The forest is quiet today, Bruce notes. A lot of the other flocks in the harpy village are out doing their own things, leaving the treetop homes vacant of their feathered inhabitants.

His flock is out patrolling the other side of the village, watching out for any humans who dare enter the territory. This means the main protector and leader of his flock is left alone for a while. It’s nice to have a more relaxing day instead of being hyper-aware of his surroundings.

Bruce soars high above the forest floor, weaving in and out of the tall trees that make up the village. He chirps a greeting to any harpies he comes across, which are very few at this time of day.

With a final pump of his wings, he lands himself onto a large branch, settling himself into the sun’s golden rays. The light shimmers on his feathers, creating a slight purple hue to them.

He hasn’t felt this calm in a while, and it’s quite the relief for his incessant stress-molts.

The dark-feathered harpy takes a deep breath, ruffling his feathers as the breeze brushes against them. He’s about to fully sit on the branch when some movement down on the forest floor catches his eye.

Scampering through the brush is a young harpy, feathers puffed and a gleam in their eye.

They’re not a hatchling, but rather a harpy that’s just barely fledged, with faint downy feather residue clinging to their flight feathers. It’s a bit odd, seeing as they’re on the forest floor instead of perched on a branch.

Being down there for too long is basically a death trap for harpies, but they seem perfectly fine with that fact.

Bruce’s eyes narrow, tilting his head as his gaze follows the newcomer. He’s never seen them in the village before, but he recognizes the species they are from a local flock a distance away from his sequoia tree. He’s not sure how that flock is doing, but he doesn’t have high hopes seeing one of their flock members out alone like this. Especially so young.

Shifting his talons on the branch, he leaps off, gliding his way over to another, lower branch. This harpy has sparked both his wariness and his curiosity… plus the distant fatherly instincts, of course. They’re young and shouldn’t be this far from the nest.

He watches for a few beats, watching as the younger harpy picks a few berries to eat. Didn’t even bother to check if they were safe or not—no survival instincts yet. He shakes his head, a quiet warble of amusement escaping his lips.

It’s definitely time to speak up, to see what the young one is doing here all alone. If they’re fine, then he’ll at least ask what their role in the village is, and where their flock is.

“Hello down there,” He calls, catching their attention. When they peer up at him, he offers a small smile.

They were analyzing him, he realizes, judging by the way their eyes flicker over him. He does the same, judging whether or not this young teen is going to be trouble or not, “It’s not safe on the forest floor. Did your parents not teach you that?”

He knows it sounds like a parent’s scold, but he can’t help it. His words are true!