Quillan and the Bark-Rider — Every day, when the sun warmed the pine sap into a sharp, sweet smell, Quillan checked the nest rim: left claw, right claw, loose stick, tight stick. Read the full story →
Every day, when the sun warmed the pine sap into a sharp, sweet smell, Quillan checked the nest rim: left claw, right claw, loose stick, tight stick. His two chicks, Rook and Luma, bobbed like thistle fluff and begged for the same report. “Nothing new?” Luma chirped. Quillan clicked his beak. Nothing new was exactly what he wanted.
Until one day, a strip of bark slid into the nest with a tiny green lizard riding it like a river raft. Because of that, Rook leaned so far over the sticks that the whole nest creaked. Because of that, Quillan pinned one talon on the wobbly edge and spotted a line of ants carrying glittering bits of mica up the trunk. The lizard flicked his tail toward a dark knot-hole. “Wind coming,” he squeaked, “and your shiny wall is blocking my door!”
Quillan tugged the mica-packed twigs free just as the first gust hissed through the needles. The nest settled, the lizard vanished into his doorway, and the chicks stared at every stick as if each one might begin a journey. Next time you see those pinecones overhead, ask which bit of bark is waiting to ride in, when the sun warms the pine sap sharp and sweet.
