Buoyant are her golden wings

There wasn't any apprehension of expectation – no prediction of hope to observe an animal of common thread. These (like most dreadful creatures found in the rift) were exotic, mutants. Their coats gleam with beautiful, stunning color – dauntless, brilliant lime and cerulean. Quills and pins that shouldn’t naturally conform to the lean rump of this feline breed; but it did and did it so handsomely. Their scuffle reminds me of a lover’s quarrel and while those parents reassure their position in life…a cluster of kits emerge from the undergrowth, exposed for naked eyes to view. Brows furrow, thankful for the momentarily distraction from rift demons and bizarre requests. “Isn’t that…a Pavo?” The question sinks into depths of a harsh whisper in effort to leave the beast(s) undaunted. A choppy knife of adrenaline rockets my pulse restlessly ahead, this jaw clenches thoughtfully even as these irises dart across their collection with a cruel combination of disdain and admiration. Steal an eye feather, it said…and ka provides with a cat to take if from. If those disembodied voices could snicker - I felt they would. They’d admire the circumstance and my unwillingness to serve. Because…regardless of their illusion to offer choice (be it for or against their order)…I knew they would end up being served regardless. Damn it… “Hile,” the rough spun greeting flies to freedom, grateful to rise into our dank, musky atmosphere. Best case scenario…it drops a feather. This unimaginative, practical brain couldn’t fathom a quick, easy way to steal from said animal. At least, not one that didn’t end in violence...The green memory of our recent tangle with nature still pricks my shoulder. Softly, without looking toward the gilded woman, “we could set a trap,” nothing immediate had come, but a solution for the time ahead was possible, “lure it with bait and hobble it with vine?”