#a chocobo

Cabanela drifted away from their small camp. Close enough to return quickly should trouble arise, but far enough for some modicum of privacy. The professor was more than capable of looking after things for a few minutes. As was Jowd naturally. Always. And he shifted uneasily even as he’d craved this moment away.

Never would he think the close confines of the campfire’s light in an empty world could be so stifling. Once, he wouldn’t have expected nothing to weigh so heavily. Hard lessons learned.

He stared into the deepening darkness. From dim and dreary to a chill darkness and back was their monotonous cycle now. It wasn’t new; after all the island had been no different. Alone and isolated, a prison in itself. It had seemed simple—find the mainland and somehow things would be better; they couldn’t possibly be worse than the lonesome island. Seeing the land he once knew intimately ruined and changed beyond recognition dashed that hope.

Theirs was a land barren and seemingly devoid of life, until twisted and tormented creatures crossed their path. A deadened world.

But, not entirely lifeless…

He spun round, hand to going his sword hilt and lightning at his fingertips…

“Wark!”

And relaxed as the chocobo stepped into his sights.

“Youuu were supposed to stay at the camp,” he said as he stepped up to meet the bird and stroke her neck feathers.

“Wark wark!” she replied, seemingly unbothered by this fact.

Cabanela reached into his pouch where he’d squirrelled away some gysahl greens from their main stock for treats throughout the day.

“Heeere you are,” he said, holding the greens out.

She plucked them delicately from his hand and once finished, briefly pranced in place.

Cabanela managed a small smile at the display. She bobbed her head, bringing it over his shoulder. Without a second thought he abruptly wrapped his arms around her in an embrace and buried his face in her plumage. He breathed in the scent of chocobo and thought of another time of heat and sand and laughter…

Another lower wark rumbled through her and he shuddered and dug his fingers deeper into her feathers. He clung to her, to memories, to simplicity, to small joys that at least one among them could still partake in. A soft touch unburdened by the past or present.

In time he reluctantly broke away. Too long away from the camp had passed already. They had to go back.

Man and bird returned to the camp. The professor was curled under his cloak, eyes open, watching their fire, with Lovey-Dove nestled in the crook of his arm. Jowd sat on watch, as remote as a distant mountain peak. Cabanela stared for a moment and said nothing.