass lower than the last, until the thermals softened and the layered sounds of the Celestine separated into individual threads. He angled his feathers and dropped, landing in a controlled glide on a sun-warmed outcrop overlooking one of the wider enclosures.
His talons found purchase in the stone. He folded his wings with a careful shake, feathers settling back into place. Marcus hopped once, twice, down the rock face to a lower ledge. A cluster of bright-plumed birds burst upward at the motion, and he stilled immediately, lowering his head and loosening his posture. When they resettled, he resumed, slower.
A scaled creature shifted near the waterline, and Marcus leaned forward, curious, memorizing the set of its armor and the lazy blink of its inner lid. Focused, methodical, he worked his way along the perimeter—never once lifting his gaze high enough to catch the silent watcher above.
His talons found purchase in the stone. He folded his wings with a careful shake, feathers settling back into place. Marcus hopped once, twice, down the rock face to a lower ledge. A cluster of bright-plumed birds burst upward at the motion, and he stilled immediately, lowering his head and loosening his posture. When they resettled, he resumed, slower.
A scaled creature shifted near the waterline, and Marcus leaned forward, curious, memorizing the set of its armor and the lazy blink of its inner lid. Focused, methodical, he worked his way along the perimeter—never once lifting his gaze high enough to catch the silent watcher above.
marcus olson
