His heart still carries on thundering wildly in his chest even though the fall is over and there’s no sign of an angry bear falling into any of the other nearby trees. Admittedly, he can understand why she didn’t leap too, probably intimidated by how completely graceful he made his descent look.
But now the world is upside down - the sky, the trees, the grass and dirt. From this angle it looks like the uppermost branches are green roots buried in an eggshell blue sky. He blinks, and when he opens his golden eyes again he is disappointed to find that he is still stuck in this unbecoming predicament. To be completely honest, he has exactly one idea to get himself free, which is to flap his wings desperately until something happens. But the only happening is shooting pain in the pinned wing that stills him meekly almost immediately, and a tiny whirling tornado of three leaves on the ground beside his other wing.
He hasn’t even noticed the sound of approaching hooves, or the silver-storm girl who pauses nearby to watch his struggle, so when she speaks it does not matter that the voice is softer than flower petals and definitely not a sound a bear would make. He still thrashes wildly with a yell that is decidedly not masculine, though once his golden eyes find her and recognize her shape as girl, the sound deepens before he cuts it off abruptly. “Ahem,” he snorts like he definitely hadn’t been yelling, looks a shade sheepish but definitely not nearly as much as he should. "You," and he grins lopsidedly, a soft light adding new depth to his golden eyes, “are a very quiet walker.”
Then he’s remembering belatedly the question she had asked, and he has the gall to hesitate a second and try to rifle through his brain for a single excuse to explain this situation away. Apple picking? Not an apple tree though, so that’s not really a better reason. Or maybe he saw an injured bird in the tree ..are there even any birds in the tree? He realizes he’s been quiet longer than necessary to answer such a simple question, but she is so pretty, the color of the sky before a storm and with such soft uncertain eyes that the urge to impress her is overwhelming. “Well, there was a bear.” He says, and at least maybe that will make him sound brave. Except that he’s dangling from a tree like an apple. That crooked grin reappears again, more bashful this time, and he shrugs awkwardly. “I swear this tree wasn’t here when I jumped.”
And he forgets all about her question, to which the answer is very much yes.
harbinger
the current is strong, my arms are weak
but you are the branch within my reach