Charles was hyperventilating. Involuntary warbling and noises were coming from his not-lips. Most decidedly, what adorned his face now was clearly a beak. In most cases, Charles thought that he was a calm, rational person, and had gone through enough in his life to not be affected in any extreme sense by most any situation he might find himself in.

But, if there was ever a time to freak out, he supposed that this was it.

And freak out he did.

“Cheep!?” He chirped loudly, followed by a surreptitious cascade of more chirps.

‘This actually can’t be happening,’ he desperately thought to himself, ‘Alterra, what the hell is this? How the hell am I supposed to help you as a fucking bird!?’ 

No answer materialized out of the air, nor any whisper in his ear. Recollection and control were rapidly coming back to him, but not fast enough to dissuade his - rightly so - panicked mind from screaming, ‘This is wrong!’ 

In short order, however, he found himself laying on his side, fluffy down feathers ruffled supremely. The hatchling weakly fumbled with his feet, frustratingly unable to right itself. Charles huffed, pushing with his feeble wings before forcibly choking back yet another loud cry.

‘Alright, so, this is bad,’ he admitted wholly to himself, ‘but, hey, I’m alive. That’s something. Though, I somehow don’t think that Alterra intended for me to be a damn chicken.’ 

For the next several minutes - interspersed with spastic outbursts of warbles and high pitched screeching that he couldn’t seem to control - Charles worked on moving around. From what he knew, which was next to nothing, birds were generally excruciatingly helpless when they were first born. But, to the credit of whatever parent unit he had, they’d picked their location well. 

He and the nest were high up in a tree, a break in the canopy casting speckled bits of shade upon him. From his perch, he could see that the canopy was absolute in some places, due to the complex layering of branches. The trees themselves were lush, and as he sat and stared, collecting information, he couldn’t help but taste the air.

‘It’s so… clean. And there’s something else to it…’ Charles’ racing thoughts slowed to something resembling calm, finding peace in that moment. There was a strange distinctness with every breath he pulled into himself, eliciting a sensation that he couldn’t place accurately.

‘Ah, right… My lungs work fine now.’ He thought, feeling emotions stir in his chest at the belated realization, a slight hiccup vibrating his small bird-body. Idly, he supposed that he shouldn’t be too annoyed with how hard it was to move around, given that it was actually an improvement over his previous condition.

Weakness and pain had been par for the course. The fact that it was only weakness now was actually a welcome relief.

“Cheep!” His lungs launched the call once more, startling himself with how demanding - no, how annoying, it was.

‘Why in the feather am I chirpin- why did I just say feather?’ Several things clattered through his mind like a kitchen in a tornado, disarray reigning supreme. For a strange moment, he realized that there was some kind of underlying reason, an instinct, that was operating in tandem with his own thoughts. The very same sensation that had driven him to struggle within the egg was now somewhat more pervasive and omnipresent than before. Not unlike the reflex to breath, but somehow more potent. Instinctive urges were cropping up, and, in spite of that knowledge, Charles found it aided him not at all in stopping them.

“Cheep!” The noise rattled his bird beak, and Charles had to steady himself for a moment to avoid the lightheaded feeling that came with it. It was like having a twitch that refused to go away. Helpless as he was to stop it, Charles decided to take stock of the rest of the nest. Five other eggs rested in the carefully woven bedding, each of them of similar size to his own. Oddly enough, they were the prettiest eggs he’d ever seen. 

He’d seen them before and hadn’t noted much aside from the color, being a deep, almost amethyst purple with the vaguest tinge of red and blue if the slight amount of bright sunbeams hit it just right. There were vague patterns on them, but to Charles’ eyes they gave an impression more like a geode having been cracked open on large splotches, with geometric shapes filling them in. As his underdeveloped eyes adjusted, he only saw more and more minute details, and couldn’t help but balk at the sight.

‘The hell kind of bird lays eggs like these?’ Wondered Charles, his stubby legs failing to allow him to walk any closer. 

Determined, he experimented with moving properly, finding that the standard of ‘one foot in front of the other’ didn’t work too well with god damned dinosaur feet that felt like they were set too far apart. 

However, hopping back and forth like a feathering fool worked just fine.

‘Alright, I can work with this…’ He moved closer to the edge of the nest, trying to get an idea of how high up they were. The effort it took left him panting heavily, though he knew it was mostly because of his newborn state.

‘I’m getting hungry here…’ Charles thought, another involuntary cry belting forth from his beak. Still, he managed to very carefully peer over the edge, at an angle to the forest floor.

They were… well, high up…

Charles realized that without any real frame of reference for size he couldn’t really guess how far up he was. He could just barely see the ground through some of the branches, but only in one direction where a truly mammoth tree had apparently fallen. It was at least four times the width of those around him, and looked to be at a fairly advanced state of rotting. Green sprouted up all around it, moss covering much of its dark brown form. If his size was average to most birds, he supposed that the trees could at least theoretically be similar to Earth’s deciduous trees. 

Though, he didn’t really get to see all that many forests in his past. Life had other things for him to deal with.

His thoughts were interrupted by a large shadow flickering overhead. Charles immediately remembered the fact that he was, indeed, a small and fairly helpless chick. Most creatures in the forest would probably find him easy pickings. 

‘Even a pecking squirrel could-’ Charles' thoughts immediately locked up as he did his best to roll deeper into the nest. It was unceremonious, as far as rolls went, and he found that he barely made it a few feet - inches? - back into the padded housing before he was forced to accept that he wouldn’t be making any more evasive maneuvers.

Fear tried to grip him, but at the very least it seemed his feeble bodied bird-brain was altogether too focused on ‘food’ to care.

“Cheep!” 

‘Feathering peck! Don’t make noise around the potential predator!’ Charles chastised his instincts, which promptly let loose another, louder, call. 

Before he could let loose another, though, the shadow shot closer, landing with grace and aplomb on the thicker part of the broad nest. Woven thatch and denser sticks formed what was a beautifully crafted home, a huge basket for the eggs to stay safe and warm in. 

Or a food basket, for anything hungry and able to get in here.

Yet, Charles found any such concerns flee him upon looking up at the would-be intruder. 

Instinct told him that what he was looking at could only be ‘Parent.’ A broad winged, predatory bird, resembling a hawk that had somehow bumped the majestic and imposing factor up to eleven. Red feathers with black highlighting that gave a subtle sheen in the light adorned its form. Long, curved claws armed its feet, ‘Talons,’ he mentally corrected, ‘those fall firmly in the category of talons.’ 

He found that the coloration on the feathers grew darker, especially the red, around the neck and up the back of its head. The much larger bird bore what appeared to be a ridge of feathers from the middle of it’s head that swept back, flaring slightly. 

As it looked down into the nest, Charles could swear that he could see happiness in its gaze.

‘Awww that’s so cute, it’s happy I was born.’ In spite of himself, he couldn’t help but shuffle awkwardly beneath its gaze.

“Cheep!” The ear-piercing noise belted forth again, the adult red-hawk reeling back an inch before what almost appeared to be a grin at the edge of the bird's beak twitched upwards.

Then another shape landed beside him, very slightly smaller. She, at least Charles assumed this was the she, was no less regal than he. In fact, her feathers seemed to be a touch longer, and, if he were perfectly honest, her talons were definitely more keen. 

There was a look of beaming pride on her features, too, and that made it all the more awkward for the now born-again Charles to take.

‘Oh, come now, save some love and adoration for the others,’ he joked, before feeling the annoying instincts driving him surge forward again.

“Cheep!”

The mother leaned forward, and Charles felt a strange chill run down his spine as his instincts revoked any access he had to his body entirely. 

‘No! No, wait! I know what you’re doing!’ Charles' dread ratched up immensely as his squat body managed to angle itself to line up with Mother as she leaned over.

‘Just, wait! I’m a human! You got the wrong chick! This isn’t what I signed up for!’ rebelling against instinct yielded almost nothing, but there was at least some give, and Charles desperately drove forward towards that feeble wavering he sensed, ‘I’m not ready for this! Anything! Anything else, but not this! Please, Mothe-!’

“CHEEEEEEP!” The final warbling cry was choked down, along with sustenance as Mother happily disgorged food from herself and into Charles' waiting beak.

Spirit utterly broken and instinct satisfied, Charles dejectedly drove himself to the darkness of a deep, deep sleep…

 

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Hours later, Charles stirred, hearing familiar screeching noises and, at once, dreading another feeding session.

However, it became clear that this time his instincts weren’t acting up, and instead that there were multiple sources of the sound. Somehow, they were far less annoying when they came from others. 

In spite of the fact that they were very, very close to him.

‘The feather is going on here?’ A bewildered Charles cast his eyes about, blearily blinking away his nap, and noting that the other chicks had, for some inexplicable reason, decided to bury him in their floof.

They were also in the middle of being fed, Father and Mother both doing the duty, Charles was uncertain if that was normal for birds. He supposed that, in the end, it didn’t really matter which one fed him.

The most flabbergasting part was that his body was actually positively thrumming with energy. Though, the disgust still remained.

‘I can’t believe I ate that…’ betrayal still fresh on his mind, Charles didn’t trust his body just yet to rise. Instead, he waited for the chicks to settle, and, contrary to what he expected, Father and Mother took wing once more. 

‘Oi, aren’t you guys worried one of us is gonna walk out of the nest!?’ The chick cast a glance around at the others, still finding them rooted around him. 

Then one of them sat back on Charles, smothering his face with a soft, downy bird butt.

Charles' eyes narrowed with annoyance, followed by a sharp peck jabbing his siblings rear, eliciting a surprised warble. It rocked on its feet, falling forward, and shuffling there, back and forth, before managing to rise. 

He half expected a confrontation of some sort, but instead it simply wobbled over once more. This time, Charles lifted himself upright, before they positioned themselves in the exact same spot as before. 

‘Oh boy, I’ve got my work cut out for me,’ Charles mentally moaned. 

It was, however, very warm, and comfy, even after forcibly diverting his siblings behind to near his head, rather than halfway on top of it. 

He shook himself, forcing his attention onto the future, ‘Alright, so, let's assume this wasn’t Alterra’s plan. What do I remember? She gave me her blessing, whatever that is, and as we were talking something hit me. It… did something… and knocked me off course, somehow?’ Charles pondered that, forcing himself not to think about his untimely demise on the other side. 

The most unsettling thing, though, was that he had no idea what that force that hit him did. Did it try to kill him? Was it routing him here on purpose? Or was it some kind of cosmic accident? Charles quaked, knowing that it would be just his luck to be hit by a comet while being ferried to his new life.

On that topic…

‘So, I’m really reborn…’ complex thoughts tickled his conscious mind, ‘I guess I don’t really mind this… piled in with family…’ Charles felt his small frame relax fractionally, surrounded by his siblings and a growing urge to nap.

Then he shook himself firmly, ‘No! Awake! Plans! We’re going to be here for a long while… At least until I can fly! I need to figure out how this whole deal work-’ 

His internal monologue was cut off by five siblings and their concern for the sibling that was shaking. It must have been cold, and so, diligently, they snuggled in closer for warmth. 

‘Y-you guys! Mutiny! This is a… really… nice… mutiny…’ 

Charles' thoughts trailed off as he finally relented to the peaceful sleep that he never knew he missed. The last thing he thought of though, were the memories of his first family, the deepest, warmest ones that he’d thought he’d forgotten.

Sleep claimed him, blissfully, and for the first time in ten years, Charles felt the world might just have been fractionally better than he gave it credit for.