Page 77 of Lana Pecherczyk
“What’s that?” Blake asked.
“Just a simple cleansing ritual first, my dear,” Ravi said, arranging her supplies. “Then we’ll decorate you properly. This room always reminds me of when River was still my little Manfri.”
“Manfri?” Blake grinned. “What an adorable name.”
Lark sat on the bed, her wings flaring behind her. “Tell her about the bathing, Ma.”
“Don’t encourage her,” Sera warned.
“You mean how he preferred bathing buck-naked in the moonlight?” Ravi mixed pigments with gleeful abandon. “He’d stretch those blue-tipped wings under the full moon while eligible females secretly watched from the trees. My boy knew exactly what he was doing.”
“Mother,” Sera groaned.
“The females would practically fall out of the trees,” Ravi continued, unperturbed. “And Manfri would just say, ‘Ladies, there’s a schedule. Alphabetical order, please.’”
Lark clapped her hands over her mouth, barely containing laughter. “I forgot about the alphabetical part!”
Blake noticed something fascinating as they dissolved into laughter—their wings twitched and fluttered with each emotion, creating subtle patterns between them. Sera’s primaries flattened against her back when embarrassed, while Lark’s wingtips curled inward like parentheses around a joke. Each movement conveyed nuance that human gestures couldn’t capture.
“You can imagine how shocking it was to hear he had become a Guardian,” Ravi concluded.
“Oh? Why?” Blake sat on the edge of the bed, resting the plant on her thighs. Her attention snagged on a carved frame hanging nearby that contained a preserved blue-tipped feather.
“Until you old-worlders came along,” Ravi replied, “Guardians were forbidden to take mates.”
“That’s his first flight feather,” Lark explained, noticing Blake’s attention. “Every crow keeps their first shed feather after childhood flight. Most store them in their trove.”
“Trove?”
“A sacred personal space,” Sera elaborated, opening a second carved chest on the floor. “Every crow has one. It’s a hidden cache where we keep our most precious treasures.”
“Blake, is it true humans had boxes that kept food cold without ice?” Lark asked. “And others that heated food instantly?”
“Refrigerators and microwaves.” Blake nodded. “You’d push a button, and food would be piping hot in seconds.”
“What’s the Well-blessed connection like?” Sera asked, changing subjects as she pulled brushes from a leather roll. “Is it true you can feel each other’s emotions?”
“Yes.” Blake poked the dirt beneath the eucalyptus. “Although he seems to be hiding his.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Ravi said. “We’ll sort out any confusion.” She gestured between her daughters and Blake. “Remove her clothes.”
“Remove me what?” Blake balked, hands instinctively covering her chest.
“Oh, honey, let them breathe!” Ravi waved dismissively. “Natural movement is essential for proper mana flow. Not to mention skin-to-skin contact with your wingmate. The Well designed our bodies for pleasure as much as function.”
“Ma!” Sera’s tone held more amusement than scandal.
“Now, let’s find you something appropriate to wear!” Ravi nudged her daughters away from the chests and started sorting through the clothes inside. She bypassed practical options for increasingly revealing garments.
“You’ll need proper windways,” Lark declared, snatching one Ravi discarded. “Can’t have you wearing those shapeless pants if River’s going to court you properly at the Great Murder.”
Blake nearly choked. “Court me?”
“Oh my,” Ravi exclaimed, holding up what appeared to be a sheer triangle with buttons. “What about this? The clasps release with just the right amount of wing pressure.”
“Ma, I’m sure Blake would prefer something practical for the journey,” Sera suggested.
Ravi swatted her hand away. “Practical? At the Great Murder? With a new mate? Nonsense! Every crow in sight must be warned that these two are locked together.”
