Bowman Leafwing has some trouble waking up most mornings. Luckily he’s got one of the most reliable alarm clocks around, ready and happy to convince him to drag himself out of bed.
(This is just a drabble. I have written a lot more about Bowman and his fellow wood sprites on DeviantArt.)
I rolled over in my bed, slowly exiting my dreams. A sudden stab of pain in my eyes erased the images of an enormous hand descending upon me and I groaned. Throwing an arm up to guard my eyes from the assault of light, I squinted them open halfway.
Blast it. I slept the sun up.
My mild annoyance didn’t rouse me any faster. I mumbled a few curses as I sat up, the cotton blanket falling onto my lap. I felt a yawn coming on and didn’t resist is as I rubbed my eyes with weary knuckles. It was a routine I had grown used to. Despite being a wood sprite, who largely depended on the sunlight for healthy wings, I was terrible with mornings.
Now that I was working my way towards ‘awake,’ however, I felt the warmth on my wings as the gentle morning sunlight reached through my window. I yawned again and almost subconsciously shifted my wings so they could gather more light.
The leaf-like green appendages seemed to perk up in the blessed light. Already I could feel the photosynthesis at work, converting the golden green beams of warm light into energy. I took every opportunity I could get to sun my wings, even these brief moments as I woke up. There was a reason I was the best flyer in the village, and fastidiously taking care of my wings was a significant part of it.
I blinked my eyes, a bright green gaze like leaves lit from behind by a midday sun. They stood out against my suntouched amber skin. While I stretched my arms over my head, I heard the telltale sound of soft footsteps padding along in my direction. I turned to look at the warped archway that connected my bedroom to the hallway.
“I knew you were awake!” a voice piped up, followed shortly by its source peering around the doorway. Bright golden eyes sought me out, and the young girl giggled when she found me still in bed.
“Morning, Birdie,” I greeted her, using the nickname that only I ever used for her. Rischa giggled and entered the room, her flowing green tunic billowing around her.
Recently ten years old, Rischa’s wings were essentially fully developed. All they had left was to grow with her body as she got older. They were still on the dainty side like they always had been, as seen by the gentle arc in the thin finger bones. She reached both of her leafy wings around to rest the tips atop my head as she stopped by my bed.
“Sleepyhead,” she greeted as I pushed the green, bat-like wings off of me so I could swing my legs over the side of the bed.
“Of course,” I replied with yet another yawn. Then, with speed which was frankly surprising considering how sluggish I was acting, I wrapped my arms and wings around the girl, practically creating a leaf green cocoon around my young cousin.
“Bowman, don’t squish me!” she squealed, wriggling until she could duck out of my hug attack.
“Oh, fine,” I relented, stretching my arms overhead and my wings to the side instead. Rischa went to the small chest in the corner of my room and retrieved a shirt for me, which she helpfully threw so it hit my face. “Amazing aim, Birdie,” I groused as I pulled the garment over my head and then pulled myself to my feet. Her amused giggle almost made me roll my eyes.
By the time I had the shirt arranged with the slits up the back settled around my wings, I deemed myself mostly presentable. There would be no taming the mess of my hair, no matter how much water I combed through it from my washbasin. With one final yawn I let Rischa lead me out of my room. Even so, my bed, which seemed almost like it was made from a knot in the wood all curved and uneven, looked so tempting when I looked back.
Everyone has to wake up sometime. I would manage my sleepiness like I always did. But it was a true test of my willpower.
Writerly Things 