Chapter Two Everly #2
Yes! I wobbled, uncoordinated for a moment, then flapped in a loose circle, rising higher, until the thermal stopped carrying me.
Then I thrust my wings out and soared.
It felt a lot like body surfing. A powerful force pushed me along, and if I angled my body just right, I could keep the soaring going for a very long time.
I caught thermal after thermal, soaring longer and longer.
First, over Anchorage, then over the more rural areas until I reached mostly uninhabited, wild land.
Here, I followed my incredibly keen eyesight, and lined myself up toward the mountain range I felt the call coming from, and just kept going.
My heart slowed. It felt... like I was made for this. Not me as a raven, but me as Everly.
I’d always been afraid of heights, electing to get the aisle seat every time I flew in an airplane, and never climbing anything I wouldn’t want to fall off of.
But as a bird, I was controlling my flight, and I knew that I could save myself if something happened.
That feeling, it slowly started to change my fear.
I felt... free.
I even closed my eyes for a few seconds, enjoying the feeling of the air moving through my feathers.
Whew, this wasn’t as awful as I thought it would be! I was flying, and I felt like I was making good time as I continued to head for the mountains.
I just hoped the weather stayed clear.
Because there was no way I was flying in a storm.
I'd cursed myself.
I huddled in a tree, miserable, fighting to stay on my chosen resting branch as the wind whipped around me and snow flurries gusted hard, making both the branches and the tree itself sway.
I'd found a small notch in the trunk, just large enough for my plastic bag, and had stuffed it there immediately.
But there was no safe place for me to hide from the storm.
Not cute little dens of friendly animals offering me shelter like in the animated movies, just the relentless wind and snow, with no one in sight.
There were no animals, that I could see, and there were certainly no birds. I imagined all the sensible birds were home with their little families, enjoying dinner.
My stomach felt hollow. If I didn’t get something to eat soon, I was going to be in trouble. The only food I’d been able to find so far had been something dead, and that had been an immediate no from me.
Cheeseburgers—yes. Road kill—no!
Thankfully, I’d been able to just get a beak full of snow whenever I was thirsty. Or, when I flew over a river system earlier in the day, stop for a bit, rest and drink my fill before starting again.
I wasn’t a fan of starting again. The effort it required to lift off the ground about killed me.
The rest of that day and night dragged on forever.
Crouched low on my branch, I tried to keep my center of gravity steady and use the trunk and limbs as natural windbreaks.
It helped a little, but not enough. It wasn’t the cold that got me—my feathers were insulated, it was the wind that kept tossing me around like I weighed nothing, and the snow that pelted me so hard it felt like hail.
At least I'd made good distance today.
I clung to that thought as the long night pressed on.
By the next morning, the wind had died down, and the snow had turned to light, playful flurries.
The sun peeked out of the clouds again, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
I was beyond exhausted and sore from my vigil last night.
I hadn’t slept at all. I’d had to cling to my branch to prevent myself from getting blown out of the tree, and everything was sore.
I wasn’t sure how it worked, but it seemed like I had more stamina and health as a raven, but, it was ultimately still my body, just in raven form. Which meant that I was still sick, and I still had very limited amounts of energy.
My plan today was to conserve as much energy as possible.
I wanted to test riding the thermals higher today to see if I could find favorable winds to keep my momentum going with minimal effort.
I wasn’t being lazy, I was being realistic.
Raven or not, I couldn’t comfortably keep up this pace.
Last night’s sleep deprivation had at least given me time to strategize, and I felt like this was a good idea that was at least worth checking out.
I retrieved my ziplock bag from the notch in the tree and took off again.
After finding my first thermal, I let it take me as high as the thermal would carry me, the soared for a bit until I found another one, rising into the sky like stair-steps.
Once I felt like I was high enough up, I started testing the air currents.
Using this method, and using the air currents to propel me forward, I made good progress. I would ride the air currents until they weren’t favorable anymore, soar for a bit, find another thermal, rise, then start the process all over again.
I’d encountered a few other birds. A peregrine falcon harassed me for a while, almost like it was play fighting, or maybe just being a bully, until I squawked at it in irritation. My squawks, I think, didn’t sound like a raven’s, which scared the crud out of the falcon and sent him fleeing.
I didn’t care why he left, just that he did.
He probably went home to tell his falcon buddies that he’d met an alien.
All day I flew, until I finally reached the foothills of the mountains.
I found a tall, snow-covered pine and rested again, trying to get my bearings. I seemed to have some pretty astounding directional instincts. And I knew they were from the raven portion of myself, because Everly the human was hopeless at directions.
I was exhausted. Really, I’d passed exhausted, and was now in the dangerously weak range of things.
I hadn’t found any food again today, and I’d taken the time to search. I thought there might be some early budding berry bushes, but no such luck. I’d thought all day long about my favorite meals, torturing myself as the miles passed beneath my wings.
Wherever I was going, I just hoped they'd feed me.
On the morning of the fourth day, I finally found the source of the call.
A massive cabin nestled against the snowy mountainside, all rustic logs and wide eaves. From the sky, it looked like a single story—but it sprawled, stretching across the snowy landscape with a winding road leading down to a town nestled in a valley.
And out front, was a man.
He stood near a stump, chopping wood with the kind of precision that only came from doing it daily. He was enormous—tall and broad with thick, muscular thighs and arms. As a woman, I was above average in height, but standing next to this guy as Everly the human would've made me feel pocket-sized.
His axe lifted and fell in a steady rhythm. A large stack of firewood rested at his feet.
I hovered nervously, watching him. My instincts insisted that the call was coming from him. I turned back to his house, thinking maybe it was something or someone in there, but quickly looked away again and shook my head.
Nope. It was this guy.
After confirming the call was coming from him, I watched for a while, unable to look away.
I didn’t have to question whether he was supernatural—I could feel it in the air around him, a subtle hum that brushed against my feathers like static.
Shimmery colors rippled across his body in slow, mesmerizing waves—soft violets and ice-blues glimmering along his skin, while deep, rich reds pulsed beneath, molten and alive, like magma trapped under bedrock.
He was magical.
Definitely.
And yet, I wasn’t afraid of him. I’d been prepared to be afraid—reason dictated that I should be—but I wasn’t. To me, he felt as solid as the earth, or like the mountains themselves.
However, unafraid didn’t mean I couldn’t be cautious. I landed in the snow a good three feet away from him, giving myself enough space to fly off again quickly, and waited for him to notice me.
When he did, he dropped the axe on his foot. But he didn’t seem to notice the pain as he stared at me. And stared. And stared…
That… wasn’t the reaction I’d been expecting. I was pretty sure he could tell I was a human trapped in bird form. Was he reading my—what, my energy or something?
He fell to his knees, and I hopped back just in case. But he made no move to grab me. He just kept staring. His eyes took on a liquid sheen, and I swallowed.
Oh, man. What was it? Was I like the bird harbinger of doom or something? Was this a curse and not a magical blessing?
He looked stunned. Flattened. Like he’d just heard tidings that completely changed his world.
I scrunched my head into my neck and held very still until he processed whatever he was processing. I was still prepared to bolt if necessary, but I didn’t think I’d need to.
Up close, he was enormous—practically a mountain with eyes. But then he lowered himself, slow and careful, like he didn’t want to frighten me. It shouldn’t have mattered—I didn’t scare easily—but the gesture still tugged at something soft in me.
"Who are you?" he finally asked.
His voice was deep, resonant, and comforting, and my feathers fluffed instinctively at the sound. When they did, I sighed in relief. I kept forgetting to do that—it helped keep the cold out better.
I took a few awkward hops forward and dropped the battered ziplock bag I’d been carrying for hundreds of miles at his feet. I’d gotten used to flying these past few days. Walking? Not so much.
"You want me to read this?"
I bobbed my head, immediately lost my balance, and face-planted into the snow.
Stupid raven body.
Oh, well. At least I’d gotten used to flying. The rest couldn’t be that hard, right?
The man chuckled softly and helped me back up. Then, almost as if he couldn’t stop himself, his fingers brushed down the feathers along my back. The gentle touch made me shiver, and before I could process the feeling, he’d already opened the bag and begun to read.
His expression shifted as he read—surprise flickered into concern, then deepened into something more complex. The muscles in his jaw tightened; a faint line formed between his brows. When he finished, he exhaled slowly, like he was trying to steady himself.
And then he looked at me.
Really looked at me.
There was something in his gaze I couldn’t quite name. Wonder, maybe. Or recognition. Whatever it was, it filled the air between us, humming through the space like unseen magic. I held my breath, waiting for him to speak.
"I'm sorry, Everly," he said gently. "This must be overwhelming. And you look like you haven't eaten in days. Why don't we get you inside? You can eat, rest, and then we'll talk."
I bobbed my head in acceptance of his plan, and hopped after him as he grabbed an armful of firewood from the pile at his feet, then strode through his cabin door, leaving it wide open for me hopping and walking like a drunk behind him.
Exhaustion weighed so heavily on me, I couldn’t even walk straight.
I stumbled, bumped into things, then finally made it into the cabin.
I took a moment to look around. It was warmer—I noticed that instantly—with light wood floors, thick rugs, and the scent of pine and smoke from a long-dead fire. I flapped awkwardly to the couch and collapsed onto a soft pillow, trembling with relief.
The man returned with a plate of chopped food and set it in front of me.
"I wasn't sure what you'd want—there's venison, blueberries, and some nuts. Eat what you can There’s plenty more."
I bobbed my head in thanks, then scarfed it all down, barely stopping to breathe.
The man set a bowl of water near me, filled to the brim, and I finished that too.
After my stomach was full and my thirst satiated, I couldn’t keep my eyes open.
They blinked, then blinked again, the pauses between each one growing longer until they refused to open at all.
"Rest now," the man said gently. "We'll talk when you wake up."
I tucked myself into the pillow's warmth, hoping he was as kind as he seemed, and then I slept.
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