**Author’s Note: Vincent’s Descent is a continuous story that began on April 1st, 2023, as part of the AtoZ Blog Challenge. Most chapters are not designed as stand-alone. I’ve done my best to keep each chapter a touch over 500 words each so they are not too dense to follow along, IMO. For the entire story, please start HERE. Comments are always welcome.
***My apologies for falling behind. This should have gone up on Wednesday. I will do W & X on Friday: one in the morning, the other later in the day. I should not have any other delays so that Y & Z, and the reflection, will all show up on time.
Vincent’s Descent
Chapter 22: Vincent
Vincent fully accepted the Grackle Lord mantle at that moment.
He screeched, and a half-frozen squadron of his kind jetted; a wall of blackbirds formed a six-deep phalanx between icicle missile tips and Maria. Lanced through the body, wings, and heads. Forty-two skewered for their Grackle Lord. Their blood frothed as the iced-over dead fell to the now-frozen wasteland.
Maria was hidden by the dead. Her throat was raw from icy hyperventilating. Crouching amidst the snow-covered roots of the tree she had collapsed on.
The Grackle Lord squawked, and more of his half-dead murder broke free of their ice entombment. They hopped, flew low to the ground, creating a barrier, weak though it might have been, in front of Maria and her guardian tree.
Vincent-Inside turned and squawked, this for Her Lavender Grace, who had flapped once and came at him. Her maw opened a return challenge. They met with claws and razor-sharp beaks above the fields of ice and death.
Escalation on all fronts. The storm turned to a near-white-out blizzard as the wind screamed. Her Lavender Grace ripped into The Grackle Lord’s side, a gouge of intense pain. It countered with a beak thrust, trying to pierce its foe through the neck as it had done the Condor, but Her Grace swiveled.
With a greater wingspan, Her Grace backed up, thrusting talons forward. The Grackle Lord took the brunt of the blow above the side wound. It bellowed, pivoted, and flew in under Her Lavender Grace.
It bit deep into the joint of the body and wing, darting first to the right, then the left.
Her Lavender Grace yawped, then brought her maw down on the nape of The Grackle Lord. With every bite, a claw would rip. With every evade, a different attack would come.
The larger blackbirds came at the call of Her Lavender Grace, then for The Grackle Lord, then again. No matter the master, one by the other, swatted down, snapped at, torn apart, driven away. The two were monstrous in their struggle.
The wailing snow blinded Maria. There were glimpses as they thrashed, at times coming directly overhead. She dove face down into the growing snow around her. She wished for something to help Vincent, but whatever had granted her the power seemed absent now.
The sound was deafening as the ground cracked.
Quiet happened, and Maria dug herself up to a kneeling position.
She tried to call out “Vincent,” but what came out was a rasp.
Her Lavender Grace pinned The Grackle Lord against her. Their eyes were locked on the other. Their bodies held gashes, patches of missing or broken feathers, and avian blood mixed in the snow, slowing down from fury to flakes. They settled to a stop, covering the terrain.
Maria’s jaw dropped as the two disengaged, and then….
The Grackle Lord flew and then landed behind Her Lavender Grace. It mounted Her Grace, a cloacal kiss.
The birds around them hooted, squealed, squeaked, and clucked, taking to the air in a starling swarm that blanketed the sky until the mating completed. The Grackle Lord cawed, and the pack dispersed.
Her Lavender Grace, upright, had her back to Maria. It was staring at Her Grackle Lord.
At Vincent.
At The Grackle Lord.
At Vincent, in the throes of changing from one form to the other. The feathers grew dense and blacker than before, only to recede to alabaster hide. Then again, the feathers grew back, and Vincent groaned and howled and cawed, piercing the night into the goldest of golds.
Vincent, the Grackle Lord, gleamed as he/it rose, towering over Her Lavender Grace.
With eyes lowered to the ground, Her Grace bent her neck and folded her wings tight against her side. With grace, she lifted into the sky, flew around Her Grackle Lord, her Vincent, and flew off beyond the plains and out of sight.
Shedding her artic wear, Maria moved forward, away from the trees.
“Vincent,” she was able to whisper.
“I wish,” he/it cooed.
And the world changed.
Tale Spinning 
That was a turn up for the books. Wasn’t expecting that. Rather fiery mating ritual.
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No one expects the Fiery Mating Ritual! lol
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That was unexpected! Alana ramblinwitham
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See my reply above.
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Interesting! Was the whole fight an elaborate courtship, in the way of many animals, or was the mating a way of saving Maria, or an impulse of the Grackle Lord that Vincent, struggling against, succumbed to?
Interesting that you call Her Lavender Grace “she” and the Grackle Lord “it.”
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In the long run, I feel it was a combination of all three for Vincent. Her Lavender Grace was more powerful, in the long run, and it was as calculated as giving into the primal urge. And, as you know me enough by now, I only found the mating while writing. That was not planned in the least.
I did struggle with the pronouns for HLG. I allowed myself to write SHE so there wouldn’t be that much confusion with using IT all the time. That also happens without a ton of planning.
I think it works. Yes?
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