Thirty

Who can tell what a bird might know?

How did this one on the rooftop get singled out when the rookery was abandoned? Was it told to remain? Or can a bird have a destiny? Did this rook, its claws gripping the sharp angle on top of a gabled window, know what would unfold after its clamor flew away?

Or does it just watch, feeding during the quiet hours, sometimes flying in slow circles above the village to exercise its wings?

This morning, the rook watched as Geoffrey approached. He met a young woman along the way, a girl who smiled and greeted the student, “I know you, isn’t that so, Lordling?”

“Well enough to know my heritage, I see, not that I share it so liberally.”

“Rian told me so.”

“I misremember telling him.”

“Oh, Rian knows things, he does,” she said. “And your signet ring tells its own tale.”

“I would fain to misremember you, but I still have the bruises.”

The girl laughed, flashed her bright teeth and filled Geoffrey with something like love. “You aren’t cross with me, are you, Lordling?”

“How can I be cross ... even as you continue to bowl me over?"

“He said you had a sweet tongue.”

“Who is that?”

“Rian, of course.”

“I misremember giving him even the hope.”

“Oh, that’s wicked of you. Really,” she frowned. “It drips of venom instead, I see.” And she huffed off, despite Geoffrey’s loud protestations.

She would not hear him.

His heart sank, but Rian came to his rescue.

“She flirts with you!” Rian whispered as he came close.

Geoffrey was startled, Rian approached so silently.

“She turns her back to me,” Geoffrey announced.

“And isn’t that a kind of flirting?”

Geoffrey watched the girl's backside and thought, "Yes, it may be."