Feather by Feather and Other Stories

Table of Contents

Content Notes

Introduction

You Were Mistletoe

Changeling's Time

Sharing Chocolate

Feather by Feather

Sea Foam and Silence

The Little Engine That Couldn't

Maybe

Breadcrumbs

The Thing with Feathers; Or, The Hope of Oak Town

All Our Good Intentions

Goose Maid

The Passage of Pearl

Trinity

Seventeen Pocket-sized Journals and Counting

Whiskey and Water

Swanheart

Umbrellas

A pair of haiku

Time

Beauty and the Beast

Highway Green

On attempting to write a poem

The First Deed of Coen of the Stars

Where the Last Ripples Meet

Phee

The Frog Prince

The Choices of Persephone

Heartache

Reflections on my reading habits

The Swan Maiden

To the Moon

Haiku courtesy of a summer's day

The Bobble Hat

Confidentiality

The Witch and the Changeling

Blue-dust, Red-dust

As under a Green Sea

What I Like

To Love a Cat

The Thing about Autumn

Saeftinghe

Needle, Needle

Biscuits for the Demon Chorus

The Princess who Didn't Eat Cake

To Sleep for a Season

How to Write a Triple Sestina

Author's Commentary

Self-interview

Bonus: Made to Be Broken

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Thank you for reading!

For all my friends,

without whom this collection would not exist.

It is now 2021 and one of the things contained in this third edition is a change of pen name. I thought redoing the formatting for this book was going to be hard and take forever. It did not. Go past!me for making the job of today’s me easier entirely by accident? I did smooth things out a little bit more, though. Tidied up the formatting with what I’ve learned and relearned since releasing the book. You’ll mostly see that in the ebook version, if I’m honest. That’s the one I did have to overhaul completely.

Anyway! In 2016, I did a second edition of this book. I reworked the commentary, mostly because I was (and often still am) fairly tongue-in-cheek self-negging and, honestly, that’s not a great thing unless people know that’s your brand. And even then... Well. I also changed up one story with a significantly different final version (though you could and still can) also read the draft as it appeared in the first edition.

This year, I’m not making any such large changes. It’s literally just a rewrite of the introduction to go with the third edition specifically. Because, as I mentioned, I like to ramble. And hey maybe people find it interesting if I detail the changes. Maybe one day I’ll be a household name and these introductions make the early editions of Feather by Feather the Holy Grail for fans of my work? (I can dream! Nothing says I can’t dream! It would be so cool, though.) Anyway!

The first edition came out in 2013. It was exciting, terrifying and amazing, and honestly that seems to be par the course for my reaction to publishing books. Even ones that were already available and got updates. But that was the first book.

I learned a lot from that book, especially when it came to creating print book layouts. My university offered a great InDesign course, but it turns out that relatively generic courses on formatting don’t exactly prepare you for a book that has quite as many formatting differences and style requirements as a book that’s a combination of prose, poetry, interview, and various other specialised layout requirements.

I also learned a lot about publishing as a business. I, being very enthusiastic and not too business-savvy, released all of my then-current stories in my portfolio in one book. This book, in fact. Because I wanted to be sure to give people value for money and Feather by Feather is a whopping 98K all put together. It’s now a good eight years later (wow, has it really been eight years?!) and while my portfolio still hasn’t recovered from that decision, I still stand by it.

I was an anxious mess. (I’m now somewhat less of one.) Publishing Feather by Feather the way that I did allowed me to publish my first works entirely on my own terms, and I definitely needed that. I said in the previous introduction that I needed this to get comfortable with indie publishing and with making mistakes, that I needed something to stand against the anxiety. I did. There were a lot of mistakes in how I handled Feather by Feather, and the business of publishing as a whole.And I think I needed to know that making them, or the fear of making them, couldn’t stop me from publishing.

Clearly, it hasn’t, and I’m still learning with every book I work on and every story I publish. It’s a harder road than I imagined, and I like to think I was fairly realistic about how hard it would be even back then, but I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. (Okay, no. I might love a nice, six-figure tradpub deal for a novel or three, but you know. Generally speaking...)

I’m still extremely proud of the stories in this volume. Well, most of them. I’m not immune to having favourites and not afraid to pick them. It’s still a kaleidoscope of genres and styles. You’ll still find slice-of-life (Sharing Chocolate, Heartache), epistolary (Confidentiality), realistic fiction (To the Moon), secondary world fantasy (Changeling’s Shadow, To Sleep for a Season), poetry (Blue-dust, Red-dust, Breadcrumbs, Needle, Needle), fairy tales (The Swan Maiden, The Witch and the Changeling) and more!

It’s been a long road. Watch me forget to do a special 10-year anniversary edition in a few years!

For now, though, I won’t keep you from the stories any longer. Thank you so much for purchasing this collection (and reading the whole intro)! Thank you for joining me on my writing adventures for at least a little while.

I hope you’ll enjoy the stories as much as I have.

Happy reading!

S.L. Dove Cooper

March 2021

I see you.

I saw you then, dappled with the shadows of a thousand ages, white as dandelion fluff, red as the roses around us. Your hair was dark, sparkling sapphires where dew drops should have been. Your eyes were like a fawn’s. Or like a wildcat’s. Free. Your smile... Your smile could rob a miser; what chance did I have?

I see you.

I saw you, then, like a ghost haunting what was mine by rights. Pale as silver, tangled as the ivy around my well. You looked no different, and I thought that I would die. Only... I could not. You were mistletoe then, and I the hawthorn. Or perhaps the rowan. You warned me.

I see you now. Changing...

I saw you then, still and silent as stone. I knew it was you by the tilt of your head, by the way you rode the moonlight. I have known you scarce a year and all my life. For you are me. As I am you.

I see you. Not with eyes, but I see you. I know you. I sense you. Yes, I see you. The way the shadows fall on your face, the withered flowers woven into you hair, the cobwebs pretending to be fine silk, the rise and fall of your chest telling me that you are yet alive... I see the calluses on your hands and the wildness in your eyes.

Oh, I see you.

And I will hold fast.

The storm hit without warning, not with a pelting of rain but with a whine of wind and a crackle of thunder. Nightshadow excused himself to Keeper Greywing and started hurrying back to his mother’s nest. She wouldn’t have returned from foraging below the boundary line yet, so his fledgling brother would be alone. Nightshadow fought against the gale, narrowly avoiding getting slammed into tree trunks several times. When he finally got to the nest in the Mother Quarter, he struggled to stay aligned with its entrance. The tree was swaying; whether it did because of Nightshadow’s own problems staying in one spot or because the wind was just that strong, the peeweww couldn’t say. Some of the branches surrounding the nest were whipped against the hole again and again. Nightshadow tried to avoid them as best he could, but when he was on the ledge one of the branches hit him hard and sent him sprawling into the nest. His alarmed cheep was all but eclipsed by his brother’s own frightened sound-voice. It certainly eclipsed the storm.

It’s all right, Nightshadow told the fledgling, trying to impress visions of a soothing breeze onto his brother’s mind. It didn’t seem to help. Starglow just continued to cheep loudly from the far end of the nest. The fledgling huddled there, leaf-thin wings wrapped around his body. Snapped off twigs and leaves were scattered throughout the nest and Nightshadow chittered in irritation. He hopped his way over to his brother carefully, so as not to lose his footing. Nightshadow flared his wings whenever a blast of wind found its way inside the nest and threatened to send him sprawling onto his face. Mama will be back soon. Stars, let her have found shelter. He didn’t truly hold much hope, but Starglow was so young... Nightshadow crouched over the fledgling as best he could, wrapping his tail around his brother’s still-stubby one and squeezing its tiny leaf lightly.

It’s all right. He’d keep his brother safe from the storm. Stationary and within the nest, Nightshadow couldn’t deny that the tree was swaying in the storm. Stars, keep us all safe, he repeated over and over to himself, to the Stars. The debris that had made it furthest into the nest hit, sometimes even pounded, against him. His back and wings stung with body-oil seeping into gashes and cuts and he squeezed his jaws together to keep his sound-voice from frightening Starglow.

To keep his brother safe, Nightshadow nudged the fledgling down into the moss-bed and stretched his own wings wide, digging all four claws into the tree trunk to brace himself against the storm and to keep anything from crashing into the fledgling.

Mercifully, none of the debris seemed to be getting past him. Why didn’t the Stars warn Keeper Greywing? he wondered. Or me? In between the solitary prayers and stuff hitting his back, worry gnawed on his heart like a tree-glider gnawed on nuts, but Nightshadow tried to push all of it out of his thoughts to focus on the peeweww he was protecting. His brother’s sound-voice grew fainter yet no less frightened or persistent only to get louder again some time later. Every time it did, the sound-voice fractured Nightshadow’s thoughts anew until he started to tell his brother legends and tales in the hope of distracting them both.

He told Starglow of life above the canopy and how the Darkness had swept over the peeweww in a great storm and sent them hiding from the Stars. He told his brother of the wonders and miracles that had been part of that shining age beneath the Stars, and of those who had fought the Darkness and were never heard from again. He told his brother of the heroes that were yet to be, the Stars yet unborn, and the time when the Darkness would be defeated and the Stars would call Their children home again. He sang the songs of praise to his brother, sound-voice mingling with thought-voice and he didn’t care that it was forbidden; it distracted the fledgling from his fear. Starglow even tried to sing the songs with him, despite the storm.

Eventually, the fledgling fell asleep, presumably exhausted, but Nightshadow still clung to his guarding position, praying to the Stars for strength. He shifted throughout the night, both to try and keep his limbs from cramping and to sway with the wind that reached him whenever it waxed. That he lasted until far into the day he could only attribute to the Stars.

Then, when the weather’s assault stopped as quickly as it had started, Nightshadow was so exhausted he could barely unclench his claws. Oil covered every part of his body, had even dripped onto Starglow’s fading down, and Nightshadow wouldn’t be surprised to discover that blood had mingled with it. He managed to shift his body until he could see part of the nest behind him. It was a mess; leaves, twigs, bits of bark, even a thicker branch had been blown into the nest, but the peeweww had survived. Thank the Stars, Nightshadow thought as he collapsed into a heap.

Nightshadow hurt all over; his body felt bruised, cut and heavy. He had no idea what time it was — bright enough to hurt his eyes, at least — or how long he’d been unconscious. Squinting to survey his surroundings he realised that he and Starglow were almost buried in the aftermath of the storm. Changeling, give me strength, Nightshadow prayed as he uncurled his tail from around his brother’s. His sound-voice hissed with the pain, and he began sweeping some of the debris towards the entrance of the nest and out of it. Stuff snagged on twigs or the big branch now sticking through the entrance; nothing would stay balanced against his leafless tail as he lifted things.

Still, Nightshadow worked as hard and as fast as he could to clear some space in the nest. As Heir Keeper he would be expected to check on the colony, but if he left Starglow alone now the fledgling would hurt himself. In some ways, Nightshadow was glad of the work; the daylight brightness was hurting his eyes, so anything that confined him until twilight and nightfall was welcome, no matter the strain. Additionally the work gave him no chance to think either.

By the time it was starting to get dark, Nightshadow had managed to clear most of the debris. What remained appeared to be moss, leaves, tiny twigs and the big branch blocking part of the entrance. It wasn’t thick enough to hinder access to the nest entirely, thankfully, but it was still wedged so tightly it would take more than one peeweww to move it. Things were as safe as Nightshadow could make them on his own.

Starglow started to call out for food with his sound-voice and Nightshadow tried to shush the fledgling without success. I have to go, Glow. You need to stay here and be quiet. Mama will be back with food as soon as she can. Changeling guard her. He had to squirm his way past the branch and clamp down on his sound-voice, but he managed.

Eventually he was perched sideways on the entrance ledge. The cool evening air made him all the more aware of how dirty and aching he was, and his muscles protested against his scrambling onto the branch to find a spot he could easily take off from. At least Glow won’t be able to get out. May the Stars have been kind to us, Nightshadow thought to himself as he dropped into a current from his new perch. His wings ached, but he started a circle through the Mother and Mating Quarters to survey the damage.

It was enormous. Some of the trees had been uprooted or even snapped in two. Nests had become either inaccessible or unusable, but most thankfully appeared to need only a good cleaning. Whatever the damage further up the colony was like, they would have nests to shelter in. Since only his mother had sought to birth recently, Nightshadow wasn’t worried by the lack of other peeweww; if the Middle Quarters he was in were any indication, it would be a while before anyone sought them out without his own prompting. Have we displeased –

A wail cut through his thoughts. The Middle Quarters were far enough away from the rest of the colony that it could only be his brother.

Starglow! Nightshadow made his way back to his mother’s nest as fast as he could. He fluttered around the entrance, trying to find a way in, but he had to climb along the tree to get close.

Starglow, stop! Nightshadow called out as he squirmed inside. His brother was frantically trying to wash his face, clacking and cheeping as he did. Nightshadow hopped over to the far end of the nest and used his tail to push the fledgling’s wingclaws and tail away from his face. Starglow dipped his head, making it easier to reach and harder for Nightshadow to fend the fledgling’s limbs off. What’s wrong? Did something happen? Starglow was too young answer or even understand, but Nightshadow repeated the question anyway. Please, Stars, please. What’s wrong with him? Tell me what happened, please.

But the Stars were as silent as They had ever been. They wouldn’t even speak to Nightshadow to help Their favourite. The single, bright marking on Starglow’s back told him as much; he’d planned to talk to Keeper Greywing about it when his brother was a little older. Is this a punishment for my delay? I’ll talk to him now. Soon.

As Starglow’s struggles against him grew fainter, Nightshadow became more reluctant to intervene. He needed to conserve his strength and the weaker his brother was, the less damage the peeweww would do. For a while, Nightshadow only acted when Starglow was scrubbing at his face too vigorously. His eyes. Starglow was trying to scratch at his eyes. What’s wrong?

It took another, albeit far shorter, round of struggle to get his brother’s face in a position where Nightshadow could look at it. Constellations! A sharp clack underscored the thought. Instead of cloud-dark, his brother’s eyes were bright like the Changeling. Nightshadow’s body stung all over as more oil beaded down it. He’d only ever seen one blind peeweww, and she’d been a dying Elder. Keeper Greywing had sent him to commend her soul safely to the Changeling.

I... I have to go, Glow, he stammered, thought-voice flickering uncertainly. He had to get away, had to check on the colony, had to talk to the Elders and the Keeper. He had to find a way to get the Stars to explain to him how They could damn Their children so.

While making his way back to the entrance, Nightshadow slipped on something slick. His wings flared out to keep his balance, one of them almost knocking over his brother. Nightshadow had to swing his tail to compensate his balance, but he managed to stay righted. Closer to the entrance, he cleaned off the claw that he’d put into the slickness. It tasted acidic and he clacked in dismay, using his tail to move a few leaves over the spot. Now that he knew what he was looking for, he could see how the leaves and the moss were just a smidgen glossier than they should have been.

Stop trying to get at your eyes, Glow! You’ll make it worse! But he had to hop closer to the fledgling and use his own tail to pin his brother’s down and keep him from scratching at his eyes again. This time, Nightshadow wasn’t gentle. I can’t go. He couldn’t leave his brother alone like this, but he couldn’t neglect his duty either. Nightshadow cheeped softly in despair. There was absolutely nothing he could do for his brother, so he worked his way out of the nest again to check on the rest of the colony. Changeling, look over him. Stars, Constellations, Daystar, someone please watch over him...

Rather than fly straight up to the Family Quarter, Nightshadow circled the Mother Quarter, purely to clear his head and think. The damage to the trees looked even worse than the first time he’d gone out. He didn’t know what to do. He could check on the Elders or help the younger families, or he could visit the Star Keeper. He kept making circles as he considered his options. The peeweww in the Family Quarter were young and strong; they wouldn’t really need his help. They’d also undoubtedly seek out Keeper Greywing for aid and guidance as soon as they could. The Star Keeper would not be in need of his heir. That left the Elders.

Nightshadow flew up to the highest Quarter, ducking and weaving between dark branches. At one point, he almost clipped his wing in an effort to skirt around a fallen tree. He had to land on the nearest branch to catch his breath and strength after that. He wanted nothing more than rest; he knew his body was bleeding and aching all over.

Even so, he was Heir Keeper and he needed to look after the colony. As long as he could move (and no bones felt broken) he would do his duty, so when he felt confident that he could carry on he continued his ascent. The forest was silent. No chattering sound-voices, no shared thought-voices clamouring for his attention. No bird song, either. The only sounds he heard were those of the creatures far below and a breeze rustling the trees.

The wind grew stronger the higher he went. Though it was nowhere near as powerful as during the storm, it was still wild. Snapped off branches still threatened to be dislodged by the swaying treetops. Nightshadow could only pray that the Family Quarter had been luckier, and he was doubtful his prayers would be answered.

Elders? he called out, unable to keep his thought-voice from blurring. He received no response. Perhaps it wasn’t safe to look for them alone. That no other peeweww seemed to have had a similar idea worried Nightshadow more than he dared admit. Changeling, do not let us be the only ones.

When he called for the Elders again, he still received no answer. Nightshadow chittered and swung his tail irritably, swaying to and fro. Oil trickled down his body. He was alone. Keeper Greywing had taught him to calm his thoughts, but it was harder now, far harder, than he’d imagined it could be. Finally, he called out again, his thought-voice clearer and stronger.

This time, he thought he could just make out a faint sound-voice in reply. He could barely hear the chirp over the wind, but it seemed easy enough to locate for all that.

Getting there, however, was a challenge. The storm had ravaged the Elder Quarter far worse than the Middle Quarters; some of the trees looked like the Darkness itself had ripped them apart. Straining his ears to keep track of the Elder’s sound-voice, Nightshadow wove his way through the carnage. The nest the sound was coming from was blocked by a branch. There was no way around it.

Nightshadow darted around the tree to study his options. If his strength lasted long enough, he might manage to drag it out on his own. His strength would have to last long enough. Nightshadow landed, dug his claws into the wood and tried to pull it along with him as he flew off. The branch barely moved. When he noticed that the sound-voice had gone quiet, Nightshadow stopped altogether. Afraid he’d imagined the sound, he called out again, Elder?

Young Nightshadow? Is that you? Leafcarrier. The old peeweww’s thought-voice was even fainter than his sound-voice.

Nightshadow pressed his wingclaws together. Again, he sought for the calm within him before speaking. Yes, Elder. It is. Are you all right?

It takes more than a little storm to rattle this old Starchild, the Elder replied. His sound-voice chirruped a laugh and broke into a discomforting cough. Nightshadow’s wings fidgeted, even with linked claws, and he was grateful that the old peeweww couldn’t see him. Leafcarrier would only worry about him.

I’m going to try to move the branch again, Elder. Not waiting for a response, he took off again. The wood was so heavy and his limbs hurt so much, but Nightshadow told himself he barely needed to do anything. All he had to do was clear the entrance. Just one thing. Just far enough for a peeweww to get in and out of the nest. I can do it. He even wrapped his tail around the branch for additional grip. With it so occupied it was far harder for the peeweww to keep his balance, but it was doable.

Muscles straining and oil gushing down his skin, Nightshadow struggled and fought until, finally, the branch toppled out of the entrance. Its weight pulled him down and he almost didn’t manage to let go. He snagged his wingclaws on another branch and it slowed him enough to let the weight fall without him. However, Nightshadow was weak from the struggle and he couldn’t hold on for long. How he managed to fly back up to the Elder’s nest, he did not know, but he managed. Exhausted and in pain, Nightshadow all but collapsed on the skewed entrance ledge, clasping his wingclaws together.

Finally, he said, It’s gone, Elder. His thought-voice was laced through with weariness and pain, but he couldn’t help that. He didn’t have the strength to block the feelings off.

You’re a good boy, Nightshadow. A good boy.

Nightshadow didn’t answer, only craned his neck as far into the nest as his muscles would let him. He couldn’t make out Elder Leafcarrier in the mess, but he could see the nest-ground. The shades of moss were too irregular.

Trees took a bit of a beating, eh? the Elder asked as Nightshadow carefully started to scoop some of the moss and debris out with his tail. Some of the darker patches looked like blood and tasted like it too. Leafcarrier’s voices were growing weaker by the moment. That’s all right. They’ll recover. But the colony might not.

Nightshadow froze. Stars vanish! This can’t be happening, he thought to himself, and if the Stars took offence at his blasphemy, it was Their own fault for not warning Their children of the catastrophe. Fearful of what he would find, Nightshadow kept probing and digging through the nest. Perhaps it looked worse than it was. Perhaps the other nests hadn’t been hit so hard. Perhaps, like him, Leafcarrier was merely exhausted.

Nightshadow’s tail found squishy matter that, when he tasted it, turned out to be faeces. No! he cried out. Changeling’s light, don’t take him. Stars, don’t let the Changeling take him. Not Leafcarrier who knew so many stories it was a wonder he wasn’t Keeper. Not another of the Stars’ clear favourites.

Nightshadow forced himself to be calm and methodical; tearing blindly through the nest could only do harm. He knew nothing with certainty. Leafcarrier’s sound-voice was still chittering and chirruping. There was hope. Even if Elder Leafcarrier’s sound-voice was the only thing that told Nightshadow the other peeweww was still alive and his heart was heavy.

After a while, he asked, Elder? What happens to a blind peeweww? If anyone knew the answer, it would be Leafcarrier or Keeper Greywing and, Nightshadow hoped, it would help focus and grip the old peeweww until others came to help them. Elder? Constellations, no!

Who’s blind? I’m blind. You’re blind. We’re all blind, young Nightshadow. Only the Stars can see.

Elder, this is important. I need you to focus! Nightshadow hopped down into the nest, but he dared not go further inside.

Teach them. Teach them all to see with the Stars.

Nightshadow smacked the leaf of his tail against the wood. He barely felt it amid the rest of his aches. His training was far from done; he was only the Heir Keeper and the Stars hadn’t spoken to him for many nights now, hadn’t shown him anything. He looked and felt around for the Elder and found him at the far end of the nest, covered in leaves and twigs. Nightshadow brushed some of it away with his tail. Leafcarrier’s skin in the cleared patches was covered in clouds of darkness instead of its normal light pattern. Nightshadow clenched his jaws to keep his sound-voice quiet and he kept his thought-voice carefully private, wishing he could scream at the Stars.

She’s gone, the Elder said, stretching his wings forward. Leafcarrier’s wingclaws grasped at empty air like a grounded mating gesture. Nightshadow wasn’t sure whether the other peeweww was still aware of him. "The Changeling took her from me. My family. All taken from me. The Changeling won’t have this Starchild. Won’t have. Won’t have. No. No. Can’t have frail, old Leafcarrier. Why can’t They call poor Leafcarrier home, Star Keeper?"

Nightshadow didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He desperately needed a scrub and a chance to rest. Blood and oil mingled on his skin and he wondered whether even the Stars had miracles that could heal Leafcarrier now. Heal him, heal him, heal him. Please. But nothing happened. I pray the Changeling comes for you soon, Elder. But he couldn’t make himself say it to Leafcarrier for a long time, not until the Elder’s sound-voice had died away again and his thought-voice showed nothing more than his long-dead wife. Help us. Stars, help us. Nightshadow’s sound-voice wailed.

It was past midnight before Nightshadow managed to gather the strength and courage to move and leave the nest. He wasn’t sure whether he felt better. Sitting on the edge of the entrance, he called out to the colony again and was relieved by how many thought-voices responded to him this time. Though some faint sound-voices echoed through the Elder Quarter,