“BIRDS!”
Lord Bellinghams’ sudden exclamation made Percy shoot upright in his comfortable chair. Percy had gotten quite used to the silence which had now been broken. It took him mere moments to compose himself, which he did in mildly embarrassed silence.
“BIRDS!”, Lord Bellingham repeated, at an even louder volume.
Again, Percy let the silence linger. It was his fervent hope that if he chose to ignore this outburst, Bellingham would return to his usual state of topor, and Percy could resume his own mental wanderings, thinking thoughts that were, he decided, were too awful to give a voice.
This was not to be.
Lord Bellinghams gaze fell on Percy. And though Percy, eyes cast downward, was making a concentrated effort not to notice, the weight of the Lords eyes fell on him heavily. Too heavily, it would seem, to be ignored.
“You there! Have you ever given thought to the arrogance of birds?”
Reluctantly, Percy raised his eyes upwards, returning Lord Bellinghams’ glare.
“No”, he answered, vainly hoping that a simple response would be the end of it.
At this, Lord Bellingham leaned in, as if he considered the matter too sensitive for public discourse. Seeing as how the distance between Percy and the Lord was so wide, this could be seen as a comical affectation.
Were Percy in the mood to be amused, which he most assuredly was not.
Bellingham thought better of this, and leaned back. This was not a matter for discretion, he inwardly decided. It was a matter of grave importance. He buried himself in the folds of his seat, as if using it for a shield.
Lord Bellingham drew a deep breath.
“Well, I have, dear boy. And you should, too. Consider the old aphorism: ‘If man was meant to fly'”…
Bellingham looked at Percy expectantly.
“If man was meant to fly…”, he repeated, his tone slightly more hectoring.
…”God would have given him wings”, Percy finished, under duress.
“Indeed so”, Bellingham smiled, satisfied.
His face grew dark.
“And so he didn’t. He gave wings to birds. But I ask myself… why them and not us? What value does the bird have to our Creator that they are so gifted?”
Lord Bellingham let the question linger in the air, musing on its intricacies.
“They fly, they soar, they traverse the sky as we swim in the lakes and seas… and this makes them arrogant.”
Percy couldn’t help himself…
“Arrogant? I don’t see how–”
“Yes, dear boy! Arrogant! How could they not be? Gifted as they are, favored over all land-bound creatures! Birds are as arrogant as the day is long, and this is what makes them dangerous!
“I’m afraid I don’t understand…”
“Use your head, you callow fool! Birds don’t have souls! How long before their sense of superiority transforms itself into hatred? How long before they turn against us, their so-called inferiors?”
Percy laughed involuntarily, thinking this a joke. But the cold-eyed stare he received from Lord Bellingham made him swallow his mirth.
This was no laughing matter.
“Mark my words: one day, they will rise up, a winged force of retribution! And when that day comes, our civilized society will be ground to dust!
Lord Bellingham sighed, turning to stare out the window.
His eyes focused in on a small, fluttering shape, lit by the glow of the moon.
A lone raven returned his gaze…
Pryorball. 