Chapter 11 - Polly

The downpour of rain was fun for maybe the first forty minutes. There's something… I don't know… almost spiritual about floating on your back in the water, raindrops falling all around you while you just let it happen . Embrace it. No ducking for cover or dashing into a building. Just… feel the rain .

But then it just kept coming.

And coming.

And coming.

Long after Aloryk and I climbed out of the river, the rain continued. I was clean now, but my pajamas were rapidly getting soaked as I scrambled to put them back on. Aloryk had kept his loincloth-kilt thing on the whole time, but it seems to be made of thin leathers and skins so it didn't hold onto much water - neither did his feathers. Well, the badly injured wing looks quite bedraggled, but the right one just has the raindrops beading and running right off it.

Strange how quickly I could go from laughing, floating on my back in the rain to darting over to the nearest tree with the largest leaves.

"I would not shelter under that one if l were you, my Polly," Aloryk tells me as he leisurely follows to where I'm ducking under a huge, black leaf, using it as an umbrella.

"Why?"

"The singing spider likes to make that particular tree its home and although-"

" Spider ?!" I yelp, leaping away from the tree while I frantically dust imaginary spiders off my whole body. "Where?! Where ?!"

Aloryk's chuckle is low and honeyed. I can barely hear it over the constant pattering of heavy rain. "You are fine," he says, laying a large, warm hand on my shoulder. "They do favor those types of trees though."

I glance around, looking for alternative shelter. Being in the rain isn't particularly fun anymore, not now that I have soaking wet PJs on.

"Here," Aloryk offers, sitting himself down on the jungle floor and opening up his good wing. "I will shelter you."

I make a sort of half-step toward him before faltering. "What about your injury?" Aloryk merely smiles that dangerously handsome smile of his and shakes his head before jerking his insistence that I take refuge under his wing. I follow his urging, throwing out a weak complaint as I go.

"Are you sure this is comfortable for you?" I ask, sitting with my legs pulled up while I hug my knees to my chest. Aloryk holds his wing out over me, the sheer mass of ink black feathers falling around me like a curtain. His feathers have pretty little lights peppered on the tips, too. It makes me want to reach out and run my hand over them, but that seems… kind of intimate.

"It is fine, female," he replies, the rain still pelting down on his head while I'm under the canopy of his wing, listening to the drops pitter patter and roll off his feathers. The sound reminds me of a specific time in my childhood - when my dad was still around before… before the truth came out, and Mom made him choose. The sound of the raindrops on Aloryk's wing above my head sounds so much like some of the camping ‘trips' my dad would set up in our back yard come rain or shine. When he was home with me and Mom, he was definitely the ‘fun dad' and would set up our tent, fill it with blankets and pillows, and run to the store to get my favorite snacks. He'd play shadow-puppets, make up his own version of fairy tales, complete with funny voices and teach me card games that we'd play well past any normal nine-year-old's bedtime.

And then, in the morning, he'd be gone for ‘work' again, and my mom would be left to take down the tent, tidy up the blankets and cushions, and deal with a cranky little girl who was experiencing a sleep-deprived sugar-crash.

I remember when she'd made him choose. It was raining that day and the tent was still up in the backyard. I'd hid in there, listening to the rain because Mom and Dad were arguing. I later found out what that was all about, and why my dad never came back.

The tent stayed up in the back yard for four years after that, cushions, blankets, deck of cards and empty candy wrappers still inside like a weird historical display of the last time he was here - the last time he was my dad.

Until the day I set fire to it and burned that old tent to ashes.

That had been the same day I'd tried to talk to Delphi, and it had gone so spectacularly wrong, it still hurts to think about - even if I can understand why she reacted the way she had.

Before I know it, I feel suddenly exhausted. The lock on that old trunk of uncomfortable memories must have come loose, because I feel so incredibly drained from just trying to shove them all back in right now. My head is heavy, and I only really realize it after my cheek is already pressed to Aloryk's warm bicep, my head leaning on his shoulder. I'm normally better at this. Sure, no one's life is perfect. Everyone has memories or thoughts that they'd rather not confront, but I'd practically gotten ignoring my own baggage down to an artform. Sometimes, things would slip into my periphery, but I'd found that not making conscious eye-contact with it would mean it would fade away.

Just like my dad.

But here I am, God knows how many miles away from him - from planet Earth - and it's now that I start thinking about that time in my life?

I close my eyes and slowly take in a deep breath. My Dad and his ‘proper family' aren't here. I do not need to let my mind wander down those old, thorny paths. But even after shoving all my personal shit back into that locked trunk, I can still hear the pitter patter of raindrops on the sides of the tent in my childhood back yard.

"What are you thinking?" Aloryk's deep rumble asks me.

"I'm thinking the rain isn't so fun anymore," I tell him, lifting my head from his shoulder now. I notice all his little skin lights buzzing chaotically at the loss of contact like a cluster of ants after you lift a plant pot they'd been sheltering under. I huff out a quiet laugh at that, only to look up and see violet eyes watching me so incredibly closely.

His gaze flits over my face, dropping down to my mouth before he asks, "what can I do?"

I'm taken back a little by the question. It feels like he's taken a peek inside that trunk in my head and I'm not sure I like that feeling. I hug my knees tighter even though the position is uncomfortable to someone of my size - I just want to make myself smaller right now. Smaller, and smaller, and smaller, until I'm hardly noticeable at all.

And that's not normally like me. It's just what happens when I think of my dad and all that mess. Besides, looking like me; a plus-sized girl with colorful hair doesn't exactly lend itself well to fading into the background like I want to right now.

"What can you do?" I repeat Aloryk's question, my eyes now fixed on his lips for some reason. He nods, leaning ever so slightly closer. I can feel the heat of his proximity, smell the spice of his skin. Inexplicably, I think of kissing him, and it feels like his heat starts melting into me before I whisper, "You can't stop the rain, Aloryk."

One side of his mouth lifts. "Maybe not." His eyes trail down my frame making me feel a little fidgety as I try to curl myself even smaller. His gaze meets mine again before he says, "but you will always have a place of shelter beneath my wings." He stares at me so earnestly then, no hint of that dazzling smile, just some of his ‘skin-stars' slowly fading in and out of brightness.

"Thank you," I tell him, my chest feeling tight because it doesn't really feel like we're talking about the rain.

Is that stupid?

That's probably stupid.

I can feel the blush creeping up my neck so I look away, the pitter patter of raindrops now sounding different from under the canopy of his wing somehow. They don't sound like that old tent anymore.

I reach my hand out from under Aloryk's protection and feel the water fall on my palm and fingertips. "How are your wounds?" I ask, feeling his gaze on me and wanting to steer the conversation away from… whatever it is Aloryk is doing to make me feel so flustered.

I hear the inhale beside me. "They will be fine."

* * *

Aloryk's wounds are not fine.

The rain continued on and on for what seemed like hours. After a while, Aloryk somehow convinced me to tuck myself right into his wing - properly wedging myself between his shoulder and his feathers. It was a pleasant place to be, I won't lie. My cheek was pressed to the skin of his shoulder blade and I was wrapped in a blanket of soft, pretty twinkling feathers. He'd wanted me to sleep back there, but I couldn't help think it must be uncomfortable for him. I did manage to rest somewhat - even if it wasn't a deep sleep. But by the time the rain stopped and I'd crawled out from beneath the cloak of black feathers, Aloryk's usually bronze-toned face was looking pale and pallid, his expression looking pinched.

"Why didn't you tell me the pain was getting bad again?"

He looks at me with a long, glazed-over expression before shaking his head. "The healers will see to my injuries. I am well."

He is definitely not well. How long had he been sitting here suffering while I stayed tucked up in his wing leaning on him to rest? "We need to find some more of those plants Tryk got for you," I mutter to myself, stepping back, my foot instantly getting submerged in a rainforest puddle, soaking the hem of my PJ pants all over again. "Those little yellow flowers for pain, and that other stuff."

"Polly-"

I start looking around our surroundings like the two specific medicinal plants we need will magically be right here. "I bet the swimming and the rain washed it all away from your wound. I'll find some more and chew it up again."

"Polly-"

"I think I can remember what they looked like-"

" Polly !"

Aloryk starts to stand, to go after me and reach for my hand, stopping me in my single-minded tirade about finding these damn herbs. But the big guy falters on his feet and I find myself coming back to help steady him. "Ok, ok, sit back down," I urge, fussing over this giant warrior man like a mother hen.

He hisses as his butt hits the floor again, screwing his eyes shut while telling me, "you cannot go wandering around the jungle. I must protect you."

"I won't go far. I'll stay where you can see me, I promise."