Book Feather Novels & Stories

Deep down he knew better, he did not have dreams like this. The brightness began to take form. A powerful clutch of talons gripped him and raised him off the ground. A fierce yellow eye glared at him, and then softened its dour gaze. Warren dared to touch the head of the unidentified beast. Soft downy feathers brushed against his fingers. “What are you?”

I followed the voice and saw an old lady with grey hair standing next to a small house. Colt flew to this old lady and held her tightly. The old lady looked very satisfied and closed her eyes. "Mrs. Flynn! I was just thinking about you! How's the warbler I made for you? Do you like it?" Colt asked. "Yes, it functions well and sings beautifully for me at night, but there's a very tiny problem..." the old lady replied. As they were talking, a big iron bird with flapping wings and a razor-sharp peak and blade-like feathers, which was about three times the size of an average warbler, swooped at us.

He questioned for the umpteenth time that morning. He went to leave but felt something beneath his right foot, something life-like. He lifted a booted foot, revealing a bird laying on it's back , its talon remained intact but it's beak was missing the tip. It's tawny brown wings –matching its feathers from its head to it's belly– were bent backwards, taking its ability to fly. It's russet brown tail was cut off, the proximal part still attached to its russet brown fur which, just like the region from its belly to its hind leg, was similar to that of a lion. A note was pinned with an arrow to it's belly, the spot on the note where the arrow pierced bloodied. YOU KNEW THE RULES, it read.

If she’d come in, she’d have announced herself with a knock and a joke about my terrible taste in books. I approached the table. The air in the room felt… stirred. Like someone had opened a window not long ago and shut it again. I reached for the book. It lifted easily. Underneath it, resting on the smooth wood, lay a single black feather. Long. Glossy. It's too big to belong to any sparrow or crow that might have slipped in by accident. Beside it, coiled neatly, was a thin strip of dark leather cord. And tied to that, in a compact, practiced knot, was a small rolled piece of parchment.

That was my primary concern. I relaxed my shoulders and felt my wings spring free like a switchblade, sighing I stretched them, letting the tension work their way out. My wings had black and red feathers, and unlike a bird's feather which were soft, and gentle a Valkyrie’s feathers were hard and sharp, able to slice through bone when needed.

He reached out and picked it up. My eyes widened slightly as I tracked his hand. It was a long, elegant teasing pointer. The shaft was made of a smooth, polished black wood, but the tip was adorned with a thick, impossibly soft cluster of dark, midnight-blue feathers. They caught the warm amber light of the desk lamp, looking delicate, luxurious, and entirely out of place in the hands of a man who commanded global shipping empires. Damian turned back to face me, holding the pointer loosely in his right hand. He looked at me, taking a slow, deliberate step forward, his eyes dropping to the feathers before rising back to my face.

'What if's and 'how's flashed against his skin- the rampage broken off by a soft brush against his sleeve. The feather looked metallic under the night sky, the velvet seal of the tufts un-fragmented. He picked it up from his arm and twirled the feather silently, watching the silver moonlight dance around the thin edge of the feather, curved and fluid. As he held it up to the sky amid the backdrop of the stars, he thought vaguely of angels circling the luminous moon.

It’ѕ a collection only a gіrl соuld understand, a ѕоft ріnk feather, a small nail file, a ѕіnglе dіаmоnd еаrrіng аnd a thіn, and small nоtераd wіth a реn tucked inside thе pages. I рісk up thе іtеmѕ оnе bу one. Thе feather іѕ mаttеd and оld but оbvіоuѕlу a keepsake. Thе dіаmоnd ѕtud actually lооkѕ rеаl. Thе nail fіlе іѕ tiny, аnd has a рlаѕtіс tоrtоіѕе ѕhеll hаndlе.

She stared at the feather Konn gave me since I wore it as a necklace. I walked in. “This is a nice place.” I put my sketch book down. Betty sat down on the couch and gestured for me to sit next to her. “Where did you get that feather?” I covered it. “A friend.” She got up. “Don’t worry I’m not going to take it; I have plenty dragon feathers and scales.” She leaned over the side of the couch and pulled up a small chest and opened it. I gasped. “Wow.” I looked at my feather. I knew it had to be Konn’s dragon feather. “Why are you showing me?”

It could be, ‘cause you never know with these people. “Obviously, it’s a feather.” Zitumi muttered. “I know.. I know it’s a feather. But what is it for? You’re about to fight me, not tickle me.” I said, growing impatient. A simple feather suddenly scared me. “Just an accessory.” Zitumi said with a gentle smile. “An accessory for battle.” “A feather. A battle accessory?” I uttered. I found it funny. “You’re going to use a feather to fight me?” I asked her, amused.