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Philothea ran for what seemed like forever, even after she was long out of sight of Zeno’s men. Every time she saw a creek, she would run up the length of it, hoping it would wash away her scent. When she finally dared to rest, she was soaking wet and muddy. She flopped into a patch of soft grass at the base of a tree and sat for a moment, catching her breath.
“You’re going to turn me back now, right?”
Philothea jumped. A little starling had alighted on a bush beside her.
Philothea inhaled deeply. “Oh, yes, sorry, Zoe.”
“But you’re so pretty!” came the voice of another starling from somewhere in the canopy.
Everyone should be a bird,
They are the best to be!
Birdies are so beau-ti-ful,
I’m sure that you agree!
“Nope, I don’t,” Zoe answered. “Now will you turn me back?”
Philothea was still wearing her ring. She held her hand out in front of Zoe.
How had she done it before? She had tried saying words, sort of ordering the magic to happen, but it didn’t work.
“You are human,” Philothea tried, it was futile as she suspected it would be. She continued trying different phrases. “Be human! You’re a girl! You’re no longer a bird!”
With each attempt, Zoe seemed to become more irritable. Her head feathers stood up and she fluttered around in a fury making grumpy screeching sounds. Interestingly enough, Zoe was a lot more expressive as a bird. It suited her in a strange way.
Though Philothea kept trying for Zoe’s sake, her attempts were half-hearted. Odd as it was, she didn’t want to turn Zoe back yet. As long as Zoe was a bird, she could easily escape Zeno. He wouldn’t notice or care about her.
If anything, Philothea wanted to be a bird herself so they could all fly to wherever her parents were. But wish as she might, it did not happen, and try as she might, Zoe did not turn back.
At last, Philothea gave up and sank back down on the grass.
“I’m done, Zoe,” Philothea stated.
“Done?” Zoe screeched. “What do you mean, done? I’m still a bird! This is not okay!”
“I’ve used up all my magic for today,” Philothea answered.
“No! No! No! No!” Zoe exclaimed, her feathers standing on end, making her look like a spikey puffer fish.
Philothea pulled the ring off her finger. Her power faded and went dormant, leaving her empty and exhausted.
“If I rest a little and eat something, maybe I can try again tomorrow?” Philothea mumbled, her voice cracking a little.
Zoe landed on Philothea’s wrist and started pecking at the ring in her hand. “Try again! Try again!”
Philothea was so exhausted that the leaf litter looked like a welcome bed. She longed to fall into it face-first and instantly lose consciousness. Yet, here Zoe was screeching and pecking at her.
Yes, Zoe was older, but that did not give her the right to order Philothea around.
Philothea opened her mouth to give Zoe a firm reprimanding but the words caught in her throat, and she released a giggly sigh as tears welled up in her eyes. No, no, no, no, no, why did this always happen? Just once, she wanted to be able to defend herself without laughing or crying like an idiot.
“What–” Philothea started, feeling her voice crack. She took a deep breath. “What are you so upset about?” The tears started flowing, and she hated herself for it. “If Zeno finds me, you can just fly away!”
This was just awful. Why couldn’t she be like Zoe? Why couldn’t she control herself and say what she meant plainly?
Zoe’s feathers had deflated.
“Look, you don’t need to get all worked up,” she answered.
Nothing got Philothea more worked up than people telling her she didn’t need to get worked up. A second wave of tears poured from her eyes.
“We’ll just…” Zoe sighed. “Try again tomorrow, I suppose.”
Philothea curled up on the grass with her back to Zoe. She was feeling too embarrassed and too angry to talk anymore. It was almost dark now. She heard a fluttering and then Zoe’s voice.
“So do I, like, put my head under my wing or what?”
Philothea decided she was talking to Pouli.
“You sit, and fluff, like this,” Pouli explained. “It is the best way to sleep.”
Philothea peeked back over her shoulder. Pouli had retracted his head into the ball of feathers that was the rest of his body so that he looked like a fluffy potato stuck to a tree branch.
Philothea giggled through her tears. She couldn’t understand why Zoe didn’t like Pouli; he was adorable.
“Pouli?” Philothea asked, after a short silence. “Will you sing that song?”
“Pouli’s wings are bea-ti-ful,” Pouli started cheerily.
“No, no,” Philothea interrupted. “I mean, the one you promised you’d sing. The song that made Zeno want to kill me.”
Pouli switched instantly, beginning a more somber tune:
A legend tells of power great, and the prophets sing,
Of a man who will devour, nation, army, and king.
In lands on which his shadow falls, warriors won’t resist.
They leave their posts upon the walls; he enters in their midst.
The people fall down at his feet and try to hide their scorn,
They offer Zeno praises sweet, the greatest of men born!
His enemies long to end him, tear his empire down,
But they stand by in envy grim, for none can steal his crown.
But Zeno conquers all in vain; his power will soon end,
For a girl will crush his reign, and his wrongs amend.
A precious little child will destroy this ruler cruel,
The power that she will employ will prove Zeno a fool.
Philothea was quiet for a long moment, trying to understand. She had so many questions: who wrote the song, and why. Was it a prophecy? She opened her mouth to ask a question, but Zoe interrupted:
“So Philothea is going to kill Zeno and take over the world?” She looked at Philothea and added. “Remember us little people, when you’re empress supreme.”
Philothea glared at her. “I’m not killing anyone!” She turned her attention back to Pouli. “Pouli, where did you hear that song?”
“My cage in Katina’s court!” He fluffed with pride at his alliteration, then started spouting other C and K words in a nonsensical manner.
“Am I the child in that song?” Philothea demanded. “Is that why Zeno wants to kill me?”
“Zeno is bad. He is so bad! He is a naughty thing,” Pouli explained helpfully. “Zeno must go back in his cage and go to sleep.”
“This bird is useless,” Zoe grumbled, ruffling her feathers as she tried to get comfortable on her branch.
“He is not,” Philothea answered. “He just saved my life. I think he’s a good boy.”
Pouli fluffed his feathers proudly. “I am a good boy!” he agreed. “Where is my grape?”
“At Katina’s house,” Philothea said. “Tomorrow, you’ll take us to get it.”
The Fables of Para Sympan 
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