The evening air is cool, the last light of the sun filtering through the canopy above, casting soft, golden shadows around us. The fire crackles nearby, a steady warmth that doesn’t reach the uncertainty thrumming in my chest. I look down at the feather in my hands, its weight pressing on me in a way I can’t quite explain. It’s not just any feather—it’s the one I’ve chosen. My shinyest and best feather. The one I hope will finally mean something, will finally be accepted.

I remember the last time I held a feather like this—years ago, with him. The male I thought I could call my mate. I had been so sure, so eager to give him all of myself. But when the time came, when I offered him my mating feather, I was rejected. I thought I could move on, that it wouldn’t hurt. But here, now, with Clara, I realize just how much it did hurt, and how much it’s shaped my longing for something I never got to have.

This time, I want it to be different. I want her to understand. I want her to feel what I feel.

I slowly extend the feather to Clara, my heart racing with the weight of the gesture. The past lingers in the back of my mind, whispering doubts, but I push it down, focusing on the soft, kind way she looks at me. This isn’t the same as before. I believe in us, in her.

“This is for you, Clara” I say, my voice a little shakier than I want it to be. “My mating feather. A promise…” I swallow, my feathers rustling nervously. “You are the one I choose, Clara. I hope… I hope you’ll accept it.”

Her fingers gently touch the feather, and I watch her, hoping she understands the quiet desperation beneath the gesture. I never wanted to offer a mating feather again after the last time, never wanted to feel that rejection again. But with Clara, I don’t feel rejection. I feel warmth, respect, a tenderness I never thought I’d find.