Winner of the 2024 Creatives Flash Fiction Contest, kindly supported by Fort William Mountain Festival and the Highland Bookshop.
Her wingtips brush my cheeks. They’re soft, softer than I thought they’d be, and I stop dead. She’s looking at me with one of her little brown eyes, watching from a silver branch as the frost flutters down below her.
She’s cold. I know it because I am too. When the world seems too big, what else can you do but head up and up and up until the snow steals the feeling from your toes and your lungs start to crackle? I rummage in my bag. Pull out a biscuit. I’ve barely had time to crumble it when she jumps into my hand and snaps it up, weightless and delicate, and I wonder for the first time if maybe, like her, I can make it through the winter.
She flutters back to her branch, puffs out her chest, and sings me a little song of joy.
Lead image by Rob Lovell