that this is what she meant, and certain that his people would celebrate him for bringing back such wisdom. But Mole had only a moment to savor this feeling before a shadow flickered across his face. He looked up to the sky. High above he saw a single dark speck amongst the blue expanse. He felt his stomach rip open then, for he knew his mistake. He saw his lead cloak lying in the sand beside him, and he cursed himself for his idiocy. Quickly he threw the cloak over himself, praying the bird had not seen him. His heart racing, Mole turned and slid down the length of the Great Dune, having no time to bid farewell to the Oracle who had, for the first time in his life, given him a blessing. He hoped that even if he had been spotted, that the cloak may prevent the bird from tracking him — if he was swift. He cast aside any fears over his water supply and resolved to return home as quickly as possible. But within the hour, the sun had been blotted out by a mass of metal wings beating against the sky. The mechanical murmuration hovered ominously above Mole, casting him in darkness. He had never seen such a swarm gathered, and he could not suppress the feeling of awe. The swarm pressed downward, churning the sands around Mole. He shielded his face from the grains which whipped across his cheeks, running hopelessly onward. But as they pressed in on him, the sand and wind became so fierce that Mole could do little more than cower on the desert floor. As he lay there, awaiting his death, he cursed God for his sour lot in life. He cursed God that he would tease him with greatness, only to snatch it from his grasp. He cursed God for taking his parents, for his hideous form, for his profound loneliness. He cursed God that he had ever been born. He considered the possibility that perhaps the birds would take pity on him. Perhaps they would see what an ugly, pathetic human he was and let him live as some cruel joke. But then the first of the metal beaks tore into his flesh, and he screamed in agony. He clenched every muscle in his body, fearing the next stabs that would tear him into pieces, soon to be forgotten. But then, abruptly, it stopped. The wind seemed to calm around him, and he was left only with the searing pain. He opened his eyes and looked at the flesh on his arm they had been cut through. There was a clean slice, oozing a thin stream of blood. And then, beneath the veneer of blood, there was something he had not expected to see — a metallic sheen. Compulsively, he reached and peeled back his skin, looking deeper into the wound. Beneath his skin, Mole saw wires and steel where veins and bone should be. Mole trembled with shock, lying alone in the sand wastes, until a single falcon descended from the swarm and stood just before him. He looked up and stared into the bird’s eyes, who stared evenly back at him. Mole found no judgement, no fear, no scorn in the bird’s gaze — all things he had come to expect from the people he’d known all his life. He saw only a patient acceptance. And as Mole shivered amidst the burning heat, he felt a creeping relief that perhaps, all this time, there had been a reason he never belonged. REUNION - @CHRISTOPPERART No. 137
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