Havens by AdmirableMonster

Crane II

The cranes come to Sirion every year, a good omen.  Dírhaval often sleeps lightly, and it’s a good day when he wakens to the soft susurration of thousands of wings.  This year is no different; he’s out of his cozy bedroom in an instant and looking up.  The first cranes are often the biggest, those whose youth and strength and eagerness outstrip the more sedate pace of the others.  It will take hours for them all to pass on to the harbor, where they will begin their dances.

Someday, Dírhaval wants to write a poem that will capture the graceful dances of cranes choosing their mates.  Every year, he thinks he has it; every year, it slips through his fingers, but he always goes back, hoping.  He has a good feeling about this year, and he watches the cranes fly by as he breakfasts on hot porridge in front of a little fire in the main room.  His mother and sister wake a little later and join him.

“I wish the cranes came every day,” Egilona says.  “Then I’d never have to make breakfast again.”

Dírhaval huffs at this insult.  He does his fair share of the chores.

“Look,” Mother says, moving to the window.  “That one is hurt.”  She pulls her shawl closer about her thin shoulders.  “I don’t like such an omen.  What do you think it means?”

Following her, Dírhaval peers out.  The injured crane has landed right in their yard, limping slightly and dripping feathers.  “I think it means I will discover what cranes like to eat,” he says.  “Don’t worry, Mother, I’ll see that it’s all right.  If it made it this far, it will survive, even if it needs a helping hand.”