almost half of his head. Unexpectedly, a small smile spread across the man’s face. His wrinkles seemed to
disappear and his eyes gleamed just like the boy’s had… Before he perished.
The eagle wasn’t so old and powerless anymore. It was intimidating and mighty. It turned to face me,
before it opened is talons with a CRACK! and swooped me up with a loud, threatening squawk. We soared into
the air.
The old woman is the boy’s mother. The boy’s mother went somewhere for some reason. The boy’s
father I can only assume was the scary old man. So why does the old woman hate me so much? Then it hit me. I
realised that I had met three people, of the same family, been carried by them in the past three months. It was no
coincidence. The twinkles in everyone’s eyes, the scary smiles, the knowledge. I faced the eagle. It nodded
slowly and soared away. This was all I knew about the mysterious bunch.
I am cracked. I am battered. I have crumbled, but I am grateful. Grateful for all that has happened. I
feel sorry for the boy. Sorry about what happened to him and all the hardships in his life, sorry that he never
found his mother again. I still have unanswered questions; but I contain memories. Memories of which cannot
be told, cannot be heard, but from a witch who set me right.
* * *