A View from a Tree
Beccaroon cocked his head, ruffled his neck feathers, and spread his wings, not to fly, but to test the air. He stretched, allowing his crimson wings to spread. The branch beneath him sank and rose again, responding to his weight. Moist, hot air penetrated his finery, and he held his wings away from his brilliant blue sides.
"Too hot for company," he muttered. Having declared his opinion, he rocked back and forth from one four-toed scaly foot to the other on the limb of a sacktrass tree. The leaves shimmered as the motion rippled along the branch. "Where is that girl?"
His yellow head swiveled almost completely around. He peered with one eye down the overgrown path, and then scoped out every inch within his range of vision, twisting his neck slowly.
A brief morning shower had penetrated the canopy above and rinsed the waxy-coated leaves. A few remaining drops glistened where thin shafts of tropical sun touched the dark green foliage. On the broot vine, flowers the size of plates lifted their fiery red petals, begging the thumb-sized bees to come drink before the weight of nectar broke off the blooms.
Beccaroon flew to a perch on a gnarly branch. He sipped from the broot blossom and ran his black tongue over the edges of his beak. A sudden breeze shook loose a sprinkle of leftover raindrops. Beccaroon shook his tail feathers and blinked. When the disturbance settled, he cocked his head and listened.
"Ah!" he said. "She's coming." He preened his soft green breast and waited, giving a show of patience he didn't feel. His head jerked as he detected someone walking with the girl.
"Bah!" The word exploded from his throat. He flew into a roost far above the forest floor where he couldn't be seen from the ground.
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