A Closer Glaumora

[Edmund]

Bartholomaios Barnabas lofted carefully upon one of the lower hanging branches. The sun was just setting painting the sky a mixtures of pinks, and oranges, the scene very much reminded him of one of the paintings he had once seen that the others had created. The soft light leaked through the vines of the willows and moss which moved carelessly with the gentle breeze that skimmed the earth upturning the fallen leaves that laid on the ground. B.B released a small sigh, his ruddy feathers ruffled with the wind. There's nothing like this. he thought. Lifting his wings he flicked them a few times forming the air underneath them pushing himself upwards. After a few more wing beats he landed inside his hollow. It was roomy, far to big for him alone, a moderate sized nest to a side with the softest moss he had found and his own feathers with fresh green grass making the nest softer yet. To the other side was a large book that he had required not to long ago, and a small pile of colored class and a cup that had a long stem and was not made of glass of gold and blue gems were encrusted in the mug part.

"No place like home" he mused quietly, no place like Glaumora.