Scuse me all, have a ficbit.
Drift sat patiently, polishing his great sword, hoping that he would be visited again today. It had been a month since he’d first seen the little red and white bird with golden eyes, and he was very enchanted with it, for more than just its appearance.
A sweet melody filled the air, and he looked up with a smile as the bird glided down from a nearby tree and landed lightly on the great sword. Drift nodded to the bird once, not pausing in his polishing. “Hello Wing.”
The creature sang out a short tune, avoiding the hand that traveled the length of the sword to shine it, edging away or hopping over it, chirruping at Drift as he spoke.
“I missed you last time, were you busy?” Drift wanted to drop his rag and touch the bird, to embrace it, but he knew from experience that if he stopped polishing his sword, it would leave. The bird hopped onto the jeweled hilt of the sword, making it glow faintly, and Drift paused to watch. The bird was the only thing that made the sword glow like this anymore, and to him it was proof that it was Wing. What better a form for the jet who’d longed to fly wherever he wanted? The bird looked up and sang for Drift, making emotion swell up in the swordsmech’s spark as he recognized the tune as one Wing used to hum.
Drift let his hand drop to his lap, and Wing chittered reprovingly, hopping up the length of the blade and pecking at it where the rag had not yet touched. Drift laughed softly. “Yes Wing, I’m taking care of your sword.” He contined to polish, looking fondly at the creature perched near his hand.
He wasn’t sure if it was a real bird. Maybe this was just a projection, Wing’s spirit form and not a physical reincarnation. He’d never been able to touch, so he didn’t know. Sighing regretfully as he finished up, he turned his head to look at the now silent bird, a little sad since he knew Wing would leave once he was finished.
Th bird hopped down the blade and sat between Drift’s hands, fanning its wings a little before folding them again. Drift hesitated, but slowly, carefully leaned down, and the bird chirped once, streatching up and pressing hits head against his chin, letting him place a kiss on its forehead before it flitted away, circling above Drift and singing for him. Singing its own joy.
Drift sat for a while after the bird left, a bittersweet smile on his face. At least he knew the bird was real now.