Riding the Little Bird, Pipi
"Riding the little bird, going now, Pipi."
"Pipi?"
Popcorn tilted his head.
The little bird didn't seem able to fly.
It flapped its wings furiously, but only wind came out. It never lifted off the ground.
Of course not.
That wasn't how you flapped your wings.
Popcorn had known how to fly since the day he was born. Maybe this little bird simply didn't know how.
"Pipi!"
Unable to watch any longer, Popcorn flew over to the little bird and demonstrated.
Like this, Pipi.
When he showed the proper flapping motion, the little bird watched quietly before trying to copy him.
Smart bird, copying me like that.
Popcorn flapped harder, delighted.
Teaching someone something was fun.
The little bird still couldn't fly, but its wings moved at an incredible speed.
It was incredibly strong.
Popcorn found himself impressed without meaning to.
This bird really had tremendous power.
Its wingbeats were strong enough to send Popcorn flying.
"Pi!"
Come on! You can fly too.
While cheering from the side and flapping his own wings, Popcorn suddenly realized the little bird had lifted slightly off the ground.
He felt proud of the little bird.
"Pipi!"
Good, faster, flap faster. More, more.
As he cheered and flapped, the little bird followed with all its might.
Popcorn and the little bird kept flapping vigorously.
The little bird didn't seem to notice yet, but it had already risen high enough for its shadow to appear on the ground.
".... Pi...."
Popcorn's own shadow was missing.
Only the little bird's shadow lay on the ground.
Feeling a little sad, his wingbeats slowed.
The little bird's wings slowed too.
"... Ppi-ppi!"
The little bird dropped to the ground in an instant.
"Ppi? Ppi? Ppi-ppi-ppi?"
The little bird sprang up.
Falling was only possible if you were in the sky.
If you stayed on the ground, you couldn't fall.
The little bird seemed to have realized this.
It spun around happily, dancing.
Popcorn spun with it, delighted.
"Pipi! Pipi-pipi!"
When Popcorn suggested they try again with more energy, the little bird mimicked him and chirped "Ppi-ppi."
Suddenly, he thought of the children in their human forms.
When one of them shouted something, the others would copy it.
Now Popcorn was doing the same, and it made him happy.
Pipi-pipi, I need to show off something cooler.
Thinking this, Popcorn puffed out his chest and flapped his wings powerfully.
The little bird immediately copied him, flapping its wings.
A tremendous gust of wind rose, sweeping Popcorn away.
It had happened before, but it was fun.
It felt completely different from riding the wind as usual.
While Popcorn was being blown around and playing, the little bird had already risen higher than the grass.
Pi! Good, keep flapping like that.
Popcorn flapped his wings hard alongside the little bird.
In an instant, they rose higher than the tallest trees.
The little bird seemed surprised to find itself above the trees.
Its golden eyes blinked rapidly.
Those eyes seemed to say You're amazing to Popcorn.
He didn't have a nose, but somehow it felt like his nose was lifting higher.
Wait, did Popcorn even have a nose?
Dad, does Popcorn have a nose?
While tilting his head in confusion, he heard his dad's voice from far, far, far away.
[Popcorn, where on earth did that kid go?]
Ppit!
Dad!
Dad's over there!
Popcorn immediately turned toward the voice.
He flapped his wings like mad.
Dad, Popcorn's here!
While flapping frantically, he seemed to have gotten closer to his dad.
He still couldn't see him, but he could feel his dad's presence.
Just a little more!
Popcorn kept flapping with all his strength.
Soon, his dad's figure began to appear in the distance.
Great!
Popcorn hadn't gotten lost.
* * *
The sun was just setting, and once again Popcorn was nowhere to be seen.
He'd come back on his own if left alone, but still, when it was time and he wasn't around, worry crept in.
That kid was sometimes so weak he could lose to a bug.
"Popcorn, where on earth did that kid go?"
As I muttered worriedly, the words barely left my mouth before I spotted a bird flying fiercely toward me from afar.
How strange.
That white dot in front of the little bird looked suspiciously like Popcorn.
"...."
The way it sparkled told me it really was Popcorn.
Popcorn's sparkle felt different from anything else.
More brilliant, more beautiful.
It gave off a special feeling.
Don't tell me....
Was he being chased by the bird and running away?
Startled, I stepped forward.
"Phippit!"
With a loud cry, Popcorn flew straight into my arms.
Almost at the same time, the little bird crashed into my chest.
Whether from too much momentum or because it couldn't change direction, the tiny bird—no bigger than a finger—bounced off me like a ball.
Without thinking, I reached out and caught the falling creature.
"Ppi...."
The little bird let out a thin cry, then flopped limply onto my palm.
It didn't move.
Wait, surely it hadn't died just from hitting me?
Having a little bird die right in front of me—especially one that died because it hit me—didn't sit well.
That's what I thought, but somehow the bird's appearance and atmosphere suggested it had simply collapsed from exhaustion rather than died.
"...."
How odd.
Did birds make kkururuk sounds too?
I hadn't heard it clearly, but I thought I'd caught something similar to Pudding's sound—maybe the noise a hungry stomach made.
When I gently touched it with my finger, its belly felt hollow.
I wasn't sure about the sound, but it was definitely starving.
"Pipi?"
Popcorn flew over and spoke to the bird.
When there was no reply, he pressed himself worriedly against the little bird and tilted his head.
Had it almost been eaten?
Or maybe it was a new friend.
"...."
So this world's outcast wasn't alone after all.
It had a friend.
"I'm glad you made a friend."
When I patted Popcorn, he puffed out his chest proudly.
He seemed pleased to have gained a friend.
With the bird resting on my palm, I headed toward the field.
But what do you feed an unconscious bird?
All I knew was that birds ate millet or insects.
Luckily, Pudding had returned to our field.
Seeing half-digested insects inside Pudding's body, I spoke to it.
"Sorry, but I need to borrow some of your food."
When I gently stroked its smooth body, Popcorn pushed the softened insects outside.
Pudding wriggled as if it enjoyed being touched, then expelled what was inside.
I'd only learned this recently.
While trying to extract the light powder that sometimes formed inside Pudding, I'd discovered the method.
Lately, it seemed to have learned that I liked it.
When light powder appeared, it would create little snail-eye-like hands and offer it to me.
When I praised it, it got happy.
Its jelly body would tremble and dance.
Cute.
I wished it could produce other medicines besides stomach-related ones, but I still didn't know how to explain that.
That was my current worry.
When I brought the insects Pudding had expelled near the little bird, the bird that had seemed dead suddenly lifted its head.
I'd thought it was unconscious, but apparently not.
It opened its mouth wide.
"Ppi! Ppi! Ppi-yak!"
... Ppi-yak?
I'd thought only chicks made that sound, but maybe all young birds chirped the same way.
It looked like it would survive. That was a relief.
When I held the insect to its beak, the little bird opened its mouth even wider and swallowed the insect in one bite.
The insect was at least as big as the bird's head. How had it gone in?
"Ppi! Ppi! Ppi! Ppi-yak!"
It wanted more.
It opened its mouth wide again and chirped loudly.
My ears hurt.
Its voice was incredibly loud.
I'd thought one would be enough, but it seemed I'd need to give more.
When I looked at Pudding, it had already understood and was slowly moving, expelling several more insects.
"Sorry. I'll catch some bugs for you later."
As I said this and patted it, Pudding shook its jelly body as if it understood.
After eating its fill, the little bird seemed to have regained its energy.
It sat up abruptly.
Then it followed wherever Popcorn went—left when he went left, right when he went right.
It looked exactly like a baby bird following its mother.
When I laughed, Popcorn flew over and raised both hands high.
"Phippit!"
He seemed to be making some kind of declaration.
"Yeah, I don't know what it is, but play hard."
As I patted him, the little bird watched quietly before flying in front of me.
Despite its small size, it was strong—each wingbeat stirred up wind.
Maybe its flapping was still clumsy and inefficient.
"You need to watch other birds and learn."
As I said this, the little bird raised its wings upward.
It was trying to mimic Popcorn's gesture of raising both hands, but what happens when a bird stops flapping and raises its wings?
It falls.
Fortunately, I noticed in time and reached out.
Looking at the bird tilting its head on my palm, I let out a small sigh.
"This one doesn't feel very bird-like. You really need to watch other birds and learn."
Popcorn, who had been nearby, raised both hands high and shouted "Phippit!" The little bird spread its wings and chirped "Ppi-ppi."
The creatures Popcorn brought home were all strange in their own way.
Anyway, this bird didn't look like it would return to the wild either.
All I could see was it settling in like Pudding had.
"Then it'll need a name."
What would be good?
I looked at the little bird.
It had mottled orange feathers.
The feathers seemed to shift from ash-gray to a burning orange.
This bird's plumage probably changed between chick and adult.
"Alright, since your feathers are orange, let's call you Orange."
At my words, both Popcorn and the little bird tilted their heads at the same time.
Even Pudding, on the ground, leaned its body slightly.
Why?
Did the name Orange sound strange?
"Orange is a delicious fruit. It's a good name."
"Pipi?"
"Ppi-ppi?"
"Kkur... kkur...."
Somehow, these kids didn't seem to agree with me.
But it was already decided.
"Your name is Orange."
"Pi... pii...."
"Ppi... ppi...."
"Kkur kkur...."
Leaving the slightly disappointed-looking kids behind, I returned to the village hall.
The next day, Orange seemed to be in special training.
It flew around with Popcorn all day.
Sometimes from tree to tree, sometimes—oddly—with a small stone on its back.
Popcorn cheered with both fists clenched while Orange grunted and replaced the stone every time it dropped it.
I really had no idea what they were doing.
And the next dawn, Popcorn and Orange left somewhere before sunrise.
"But that kid...."
Popcorn was riding on Orange's back as they flew away.
So the stone-carrying training had been to carry Popcorn.
Has Orange become Popcorn's mount?
I didn't understand why a flying spirit would bother riding a bird, but well, spirits had their own pride.
Watching Popcorn and Orange grow distant, I smiled a little.
* * *
Finally, the day of the banquet arrived.
Marguerite looked at the dress that had barely been carried into the room.
It was the complete opposite of what she usually wore.
To preserve the royal family's dignity, she was normally given elegant dresses.
But the one that arrived this time was a deep crimson dress with a very low neckline.
If only the decorations had been in a lighter color, the impression might have been different, but black lace adorned it.
It was striking.
Marguerite had a slightly pointed chin and slightly upturned eyes.
Usually, the dress colors and makeup were light, so those features didn't stand out, but wearing this dress made the intensity of her appearance obvious.
She looked exactly like a villainess.
"...."
Was that the intention?
The king seemed to want to portray Marguerite as a villainess, beyond simply trapping her.
While putting on the dress, Marguerite ran her hands over it without the maid noticing.
She wondered if something was hidden inside, but within what she could feel, there was nothing unusual.
What she worried about most was whether a weapon had been sewn into the dress.
If she were suspected of trying to assassinate royalty or the Saintess, she would face extreme punishment.
Possibly her entire family.
Though her connection to her birth family had been officially severed when she married into the marquis's household, they could still be suspected of providing her with a weapon.
At least it's not that.
Marguerite felt slightly relieved.
The maid, perhaps under separate instructions, applied heavier makeup than usual.
Looking in the mirror, a villainess straight out of a painting stood there.
When she unconsciously furrowed her brows, her expression grew even fiercer.
Even to herself, she looked like a villainess.
Before leaving the room, Marguerite suddenly turned back.
The spirit still hadn't come.
Spirit....
Maybe the spirit wouldn't come because she was gone.
That worried her a little.
What if it was confused by her absence? What if it came looking for her several more times without knowing she was no longer here? Or what if it was even a little sad because she was gone?
She didn't want that small spirit's light to dim even slightly because of her.
Please be happy.
It was strange for a human to wish for a spirit's happiness, but that was how Marguerite felt.
Even if she disappeared from this world, even if they never met again, she hoped that lovely spirit would continue to shine brightly and be happy.
After giving her final farewell to the spirit she would never see again, Marguerite turned around.