“Which one is mine?” his ten little fingers pressed into the meniscus of the domed wall that sat in the center of the room. Tiny lights danced over the blue sphere inside. He looked over his shoulder for a response, his irises melting through a spectrum of cool colors, blues, and greens before settling into a hazel. He turned his gaze back to the lights. He was small and frail. Not much larger than a human boy of five. His hair had a feathery quality to it though it resembled more of human hair and was disheveled and spiked into many directions without order. His flesh nose was beak like in a long yet chubby oval face. Strips of white cloth wrapped around his body and his legs hooked awkwardly with features of a bird with long toes and tiny talons. The others teased him as a hatchling. The Elder called him, “My little Phoenix. How rare you are.”
“Which one is mine?” he questioned again his eyes widened turning a brilliant soft blue. His mouth half open in wonder and his face was bright with joy and bewilderment. “It doesn’t belong to you anymore than you belong to yourself,” whispered the Elder. The elder knew what the little one meant; he was attempting to help him speak correctly.
The Elder was a tall sender man of six feet. This time he wore a long white beard and the similar white body wrappings. Here appearance was irrelevant. Beings appeared as they chose or which best reflected their true nature. His eyes shone with silver and his grey hair hung below his shoulders in clumpy waves.
The Elder’s long fingers scruffed the feathered hair of his little companion as he knelt down by his shoulder. “But if you must know, that one..” His boney finger pointed towards the brightest dancing ball of light in the blue sphere.” He whispered into the boy’s ear, “You belong to that one.”
C. A. Ostrout 