Rishona and Milo deal with brotherly squabbles.
A horrible squawk shattered the morning air and Rishona sighed, leaning against Milo’s shoulder. Her mate ruffled his wings with an answering sigh. “That’d be Misha.”
“MINE!” The squawker had amped up his volume and they could hear wings battering stone and brush. “It’s my spot! Get out!”
“And Taysiel,” Rishona groaned without lifting her head. “Flip you for it.”
“Not a chance. You’ve been named.”
Rishona poked her knuckle into her mate’s ribs and Milo yelped, laughing. Slowly, she stretched her wide, brilliantly white wings and stalked across the rocky plateau to where two of her fledglings were hammering at each other with wings and fists. “Break it up.” She caught Misha’s fist before he could land a punch to Taysiel’s face. “What’s going on?”
“He’s in my spot,” sniffed Misha.
“I was here first!”
Misha flapped his wings violently and Rishona glared at him. “You know this is where I always preen, Tay! I preen here every morning!” He looked up at Rishona pleadingly. “Mom, make him move.”
“It’s a big cliff face. Have you considered preening each other? Then you can both use the spot.” The pair glared at each other, repulsed by the idea. When they both took breaths to begin arguing again, she snapped, “I’m not going to hear any more of this. Share the spot or don’t. But stop fighting.”
Rishona leaned down and cupped her hand to Misha’s face. “You’re brothers,” she whispered more gently. “Share the spot.” Reluctantly, the fledgling nodded and she watched them settle into the brush-cushioned nook, preening each other’s feathers with nimble fingers. When she was sure they had calmed down, she walked back to where Milo was stretched on the stone, grinning. “Shut up.”
“I didn’t say a word.”
“And you’re doing it very loudly.”
Word Count: 300