Of Moons and Birds by Kyla T

Every night, the nightingale welcomed the rising of the moon with her trilling song. The trees and sky's would lean in with a sigh, for her song was so sweet.

Way above, locked in the heavens, the moon would listen with love to her song. Truly, the moon loved the nightingale. For all the ages and time he has spent, the nightingale gave his stony heart the most warmth.

Every day, the moon would drift across the skies, the sentinel who brings in the night, and all day he would think of the nightingale and her song. He would wait, watching the horizon as gravity dragged him closer and closer to the nightingales forest.

And as he round the horizon, night time on his breath, he listened. Waiting for the lilt of her song.

Silence. Only silence, the silence he was so used to, greeted him.

The moon looked about, trying to see where she hid. But he could not find her. Ahead, he saw the eagle laying in her nest, an old friend, the only beast that roamed the skies who was able to fly beside the moon.

The moon called to the eagle and she lifted her head.

"Old friend, please, I plead. Do you know where the nightingale hid?"

The eagle looked up with her cunning eye and then lifted her wing in the direction of the marsh. The moon glanced over, searching for the one that clenched his heart, and he saw her. Limp winged and unmoving by the waters edge. The moon wanted to reach her. But gravity was claiming his pace and though he fought, his graceful weight could not handle the pull of his moonish duty.

Desperate he called to the eagle, "Please, you can fly beside me, fly up close and I will jump onto you back so you can carry me down to her."

But the eagle shook her head, "Your weight is far too great old moon."

"When I jump I will give up my nightly throne. Then I will surely be small enough."

Hearing his desperation, the eagle sighed and flew into the heavens, chasing the moon's lunar trail. As she flew close the moon leapt. And as he leapt through the sky the world turned about him and he landed lightly on the back of the eagle. With the push of her wide wings, the eagle turned about and flew toward the marsh.

The wind rushed about his face as he had never known. For though his throne was lovely, jewelled with dancing stars, his kingdom was also so still, and so silent.

"I will fly low," the eagle crowed, "and then you must jump and trust your feet."

As the eagle dipped, the moon leapt and he felt weightless again. A kind of weightless so different from when he waltzed with the earth. And then the earth came up to meet him and he landed with a thud, a small squeak being slapped from his chest.

He was near the marsh and for a moment, he forgot his quest, so in awe by the sights he saw. From within the heavens, everything had appeared so small. But here, the moon saw how everything really was, so crystalline and large. Beautiful. Like his nightingale.

He took off, Oh how he could not forget her! His love, her song. And then he spotted her, laying among the tall marsh weeds cooing so softly, so sadly.

She was so very beautiful from down here. Much more then he ever imagined a creature could be.

With love in his eyes, he ran to her side, placing a white paw on her wing. "Whatever may be the matter, sweet nightingale."

She turned her gaze upon him, ever sad, "I have a thorn in my wing, and try as I do, I cannot fly, the pain is to great. Surely, here I will die."

"No no!" Cried the moon, desperate to ease her tears, "I will help you. Please do not fret. The forest will soon hear your song once more."

The bird sniffed and gazed up at the sky, "I should love to dance in the moon light once more. But it is so cloudy, there is no moon at all."

The moon saw the thorn, pierced through her wing, "Yes yes. A lovely dance indeed." He chuckled at the memory of her twisting under the spotlight he gave.

"Dear mouse, you had seen my dance and heard my song?"

The moon was confused. A mouse he was not. He looked at his paws, and yes, of course, a mouse he was. He had given up his throne, by leaping onto the eagle back, he had become the least of all. Forever, his nightly throne would not filled with his still gaze.

And yet, the moon was not unhappy. Grasping the thorn he quickly plucked it from her wing and kissed the spot to help it heal.

She lifted her wings and stretched out her feathers. "Much better! Oh thank you dear mouse. How can I repay you?"

But the mouse only shook his head, "Just sing. Always sing to welcome in the night. That is all I want."

She nodded her sweet head and leapt into the sky, taking flight higher then the mouse would ever go again.

And though many would think him sad, he was very happy. For a King as he was he could have never touched her wing. Yet as the lowliest of them all he had saved her. This made the mouse very happy.

He watched the nightingale twist in the night, flirting about in an exuberant dance. A nothing could tear the smile from his face. He watched her for a few moments more before turning to run into the forest. He had much to learn about being a beast upon the ground. The thing he had goes by many different names, some call it magic, others miracles, but the moon called it none of those things, the moon simply called it love. And love it was.