Book One – Chapter 11

While desire may lie in fleeting beauty, love transcended the visual and anything a body could give. For Yves, love was in a voice that gave long-lasting comfort. It resided in heartfelt songs that resonated deep within and in voices that carried kindness — they were the rarest of all, and yet, you recognise them the instant you hear them. And even if you hear them just once, you can never forget them. Such voices held the heart, and they healed it.

The voice did not have to say “I love you”, that is not what he meant. Love was deeper, not in the words but inherently embedded in the voice. The words were almost irrelevant. They could be as simple as “I am glad you are well”, or “Take care”, or “Welcome home”.

“Why are we even talking about this?” asked Yves. It was an honest question.

“You started off by thinking that you made me exceptionally beautiful, because Twig is not,” answered Mushroombird.

Twig stared at her.

Mushroombird looked away to adjust her elaborate feather coat, “Which was, of course, very rude of him. And also very wrong of him. For shame.”

Now both stared at Yves, with their mask-like faces that were suddenly much too neutral for comfort.

Yves turned away from them again, facing forward. He looked at the sun-stricken desert, which still offered him nothing but burning sand. He said, “Sure.”

“You are, of course, also beautiful,” said Mushroombird. “In your own, uniquely-proportioned way.”

“Thank you?” said Twig.

Yves looked over his shoulder, back down at her.

“Let me try again,” she said, resetting her pose. “Thank you?????”

Now she was just messing around.

“All right,” Twig reset again, now taking on a more confident expression. “Thank you. I know.”

Yves smiled. A decade ago, he had created Twig as a swift runner, a skilled climber and an enduring wanderer, and he never wanted her to change. Over the years, he had gifted her various coats and furs, but he had never concealed her tall and athletic form, nor her uniquely-proportioned feet and hands. He had actually done quite the opposite, highlighting her features with rather well-fitting clothing.

Mushroombird, on the other hand, had never lost her duck feathers, because it simply did not get better than that.