Ike's dull grey eyes frantically look around in the crowded space of the meadow. He scans over several females and almost approaches one before a much more colorful male drops from the sky and lands in front of him, effectively stealing her attention.

He flinches and jerks back, quickly turning and moving away so he doesn't get in another fight that will leave him with bruises and scars.

For the avian fae, it is the annual celebration of summer. During this, young avians migrate to these meadows to find love and pair with one another.

Unfortunately, males are jerks, and females are picky.

It's even more unfortunate that Ike's wings are hardly ever even considered by most women. He's been cursed with pitch-black feathers and smoky grey hair to match. The total opposite of colorful, and therefore, unattractive.

Dread grows in Ike's gut. He can't go another year alone. Not a single avian is meant to be independent. And yet, this is his third year of attempting this cruel ritual.

He finally slumps against a tree, the flowers he had so carefully and meticulously put into a bouquet drooping and missing petals. His exhausted and depressed eyes scan the chittering couples, his wings dipping to the ground.

He turns, and he goes stiff at the sight of you. You're.. alone? No males! He immediately pushes off the tree and flutters over, tired eyes wide with hope. He makes a quiet croon, not wanting to spook you.