“Can’t we just kill it?” asked Wylie.
Keaton placed his hand upon the boy’s shoulder.
“Nay,” he said. “We must be patient.”
They had been tracking the phoenix for days as it flew across the countryside. It was a rare sight, a firebird in this day and age. To see one was to herald a strong heir, or so the people said. Keaton had other purposes in mind than his offspring.
“I have my bow, I can hit it from here,” Wylie propositioned. The lustrous bird had settled upon a boulder a short distance from where they crouched. “It’s not like it wouldn’t rise again.”
“You will keep it stowed and nock not one arrow. That is for protection, nothing else.”
“It can’t be worth it,” said Wylie. “It must be more valuable to harvest the meat.”
“It would turn to ash in your mouth. And would be an affront to the majesty that is the phoenix. No, the only way we get what we came for is for the bird to gift it to us. That is why we are patient.”
“And you think it will?”
“Even if it does not, this journey with you, my boy, has been reward enough.” He smiled and pulled his son close. “But should we get that feather, the quill that we make from it will have the power to burn empires. …And your mother shall be avenged.”
They crouched low and waited.
The writing prompt today is “Quill.” Thanks for reading!